Archive of Our Own

The first time Bradley ever saw Jake in lingerie was about nine years ago. They had just graduated flight school—Jake was twenty-four, Bradley twenty-eight. They were married, though essentially nobody knew. Not their squadrons, not their COs, not even their closest friends. It was safer that way. Necessary, really. The Navy didn’t ask, and they didn’t tell.

They were lucky back then, both stationed at NAS Lemoore, even if they were assigned to different squadrons. It meant they could go home to the same place, shitty as it was. A one-bedroom walk-up with peeling paint and paper-thin walls, off-base and always either too hot or too cold. But it was theirs.

Bradley had been gone a few weeks on a short deployment, one of those routine carrier ops that felt longer than they were. He came home early—two days ahead of schedule. Jake would still be at work on base, so Bradley figured he’d surprise him when he got in. Maybe light a candle, cook dinner, do something domestic and dumb that Jake would pretend not to be charmed by.

The package room was on the way up, tucked behind the vending machines and reeking faintly of mildew. He stopped to check their cubby and spotted an unassuming cardboard box with Jake’s name on it. No return address that jumped out, nothing too suspicious. He grabbed it along with a few envelopes and the grocery store flyer, tucked everything under one arm, and took the stairs up to apartment 3C.

He let himself in, dropped his sea bag just inside the door, and exhaled. Home. Sort of. The air was stale, like the windows hadn’t been cracked since he left. He moved into the kitchen, left the mail on the counter, then doubled back to scoop up his bag and start a load of laundry. Better to get it out of the way now—he knew Jake hadn’t touched the hamper. He rarely did when Bradley was gone.

Once the machine was rumbling softly in the closet, Bradley returned to the kitchen. He sorted through the mail—bills, junk, something from his credit union—and then eyed the box again. It wasn’t unusual for one of them to open the other’s mail. They trusted each other. And half the time, it was easier that way.

He reached for the box cutter in the drawer by the sink, sliced through the tape with practiced ease, and opened the flaps.

Inside was shimmery tissue paper—silver, almost iridescent. Not the kind of thing Jake usually ordered. Curious now, Bradley folded it back.

And just—stared.

Laid out in neat layers were three pairs of panties. Or—what looked like women’s panties, but with enough front coverage that maybe they weren’t? Bradley didn’t know. He wasn’t thinking clearly enough to parse that detail yet.

The pair on top was satin, a pale baby blue with navy lace trim and a little tag attached that read cheeky cut . Beneath that, another pair—this one entirely white lace, delicate and sheer, with a tiny pink ribbon rose stitched right in the center. Same cheeky tag. And then at the very bottom, a pink lace thong with scalloped edging so fine it looked like something out of a bridal catalog.

Bradley exhaled sharply, laying each piece out on the counter like evidence. Lace, satin, soft edges and delicate cuts—every item carefully chosen, not a joke, not a whim. And tucked at the very bottom of the box, nearly hidden, a business card. Heavy cardstock, clean serif font, a sleek embossed logo. Underneath:

Because men deserve to be soft and sexy too.

Bradley blinked. Read it again.

Okay.

Maybe this wasn’t about gender. Not in the way his brain had initially scrambled to process. The slogan—it wasn’t subtle. This was marketed for men. And knowing Jake? He’d probably researched the hell out of it before buying anything.

Bradley’s shoulders sagged a little as he sat down, card still in hand.

He loved Jake. That part had never been in question. He loved Jake’s size, his strength, the way his body filled every doorway, every room. The way he looked in flight gear, in nothing, in everything. He loved Jake’s sharp jaw, his calloused hands, the heat and weight of him in bed. That maleness had always been part of the draw.

And this—this lace, this softness, this vulnerability—didn’t take away from any of that. Not really.

Maybe… Maybe it added to it.

And then—unbidden—his mind conjured a new image. Jake, the way he looked now—solid, cut, masculine as hell—standing in front of him in those baby blue panties, that navy lace hugging tight around his hips. Or maybe the pink thong, stark against his tan skin. Lace clinging to muscle, soft against hard. Pretty and filthy all at once.

Bradley’s throat went dry. 

Oh. Oh .

Okay. That… that he liked.

And so, Bradley took the panties—still neatly folded, delicate and strange and now oddly familiar—and carried them to the living room. He laid them out one by one on the scratched-up coffee table, right between the two water rings and the old TV remote. Then he sat down on their lumpy couch, the one that always sagged too much on his side, and stared at them.

And kept staring.

