Chapter 3

Zoe’s cheeks flushed a soft pink as she slid the box across the counter. Her fingers hesitated for a fraction of a second — just long enough for the store clerk to glance down and then back up with a knowing smirk.

She’d spent the last three hours carefully shopping for her husband Barry’s birthday. His favourite cut of steak, a bottle of bold red wine, even a sleek new Polaroid camera for his growing obsession with nostalgia. It was shaping up to be the perfect evening.

But the better part of her time had been spent choosing something far less traditional — a new dress, tight, short, and deliberately provocative. Designed not for comfort, but to tease. To make him look at her the way he used to. To ignite something. And under it, she’d picked out an exquisite set of lingerie from the most exclusive boutique in the mall — all delicate lace, fine straps, and sinful intent.

Still, none of that made her as self-conscious as this last purchase.

This shop was nothing like the high-end lingerie store. Dimmer lighting, brighter colours, walls packed with silicone promises and latex sins. A place Barry Monroe had joked about for years — always with a boyish grin, always met with Zoe’s eye-roll and a quick change of subject.

He’d only ever had two real fantasies. One was to take explicit, seductive photos of his wife — he called it capturing her “stripper’s body,” though she always pretended to scoff at the idea. The other was to use a toy on her, something she’d consistently laughed off as ridiculous or unnecessary.

And yet ... here she was.

She couldn’t explain why she’d changed her mind now, after all these years of brushing it off. But she did know that something had shifted in her. Something had been slowly smouldering to life over the past week. She’d never felt this restless, this sexually alert. Not since her twenties. Maybe not ever.

“It’s a joke present ... for my friend’s bridal shower,” she blurted out, far too quickly, when the clerk gave her a raised brow and a cheeky little smirk.

The woman didn’t miss a beat. “That’s what they all say.”

Zoe narrowed her eyes, but said nothing. She simply handed over her card with a quiet huff, her face still warm.

As the bag was passed to her, she held it close — the weight of it oddly exciting, like a secret pressed tight to her chest.

Barry is in for one hell of a surprise, she thought, her lips curving into a sly, private smile.

Because while this birthday was meant to indulge his fantasies...

She was starting to wonder just how far she might go to explore hers.

Saturday

“I can’t believe you bought us tickets to the game! What a great present, dear!” Barry beamed as he stepped into the hallway, already in his team’s jersey, brimming with boyish excitement.

Zoe smiled at him from the doorway of her home office, her tone light. “I just need twenty minutes. There’s something work-related I’ve got to take care of first.”

She closed the door gently and returned to her desk, the glow of her computer screen illuminating the thoughtful crease in her brow.

Logging onto JustDoctors, the private medical forum she’d used since residency, felt almost like muscle memory. Only verified medical professionals were allowed access, which made it a haven for true consultation and learning — no trolls, no distractions. It had always been a place of logic and professionalism.

And yet, today, as she sat there crafting her post, Zoe felt something entirely different curling in her stomach.

She typed carefully, describing her patient’s symptoms — testicular discomfort, persistent ache, and general difficulty due to the weight and fullness. She referenced the patient’s desire for long-term solutions. Only in passing did she mention the cause: extremely large genitalia, with a nod to the patient’s inquiry about reduction options.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as she re-read the message. It sounded professional, clinical. But part of her still felt ridiculous, uncertain how others would interpret it. Would someone take her seriously? Would anyone have experience with a man like Nate?

She hit Send.

And for a moment, she just sat there.

There was a strange satisfaction in knowing this wasn’t just some idle curiosity anymore. She was acting as a doctor. Seeking help for a patient in need. But the image of his heavy cock in her hand—dark, thick, impossible to fully grip—lingered at the back of her mind like a stubborn echo.

She shut the laptop and stood, smoothing her skirt down over her thighs.

“All right, birthday boy,” she called out, grabbing her purse and forcing a smile to her lips. “Let’s go watch some ball!”

Zoe had never been a football fan. She knew enough to nod along with Barry’s commentary, but it had always felt like men chasing a ball and colliding dramatically.

