Her Master Ended Her Quarantine Early

Maite washed the dishes with careful slowness, measuring every movement so as not to strain the scar. It had been just over five weeks since the C-section, and she still felt a dull tug whenever she leaned over the counter. Even so, she didn’t complain. She liked to keep the house in order for when Andrés came back from the study.

The kitchen smelled of lemon and warm milk. On the monitor in the living room, Olivia slept with her fists clenched beside her face. Maite allowed herself a moment of stillness, her hands submerged in the water, thinking about the new life the three of them were building.

They had been strange weeks. The pregnancy first, the C-section afterward, and then that odd interlude in which her body had stopped belonging entirely to her and become a refuge for someone else. She understood it. She accepted it. But there was something she missed with an intensity that surprised even her, and it wasn’t sleep or the freedom she’d had before. It was the way Andrés looked at her when he wanted her. To be honest with herself, it was the way he spread her legs and fucked her pussy until her thighs were trembling.

She didn’t hear Andrés’s footsteps until he was behind her, his chest almost brushing her back.

“Do you need anything?” she asked without turning, though she already recognized the heat of his body.

“I want to talk to you,” he said.

There was something in his tone. That soft gravity Maite knew far too well. In the three years they had been playing this game, she had learned to read every inflection in his voice, and that one meant only one thing: the decision had already been made.

She turned off the faucet, dried her hands on the apron, and slowly turned around.

“I’m listening.”

Andrés didn’t answer at once. He took her wrist, without squeezing, and guided her out of the kitchen. Maite followed him. She knew where he was taking her even before they crossed the hall: to his study, that room with dark walls and lowered blinds where she always felt different, smaller, more willing to open herself.

***

“There are three days left until the six weeks are up,” he said, closing the door behind him. “Three days, Maite. Do you really think I need to wait three days to fuck what belongs to me?”

She swallowed. One part of her body responded before her mind did: a wet lash between her legs, her pussy tightening on its own, her nipples stiffening beneath her shirt.

“The doctor said six to eight weeks,” she murmured. “And the scar still bothers me. I don’t know if rushing is a good idea.”

Andrés looked at her with that half-smile she hated and desired in equal measure.

“I didn’t ask you if it was a good idea. I told you I’m spreading your legs again today.”

Maite lowered her gaze. Her heart beat against her ribs. They had gone weeks without touching, and her body had begun to forget what that tension, that surrender, felt like. She remembered it all at once, her mouth dry and her panties already wet.

“What if I hurt myself?” she asked in a very low voice.

“Then I’ll put it in slowly,” he replied, moving closer until there was barely any air between them. “Millimeter by millimeter. And if your pussy can’t take it, you tell me and I’ll stop. You know that. I always stop.”

And there it was: the word that held the whole game together. She could stop him with a single syllable, and he would pull away without arguing. That certainty was precisely what allowed her to let go. Maite knew it. That was why she had handed him the reins so many times.

“All right,” she whispered. “But I want to do it my way first. Let me.”

Andrés arched an eyebrow, amused.

“You? Negotiating?”

“Asking,” she corrected him, and knelt down.

***

The wooden floor was cold beneath her knees, but Maite barely noticed. She unbuckled his belt, lowered the zipper, and pulled his pants and underwear down to his thighs. Andrés’s cock sprang up hard against her face, thick, the tip already glistening with a drop of clear fluid. Maite stared at it for a second, almost hungrily. Her mouth watered.

She gripped it at the base with one hand, held it firmly, and extended her tongue. First she licked slowly, from the heavy balls to the glans, one long, flat lick that made Andrés let out a breath through his nose. She repeated the movement, this time closing her lips around the tip and sucking gently, sucking just the head while her tongue made circles underneath it.

“Fuck,” he growled.

Andrés buried his fingers in her hair. He didn’t pull. He simply held her, setting a silent rhythm that she obeyed without needing a word. Maite opened her mouth and took him all the way in, inch by inch, until she felt him bump the back of her throat. She gagged a little, her eyes watering, and pulled back to breathe before taking him down to the base again. A strand of saliva hung from her lip.