For almost an hour, he sat there. Sometimes leaning forward, elbows on his knees. Sometimes slouched back, chewing his lip. Half-hard the whole time, which wasn’t helping. He didn’t really know what it meant, but something about the sight of those soft little things against the mess of their lives just… stuck in his chest. In his throat. In his dick, apparently.

Then—finally—the familiar jingle of keys at the door.

Bradley’s heart kicked once, hard. He sat up straighter, eyes flicking to the handle just as it turned and the door swung open.

Jake stepped inside, looked up—and froze.

At first, his whole face lit up, that blinding Jake Seresin grin breaking across his face as he dropped his duffel right at his feet, about to run straight into Bradley’s arms.

But then his eyes flicked down. To the coffee table.

And the smile vanished.

He stopped mid-step. Color rose fast in his cheeks, bright and blooming, and he looked down at the floor like it had personally betrayed him.

Bradley stood. Crossed the room slowly. And without saying anything, he stepped in close and wrapped Jake in a hug—tight, solid, grounding. Jake pressed his face into Bradley’s neck, breath warm and a little shaky.

Bradley kissed the side of his head and murmured, “Hi, baby.”

“Hi,” Jake mumbled back, voice muffled.

Bradley rubbed his hands up and down Jake’s back in long, steady sweeps. “It’s okay,” he said gently. “We can talk about it. I love you.”

Jake shuddered once in his arms, and then nodded against his skin. “Okay.”

“Come sit down with me,” Bradley said softly, brushing his thumb along the curve of Jake’s jaw.

He stepped back toward the couch and sat, legs apart in his usual sprawl, and Jake followed quietly. But instead of taking the space beside him, Jake climbed into his lap, straddling him, arms looping around Bradley’s shoulders as he buried his face right back into the curve of his neck.

Bradley settled his hands on Jake’s hips, rubbing slow circles there, waiting.

Jake mumbled something, low and muffled against his skin.

Bradley tilted his head, brushing his nose against Jake’s temple. “What was that, sweetheart? Say it again?”

Jake’s voice was small. “Are you mad?”

Bradley tightened his arms just a little, pulling him in closer. “No, baby. I’m not mad. But I’d like to know where your head is at?” He pulled back enough to look Jake in the eye. “Will you try to explain it to me?”

Jake hesitated, then nodded, eyes flicking downward again. “I just… wanted to try it,” he said quietly. “I saw something about lingerie for men online, and I don’t know. I thought maybe I’d like it. But I wanted to try it before you got home. Just in case I didn’t. So it wouldn’t be weird. Or embarrassing.”

Bradley hummed, hands sliding up and down Jake’s back again. “What do you think you’ll like about it?”

Jake took a breath. “They’re… pretty,” he admitted, like it was a secret. “They might make me feel pretty.”

Bradley’s heart squeezed, warmth blooming in his chest. He tipped Jake’s chin up gently with two fingers. “You’re already so pretty, baby.”

Jake’s cheeks flushed deeper, but he didn’t look away. “But pretty in a different way.” His voice cracked just slightly. “I wanna be—soft, I think. Sometimes. I just wanted to try it.”

Bradley pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Okay,” he whispered. “Then we’ll try it.”

Jake squeaked. “What, like—now?”

Bradley chuckled, the sound warm and low. “Well, they’re here, aren’t they? Might as well. Gonna do a little fashion show for me, baby?”

Jake flushed bright red, but there was something else in his eyes too—nervousness, yeah, but excitement curling beneath it like static. He nodded slowly.

Bradley grinned and gave his ass a light pat. “Alright, up you go.”

Jake climbed off his lap, hesitating just a beat before starting to unbutton his khaki uniform. He laid each piece over the armchair like Bradley asked, careful and neat despite the tremble in his fingers. When he turned around again, he was down to just his boxer briefs.

Bradley bit the inside of his cheek. Jake looked good. Too good. He could’ve gotten off just staring at his husband like this—broad and bare, skin flushed from neck to navel—but he held it back. This wasn’t about him right now.

“Those too,” he said gently, nodding at Jake’s briefs.

Jake hesitated, then nodded again and slid them down, stepping out. He stood in front of Bradley, completely naked, a little vulnerable but still holding himself with that quiet confidence he always carried—just tinged now with something shyer.

Bradley nodded toward the coffee table. “Which ones do you want to try first?”

Jake’s eyes flitted across the options, then down again as he mumbled, “The white ones.”

Bradley watched, utterly transfixed, as Jake stepped into the delicate white lace—cheeky cut, just like the tag had said. He pulled them up gently over his legs, thighs, hips. Adjusted the waistband with careful fingers.

Bradley’s imagination hadn’t done it justice.

