Page 1 of For Pleasure Or Worse

chapter one

Natalia

I was usedto seeing my fiancé twisted into many revealing and appealing positions. Both of his ankles tied to the metal slats of our bedframe by my old sorority ribbons. Or with lean muscles and corded thighs flexed, one leg up on the mattress to find that perfect angle. Sometimes with his knees spread so far apart in a squat one might ask how his perineum wasn’t also doing the splits.

Mateo Duran was the love of my life, my future husband, and the only man I’d ever unironically shouted at to “put a baby in me.” Which, for me, meant just as much commitment as the two-carat rock I intentionally left off my finger anytime the two of us were filming sex. Too rough, too much gyrating, too many fluids. We took our safety precautions very seriously.

Today, my brutishly handsome, freckle speckled Special Forces veteran of a man—all two hundred pounds of honed, Florida sun-kissed skin and perfectly shaggy salt-waved hair—was on hands and knees in front of me. His cute, dimpled, boyish asscheeks pinched together so tightly I couldn’t even swipe a credit card through the crack.

I had the upper hand. Not only physically—because the plum purple strap-on wagging like a limp noodle and attached to mywaist was not going inmysecret garden this go-around—but mentally as well, because he couldn’t see my face as I curled my lips into my teeth and stifled the urge to make yet another joke about the amount of lube Matty brought home in preparation for our regularly scheduled content night.

Just like any other job, Mondays were the beginning ofMat & Nat’swork week. There was a whiteboard above the computer desk in the corner of the bedroom with sticky notes and usernames. Mateo color-coordinated the calendar: yellow for ideas, orange for things we hadn’t tried before, purple for my solo film schedule, blue for his. Green meant someone was paying very handsomely for whatever was on the docket. Red was code for ‘film this now, time is ticking.’ Sometimes the colors would overlap; often the list of requests from our Monday night stream would get so long Mateo would break out a ruler and separate the whiteboard into columns.

Tuesdays were theme night, roleplay. The usual, predictable doctor/patient, rodeo rider/ cowgirl, school teacher/naughty little student. Wednesdays I was the director for my better half, and Thursdays Mateo put on a ridiculous fedora that he insisted made him feel like Tarantino and stood behind the camera for me. Saturdays were reserved for our kinkier crowd—all the bells and whistles and belts and leather were pulled out of a tote under the bed. Sundays were for the Lord, of course. We watched the porn back instead of making it.

But on Fridays we filmed. Tonight’s sticky note was triple-tiered: green, red, and orange.

“These have to come apart at some point.” I rubbed my palms down Mateo’s tailbone and tried to coax his whiter shade of cheeks apart with gentle circles.

“Just…give me a minute, Tally.” He reached across the mattress and popped the cap off a near empty bottle of lubricant. “Are we sure this is the right angle? I feel like we might need anadjustment on the lights. It’s too yellow; the hue is throwing me off.”

Our display screen mimicked us as we turned our heads slightly to peer into it. Mateo’s gold cross dangled from around his neck, glinting in the staged lighting. His naturally tanned Italian skin and chest tattoo glowed under the layer of oil and dew drops of water I misted out of a spray bottle onto his naked body minutes prior. One of our tripods was at the side of the bed, both of us filling the horizontal frame; another was front and center to catch every hanging jaw and eye-rolling second of the cam video we were commissioned to produce bymommyhole91.

“This lighting makes your eyes pop, though. It brings out all those burnt orange notes. Too bright and we both get washed out.” The lube bottle squelched on its last slimy legs as I emptied it over my faux cock. “I’ll do some color correction during editing. Don’t worry about it now.”

Mateo’s fingers sunk into the white duvet and the veins in his forearms bulged thicker. “Maybe being on my back would look better.” He adjusted himself, flopping over, so negatively turned on that his dick could be mistaken for a ballpark hot dog stuck to some chewing gum.

I glanced back into the display, my black lace push-up bra and criss-cross harness giving me a wicked power trip, and made an unimpressed sound. “To be honest, this is more submissive than the doggy.”

“I’mnotsubmissive,” Mateo pouted.

“You’renot,”I agreed. “You are a trusting, giving, all encompassing, pleasure seeking, euphoric sexual partner. One who is so kindly fulfilling his woman’s erotic dream of pegging her Dom and claiming all of his body as he has claimed hers.”

Mateo sat up, our noses brushing. “Wait, that’s seriously your erotic dream?”

“No. It’smommyhole91’s. They were very detailed in this prompt.”

He huffed, throwing himself back into the pillows. A bit of lube dripped off my purple friend and landed on his fleshy one and he flinched. “How much money is this person paying us again?”

I tangled my fingers in the cold metal chain lying on his collarbone and tugged him up by it until his ear met my lips. “Ten.”

Mateo’s eyes widened, a forced, delighted shiver rippling across his shoulders and lighting a spark underneath him as he promptly flipped back over onto all fours. “Do they want me to bark?”

There’s my business partner.

“That pays for all those orchid centerpieces for the cocktail hour,” I murmured, leaving tiny kisses on the tail of his spine as my long dark hair hung down and tickled him.

“God, I love when you talk dirty to me.”

“Extended open bar,” I added.

“Fuck’s sake, Tally, I’m hard as a rock right now.”

I reached between his legs and tugged experimentally. “Fully stocked bathroom toiletries, with the classy mints and the name brand over-the-counter migraine meds.”

“Sweetheart, if you don’t stick that Barney dildo in my ass right now I’ll do it myself.”

I bit his butt playfully and gave it a lazy swat. Tension worked itself out of Mateo’s shoulder blades, those big wings of muscle opening up ever so slightly across his back. “If I knew wedding talk could get you going I’d have started sooner.”

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