#oscar piastris canonical spanish kink (real)

[piastrixpole]

sweet thing

pairing: fernando alonso x fem!oscar piastri

genre: smut

warnings: age gap, dom/sub, housewife oscar, manipulation, rimming, vaginal fingering, anal fingering, cock warming, body worship, breeding, pregnancy kink, controversial young gf oscar x dirty old man fernando, mark webber haunts the narrative

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In theory, Fernando knows it’s wrong—he understands it as a concept, like a rule that he can intellectually grasp but that has never fully settled into his conscience or lack thereof. Yet that’s as far as his morals stretch; he has drawn the line only at knowledge, not at action. Anyone can sit on the outside and argue that what he’s doing is undeniably and thoroughly wrong. They can preach morality, dissecting every choice he’s made, but if they were in his shoes, if they had felt the pull as intensely and for as long as he has, they wouldn’t hold up as well. The temptation has been there for years, sweet and insistent like the scent of caramel lingering in the air—just close enough to make his mouth water, always out of reach. If they had been tormented by that allure, teased by the idea of indulgence yet bound by restraint, they would have cracked long before he did.

He’s always been vaguely aware of the girl. She was, after all, Mark’s protégé, and anyone close to Mark tended to draw a certain level of intrigue from him. There was something about her—a quiet determination, maybe, or the way she shadowed Mark with such focused intent—that had him keeping her in the corner of his mind, even if only distantly. She lingered in the background of his thoughts, like a half-formed puzzle he couldn’t help but consider now and then, a curiosity that felt both familiar and elusive.

Fernando was far older, seasoned by the world in ways that had stripped away any illusions he might once have held. She, on the other hand, seemed impossibly young—untouched by the shadows he carried and still cocooned in a kind of innocence he’d long since forgotten. It was part of what intrigued him, this contrast between them: her wide-eyed certainty, the way she followed Mark with such unwavering belief. Her innocence almost felt like a challenge, like a reflection of something he might have been once, if he hadn’t made the choices that had led him here. Yet, despite her youth, there was a spark in her that he couldn’t quite dismiss. She had a presence he found himself watching, curious and wary, as if it held the potential to change things he hadn’t realized could be changed.

And then, somehow, she invaded his life. It started subtly, back when he was wrestling with his own regrets at Alpine—second-guessing every choice that had brought him back into this relentless, unforgiving world. She was their reserve driver then, an eager presence on the fringes, absorbing every detail, ready to take on whatever was thrown her way. He’d promised Mark he’d look out for her, to make sure no one—neither the staff nor the higher-ups—would try to use her for their own gain, to protect her from the more ruthless side of the sport. And he had. He’d kept her out of the crossfire, watched from a distance, ensuring she stayed untouched by the industry's harshest realities.

But no one had asked him to make any promises for himself. There was no rule against him feeling the pull of her presence, no oath keeping him from becoming entangled in her orbit. And so, without quite realizing how it happened, he found himself drawn to her, feeling his own self-control slip, as if some part of him had been waiting for this collision all along.

At first, Fernando kept it tame, maintaining an air of innocence that softened his edges and put her at ease. He was careful, measured, like a spider weaving its web slowly, each thread laid so delicately that she never sensed herself being ensnared. He spoke to her with easy confidence, the older mentor guiding the up-and-comer, his gaze lingering just a second too long but always friendly enough to evade suspicion. He knew precisely how to feed her attention in small, digestible doses, inviting her trust, making her feel safe.

When they were alone in the garage, his touches grew bolder, hands drifting to places they shouldn’t, lingering for the briefest moments—just enough to spark something in her mind without giving anyone else reason to notice. His grip was firm, possessive even, subtly asserting his presence in her thoughts, a silent message that told her she was his to guide, his to influence. And before long, that message had planted itself deep, binding her without a single overt gesture or word, until she was entwined so fully in his orbit that pulling away no longer felt like an option.

Things were still unfolding far too slowly for Fernando’s taste. Despite his careful advances, she seemed maddeningly oblivious to his interest, leaving him to wonder if she was truly that naïve or simply playing an excruciatingly hard-to-get game. Frustration simmered beneath his patience, and he was beginning to doubt whether he’d miscalculated. But then, the situation shifted, a stroke of luck handed to him in the form of her contract drama.