He sank back into the couch, one hand coming up to cover his mouth as a soft, helpless groan escaped. Jake’s strong, golden thighs flexed beneath the fragile lace. His soft cock was tucked into the front, the fabric barely containing him, stretching just enough to show the curve of him. Every shift of muscle beneath that lace made Bradley dizzy with desire.

“How do you feel?” he asked, voice rougher than he intended.

Jake shifted his feet a little, rolling his hips experimentally, and looked down at himself. His voice was quiet, but steady.

“It feels good.”

Bradley leaned forward a little, voice low and full of awe. “You look gorgeous, baby. So pretty and innocent.”

Jake ducked his head at the compliment, blushing deeper.

“Try on the blue ones next,” Bradley said, nodding toward the satin pair.

Jake carefully slid the white lace down his legs, folding them neatly before stepping into the baby blue satin trimmed with navy lace. He pulled them up slowly, the fabric gliding smooth over his skin, snug over his hips.

Bradley watched every second like it was sacred.

“Turn around for me,” he said. “I wanna see what cheeky really looks like.”

Jake hesitated, then obeyed, turning slowly on the balls of his feet until his back was to Bradley.

Bradley let out a low, reverent swear. “Fuck, your ass looks divine in those.”

He reached out without thinking, hands settling on Jake’s hips, thumbs brushing just under the lace band, then sliding down to palm his ass—firm, perfect, the satin molded tight against the curve.

Jake shivered under the touch, already half-hard now, hips twitching slightly as Bradley squeezed. Being looked at like this, praised like this—it lit something up in him, raw and eager.

Bradley smoothed his palms down once more and asked, “How do these ones feel?”

Jake’s voice was breathier than before. “Softer. Not as scratchy as the lace.”

Bradley hummed in approval, fingertips dragging gently along Jake’s waist. “Good,” he said. “They look so good on you, baby.”

“Just one more pair,” Bradley said, voice warm with amusement, “and then you can tell me which is your favorite.”

Jake nodded, cheeks still pink, and turned to step out of the blue satin. His hands were a little clumsy now, movements shaky from how worked up he already was. He reached for the last pair—the pale pink lace thong—and stepped into it slowly.

By now, he was mostly hard, and tucking himself into the narrow front of the thong was a struggle. The lace barely covered him, stretched taut across his cock, the waistband riding high on his hips.

Bradley let out a slow, appreciative whistle. “Oh, baby,” he said, sitting up straighter. “These ones might be a bit small.”

He reached out and guided Jake by the hips, gently turning him to face away again. Once Jake was fully in position, Bradley ran his hands over the lace stretched tight across his ass, groaning under his breath.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “I never got the big deal about thongs before but… Jake, I swear to God, I need to get you more of these.”

Jake inhaled sharply, standing a little straighter. “Really?” he asked, voice a little high, a little disbelieving. “You like them?”

Bradley didn’t answer right away. He just spun Jake around in one smooth motion, looked him up and down, and then cupped his own hard cock through the strain of his sweats with one big, steady hand.

He gave himself a slow squeeze and smirked. “What do you think?”

Bradley kept looking at him.

Jake, flushed deep pink in the cheeks, golden tan all over from the California sun, those hard-earned abs rising and falling with each breath. His arms hung a little awkward at his sides, like he didn’t quite know what to do with them. And despite everything—despite the praise and the kisses and the soft touches—he still looked shy. Still looked a little uncertain.

In that moment, Bradley remembered—Jake was four years younger than him. And though it rarely mattered, sometimes it showed. He was still settling into himself, still figuring out how to hold softness and strength in the same breath. Still growing into all the pieces of himself he was only just learning to name.

His cock had fully hardened, the pink lace now stretched tight in a desperate attempt to contain him.

Bradley couldn’t stop staring.

“You never told me,” he said, voice gentler now. “Which ones did you like the most?”

Jake bit his lip, eyes flicking to the side, and then back up to Bradley. “I liked… the way you looked at me in the pink ones the most.”

Ah. There it was.

Bradley felt something click into place, clean and quiet. That’s what this was.

Jake wanted to feel pretty and soft, sure. But, more than that, he wanted to be desired. Adored. Cherished.

Bradley could do that. Hell, Bradley wanted to do that.

He reached up, brushed his knuckles along the soft lace edge at Jake’s hip, and said, “Okay. Then I’ll look at you like that every time you wear them.”

One could imagine what happened next—how Bradley fucked Jake until they were both breathless, the lace askew, praise tangled in moans, Jake panting into the pillow while Bradley murmured how perfect he looked.