“That’s it,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Good girl. Suck all of me.”

Those words ran down her back like an electric current. Maite closed her eyes and focused on the heat, on the hard weight inside her mouth, on the salty taste beginning to flood her tongue. She started bobbing her head at a steady pace, sucking him with deep pulls, using the hand at his base to jerk him off while she sucked him. With her other hand, she caressed his balls, tugging gently, weighing them in her palm.

Andrés began moving his hips, fucking her mouth with short, careful thrusts. He held the back of her neck firmly, making it clear that he was setting the pace, but without forcing her beyond what she could take. Maite looked up at him from below, her lips stretched around his cock and her cheeks hollow from the suction, and saw his jaw tighten.

For those minutes, there was no scar, no exhaustion, no baby monitor. There was only him and the way she could unravel him with her mouth.

Just as she felt Andrés’s balls draw tight against his body and his cock throb in warning of his release, he stopped her. He pulled it from her mouth with a sharp movement, a strand of spit still connecting them. He took her by the shoulders and lifted her.

“No,” he said. “Not like that. I want to come inside your pussy.”

Maite felt her legs go weak.

“Andrés…”

“Slowly,” he repeated, reading the fear on her face. “I promised you.”

***

He sat her on the desk, sweeping the papers and laptop aside with his arm without looking where they landed. Maite’s legs dangled over the edge, and he positioned himself between them, his hands spread over her thighs, parting them with a slowness that was almost a question.

“If it hurts, you tell me,” he murmured against her neck.

She nodded, unable to speak. Andrés raised her skirt to her waist with deliberate patience, as though he had all the time in the world. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties and pulled them down her legs, leaving them hanging from one ankle. The fabric was soaked.

“Look at you,” he murmured, running two fingers along her open slit, from top to bottom. “You’re dripping, Maite. You’ve been holding yourself back for weeks, and this pussy can’t take it anymore.”

She arched, surprised by how ready her own body was, by how much she had missed him without allowing herself to admit it. Andrés’s fingers spread her outer lips, found her swollen clitoris, and began stroking it in slow circles, slick with her own wetness. Maite muffled a moan against his shoulder.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” he murmured, reading her as always. “You’re desperate in here. I can tell.”

He sank one finger inside her. Just one, and slowly, testing. Maite held her breath, but there was no pain, only that forgotten sensation of being opened, of letting something in. Andrés moved it carefully, sliding in and out, gauging her response. He added a second finger, and she moaned softly, tightening around him.

“That’s it,” Andrés said. “Open up. Let my cock know it can go in.”

With him, she didn’t have to pretend to be strong or decisive or anything else. She only had to be there, legs spread on the desk, and let him fuck her.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

Maite opened her eyes. Andrés’s jaw was clenched, holding himself back, and that moved her more than any roughness could have. He leaned in and kissed her, deep and slow, his tongue entering her mouth at the same rhythm his fingers fucked her pussy, while his thumb pressed against her clitoris. She began thrusting her hips against his hand, riding his fingers, asking without words.

“Please,” Maite said at last.

“Please what? Say it.”

“Please, put it in me. Fuck me again. I need your cock inside me.”

Andrés smiled against her mouth. He pulled out his fingers, brought them to his lips, and sucked them, savoring her without taking his eyes off hers. He gripped his cock, rubbed it all over her soaked slit, running the glans over her clitoris until she moaned, and finally placed it at her entrance.

He pressed carefully, attentive to every expression on her face. Maite held her breath, tense, waiting for pain that never came. He entered slowly, millimeter by millimeter, giving her pussy time to remember how to stretch to receive him. She felt him opening her from within, filling her inch by inch, her flesh yielding around the hard cock sinking deep inside her.

“All right?” he asked, motionless, buried to the base.

“All right,” she gasped. “Move. Fuck me.”