His own move to Aston Martin had been, as usual, entirely self-serving—Fernando had rarely made a decision without a hint of selfish ambition guiding it. Yet, he’d known, somewhere in the back of his mind, that leaving his Alpine seat open would likely bring her into the fold. Mark had been working tirelessly, negotiating with McLaren, laying out a clear path for her future. Or at least, he had been. But then, things unraveled in the worst way possible. Missteps and misunderstandings left Oscar Piastri with his seat instead, and she was left without a position at all. McLaren, concerned about the controversy of hiring a female rookie with all eyes watching, backed off entirely. In the end, Alpine refused to take her back, leaving her caught in the fallout, isolated and painfully aware of how precarious her footing in the sport truly was.

She’d masked her devastation well, shielding herself behind a steely exterior to ward off criticism and public pity. But Fernando saw through it. He had spent too long observing her to miss the cracks in her armor, the subtle way her shoulders slumped or how her gaze would harden at any mention of the ordeal. He could read her now, and he knew that her heartbreak was real, lurking beneath her carefully controlled expressions.

It was that vulnerability, perhaps, that finally opened the door he’d been knocking on for so long. The disappointment and isolation she felt had worn down her defenses, making her susceptible to the comfort he offered. Fernando had no intention of wasting the opportunity, and he was all too willing to be the one she leaned on in the absence of anyone else. In her lowest moments, he became her confidant, her solace—the one person who understood. And just like that, she had stepped deeper into his web, exactly as he’d planned.

Now, she was his. She trailed him through the paddock, attentive and loyal, ready to support him through each race, her presence as constant and obedient as a shadow. Mark remained none the wiser, still believing Fernando’s interest in the young girl was nothing more than a mentor’s concern, a natural extension of the responsibility he himself had once shouldered. Fernando had downplayed his interest masterfully, mirroring Mark’s protective demeanor to deflect any suspicion. As far as Mark knew, Fernando’s watchful eye on her was just another layer of guidance, the kind of steady hand an older driver offered to someone so young and fresh to the sport.

But reality was far different. What Mark saw as mentorship was, in truth, a claim. Fernando had woven himself so tightly into her life that she barely knew where her decisions ended and his influence began. He’d become her confidant, her anchor, someone she trusted implicitly in a world that had already let her down. And it was exactly where he wanted her—close, loyal, and bound to him in ways no one else understood. He enjoyed the secrecy, the quiet knowledge that she was his alone, that beneath the facade of support was a bond infinitely more possessive and profound than anyone could guess.

Mark would probably have a heart attack if he could see her now. Unknowingly being corrupted by a man old enough to be her father. To Mark, she was still the eager young driver he’d taken under his wing, the one he’d been so careful to shield from the darker side of racing, convinced that her talent deserved nothing but purity and respect. He’d trusted Fernando to do the same, to protect her from the sport’s rougher edges and ensure she stayed on a path untainted by power games or external ambition.

But if he saw her now, standing so close to Fernando, her loyalty already shifting, her trust reshaped and twisted into something far more complicated, Mark’s world would shatter. Fernando had blurred those boundaries with practiced ease, taking on the role of mentor only to turn it into something far more personal, drawing her in with that slow, calculated charm. In Mark’s eyes, Fernando was still the veteran teammate who’d promised to look after her; in reality, he was the one leading her astray, and she was far too ensnared to even see it.

Like Fernando said, it was easy to claim the situation was morally wrong. Not when he’d finally gotten a taste of her. Now that he’d tasted what he’d been chasing, he knew there was no turning back. Right and wrong had become blurred concepts, abstract lines that faded the closer she came to him.

He could still see the way her eyes softened when she looked at him, the way she trusted him without question—a trust he knew he hadn’t earned the way she believed. But for Fernando, that trust only deepened his claim, reinforcing the thrill of having crossed every boundary they weren’t supposed to. It was too late for second thoughts, too late for restraint. Now, she was his, and nothing—certainly not something as frail as morality—was going to change that.

The fabric barely covered her upper thighs, the microskirt hugging her form in a way that was almost scandalous. Fernando couldn’t help but admire his own handiwork; investing in that tiny skirt had been a stroke of brilliance. He’d indulged her all day, sparing no expense as he treated her, rewarding her with anything her heart desired. And now, as she stood in front of the mirror, twirling slightly, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction, he saw just how perfectly it fit. One small movement, a shift of her hips or a slight bend, and it would leave nothing to the imagination.

