House Arrest Can be Fun Part 4

A weekend away and some revelations about what she wants and who

I walked through the door at 8 AM, heels clicking against the hardwood like a fucking death knell. Derrick was sprawled on the couch, his shirt half-unbuttoned, his hair sticking up like he’d been clawing at it all night—probably because he knew I’d been out filling myself while he sat here, useless.

The second I stepped inside, he bolted upright, his jaw clenched, already opening his mouth with that pathetic "Where the fuck were you?" bullshit. I didn’t even look at him. Just pinned him with a glare and said, "Shut the fuck up before I make you regret breathing."

He swallowed hard and sank back into the couch, his cock already twitching in his pants like a fucking traitor.

Then I started talking.

I told him about Brian.

How his hands had been everywhere—spreading my thighs wide, fingers digging into my hips as he fucked me like he owned me. How his cock had stretched me so deep, so good, that I’d had to bite my lip to keep from screaming his name. How I’d taken him in my mouth, swallowing every thick inch, tasting the way he owned me with his cum.

Derrick’s breath hitched. His fingers curled into fists.

I didn’t stop.

I peeled off my clothes, slow, deliberate—letting him watch as I bared myself to him, my pussy already dripping from the memory. "Get on your knees," I commanded, my voice a velvet blade. "Now."

He didn’t hesitate.

I grabbed his hair, yanking his face between my thighs before he could even kneel properly. "Lick me clean," I growled, pressing his mouth against my soaking cunt. "Every last drop. And if you stop before I say so, I’ll make you beg for it."

His tongue was desperate, frantic—like he was trying to steal the memory of Brian from my body. I rode his face, grinding down on him, my thighs trembling as the first orgasm crushed through me. "Fuck, Derrick," I moaned, my nails scraping his scalp. "You’ll never taste this good. Not like him."

I pulled him up, shoving him onto the floor before he could even catch his breath. "On your back," I ordered, straddling him. "And don’t you dare move until I say."

His cock was steel in my hand, throbbing, leaking. I sank onto him in one brutal motion, taking him all the way to the hilt. "Fuck," I hissed, my walls clenching around him. "You’re nothing compared to him. Brian filled me. Stretched me. Made me beg for more."

I rode him hard, my tits bouncing, my nails digging into his chest as I fucked him with a vengeance. "He had me screaming. Had me cumming so hard I saw stars. And you?" I taunted, grinding down on him. "You’re just a warm-up. A reminder of what you’ll never be."

Derrick’s breath was ragged, his hips jerking up against me, desperate. I could feel him close—his cock swelling, his balls tightening. "That’s it," I purred, leaning down to bite his ear. "Cum for me, baby. Cum hard while I tell you how real men fuck me."

Just as he was about to explode, I whispered—"And Brian was black."

His back arched off the floor like he’d been struck. A guttural groan tore from his throat as he unloaded deep inside me, his cum flooding my cunt like he was trying to replace what Brian had given me.

I collapsed on top of him, my chest heaving, my pussy still pulsing from the memory. "Good boy," I murmured, stroking his hair. "Now clean me up. And remember—next time, I’m taking Brian again. And maybe you can see what a real man does for me."

I woke from a nap with Bruce’s cock still haunting my dreams—thick, veiny, stretching me open like he owned me. My fingers still ached from where I’d imagined them wrapped around his shaft, my thighs slick from the memory of him fucking me into the mattress. I groaned, rolling onto my side, my pussy clenching empty.

Derrick was already awake, watching me from the doorway, his jaw tight. "You’re dripping," he muttered, voice rough.

I smirked, sitting up. "Mmm, yeah. From him." I traced a finger along my lower lip, pretending to taste him. "You should try it sometime. Maybe then you’ll understand what it’s like to be filled."

He swallowed hard, his cock already twitching in his pants. Pathetic.

I took a long, slow shower—washing away the scent of Bruce, letting the water rinse me clean before I stepped out, dripping, and wrapped myself in a towel. Then, just for him, I slipped into a thong bikini—black lace, barely covering anything, the strings digging into my hips.

I lounged by the pool, sipping iced tea, my legs spread just enough so he could see the outline of my pussy through the thin fabric. Derrick was a mess—pacing, sweating, his hands clenched into fists like he was fighting the urge to touch me.

"Ask me," I purred, not looking up from my book.

He hesitated. "Ask you what?"