***

He moved with a restraint Maite found more erotic than any savage thrusting. Every push was measured, attentive to her. He withdrew almost completely and then drove back in to the hilt, at an unhurried pace that stole her breath with every thrust. The desk creaked beneath her ass. Her breasts, swollen and sensitive, swayed beneath her shirt with each thrust.

Andrés lifted her shirt to her neck, unclasped one cup of her nursing bra, and caught a nipple between his lips. He sucked gently, knowing how sensitive they were, and Maite moaned louder than she meant to. A drop of milk welled on the tip when he released it, and Andrés looked at her with a mixture of desire and tenderness that made her squeeze her legs around his waist.

He held her hips with one hand, pulling her toward him so that every thrust went deeper, and with the other he sought her face, his fingers brushing her lips until she opened them and accepted them, sucking them just as she had sucked his cock.

“This pussy is mine,” he said, and it wasn’t a question. “Say it.”

“It’s yours,” Maite gasped between thrusts. “All yours. Fuck it whenever you want.”

As she said it, she felt something inside her let go completely. Andrés sped up a little without losing his care, and lowered his free hand to find her clitoris. He began rubbing it with two fingers in tight circles while continuing to drive into her deeply, and Maite’s vision blurred.

Pleasure overtook her in slow waves, different from before, deeper. She felt every inch of him inside her, every brush of the glans against a spot that hadn’t been touched in weeks. The fear had become something else: complete surrender, the certainty that he was holding her, that he wouldn’t let her fall even while he fucked her newly healed pussy on a desk. She clung to his forearms, her nails marking his skin.

“Andrés, I’m going to come…”

“Do it,” he said against her ear, without slowing either his fingers or his hips. “Come on my cock. Soak it.”

Maite broke into a thousand pieces. Her orgasm tore through her all at once, so intense that she had to bite her lip until it bled to keep from screaming and waking the baby. Her pussy clenched in spasms around Andrés’s cock, squeezing and milking him. He let out a guttural moan and kept moving while she trembled, prolonging her climax, drawing out every wave.

Only when he felt her completely undone, limp and panting, did he allow himself to finish. He thrust deep, gripped her hips with both hands, and came inside her in three or four short, furious thrusts, emptying himself completely, his cock pulsing within her, filling her with hot semen. Maite felt every jet against the back wall, that forgotten sensation of being soaked from the inside, and silent tears slipped from the corner of her eye.

They stayed like that for a long while, embracing on the disordered desk, him still inside her, slowly softening, their breathing searching for its normal rhythm. When he finally pulled out, a thick strand of come slid down Maite’s slit to the edge of the desk.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, brushing a strand of hair from her sweaty forehead.

Maite shook her head. Her eyes were wet, but she was smiling.

“No,” she said. “You made me feel alive again.”

***

Olivia’s crying came through the monitor, thin and urgent. Maite sat up slowly, feeling different, claimed, Andrés’s semen still trickling down the inner sides of her thighs. She cleaned herself as best she could with a tissue, pulled up her soaked panties, straightened her skirt, and went to get the baby while Andrés sank into the armchair with that satisfied-man expression she knew so well.

She returned a few minutes later with Olivia nursing at her breast and sat beside him. Andrés draped an arm over her shoulders and drew her against his side.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“For what?”

“For waiting just long enough. And for not waiting any longer.”

Andrés chuckled quietly and kissed the crown of her head.

“Three days felt like an eternity,” he admitted. “And you’d been looking at me for weeks as though you wanted to ask me to fuck you against the first wall I came across.”

Maite didn’t deny it. She rested her head on his shoulder and watched her daughter nurse with her eyes closed, oblivious to the world. She thought that the strange balance they had built between them—him in command, her surrendered, both of them taking care of each other—was what made her feel safer than ever.

“Next time,” he said, almost half-asleep, “I’m not going to ask if you’re ready. I’ll spread your legs and put it in you. I’ll decide.”

Maite smiled against his shirt, feeling her pussy tighten again at the mere thought.

“I’m counting on it,” she murmured.