He’d carefully, steadily eased her out of her former constraints, erasing any trace of modesty she once had. Modesty was a useless relic now, one she had no reason to cling to. Fernando had made sure of that, just as he’d ensured she understood she no longer needed to hide from him—or from anyone. She was his now, accessible to him whenever he wanted, and she understood that fully. There was no pretense left, no hesitation; she was exactly where he wanted her.

Fernando smirked in satisfaction as she twirled around to show it off at various angles. Normally skirts weren't his thing but this one was fucking hot. The pleated material sat comfortably on her hips and ended just below her pussy.With a newfound energy and confidence Oscar practically glowed. “I love it, papi ,”she exclaimed, her voice bright with delight. The words hung in the air between them, a mix of admiration and something deeper that made his pulse quicken. He could see how the skirt had transformed her, drawing out a boldness that only amplified her allure. It was a perfect reflection of what he had nurtured in her, the shift from shy naivety to unapologetic self-assurance. In that moment, surrounded by her laughter and enthusiasm, Fernando felt a surge of possessiveness; she was his creation, and he couldn’t help but relish in the satisfaction of knowing he’d awakened this side of her.

For the longest time he’d built up her confidence. Their shared time at Alpine had crippled her self esteem and she constantly felt insecure in the way she looked. Wondering why on earth Fernando Alonso, who could have anyone, had chosen her. But it was so liberating to be his. With Fernando she could turn off her brain and not subject herself to thinking. He always told her she was far too pretty to concern herself with that. He’d broken her down to her deeply concealed but authentic self unbeknownst to her.

When racing was no longer an option, he’d been right there, stepping in to fill the void. As she struggled with the loss of her dreams, he had eased her pain, quietly reinforcing the bond between them. Now, with him, there was no need to fret over what was next. All that mattered was being by his side, supporting him, just as he had been there to support her. The complexities of the past faded away; now her world revolved around him. She embraced her role wholeheartedly, finding a sense of purpose in being his confidante, his partner, a steadfast presence in his life. Being there for Fernando, creating a home they shared, acting as his perfect stay at home girlfriend felt like the fulfillment of something she hadn’t even known she’d needed.

They settle into a routine quickly. Fernando comes home from a long day at the factory and Oscar’s there concentrated over the stove wearing a slutty little apron that had been gifted to her by Fernando. It’s a tiny piece of fabric that barely covers the front of her, some of her cleavage spilling out of the sides that may or may not have been Fernando’s intention. And of course, it's backless so her sweet bubble butt is greeting him as soon as he walks in the door. His gaze follows down to the matching thigh highs she has on, hand-picked from their extensive collection paired with an adorable pair of kitten heels. Fernando found himself entranced, unable to look away as he took in the sight before him. It felt as if time had stopped; the world outside faded away, leaving just the two of them in this intimate moment. He studied how the thigh-highs clung to her skin, the way they transformed her from a young girl into someone undeniably sultry. In these moments, she wasn’t just Oscar; she was a vision, and he could feel a primal need rising within him.

“Hi honey,” she rests her hand on his shoulder to lean in, kissing his cheek gently. “How was work?”

“Long. Dinner better be ready,” Fernando demands. There’s a hard edge to his voice that makes Oscar’s knees weak with lust. It’s the kind of edge that promises bruises and sore hips come morning.

“Few more minutes.”

Fernando groans dramatically, and Oscar purses her lips against a smile. “Just while the potatoes crisp. Let me take your jacket.”

Fernando does just that, letting Oscar trail her fingertips over his shoulders in a slow, teasing manner, finally getting the chance to really admire the suit he had worn today. It's grey, with a crisp white undershirt that exposes itself more with every tug, a far cry from the usual team wear that Aston Martin has Fernando in usually.. The green tie looks good against his skin, tan and unmarked- a fact Oscar wants to change.

She pulls the jacket off and takes it to the closet by the front door, hanging it up and diligently doing up the buttons at the bottom so it wouldn’t wrinkle.

“That apron looks so good on you, mi amor ,” Fernando purrs.

“Thank you, sir,” Oscar blushes, feeling the familiar pull in her gut at his words.

“House looks good too. Thank you for cleaning up.”

“It’s my job,” she brushes off the praise as if she hadn’t been dying to hear it all day.

Fernando smiles. “I know. You’re just my cute little housewife. What else would you do all day if I’m not around to fuck you?”

Hot white liquid iron burns through her veins. Her cheeks go red, chest squeezing. “Nothing. I wouldn’t do anything.”