"About him." I finally glanced at him, my lips curling. "About Bruce. About Brian. About who I was with last night. About how they fucked me."

His face twisted. "I don’t want to know."

"Liar." I set my book down, standing up so the towel slipped off, leaving me in just the bikini. "You do. You just don’t want to admit it." I walked past him, my hips swaying, and went inside.

The living room was a disaster—his chair was stained. A dark, glistening smear on the cushion.

I knelt down, examining it. "Oh, Derrick," I sighed, running a finger through the dried cum. "Did you masturbate while I was out?"

His face burned. "I—fuck, yes."

I stood, looking down at him with cold amusement. "You shouldn’t have."

"I know." His voice was raw. "I couldn’t help it."

"Mmm." I circled him, my nails dragging along his shoulder. "But you will from now on."

I went online, browsing until I found the perfect chastity cage—stainless steel, heavy, with a padlock for good measure. I ordered it from Xpressions Adult Toy Store, then drove there myself, my heart racing with anticipation.

The saleswoman—a tall, blonde woman with a knowing smile—helped me pick one out. "So, you want something permanent," she said, eyeing me. "Something that’ll really keep him in line."

"Exactly." I traced a finger along the cage’s bars. "He’s not allowed to cum unless I say so. And even then…" I smirked. "Maybe not."

She handed me the heaviest one, the one with the thickest lock. "This’ll do the trick."

I paid, my fingers trembling with excitement as I drove home, the cage clinking in my bag like a promise of punishment.

For the next two days, I lolled by the pool, barely dressed, my bikini barely covering anything. Derrick followed me like a lost puppy, his cock aching in his pants, his hands itching to touch me.

Then, my phone buzzed.

Brian: Hey, beautiful. Free this weekend? I’ve got a black-tie dinner in Manhattan. You in?

I smiled, replying immediately.

Me: Absolutely. I’ll be ready.

Brian: Perfect. Car picks you up Friday at 2:30 PM. And… (a pause) …bring a dress that’ll make me forget my own name.

I hung up, my pussy clenching at the thought of him—his hands on me, his cock filling me, his cum dripping down my thighs.

Derrick watched me from the patio, his face a mask of jealousy and despair.

"You’re going to Manhattan," he said, voice hollow.

"Yes." I stood, letting my towel slip, my bikini riding up just enough to tease him. "With him."

"You don’t have to do this," he whispered.

I stepped closer, my breath hot against his ear. "I want to." My fingers brushed his crotch, feeling the hard ridge of his cock. "And when I get back…" I leaned in, my lips brushing his cheek. "You’ll be wearing this."

I pulled the chastity cage from my bag, letting him see the lock, the cold metal.

His breath hitched.

"No more touching yourself," I murmured. "No more cumming without my permission. And if you try…" I trailed a nail down his chest. "I’ll make sure you regret it."

I made him sleep in his own room that night. I took the master bedroom, locking the door behind me, my fingers itching to touch myself as I imagined Bruce’s cock inside me.

At 8 AM, I was gone.

Nail salon first—blue and gold designs to match my dress, sharp and elegant, just like the night ahead. Then, lingerie—a matching thong and garters, silk against my skin, designed to drive men wild.

By noon, I was home, suitcases out, packing my most expensive dresses, my heels, my perfume.

Derrick stood in the doorway, his face pale.

"Where are you going?" he asked, voice breaking.

I zipped my bag, not looking at him. "Manhattan."

"With him?"

"Yes." I finally turned, my lips curling. "And you?" I walked closer, tilting his chin up so he had to look at me. "You’ll be waiting."

His eyes flickered to the cage in my hand.

"Good boy," I purred, pressing it into his palm. "Lock it on when I get back. And don’t cum without me."

I took the key, and then I kissed his forehead—chaste, mocking—and walked out the door.

Here’s your expanded scene—raw, filthy, and dripping with lust, where every touch, every sound, and every drop of cum is explicitly described. This isn’t just foreplay—it’s a power play, a tease, and a promise of what’s to come.

The driver, Liam, was already waiting at the curb, his eyes flicking over me—appreciative, but professional. He took my luggage, loading it into the black Escalade like he’d done this a hundred times before. Then he opened the back door, revealing a chilled bottle of Dom Pérignon, the gold foil still glinting in the afternoon sun.

"Mr. Carter said you’d want this," Liam murmured, handing it to me with a smirk. "Enjoy your stay, ma’am."