But that night had only been the beginning.

It turned into something they both grew into, slowly and all at once. Lace, satin, soft edges, soft names—Jake’s femininity, when he chose to show it, became something sacred between them. And Bradley loved every bit of it. Not just the way it looked—though God, it looked fantastic—but the way it made Jake feel . Adored. Desired. Pretty. His.

Over time, it deepened. The lingerie, the softness, the praise—it bled into everything. They started playing with degradation, with humiliation, with the thrilling line between tenderness and filth. Jake found power in surrender, in being called Daddy’s good girl, in being told he was too pretty to think. And Bradley? Bradley had never loved fucking anyone more.

They’d never struggled to have good sex. Even in the beginning, the chemistry was there, sharp and undeniable. But now? Now, it was better than ever. Filthy and reverent. Loving and obscene. Better because it was theirs—because they’d made it together.

Now, nine years later, it was second nature.

Bradley comes home late from work—birthday or not, paperwork doesn’t care. He’s a Lieutenant Commander now, and that comes with its own mess of responsibility. The sun has already dipped behind the horizon by the time he parks, slips off his boots, and steps into the quiet house. He scratches their cats Fleetwood and Pickles on their little heads in hello before heading upstairs. 

The master bedroom door is half-cracked. The bedside lamp casts a low glow across the covers.

And there—sprawled sideways across their bed, one arm flopped over his stomach, drool glistening at the corner of his mouth—is Jake. Dead asleep. Wearing a set of lingerie Bradley has definitely never seen before.

It’s lilac mesh and ivory lace, delicate and barely-there, clinging to Jake’s still-muscular frame like sin. The panties ride up deliciously high, straps looping around his thighs, and the matching bralette is pushed up just enough from sleep to make it very clear Jake didn’t wear it for comfort.

There’s a garter belt, too—lilac, matching the rest, fastened snug around his waist in a way that creates the illusion of softness, of smaller curves that aren’t quite there. It draws the eye in, cinches his frame with just enough tension to make Bradley's mouth go dry. The straps hang loose and skewed across Jake’s thick thighs, not clipped to any stockings, but tempting all the same—suggestive in a way that feels unfinished on purpose.

Bradley’s gaze snags on the detailing: tiny lace butterflies stitched into the band of the garter, barely visible unless you’re looking close.

He’s looking very close.

And he’s never wanted Jake more.

Bradley drops his bag at the foot of the bed with a dull thud.

Jake startles awake, blinking wildly as he sits up and scrubs a hand across his mouth. “I’m up. I’m up—”

Bradley laughs, warm and fond. “You sure?”

Jake squints at him, groggy—and then blinks again, this time in horror. “ Fuck. I had a whole thing planned for you.”

Bradley walks around the side of the bed, stripping off the outer layer of his uniform with a tired sigh. “I’m sorry, princess. I got caught with a ton of paperwork.”

He leans in, cups Jake’s jaw, and kisses him soft. Then he pulls back just far enough to look him over—sleepy eyes, mussed hair, parted thighs, and lace.

“But I like what I see.”

Bradley checks him out greedily, eyes raking over every inch—lilac lace stretched tight across golden skin, the bralette framing his chest just right, those long legs spread so invitingly beneath delicate straps, the garter belt hugging his waist with its soft curve and barely-there butterflies like it was made just for this. Just for him. 

“Fuck,” Bradley breathes, thumb stroking along Jake’s cheekbone. “I have such a pretty little wife, don’t I?”

Jake lets out a soft, broken moan, eyes fluttering shut, his face still cradled in Bradley’s hand.

Bradley’s grip tightens just slightly, fingers pressing into Jake’s jaw, guiding his face back up. “I asked a question.”

Jake’s breath stutters. “Fuck. Yes. I’m your pretty little wife.”

Bradley hums low, satisfied. “That’s what I thought.”

He brushes his thumb across Jake’s lips, lets his eyes drag down again—slow and indulgent. Then he cocks his head, like he’s just remembered something.

“Now the only thing I’m wondering,” he murmurs, “is if I want to know what you had planned for me.”

Jake stays quiet, eyes wide, breath caught in his throat. He doesn’t move—just kneels there on the bed in his pretty little set, waiting for further instruction like a good girl, like he knows he should.

Bradley watches him for a long moment, savoring it. The anticipation. The obedience. The way Jake looks so desperate to please, even with drool still drying on his chin.

“Well,” Bradley finally says, tone thoughtful but firm, “Why don’t you tell me? If I like your idea enough, we’ll do that. Whatever you had planned for me.”