Fernando sighs dreamily. “House smells great too.”

As if on cue the oven beeps.

Oscar smiles and takes Fernando’s hand gently, guiding him over to the dining table and pulling out the chair for him.

Fernando slides in, sitting patiently while Oscar fixes his plate for him. She piles it high, probably more than what Fernando could realistically eat on his diet, and serves it in front of him with as much grace as she can muster.

A hand trails up the back of her thighs, leaving a gentle smack on her round cheeks. His fingertip brushes against the lace just about covering her cunt, teasing and coy. “Thank you, honey, you’re such a good girl for me.”

There it is again. Good girl .

The praise and the pet names are sending her to outer space.

If she was floating on her own, she’s completely discombobulated now. It doesn’t even feel like she has a body, mouth full of love that coats her throat so thick she could barely speak. “Thank you.”

“Thank you, cariña . Does mi linda pequeña esposa want to keep me warm while I eat?”

Oscar nods dumbly. “Yes please.”

Fernando sits back a little.

Oscar gracefully goes to her knees, careful of her apron that flattens across his thighs. She shuffles around awkwardly to settle between her husband’s.

Fernando doesn’t move to help her, just starts eating quietly above her.

Beneath the table, it’s like a little cave, only adding to her floaty headspace. It’s so safe here between Fernando’s legs, like nothing in the world could ever hurt her. She trusts him completely and knows Fernando will take care of her no matter what, even if the sky begins to fall or oceans rise, he’ll keep her safe.

She loves Fernando’s thighs. She rubs over them in the suit appreciatively just once, adoring the strength of muscle beneath her palms before she goes for his belt, undoing it carefully. The click of the metal resonates in the air as she pulls it open, along with the button on his slacks.

Oscar carefully pulls his soft cock from his pants and underwear. Her mouth is already filling with drool as she gives him a tentative lick, earning a warning grunt. She’s not there to get him off, she’s there to keep him warm, so that’s what she does, pulling the soft, thick head into her mouth, letting the heavy weight settle across her tongue.

“Fixing me dinner,” Fernando cards his fingers in the soft golden hairs in his lap. “Cleaning the house, getting on your knees for me, you’re such a buena esposa for para mi huh?”

Oscar hums in appreciation around him, sucking softly.

She could stay there forever, Fernando stroking her hair while she keeps him warm. She feels so useful like this, so loved and cherished.

Oscar lets her eyes slip shut, sucking every now and again but never enough to get her off no matter how much she aches to feel him hit the back of her throat and choke her on his dick.

Tap.

Oscar tries not to smile around the cock in her mouth. She taps Fernando’s thigh back.

She has such a good husband, always checking on her and caring for her. Her heart soars with unrefined love.

Time passes strangely like this, much as it had the entire day. It takes her a moment to register Fernando’s words sometime later. “I’m finished amor , put me up now.”

Oscar whimpers. She doesn’t want to move.

“Quit being such a cockslut and listen to me.” his voice goes sharper.

Wanting to be good for him, she pulls off with a wet pop.

She’s not ready to get up yet, she feels at home here. Her mind helpfully supplies this is your place. Cook for him, clean for him, get him off. It’s what you’re meant to do.

Oscar knows it’s a terrible, outdated belief, a gross, nasty stereotype of a wife. It’s not realistic. It’s barbaric. But being that for Fernando gets her off like nothing else.

Giving in, she tucks Fernando back into his pants and crawls out from under the table, wiping at the spit coating her lips. Eyes wide, she stares up at Fernando for a second, drinking him in.

Fernando gives her plenty of time, petting her cheek while he regathers himself enough to stagger to his feet.

“Why don’t you go start dishes.” He commands easily, giving Oscar the direction she so craves.

Oscar nods. Right, she needs to keep up with her house duties even when her husband is here.

She gathers Fernando’s plate and clears off the remnants into the trash, carrying it over to the sink.

Oscar fills it up with water, well aware of Fernando watching her closely. His gaze scorches everywhere it touches, lighting her on fire with a burning intensity.

She keeps her eyes on the dishes in the sink, not even looking up as the man approaches her.

“Dinner was so good, cariña ,” he kisses her cheek, wandering hands trailing anywhere they can reach. “I think you deserve a treat.”

Oscar gulps. “Thank you.”

Fernando slowly gets down on his knees behind her and oh, Oscar knows where this is going.

She’s spreading her legs apart before Fernando even asks, getting down on her elbows in front of the sink happily.