I didn’t even bother with a glass. I popped the cork with my thumb, tilting the bottle back and letting the bubbles fizz down my throat, the cold liquid sliding past my lips as I moaned around it. Liam’s eyes darkened for a second before he shut the door, leaving me alone with the promise of the night ahead.

The ride was smooth, the city blurring past the tinted windows. My fingers traced the neck of the bottle, imagining what else I’d be filling later.

The Four Seasons was luxury personified—marble floors, gold accents, the scent of expensive perfume and clean linen filling the air. The bellhop led me to the suite, pushing open the doors to reveal floor-to-ceiling windows, the skyline of Manhattan stretching out before me like a gilded playground.

Then he handed me the envelope.

I slit it open with my nails, pulling out the note.

"Relax and enjoy. Order anything you need—or want. I’ll be back at 5 PM. Plan on dinner and drinks. And wear something that makes me hard before I even see you."

I smiled, pressing the paper to my lips, tasting his words.

I ripped off my clothes the second the door locked, kicking them aside like they were obstacles. The shower was steam-filled, the water scalding as I scrubbed myself clean—but not too clean.

I shaved my legs, smooth and silky, then trimmed my pussy—just enough so he’d see the glossy lips, the slick entrance waiting for him. My fingers dipped between my thighs, teasing, spreading my juices as I imagined his tongue on me, his cock inside me.

By the time I was done, I was dripping.

I dried off, my skin glistening, and then dressed—a short, black skirt that barely covered my ass, red 5-inch stilettos that made my legs look endless, and a low-cut V-neck blouse that spilled my tits out just enough to tease.

I painted my lips, smudged my eyeliner, and sprayed on perfume—something sweet and intoxicating, the kind that made men lose their minds.

Then I waited.

5 PM on the dot.

The door clicked open, and there he was—Bruce, in a tailored blue suit, the fabric molded to his chest, his white silk shirt unbuttoned just enough to tease the dark hair trailing down his abs.

Fuck.

I wanted to drop to my knees right then, wrap my lips around his thick cock, feel him pulse in my mouth—but I resisted.

Instead, I stood, letting him see me—the way my skirt ridged up when I walked, the way my blouse gaped just enough to flash my cleavage.

He stopped, his eyes darkening, his cock already twitching in his pants.

"You look…" His voice was rough. "Fucking perfect."

Then he closed the distance, his hands cupping my face, and kissed me—deep, hungry, possessive. His tongue plunged into my mouth, claiming me, owning me, while his fingers dug into my hips, pulling me against him.

I moaned into his mouth, my nipples hardening, my pussy clenching empty.

He pulled back, his breath ragged, his eyes black with lust.

"Shower’s free," he growled. "I’ll be out in five."

I smirked.

I didn’t wait.

The second I heard the water turn off, I stood, my heels clicking against the marble as I approached the bathroom door.

I pushed it open just a crack, peeking inside.

Bruce was drying off, his cock already hard, veins throbbing, the head dark and swollen.

I stepped inside, shutting the door behind me.

He turned, his eyes burning as he took in my outfit—the way my skirt rode up, the way my blouse barely contained my tits.

"Fuck, you’re killing me," he groaned.

I didn’t answer.

Instead, I stepped closer, my fingers trailing down his chest, circling his cock—hot, thick, leaking.

Then I dropped to my knees.

His breath hitched as I wrapped my lips around the head, tasting the salt of his pre-cum.

"Fuck—" His hands fisted in my hair, guiding me as I took him deeper, my tongue swirling around the ridge, my throat relaxing as I bobbed up and down, hollowing my cheeks.

He started pumping his hips, fucking my mouth, his cock hitting the back of my throat with every thrust.

"You’re gonna make me cum fast," he growled, his balls tightening.

I moaned around him, vibrating his shaft, my fingers digging into his thighs.

Then—"Fuck—!"

His cock twitched, pulsing, and hot, thick ropes of cum shot down my throat, filling me, choking me, dripping down my chin.

I swallowed every drop, milking him dry, my pussy aching, soaking from the sight and taste of him.

When he was spent, I licked his cock clean, smiling up at him as I stood, my lips glossy, my skirt riding high.

"Good girl," he murmured, pulling me against him, his cock still half-hard against my stomach.

His fingers curved around my wrist, stopping me mid-step as I reached for the doorknob. "Let’s go out," he murmured, his voice low, warm as brandy.

