Work Text:
Stan was loading the last of the week’s laundry into the dryer when he heard a distinct sound from his back pocket, coupled with a subtle vibration. His phone’s vibration was normally nothing too exciting, but he felt himself get semi-hard in his jeans.
He didn’t argue when Wendy told him to set a special text tone for her messages. It made sense, they were partners. Their entire lives were intertwined. A text from her was more important than any other message he might receive from one of his friends or family members. She tended to send him subtle but sexually charged texts throughout the day, and he couldn't help but associate the vibrating tone with some of the toys she used on him.
Pulling himself from those thoughts, Stan realized he should check his phone sooner rather than later. Retrieving it from his back pocket, he saw a couple of mobile game notifications and one text from his dad, but the only bubble he focused on was the one with Wendy’s name and a purple heart emoji next to it. “Having an awful day.” The text was simple and unemotional, but Stan knew what it meant. Wendy usually left the office around 6:15 and got home around 6:40, giving him only two hours to finish the rest of his tasks for the day and prepare for her return. He made sure to send a thumbs-up reaction to confirm he got her message and then got to work.
There was still lots to be done. Stan had to finish the laundry, clean and put away the dishes, and tidy up whatever seemed out of place. This is usually how Stan spent his days. He kept the house clean, cooked the majority of the meals, and then spent his leftover time playing games with the guys online. Stan didn’t mind this living situation, and he certainly didn’t mind the sexual dynamics that accompanied it. Wendy’s salary was high enough for the two of them to live comfortably and Stan had no real ambitions of his own to chase. He also didn't mind serving as an outlet for Wendy when she got home from that high-paying job.
Once he felt that the living room was spotless, Stan checked his phone again. No new messages from Wendy, but his clock read a couple minutes past 6. She had already left work and he had around forty minutes to get ready. He started by grabbing their special box from the top shelf of the closet. They had multiple boxes throughout their relationship, requiring an upgrade each time they discovered something new to incorporate into their sex life. After five years of living together, and Wendy’s position at work becoming more and more crucial, the size of their box had increased three times. Now it was practically a crate, and Stan struggled to pull it down without dropping it or injuring himself.
Once the box was safely on the coffee table, it was time to get himself ready. He had a few costumes he knew Wendy liked to see him in, and sometimes she would tell him how he should be dressed when she got home. The lack of detail and instruction in her earlier text told him that it must have been a very bad day, and she won’t be fucking around tonight.
Standing in front of their bedroom mirror, Stan pulls off the embarrassingly sweaty t-shirt he had been wearing while cleaning the house. He hated to admit it, but he was out of shape ever since moving in with Wendy and agreeing to stay home. She insisted she liked the way he looked but he couldn't help but feel disappointed at his reflection. He was always on the thicker side but his now protruding stomach was a far cry from the toned abs he sported playing football in high school. After a failed attempt at flexing, he pulled his jeans and boxers off and kicked them aside in frustration. He’d pick them up in a minute. Wendy would want to come home to a tidy bedroom. He’d decided that his birthday suit was the best outfit for the occasion, but there were a couple of accessories that Stan had in mind.
The first was his pair of black thigh-high socks. Wendy bought a couple of pairs for him last year after he tried on a pair of hers one night. They didn’t quite fit, but she liked the way they accentuated the thickness of his thighs and ass. After retrieving them from the sock drawer, he sat down on the bed and rolled the fabric up over each leg. A glance down at his partially obscured thighs sent a twinge of arousal straight to his groin. He felt feminine in a way that felt naughty. Like he was doing something he wasn’t allowed to do. His eyes glanced to the underwear drawer again, considering adding a pair of panties to the night’s outfit, but ultimately decided against it. The idea of being completely exposed for her when she got home, unable to hide his leaking cock behind a layer of fabric added to his fantasy. No panties it is.
For the second accessory, he got up and reached for Wendy’s jewelry box on the top of the dresser. A hidden compartment underneath where she kept her rings and bracelets contained what he was looking for. He didn’t wear it all the time, but he had a feeling she would want him in it tonight. It was an expensive leather collar she had purchased for him on their last anniversary, custom-made to fit Stan perfectly. It was adjustable so she could make it as tight or as loose as she wanted it. Dangling from the front was a metallic pink charm shaped like a heart. Engraved on both sides, the front simply read “STAN” in big bold letters, and on the back was “Property of Wendy Testaburger.” Short and sweet. Enough to make the butterflies in Stan’s stomach flutter as he fastened the buckle around his neck.