“What a slut. I didn’t even tell you what your treat is and you’re already acting like this?”

“Mm excited papi, I’ve been waiting all day,” she bites his lip.

Fernando reaches back up under her apron, pulling the thong down and off this time so she’s nude beneath it, helping her step out of them so she doesn’t trip. Fernando tosses them somewhere behind them and pulls the apron up once again to get access to Oscar’s tits. Instead of throwing it over as he had done previously though, he lets the fabric fall back around her front, and that is a feeling in and of itself. It’s lewd and tantalizing to feel the soft brush of his hair against her ass as he noses up her thigh, but then Fernando is grabbing handfuls of her butt, pulling her cheeks apart so he can lavish a broad swipe of his tongue before she can get used to any one sensation of the multitude she’s feeling right now.

Oscar moans, loud and unabashed. It feels so good, even with the plug that blocks her from licking the place she most wants him to the most. The burn of his beard is wonderful, she hopes her thighs will stay pink with the itchy scratches after this, wants to feel it every time she sits down and be brought back to this moment.

She gets so lost in the wet, hot tongue prodding at her rim and sucking in places just to make her squeal she forgets what she’s supposed to be doing.

Luckily Fernando is there to remind her, to tell her what to do when she can’t think for herself. “Do the dishes, baby, be a good girl.”

She nods frantically as if Fernando could see her.

Hands shaking, she grabs the plate in the sink, scrubbing over it. It doesn’t get clean nearly as well as it needs to, but she can’t manage to do a good job when Fernando’s tongue is poking at her rim, licking her most intimate area.

She’s going to explode.

“Papi, please,” she whimpers, practically speedrunning the dishes. She doesn’t care, she can’t care, it feels too good. It’s too vulgar, too lewd, the way his tongue laps around the base of the plug still in her ass, licks over her slit, and leaves trails of spit that leaves her feeling wet and needy. “I’m finished!” she announces, all but throwing the final fork. “I’m finished, please!”

Fernando pulls back, breath hot against her in the confined space. “Good job, baby. Why don’t you finish cleaning up the rest and come join me when you’re done?” he asks with one final squeeze of her ass.

Fernando stands, already walking off towards the living room again, completely unaffected while Oscar can hardly stand, panting helplessly against the sink on wobbly knees.

It’s probably killing him to not help clean up, Oscar can’t help but think. Fernando always helps clean up, especially since he’s near useless when it comes to actually cooking.

“Yes , papi,” she calls back. Even her voice trembles.

Mind blissfully blank, she makes quick work of clearing off the table and packing up the leftovers to eat later when they’re done with the scene, trying not to think about the spit slicked between her cheeks that slide with every step she takes.

Soon enough she’s drifting over to the couch where Fernando is sitting with his thighs wide apart, arms stretched over the back of the couch looking relaxed and comfortable.

He perks up when he notices Oscar approaching, sitting up a little in his spot.

“There she is, mi hermosa esposa. Come here,” he pats his thigh invitingly.

Oscar floats over to him, not hesitating to straddle his thigh and settle onto his leg.

Fernando pulls her in for a kiss, tender and sweet. Oscar clutches at the button-up shirt he wears, holding onto the fabric like a lifeline when that hand settles back into her hair, using it to tug her neck back. She can’t even cringe away at the tickle of his lips against her neck, kissing and sucking at the skin as if she didn’t already wear bruises from their activities the night before, and the night before that, and the night before that-

Fernando works at the skin until it turns pink beneath his tongue, lapping down her neck until he’s at her chest. He pushes the material of her apron up, the sleeves around her shoulders doing nothing to hold the top of it up anymore. The second her chest is exposed, Fernando is latching on to her nipples, pinching one while he kisses and sucks on the other.

Oscar can’t help but grind down against his thigh at the feeling, and the lewd sight is something even better, going straight to her cunt to watch how his husband sucks at her chest, moving on to the other nipple to give it the same treatment. They pebble under his touch, giving him something to nip at that makes Oscar gasp pathetically. She’s so sensitive there, a fact Fernando knew well with how often he exploited it.

The sound only encourages him to bite down harder, pulling the delicate nubs, twisting to make her squirm and plead for more. “ Papi , please!”

“No,” he chastises with a pinch to her ass. “You don’t ask for anything tonight, got it muñeca ? You take what I give you.”

Oscar jolts, nodding along quickly to show that she gets it, she does, she can’t think but she can understand her place, she can be good.