Still, she clapped along politely when their local University team scored a pair of quick touchdowns. The quarterback launched perfect spirals down the field, and the crowd exploded with cheers.

It’s just pass and catch, she thought, watching impassively.

But then the defence came out.

Her eyes tracked the players as they lined up — jerseys stretched over thick, rippling muscle, gloved hands resting on broad thighs.

And there, in the middle of the defensive line, was Number 99.

Nate Jones.

His body was coiled like a panther, powerful and precise. And even with his helmet on, she knew it was him.

The sight of him sent a flutter through her stomach — not nerves, but heat. Her heart beat faster, her breath shallowed just slightly. She felt it.

That low, unmistakable thrum of arousal.

The crowd roared again as Nate bulldozed through the line, swallowing the quarterback in one clean, brutal hit.

Zoe jumped to her feet with the rest of them, hands clapping before her mind caught up with her body.

She wasn’t cheering for the game. Not really. She was cheering for him.

“That’s Nate. Number 52,” Barry said, pointing excitedly toward the field. “See him? Right in the middle...”

“I see him,” Zoe cut in quickly.

The truth was, she’d been watching him all game. From the very moment he stormed onto the field like he owned it — helmet under one arm, muscles flexing beneath his tight jersey, that unmistakable swagger in his stride — she hadn’t taken her eyes off him.

She noticed him when he stood on the sideline during the first touchdown, focused and still, like a predator waiting to be let off the leash. She noticed the way he moved when the defense took the field, barking out play calls with authority, commanding his teammates like a general.

But mostly, she noticed how the game changed when he was on the field.

There were plenty of strong, athletic men out there. But Nate was something else. Bigger. Sharper. More explosive.

And when the whistle blew, there was simply no stopping him.

He tore through the offensive line like paper, sacked the quarterback over and over again with brutal precision, crushed running backs in their tracks, and even leapt to deflect passes. He forced fumbles like it was a habit. And when he snagged an interception and ran it back for a touchdown — Zoe was on her feet before she realised it, hands clapping, lips parting with a cry.

“Defense! Defense!” she chanted along with the rest of the crowd.
“Go Nate!” she called out more than once.
“Great play, Nate!”

Barry smiled beside her, oblivious to the way her eyes clung to the way Nate’s powerful thighs flexed beneath his tight white football pants. Oblivious to how her tongue flicked across her bottom lip without her realising.

“That kid’s a stud,” Barry said after yet another dominant play. “He’s just ... so much bigger and more dominant than the rest of them.”

Zoe swallowed thickly. Her gaze never left Nate’s broad back as he returned to the huddle.

“Tell me about it,” she said under her breath, her voice laced with something Barry wouldn’t recognise.

It wasn’t just admiration anymore. It was instinctual.

There was something raw and primal in the way Nate played — the way he owned the field, crushed his rivals, and drew roars from the crowd. Zoe could feel it pulsing between her thighs now, a low throb that had nothing to do with football and everything to do with biology.

It was animalistic.

The dominant male had displayed his power. He’d bested his competition, claimed his space, left no question about who was superior.

“Zoe! Barry! Hey, what are you two doing here? I didn’t know you liked football!”

The familiar voice cut clean through Zoe’s haze of lustful thoughts, snapping her out of the trance she’d been slipping deeper into.

“What? Oh ... it’s Barry’s birthday,” she said, blinking herself back into the present. “I thought I’d treat him. He’s always been a fan.”

Standing in front of them were Tiara and Jamal Jones — Nate’s parents. Both beaming with pride, still riding the high of their son’s standout performance.

“Heck of a game by Nate!” She said brightly. “You two must be so proud?”

“Oh, we are,” Jamal replied before Barry could speak, his chest puffing slightly. “He’s got a heck of a career ahead of him, long as he stays focused and on the right track.”

Zoe smiled politely, nodding, but she could barely hear them. Her mind was still replaying those slow-motion moments from the game — Nate’s body driving through the line, his thighs flexing, the heavy sway in those tight white pants.