He tidied the rest of the apartment in his getup, and he thought about Wendy standing behind him and commenting on the job he was doing. “You missed a spot right there.” and “You wouldn’t have to do this if you just put things in the right place.” All while her predatory gaze fell on his bent over behind. He really couldn’t wait for her to get home. Everything was in place and there were only ten minutes to go, so Stan sat on the couch and stared at the door.
Five minutes had passed. He glanced at the wall clock, his hands nervously rubbing up and down his bare thighs. The long hand inched slowly towards the number eight, and Wendy would be walking through the front door at any moment.
The sound of keys jingling outside sent a cold shiver down his spine. His heart began to race at the sound of the key slowly entering the lock. He wasn’t scared of Wendy in the literal sense, but he had no idea what to expect when she crossed the threshold. Stan knew she needed to let off some steam. The entrance to the apartment opened up with a loud creak.
The couple locked eyes as Wendy pushed her way through the door. “Hey, Stan.” She said plainly, before processing the cleanliness of the house and the state of undress her partner was in. He could see the gleam in her eyes and the trace of a smile forming on her lips as she took in the view. She had trained Stan well. He waited patiently for her to set her purse down and hang up her coat. After crossing the living room rug and planting herself on Stan’s lap, she ranted for what felt like hours to him. This was part one of her ‘stressful day’ routine. As much as the topics of her frustration were lost on him, he could gauge their intensity by how hard she drove her hips downward in her animated expression. With how much she’s been ranting about some new hire she’s affectionately nicknamed “Dipshit Dan,” Stan’s worried he might cum in his pants when he meets him at the company Christmas party.
Stan could feel his eyes glazing over, and he knew Wendy had noticed it too. “Stan, you’re not listening to me,” Wendy stated plainly, not quite admonishing him, but he frowned anyway. “The apartment looks clean, you did a good job,” she commented as she pushed herself up.
Stan immediately missed the warmth and comfort of Wendy on his lap. He wanted to run his hands over the curve of her hips while she pressed her ass against him. Stan was glad she had turned away to rummage through their box. He didn’t want her to catch him pouting and scold him for it. Instead, he watched her as she found what she was looking for: her purple strap-on and a bottle of lubricant gel. “I’ll be right back” Her voice took on a teasing tone as she made her way to the bedroom before turning back to smile at him. “Stay right where you are.” And Stan did.
After what felt like an eternity, Wendy emerged from the bedroom wearing only a silky black robe. Once she was directly in front of Stan’s seat on the couch, she pulled it off and tossed it aside. Stan loved the way Wendy looked wearing the strap. The harness emphasized her figure in all the right places. Even more, he liked the hungry look in her eyes as she stared him down, knowing full well how badly he wanted it inside of him.
“I need you to get it wet for me first, okay?” Stan nodded silently as he slid off the couch and onto his knees. He began by licking at the tip, slowly working his way up to taking the whole object inside his mouth. Stan treated it like it was a real cock, sucking it as if she could feel every motion of his tongue. Technically, Wendy experienced no physical pleasure from Stan sucking her strap. He wished she could though, because he knew firsthand how good it felt when Wendy’s mouth was on him. He also knew that the spit he left on the dildo would dry in a matter of seconds and that Wendy would slather it in lube before she slipped it inside him. That didn’t matter to either of them when Stan put on such a good show of drooling and choking on it. Wendy thrust her hips, sending the silicone toy deep into Stan’s eager throat. He gagged at the intrusion, bile rising to coat the tip of the dildo. Stan swallowed it back down, earning a pleased look from the love of his life as she slowly pulled out of his mouth.
“On all fours, Now.”
Stan quickly lowered his upper body and half-crawled-half-shuffled until he was facing away from Wendy, presenting his backside to her.
Stan couldn’t see what Wendy was doing from his position, but he could feel her hands as they squeezed and cupped his asscheeks, occasionally slipping down beneath the elastic bands of his socks. Once she was done groping his thighs, she moved back up to his ass, teasing his hole by sliding her thumb along his crack. Stan pushed back into her touch, earning a chuckle from the dark-haired dominant.
“You’re so pathetic, Stan. Trying to fuck yourself on a finger that’s barely touching you.”
Stan heard her pop open the cap to the lube and closed his eyes. The cold sensation of the gel always shocked him, and he jumped a little when he felt it against his hole. Apparently, Wendy didn’t feel like teasing him tonight, because the freezing sensation was replaced by the burn of something forcefully entering his hole. Stan groaned at the intrusion but quickly adjusted, pushing his ass towards Wendy’s knuckle. He hated the feeling of loss when she pulled out. His whine of complaint was quickly drowned out by the gasp that overtook him when she entered him with a second finger. It was easy to stretch him out once she had the second finger in, and he could feel them contort into different positions to make her next move less painful for him.