Fernando gives her poor boobs a break. Her nipples ache in the chilled air when he pulls back with another order. “Lay down for me, okay baby? Put your legs in my lap.”

Oscar eagerly does just that, resting her head on the armrest she had been bent over this morning.

She stretches long, porcelain legs out over Fernando’s lap, eager to know where this is going to go.

Fernando smirks, stroking over her hairless legs covered in the white sheen of the thigh highs. His chuckle is low and dark as he asks, “You’re just a pretty little fucktoy, aren’t you? You don’t even think, you just do whatever I say huh?”

The subtle degradation wedges its way beneath her skin, searing into her flesh like a brand.

“Yes papi , just for you.”

“That’s right because what am I?” Fernando asks, hand hovering over her but refusing to touch her neglected cunt so it’s dripping between her legs.

“ Papi !” Oscar whines. “You’re my esposo .”

She lays there beneath the harsh glow of the tv in the slowly darkening room, completely naked and exposed for Fernando. Her cunt- dripping down her thighs now- twitches in approval, the lovebites littering her neck and chest throbbing.

“That’s right, baby. You belong to me,” Fernando takes her in hand, slowly rubbing down her slit, drawing a cry of relief from her. “Your body belongs to me. I can do whatever I want to you huh?”

Tap.

“Yes papi , anything.” he agrees mindlessly.

Tap.

“Good. Now you’re going to lay here and let me play with you while I watch tv. I need something to do with my hands,” he says dismissively, sitting back against the couch.

Like she’s nothing but a toy. Literally.

Fernando won’t even look at her.

The first stroke of his hand makes her hips jerk up, chasing the feeling she’s long burned for. Fernando lets her get away with it once, something for which Oscar is grateful. It takes a lot of mental energy to stay still after that. She clings onto the couch, pinches the fabric of his slacks, claws at the cushions, anything to keep her from squirming around in the cruel, painfully slow touch.

Burning . She’s burning up.

Oscar’s flush grows down the length of her chest, the tight ball in his abdomen becoming a solid rock of arousal. She bites her lip to contain her needy sobs, on the verge of begging for more, endlessly more. All she can think anymore is how desperate she is to cum, to find release.

He’s doing nothing but fingering her but it feels like it goes on for hours, her cuny tightening and tightening with every languid stroke, every swipe of his thumb over her clit or rough pounding of her G-spot..

She pants and rocks up but Fernando takes his hand away when she does. At least she earns his gaze back on her, even if it’s accompanied with his ire. “No. You’re going to lay there and take it, got it?”

It’s almost more painful to not be touched right now so she nods and cries into the cushions.

She’s completely on display like this, but she imagines that’s what Fernando wants. A good wife to spread their legs for him whenever he wants for however long he wants. Fernando has all the control here, every last ounce of it. She’s never felt more safe . Taken care of. She leaves it all up to Fernando, trusting him to know what’s best for her, and if being edged well into the night is what’s best for her, she’d take it and say thank you for delicious torture.

“Thank you, papi,” she breathes out in response to the thought, trying to keep her hips still. She’s so overstimulated though it’s agonising. The muscles in her abdomen tense with the urge to fuck into his hand until she cums.

“For what?”

“Taking care of me!” Her hips jerk anyways.

“Stupid slut can’t listen,” Fernando takes ahold of her thighs, holding her down cruelly. “What happened to my good girl huh? You’re being a bad-”

“Yellow.”

Fernando freezes.

“Yellow.” She repeats, tears squeezing free from the corners of her eyes.

He removes his hands from Oscar.

The comedown is painful without the stimulation but it’s necessary.

“Are you okay?” Fernando asks, worry soaking his words.

“I’m not…” she struggles to say it. She doesn’t want to fuss or disappoint but if he says one more word like that Oscar will want to do nothing more than curl up and hide. “I’m sorry.”

“No amo r, tell me.”

“I know I was being bad but… I don’t want you to say that I’m bad. It makes me feel… bad. Not in a sexy fun kind of way tonight, not like this.”

That’s the best explanation she can give for it. It’s not the most eloquent phrasing but it’s hard to describe how being told she’s bad makes her feel. It latches onto her heart and squeezes all the blood out, it turns her skin to ice and freezes over the rational part of her brain that knows Fernando loves her. It hurts .

“Okay,” Fernando’s tone is comforting, so full of understanding. “So no punishments?”

