Caught in Pink

She wasn’t supposed to be home for another hour.

I’d timed it perfect… or so I thought. The shower still ran in the background, steam curling like a fog around me as I stood in front of the full-length mirror in our bedroom, wearing her blush pink lace panties.

My heart thundered as I smoothed them up my hips, adjusting the waistband over my flat stomach. The delicate fabric hugged me tight, sheer enough to see the outline of my little dick…half-hard, pressed against the soft lace. I felt exposed. Gorgeous. Wrong and so deliciously right. My chest buzzed with adrenaline.

Ten years of marriage. Ten years of worshiping every inch of her… her fire, her curves, her scent. And yet she didn’t know this part of me. Not really. Not the side that watched her slip into stockings and garter belts and wondered what it would feel like. Not the part that dreamed of surrendering—not as her husband, but as something softer. As hers.

So when I heard the soft click of the front door closing, I froze.

My eyes snapped to the mirror. Panic. I scrambled to pull the panties down, but before I could, her voice cut through the air like silk over steel.

“Don’t move.”

My breath caught in my throat. She stood in the doorway, framed by fading afternoon light, keys still in hand. Her gaze swept over me, bare-chested, flushed, standing in her lingerie like a boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“I…” I couldn’t speak. My throat closed around the words. Shame and horror washed over me until I wanted to evaporate.

But her expression didn’t twist in confusion or disgust. Instead, her lips curled, slow and knowing.

“Well, look at you,” she murmured, stepping inside and shutting the door. “My naughty little prince.”

My knees almost buckled.

She set her bag on the dresser, calm, unhurried, like she wasn’t just catching her husband dressed in her lace. “Is this what you do when I’m gone?” she asked, circling me. “Play dress up in my prettiest things?”

I managed a shaky nod, heart thudding.

“How long?”

“Months,” I admitted, shame and arousal twisting together. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

“And now that I’ve caught you?” She stepped behind me, her lips brushing my ear. “What do you want?”

“I want you to look at me.” My voice cracked. “I want you to tell me I’m still yours.”

She laughed softly, a sultry, dangerous sound. “You’ve always been mine.”

Her hands slid around my waist, fingers playing over the lace. She cupped me through the fabric, watching in the mirror as I gasped.

“Oh… someone’s enjoying this,” she teased, stroking me lazily. “My husband, so pretty in pink. My good boy. My little prince. My little bitch.”

My dick throbbed, twitching against her palm. The lace tightened, clinging wet against my skin.

She kissed the back of my neck, then dragged her mouth to my shoulder. “Do you want to keep them on?”

“Yes,” I whispered.

Her fingers hooked into the waistband and tugged slightly—not to remove them, just enough to tease. “Then let me play with you.”

She pushed me gently to sit at the edge of the bed. I watched her drop to her knees between my thighs, eyes full of heat, tongue flicking against her lip.

“I never knew,” she said softly. “But now that I do, I’m never letting this go.”

She leaned in and kissed me through the lace… slow, deliberate. Her breath was hot, her tongue wicked as it traced the ridge of my cock.

I whimpered. “God…”

“You don’t get to be in charge right now,” she said, voice dark and smooth. “Tonight, you’re mine. My prince. My pretty play-thing.”

I nodded fast, desperate.

She mouthed me again, wetting the lace with her tongue until it clung to me like a second skin. The friction was exquisite—soft and torturous. I twitched, hands clutching the blanket behind me. She slid one hand up my thigh, her nails grazing lightly.

“Tell me how it feels.”

“Like I’m breaking,” I gasped. “Like I’m not me.”

“Mm-mm.” She smiled against me. “You’re more you than I’ve ever seen.”

Her fingers pressed the head of my pathetic dick through the soaked fabric, teasing the sensitive spot until I writhed. She gripped my hips to hold me down, controlling every twitch, every buck.

“You want to cum?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Beg me.”

The words came out of me in a rush. “Please, baby. Please, I need it. Let me cum for you. I need you.”

She peeled the panties aside and took me into her mouth, wet and warm and perfect. I cried out, hips jerking, but she pinned me down, sucking slow and deep, her throat working around me until I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.

I came hard, groaning her name, shaking beneath her. My vision went white.

When she pulled back, she kissed the head softly, then tucked me back into the lace like she was putting away something precious.

She climbed onto the bed, straddling my lap, and ran her fingers through my hair.

“You’re mine,” she whispered.

“Always.”

She pressed her forehead to mine. “Then let’s see what other secrets you’ve been hiding, my little sissy prince.”

And just like that, I knew there was no going back.