I paused, smiling against my own reflection in the mirror—fixing my lips, fluffing my hair, ensuring every strand was perfect, every glance intentional. When I turned, he was already there, leaning against the doorframe, his dark suit molding to his shoulders, his tie loose at the collar—just enough to tease the idea of what came next.

The elevator ride down was slow, intimate. His thumb traced circles over my knuckles, his forehead resting lightly against mine as the numbers ticked downward. When the doors opened, he stepped out first, then pulled me into the lobby like I was something precious.

The grand foyer was alive with murmurs and polished shoes, the chandeliers casting gold over everything. A few men glanced our way—appraising, envious—and Brian’s chest puffed out just slightly, his grip on my hand tightening like he was staking a claim.

"Mine," his eyes said, though his smile was all charm.

We stepped into the cool New York night, his fingers laced with mine, our shadows stretching long across the sidewalk. The city hummed around us, but all I could hear was the steady beat of his pulse beneath my touch.

Two blocks later, we turned onto a narrow, lantern-lit street, where the scent of garlic and spice drifted from an open window. The restaurant was small, warm, the walls lined with faded photographs of old Havana.

Brian pulled my chair out, his hand lingering at the small of my back as I sat, the heat of his palm seeping through my dress. The clink of glasses, the laughter of strangers, the soft Cuban music—it all wove together into something sensual, intoxicating.

We ordered rum and Coke, the glass sweating in my fingers as I sipped, slow and deliberate, letting the warmth spread through me. His thumb brushed over my wrist, absentmindedly, like he couldn’t help himself.

"Tomorrow night," he said, his voice rough, "there’s a gala. Black tie. And I want you on my arm."

I leaned in, my lips brushing his ear as I whispered, "What if I don’t want to share?"

His breath hitched, his grip tightening. "Then you won’t have to."

The empanadas arrived, golden and crisp, and we shared one, our fingers brushing, the butter melting between us. The Noche Bueno came next—slow-cooked beef, rich and tender, the sauce dark as sin—and we fed each other bites, our eyes locked, the world outside fading away.

I excused myself to the ladies’ room, the tiles cool beneath my bare feet. A young woman with red lipstick and a knowing smile leaned against the sink beside me.

"Handsome husband," she said, winking.

I laughed, shaking my head. "Oh, no. Mine’s at home."

Her eyebrows lifted. "Then this one must be special."

I smiled, adjusting my dress, feeling the weight of Brian’s absence like a physical ache. "He is."

She grinned, pushing off the counter. "Enjoy him while you can, sweetheart."

I watched her go, then splashed my face with cold water, reviving myself before stepping back into the warm, golden glow of the restaurant.

Brian was waiting, his chair pushed in just slightly, his hand outstretched like he’d been holding his breath for me.

The Jazz Club was smoky, dim, the notes of the saxophone curling around us like a lover’s touch. We took a corner table, the velvet booth swallowing us whole, and ordered whiskey neat, the glass catching the light like liquid fire.

His hands were on mine the entire time—spread across the table, fingers intertwined, thumbs tracing lazy patterns on my skin. The musician’s fingers flew, but all I could focus on was the way Brian’s pupils dilated when the music swelled, the way his thumb traced the inside of my wrist like he was mapping me.

"You’re distracting," I murmured, leaning in, my lips brushing his ear.

He chuckled, low and dark. "Good."

We stayed long past the last set, the club thinning out, the waiter bringing us another round. When we finally stood, the night air was cooler, the city lights brighter, and Brian laced our fingers together like he never wanted to let go.

The walk back to the hotel was slow, our shadows stretching, our breath mingling in the chilled air. When we reached the revolving door, he pulled me close, his forehead resting against mine, his thumb brushing my cheek.

"Tomorrow," he said, soft, "you’ll be the most beautiful woman in the room."

I smiled, rising onto my toes, my lips hovering just above his. "And you’ll be the only man I see."

His eyes darkened, his grip tightening, and for a moment, I thought he might kiss me right there, in the glare of the hotel lights, with the whole city watching.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he led me inside, his hand never leaving mine, and left me wanting.

The elevator doors closed with a soft whoosh, sealing us in private, the golden numbers above us counting down to paradise.

Brian’s hands were on me before the doors even finished closing—one gripping my hip, the other cupping the back of my neck, pulling me against him. His mouth crashed into mine, hungry, desperate, like he’d been starving for this all night.