“Umm… no. Not tonight. I’m not trying to get out of it!” she tacks on at the end.

“Hey, I know. I know what you’re trying to say. If you don’t want to hear stuff like that then I won’t say stuff like that tonight.”

Her voice comes out smaller than she meant for it to. “Just tell me I’m good?”

“I can do that,” Fernando smiles softly. “Now, what’s your colour? Do you need a break?”

“I’m good,” she finds her wrist.

Tap.

Tap.

“Why don’t I take mi dolce esposa to bed then, huh?” Fernando coos, falling back into the role with ease. He takes hold of Oscar’s clit again, playing with it lightly. “You gonna spread your legs for me? Take my cock like a good girl?”

Oscar bucks into his touch, delighting when there’s no reprimand for it. “Yes papi. ”

“Good, get up then,” he slaps a hand down on Oscar’s ass, drawing a whimper from her as she scrambles to get up.

Oscar may be slightly taller, but Fernando is strong.

He stands and scoops Oscar up bridal style in one fell swoop, surprising her as she yelps and clings to him at the sudden change.

Oscar adjusts quickly, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Fernando’s beautiful eyes land on Oscar’s before he’s pulling her in for a kiss, so much softer and sweeter than the rest of the night had been.

When he pulls back, he carries them down the hall to their bedroom, flicking on the lights on his way past the threshold.

“Hands and knees, baby,” Fernando tosses her down onto the bed.

Oscar forces her body to move, pulls herself up onto her hands and knees.

Impatiently Fernando grabs hold of the plug, Oscar gasping out a whine as it’s pulled out of her and tossed to the sheets. She’s left empty and gaping as Fernando undoes his pants again, though not for long as he slips two fingers inside of her ass and then three deep into her cunt to make sure she’s stretched well enough. Once he deems it sufficient, he pulls his fingers out, Oscar quaking with anticipation.

The zipper of his pants is deafening.

Fernando doesn’t even bother taking his pants off all the way, just pushing them down around his thighs with his boxers to pull his cock free, lubing it up and sliding into her cunt so fast Oscar can hardly keep up. That same zipper digs into her ass painfully but she can’t find it in herself to care, adoring the mixture of pain alongside the bliss of finally being full of Fernando’s cock. “Fuck baby,” Fernando breathes. “You feel so good. You’re my good girl huh?”

“Yes, yes, I’m your good girl papi, I-” she can’t even finish the sentence, wind knocked out of her as Fernando starts fucking her, never giving her time to adjust. He knows she doesn’t need it, he knows a slut like his wife can take it.

Tap.

Tap.

Oscar waits to feel that shock of pleasure, for Fernando to start really fucking her, but it never comes.

He’s not even trying.

They have had sex so many times Oscar has lost count. They’ve done it in every position imaginable, in every location possible , it doesn’t matter, Fernando knows where her G-spot is, how to fuck her to make her see stars.

But as Fernando begins thrusting in and out, he doesn’t even try to aim, using her like… like a cock sleeve.

She sobs, trying to fuck herself back on his cock to hit it herself but Fernando doesn’t let her.

She opens her mouth to beg, but remembers his earlier words. She’s not allowed. She can’t beg, she can’t move, the best she can do is let herself be used, dragged back and forth, fucked but never good enough.

It’s because it’s not about you. It’s about making him feel good, your pleasure comes second.

She cries freely, overwhelmed with the feeling of it.

Fernando speeds up, thrusts becoming uneven. “I’ve got the perfect esposa huh, baby?”

Yes, yes, yes, I’m the perfect wife I’m good for you, I’m so good please-

“Shh, I’ve got you, baby, you’re so good for me,” Fernando soothes.

She didn’t even notice she was talking out loud.

Fernando cums, hips stuttering and stalling inside her. The way he fills her up is amazing, she loves it, but she needs to cum already holy shit “mm take all my cum pequena …want to give you a baby mi amor , you’d look so pretty knocked up from a dirty old man like me, the perfect mami to our kids.”

She’s held in place as her husband comes down from his high. When he’s ready to move again, Fernando pulls out, the lewd feeling of cum dribbling out of her making her sob all over again.

He turns Oscar over onto her back, tracing teasingly over her clit once again and scooping back up the cum left oozing from her opening, before fucking it roughly back in with his fingers..

“Oh god, Papi, papi, papi-” she chants and cries. She can’t last, there’s no chance, it feels too good, too much after too long.