Stan felt empty again when her fingers retreated, but his excitement built up as he heard the pop of the cap for the second time. He was deliriously horny and beyond ready to get fucked. He couldn’t control the slight tremble that coursed through his body as Wendy lined herself up to enter him.
She pressed the tip inside, and it stung more than it should. He found it so hot that she didn’t bother cleaning the remnants of his vomit off of the strap before stretching him open with it. Stan shouted from the pain, but it was muffled by a hand over his mouth and they could no longer hear his pants and whimpers. Stan focused on Wendy’s noises instead. He loved hearing the breathy sounds she made as she exerted herself and the curious hums she let out when she explored his insides even more. She couldn’t say that Stan never listened to her.
The burn subsided as she fucked him. Stan had to lower himself to his elbows, as he could no longer support his own weight on shaky arms. After a particularly hard slam that hit his prostate straight on, he heard what sounded like a weak stream of water pattering against the carpet. Once she pulled out and he was empty again, he could feel it. He had pissed himself a little. Stan’s bladder was weak, and it wasn’t rare for him to leak a bit when he was excited or overstimulated. He managed to cut off the flow as Wendy pushed back into him, creating a steady, less aggressive rhythm than her previous movements. Wendy couldn’t see how red his cheeks were upon noticing his little accident, but she’d certainly caught on to the sound of it.
“God damn it, Stanley!” Wendy scolded but didn’t slow her pace “Not on the fucking rug!”
“Mm- I‘m sorr- sorry Wendy” Stan whimpered, unable to stop himself from leaking again at the excitement of being scolded.
“What did I just say?” Wendy growled as she reached forward to pinch the tip of his cock between her fingers. Stan moaned at the contact. She was still deep inside him but had stopped moving, and he couldn’t stop himself from emptying his bladder despite his best efforts.
“What did I just say, Stanley?” Wendy repeated, louder and firmer this time, her hold on his dick tightening painfully.
“Not on the fucking rug.” Stan squeaked out, his voice barely managing to leave his throat. “Right,” She hummed, “but what did you do?”
“I went on the rug.” He shyly admitted with his head hung low, hoping his submission would convince Wendy to let him cum. His cock was leaking again, this time with precum. Wendy loosened her grip around Stan’s tip and moved downward to enclose the shaft in her hand. “You want to cum so badly, don’t you?” Stan nodded, even though he wasn't sure Wendy could see it from her position behind him. The whimpers he let out while she fucked him must have been evidence enough because she began stroking up and down his cock. He was already slick from the precum and piss, so her hand moved easily along his shaft. Stan rocked his hips back and forward, chasing his orgasm. He let out an embarrassing squeak when Wendy thrust as hard as she could in response. He didn’t care, all Stan could feel was white-hot pleasure as he was sent over the edge. His cum spilled over Wendy’s hand, and some of it shot onto his own chest. Stan felt boneless and fell forwards as he let himself drift away.
He felt barely conscious as Wendy pulled his head up by his collar, dragging him towards her new position on the couch where Stan sat not too long ago. She had taken off the harness at some point in between Stan’s leg-shaking orgasm and rude awakening, and once his eyes adjusted he was face to face with one of his favorite sights. She was already soaking wet, and Stan felt pride in knowing that fucking him turned her on that much. He hardly had a chance to admire the view before Stan was grabbed by the hair and pushed mouth-first into Wendy’s pussy.
Wendy’s position on the couch forced him to sit in the mess he had made earlier, but he didn’t mind so much. The force with which she gripped his hair showed him that she meant business, and he had no wiggle room to tease her. She wanted to cum, and he was dedicated to making it happen. Stan obediently lapped at her clit, and he was happy to hear a moan that wasn’t his for the first time that night. “Fuck, Stan, you’re so good!” Wendy shouted and clamped her legs around his head. Stan knew from experience to keep the pace he was going at, and before long, she was shaking and crying out beneath his tongue. Stan wanted to fall asleep right there, nestled in between Wendy's legs.
Stan sat there in his trance-like state for a while, all of his holes were still wet and he had a dumb look on his face. He hadn’t noticed that Wendy had gotten up from the couch until he felt her fingers lightly tap him on the top of the head.
A rag, a bucket, and some carpet cleaner were placed next to him. “Join me in bed when you’re done cleaning up your mess.” From his position, Stan could only see the lower half of her legs as she walked away towards the bedroom.
Stan smiled as he cleaned his own urine out of the carpet, comforted by the thought that he would soon be drifting off to sleep beside Wendy.