I melted into him, my fingers tangling in his hair, my body pressing flush against his, molding to him like we were two pieces of a puzzle. His kiss was deep, slow, possessive, his tongue sweeping into my mouth like he was claiming me, owning me, tasting every inch of me.

The elevator dinged, but neither of us moved.

His breath was hot against my lips when he pulled back just enough to speak, his voice rough, gravelly.

"I want to make love to you right now."

The words sent a shiver down my spine, wet heat pooling between my thighs.

I smiled against his mouth, my hands sliding down his chest, popping open the buttons of his shirt one by one. "Then what are you waiting for?"

He stepped back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark with hunger, traveling over my body like he was memorializing every curve.

I let him undress me, slow, deliberate, each piece of clothing a tease.

First, my blouse—sliding down my arms, revealing my lace bra, the cups barely containing my breasts. His fingers traced the edge, skimming over my nipples, making them harden into tight peaks.

Then, my skirt—hiking it up, peeling it off, leaving me in just my thong and heels, my legs bare, my skin flushed.

His breath hitched when he saw me—the way my thong was already soaked, the glossy wetness seeping through.

"Fuck," he growled, his hands shaking as he started on his own clothes, ripping off his tie, tossing his shirt, kicking off his shoes.

When he was naked, standing before me, his cock already hard, thick and veiny, leaking at the tip, I couldn’t wait another second.

I took his hand, leading him to the bed, my heels clicking against the marble floor, my breath coming in short, needy gasps.

He laid me down, his body hovering over mine, his knees pressing my thighs apart, giving him full access.

I guided him in, my fingers wrapping around his cock, positioning him at my entrance, spreading my juices over him, making sure he was slick.

"Slow," I whispered, my nails digging into his shoulders.

He obeyed, pushing inside inch by inch, his eyes locked on mine, his mouth open in a silent groan as he felt me clench around him.

"You’re so fucking tight," he groaned, his forehead resting against mine, his breath hot against my lips.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, moaning as he filled me, stretching me, hitting that perfect spot inside me.

"Brian—" My voice broke, my back arching off the bed as the first orgasm crashed over me, waves of pleasure ripping through me, my pussy clenching around him, milking him, trying to pull him deeper.

He didn’t move, just held himself there, embedded inside me, his cock pulsing, his breath ragged.

"You’re so beautiful," he whispered, his lips brushing mine, his hands cupping my face. "So perfect. I’ve wanted this for so long."

I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him down for another kiss, my tongue tangling with his, my body still trembling from the aftershocks.

"More," I pleaded, my hips lifting, rubbing against him, begging for friction.

He smiled, slow and sinful, then pulled out just enough before slamming back in, deep and hard, his cock hitting my G-spot with every thrust.

His pace was torturously slow at first, each drag of his cock inside me drawing out the pleasure, making me whimper, making me claw at his back.

Then he sped up, his hips snapping, his balls slapping against me, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the room, mixing with our moans and gasps.

I met him thrust for thrust, my legs locked around his waist, my nails digging into his ass, pulling him deeper, faster, harder.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he growled, his jaw clenched, his muscles tensing.

"Don’t stop," I begged, my voice hoarse, my body coiling tighter, ready to explode.

He obeyed, his hands gripping my hips, holding me in place as he fucked me, deep, relentless strokes, each one bringing me closer to the edge.

I could feel his cock swelling inside me, thickening, getting ready to cum.

"Brian—" I whimpered, my fingers digging into his shoulders, my body shaking, my orgasm building, uncontrollable.

"Come for me," he demanded, his voice rough, his thrusts getting harder, faster.

And I did.

I screamed, my back arching, my pussy clenching around him, milking him, pulling his cum from him as he roared, his cock pulsing inside me, filling me, marking me.

He collapsed on top of me, his breath ragged, his body covered in sweat, his cock still hard inside me, leaking.

We lay there, entwined, breathless, sated, our hearts pounding in sync.

He rolled off me, pulling me into his arms, spooning me, his cock still half-hard against my ass, pressing into me, reminding me of what we’d just done.

I wriggled against him, smiling, my fingers tracing patterns on his chest.

"That was…" I breathed, still catching my breath.

"Perfect," he finished for me, his lips pressing a soft kiss to my shoulder.

We lay there, silent, content, the city lights fading outside, the only sounds our steady breathing and the occasional shift of our bodies.

And for the first time in forever, I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.