“Listen,” Tiara continued, “I wanted to thank you for agreeing to see him. He’s been in a better mood lately. I take it everything’s ... fixed now?”

Zoe’s composure snapped back into place. “Well, you know I can’t speak about it—”

“No, of course,” Jamal interrupted gently. “We’re not looking for details. We just want to know he’s all right.”

She nodded, folding her hands in front of her, her voice calm. Professional. “He’s fine. It’s nothing serious, nothing for you to worry about. We’re working through it together. I assure you — he’s in very good hands.”

But as the words left her lips, something stirred deep within her.

Very good hands.

Immediately, her thoughts betrayed her — vivid and unrelenting.

Her small white hand wrapped around the thick, pulsing length of his cock. The stark contrast burned into her memory like a photograph: delicate fingers tipped in soft pink polish struggling to contain the girth of his shaft, so dark and dense it looked carved from obsidian.

Her sparkling diamond wedding ring had glinted against the deep, masculine texture of his skin — the icy cold of white gold pressing into the blazing heat of his blood-rich cock.

She could still feel it. The veins, swollen and powerful, the subtle twitch of life beneath the surface. The shocking solidity of it in her palm — like she’d been handed something that defied reason.

White and black. Hard and soft. Cold and fire. Feminine delicacy cradling something primal and unbreakable.

Zoe inhaled slowly, reining herself back in.

“He’s in very good hands,” she repeated softly. “And I promise to do whatever I can to help him.”

“Really, Zoe,” Tiara said warmly, “we owe you. Thank you so much.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary. I’m just doing my job.”

“Nonsense,” Tiara insisted. “You know Jamal’s a dentist, right? Free checkups for the both of you. Right, honey?”

Jamal laughed. “Right, of course. Just say the word and I’ll get you both booked in. Full cleanings, whitening, the works.” He said smiling.

Zoe hadn’t noticed it before — not really — but Jamal had an incredible smile. Straight, white, perfectly cut. The kind of smile that would’ve made a younger version of her blush just a little if she’d caught it in a bar or at a conference.

She realised now that she’d probably been too distracted this whole time, too caught up in Nate’s physique, his size, his sheer presence, to even register how well-built his father was.

Come to think of it ... Nate has that same perfect smile.

Her gaze dipped, slowly, betraying her intentions. Jamal’s shirt clung tight across his chest and arms, the fabric stretched taut at the shoulders and straining faintly at the buttons. And those jeans — snug around the thighs, sharp at the waist — revealed more than they concealed.

And there it was.

The unmistakable outline of something thick. Pressed along one thigh, heavy and pronounced. Her breath caught for just a moment as her eyes lingered.

Like father like son, she murmured aloud, before realising too late that the words hadn’t stayed in her head.

Jamal’s brow raised slightly.

Zoe blinked, snapped back to awareness, realising she was staring directly at his crotch.

“You and Nate,” she recovered quickly, lifting her gaze back to his face. “You have the same smile.”

A beat passed. Jamal grinned again, warm and effortless.

“Thanks for the offer,” Zoe added, straightening her shoulders and smoothing her tone. “We’ll definitely take you up on that at some point. But we should get going — I’ve got dinner to make for this birthday boy.”

“Happy birthday, buddy!” Jamal said cheerfully, giving Barry a firm clap on the back — firmer than Barry had expected. He stumbled forward half a step and laughed, rubbing his shoulder.

“Thanks, guys. And tell Nate congratulations from us,” Barry beamed, clearly still riding the buzz from the game. “He’s made this birthday a really special one!”

Zoe smiled too, but for different reasons entirely.

You have no idea, she thought.

Her mind was already racing ahead. To the dinner. To the dress. To the lingerie. To the toy waiting quietly in its discreet little bag at the back of her closet.

The evening began with a quiet warmth — Zoe handed Barry a cold bottle of beer as he sank into his recliner, eyes already fixed on another football game playing across the screen. He smiled at her, content and relaxed, the hum of post-game satisfaction still lingering in his voice.