She spills over Fernando’s hand in record time. She stops breathing, muscles seized up as she finally finds the well sought-after relief she’s needed all day. Her eyes squeeze shut, clinging onto Fernando who works her through the blinding, all-encompassing pleasure. Her vision goes white, head spinning, ears ringing, every muscle in her body locked up painfully tight with each shot of cum that drapes over Fernando’s hand.

Slowly, she remembers to breathe.

Suddenly everything is so overwhelming.

She clings onto Fernando sobbing into his shoulder. The stupid button-up shirt is still there, blocking him from the skin-on-skin contact she needs right now.

“Hey, I’m here,” strong arms wrap around her, holding her tight. Fernando’s voice is quiet and soft, familiar with the way the more intense scenes like this can overwhelm Oscar.

She knows that. She never doubts it for a second. “I love you.”

“I love you too. You okay?”

Oscar nods into his neck. “Mm floating.”

“How about we take a bath? And I can pamper my beautiful wife.”

Oscar giggles at the term. “You’d have to actually marry me first.”

Fernando stiffens.

The reaction is unusual, to say the least. Did they not just spend an entire day pretending to be husband and wife? How many times did Fernando call her his wife today, a million?

She must have said something wrong though. Did Fernando not enjoy this? Or was it the thought of marriage that made him clam up?

He’s pulling away before Oscar is ready, leaving her sitting on the bed shivering.

“I’m gonna go start the bath alright? You just sit here and look pretty,” Fernando strokes over her cheek before disappearing out the door.

The tears that beat at the corner of her eyes are unbidden but she couldn’t control them if she tried. Her body feels weak and sluggish, she needs Fernando back to hold her, to tell her it’s alright, that she did good. Why would he leave her like that? Why would he stiffen up and get all weird?

It’s as if she blinked and Fernando is back, shushing her gently and cupping his hands in her slightly smaller ones. “Hey, baby, what’s wrong?”

Oscar just shakes her head. She can’t say the words.

“Do you still want a bath?”

She nods.

Fernando helps her stand, holding her tight through the cramped hallway as they make their way to the bathroom.

The mirror is already beginning to fog up, something she’s grateful for. She doesn’t even want to know how much of a wreck she looks like right now.

She steps out of her stockings and heels and slides into the warm water, sighing in relief. The warm water replaces some of the cold that had seeped into her bones, made even better as Fernando slides into the tub behind her after hastily shucking out of his own clothes.

Things are quiet and hazy as she comes down.

Fernando respects that, only engaging her in conversation when he’s ready.

“Are you okay, Oscar?”

The use of her name brings her out of the fog just a bit. Absently she realizes she hasn’t heard it very often today, maybe once this morning? She doesn’t know.

“Yeah,” she replies.

“What got you so upset?”

What’s she supposed to say? ‘You don’t want to marry me’? No. Nu uh.

“Nothin. It was just a lot.”

Fernando wraps his arms around Oscar’s chest, squeezing. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“You still seem down. Did you not enjoy something about tonight?”

Pretty eyes plead with her over her shoulder. She sighs, willing the tears that well up inside back again. Her voice is thick as she says, “You don’t want to marry me.”

“What? Oscar.”

There's her name again. That’s her. Oscar. He’s not a wife, just Oscar.

“Look at me.”

She looks up slowly. Fernando smiles sweetly, reassuring with a chaste kiss to her bitten lips.

“I would love to call you my wife for real,” Fernando grins.

“Really? Even if Mark kills you.”

“Really. Especially if Mark tries to kill me. Can we talk about it more when you can think a little better?”

At that Oscar can’t help but huff out a laugh. “Yeah. I don’t think I’ve ever came so hard in my life.”

Fernando bonks his head against Oscar’s shoulder, letting him know everything will be okay.

Oscar’s hand finds his, and while he struggles with the words, he lets him know he feels his reassurance.

It wasn’t much—just a touch, a small gesture—but it was enough. He didn’t need words to convey the weight of his reassurance; he simply wanted Oscar to know he was here, unwavering.

After a pause, Oscar’s fingers slide over Fernando’s, hesitant but steady, finally resting over his hand. She glances down, struggling to find the right words, but in the silence, her grip tightens, a quiet thank you that says everything she can’t. In that unspoken exchange, surrounded by nothing but the soft hum of the world around them, Oscar lets Fernando’s presence settle her nerves, reassured by the comfort of knowing she’s not alone in this.