She leaned down, kissed him lightly on the forehead. “Stay right there, birthday boy. I’ve got dinner covered.”

He grinned, lifted the bottle in a casual salute, and turned back to the screen.

With the steak already resting, the wine breathing, and the table neatly set for two, Zoe slipped upstairs, her heart beginning to beat with a quicker, more deliberate rhythm.

Time for your other present, she thought with a sly smile.

In front of the mirror, she began her careful transformation. The lingerie hugged her in all the right places — dark lace against soft, pale skin, sheer in places that made her bite her lip. Over it, she slid on the short, curve-hugging dress she’d bought — sinful red, designed to tease. Her cleavage sat high and full, the hem flirted with the tops of her thighs, and when she turned around and looked over her shoulder, even she felt a little surprised at how good she looked.

“He’s going to have a heart attack when he sees me,” she whispered to her reflection, adjusting her hair and applying a final touch of gloss to her lips.

Before heading downstairs, she checked her laptop out of habit — a quick glance at her inbox.

One new message.
From: Dr JJ.

She opened it immediately, scanning the reply from one of her more experienced peers on JustDoctors.

Dear Dr. Monroe,
I am very concerned about the wellbeing of your patient. These are symptoms I have, in fact, encountered before. I would strongly recommend obtaining a sperm sample as soon as possible to further inform our clinical approach. Please keep me updated — I’m happy to collaborate as needed.

Regards,
Dr. JJ

Zoe let out a small breath. Not only was it reassuring to hear someone had seen similar cases before, but the suggestion of a sperm sample felt like a logical, professional step forward — one she’d already been considering.

I’ll get him booked in for a Monday appointment, she thought idly.

But then, her mind slipped.

From the clinical into the forbidden.

The image rose without invitation — those massive, aching testicles, heavy with unspent pressure. Her cheeks flushed, and her thighs tensed reflexively as she imagined the sheer volume, the force, the texture of it — thick and hot and flooding into some sterile container.

Or not so sterile.

Her new panties were already damp. The delicate fabric clung to her, betraying the heat she was trying to suppress. Her fingers twitched, and for a moment she felt the overwhelming urge to part her thighs, slide the lace aside, and sink her fingers into her pulsing, needy cunt.

God...

But she stopped herself. Just barely.

Instead, she stood tall, smoothed her dress down her hips, and forced a slow exhale through parted lips.

She descended the stairs with elegance, masking the fire building inside her.

“Dinner is ready, birthday boy,” she called sweetly from the dining room, the clink of silverware echoing softly behind her.

And beneath her smile ... the hunger waited.

“Holy shit,” Barry breathed from the doorway, frozen in place the moment his eyes landed on her.

Zoe stood in the soft glow of the dining room light, and for a moment, Barry didn’t know where to look — or how to stop looking.

The red Monaco maxi dress flowed over her like liquid desire, clinging just enough to suggest its design had been crafted solely for her body. It wasn’t tight in the obvious sense, but every curve — every rise and swell — was impossibly well-displayed.

Twin thigh-high slits split the skirt on either side, revealing long, smooth, sun-kissed legs that rose all the way up to the soft shadow beneath her hips. With each step, each subtle shift, the dress parted just enough to tease him with glimpses that felt downright pornographic.

Around her waist, a thin gold belt cinched tight, drawing attention to her hourglass shape — the perfect curve of her hips narrowing to that impossibly small, toned waist. And just above it, the plunge of the neckline began.

The V was deep. Obscenely so.

It pulled across her chest with near-frictionless tension, the fabric holding on tight to her heavy 32F breasts. Her cleavage was lush and bold — two firm, proud globes crushed together so closely they looked like they were about to spill free.

And through the cling of the dress’s thin fabric, Barry could clearly make out her nipples — thick and stiff, each one a darkened pebble pressing forward, betrayed by her arousal.

Her hair, thick and dark, cascaded in loose waves halfway down her back, framing her face like something out of a fantasy. And those eyes ... tonight, those vivid green eyes burned deeper, more luminous than he’d ever seen. They held something sharper, something unspoken.

Her lips — painted a deep, seductive red — looked moist and kissable, parted just slightly like she was about to whisper something wicked.

Barry’s eyes moved down again, helplessly roaming, and even amid all that jaw-dropping beauty, he noticed the little things.

The way her earrings, necklace, and watch all shimmered in matching gold, echoing the belt at her waist. The coordination was flawless.

And then there were the shoes.

Six-inch stilettos, golden and unapologetically slutty — the kind that made her legs look impossibly long, her calves sculpted, her thighs flexed just so.

She stood before him like some divine offering — all curves and confidence, seduction and symmetry — a woman who didn’t just know her power, but had chosen this night to wield it.

Barry’s mouth opened, and he didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

He stared, on the verge of drooling, his brain still trying to catch up with what his eyes were telling him.

His wife — his brilliant, elegant, reserved wife — looked like she’d stepped out of his most depraved daydreams.

Zoe laughed softly at the look on her husband’s face — wide-eyed, stunned, like he’d just stumbled into a dream he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch. She walked toward him slowly, hips swaying with deliberate grace, and planted a light kiss on his cheek.

“Happy birthday, honey,” she purred against his skin, her voice warm with affection ... and something darker beneath it.

“I take it, judging by that look, you approve of my new dress?”

“Approve?” Barry exhaled, finally blinking. “You look incredible.”

He reached for her hand, lifting it above her head and spinning her in a slow, reverent circle. The dress, designed to seduce with subtlety and surprise, did exactly what it was meant to do — the split along each leg parting dramatically, revealing the full curve of her toned thighs nearly up to the swell of her hips. Barry’s breath caught in his throat.

“Let’s go upstairs...” he murmured, his hand slipping down to her waist, a faint bulge already showing through the front of his pants.

“Easy, tiger,” Zoe teased, placing a firm hand on his chest and nodding toward the table. “Plenty of time for that.”

She leaned forward slightly, the plunge of her neckline deepening, her breasts pressing tighter against the fabric. Her voice dropped to a sultry whisper. “I didn’t go to all this trouble just to let dinner get cold.”

Barry groaned softly, torn between hunger and desire.

“There’s plenty of time for you to... unwrap your present later,” she added, lips curling into a knowing smile. “Now sit.”

“How am I supposed to sit and eat with you sitting across from me like that?” he asked, grinning like a kid who’d just met his hero.

“Because you have no choice,” she said sweetly. “And because if you don’t eat all your dinner...” she paused, lifting a brow as she leaned in closer, “you don’t get your dessert.”

He laughed, enchanted and visibly aroused.

“Besides,” she continued, her tone shifting into something more suggestive, “I have a feeling you’re going to need all the strength and energy you can muster tonight.”

“Oh yeah?” Barry leaned in. “And what exactly do you have in mind?”

Zoe simply smiled, slow and wicked. “You’ll see, mister. Tonight might just be your lucky night.”

And she meant it. Every word.

For years, she’d laughed off the fantasies Barry had nervously shared — always teasing, always redirecting. But tonight was different. She wasn’t doing this out of guilt or obligation. Something inside her had changed.

She wanted this. Not just for him.

For herself.

Maybe it was the hunger that had been building in her body all week. The memory of Nate’s cock in her hand. The fantasy she couldn’t seem to shake.

Whatever it was, it had awakened something. And tonight, she was letting it out.

“Dinner was delicious,” Barry said afterward, patting his stomach. “Best — and yet hardest — meal I’ve ever had to sit through with you sitting there looking like that.”

Zoe rose from her chair slowly, her legs unfolding with practiced elegance. She leaned over and whispered, “Why don’t you finish that glass of wine in the lounge? I’ll call for you ... when I’m ready.”

Then she walked away, hips swaying, her stilettos clicking softly against the hardwood floor. She didn’t have to turn to know his eyes were following her, but she glanced back over her shoulder anyway — catching his stare, giving him one last slow smile.