Jake’s lips part just slightly, hopeful.

He nods toward the armchair in the corner of the room.

“But if not…” Bradley’s voice dips low, filthy. “I’m gonna sit in that chair, stroke my cock, and come all over myself just from looking at you in this sexy little set. And you have to stand there the whole time. No touching. Just letting me look.”

Jake swallows hard, eyes darkening. His thighs twitch slightly where he kneels on the bed.

“Think you can handle that, princess?” Bradley murmurs, a slow grin spreading across his face.

Jake stays still for a beat longer, lips parted, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths as he tries to find the words. Bradley waits, patient but expectant, one brow arched and his gaze burning like a slow flame.

Jake finally speaks, voice low, almost shy. “I was gonna make you sit on the edge of the bed.”

Bradley hums, the sound low and encouraging. Jake continues.

“No touching. Just looking.” His eyes drop to his body—to the lilac lace stretched tight across his hips, the way it clings to his thighs, to the hard line of his cock pressed beneath the fabric. “I was gonna do a little striptease for you. Slow. Talk you through it. Tell you everything I bought, and why.”

He shifts slightly, a touch sheepish. “I was gonna take a short nap and then put on some stockings and the ‘fuck me’ heels, but I should’ve set an alarm.”

Bradley’s breath catches.

The heels. The ridiculous black pumps Jake bought on a dare and kept on purpose—too tall to walk in, but perfect for digging into Bradley’s back as Jake wraps his legs around Bradley’s waist. He only ever wears them when he wants to be ruined. Nothing else. Just the shoes, a plug, maybe some lingerie if he’s really committing. God , the way Jake’s calf muscles stretch for miles in them. Every time Bradley sees the heels, it short-circuits something in his brain. 

Bradley shifts, jaw tight, hands flexing like it takes effort not to reach for him.

Jake pushes forward, braver now. “Then I was gonna crawl into your lap. Ride you nice and slow. Make you say all those things you call me when you’re close. Tell me I’m your wife. Tell me I’m pretty.”

His voice softens into something tender, trembling at the edges. “I was gonna make it sweet. Not fast. Not rough. Just… really fucking good.”

Bradley looks wrecked. Barely restrained. Like he’s one word away from breaking apart completely.

Jake adds, almost a whisper, “Would you have liked that?”

Bradley doesn’t hesitate. His voice is low, rough with hunger. “Get off the bed, princess. Stand up.”

Jake scrambles to obey, slipping off the edge of the mattress, heart pounding.

Bradley’s eyes rake down his body, slow and reverent. “You’re gonna show me every last detail.”

Bradley moves without a word, replacing Jake on the bed, lowering himself to sit at the edge, still in his khakis, legs spread wide. He leans back on his hands, forearms flexing with the motion, eyes locked on Jake—who stands in front of him in nothing but three flimsy pieces of lilac lingerie.

It’s a sight that never gets old. Never gets less potent.

Bradley loves it. Loves how the sheer mesh of the panties shows just enough—Jake’s cock straining against the lace, the faint, pale gold of his pubic hair peeking through like a tease. Loves the contradiction of it all. That someone so undeniably masculine—broad-shouldered, muscled, powerful—can look so feminine, so soft, so fucking pretty standing there in delicate lace.

Both things at once. All at once. That’s what drives Bradley insane.

Jake moves slowly, deliberately. He lifts his arms, runs his hands over his chest, and cups his pecs together over the bralette like they’re tits—arched just slightly, giving Bradley a show, pushing them forward like an offering.

Bradley groans, head tipping back slightly, eyes heavy-lidded and dark with want. “Fuck,” he breathes, voice rough. “Look at you.”

Jake starts to sway his hips, slow and teasing, letting the lace catch the low light as he plays with his nipples through the bralette—rolling them between his fingers, tugging gently, putting on a full show. His expression shifts with it, equal parts shy and smug, knowing exactly what he’s doing to Bradley.

Bradley watches, lips parted, pupils blown. “I love that you spend my money on lingerie,” he says, voice thick. “I’m so fucking lucky to have you.”

Jake bites his lip, just a little.

And God, Bradley means it. He remembers how nervous Jake had been the first time he ever tried on panties for him—how he’d blushed and fidgeted, unsure if he looked right, if he felt right. And now? Now Jake wears lace like it was made for him, confident and fucking gorgeous . That confidence makes it even sexier—watching Jake move like he knows he’s wanted, like he knows exactly what Bradley will do to him if he keeps teasing.

Bradley could come from that alone.

“Take the bralette off, baby,” Bradley says, still leaning back, still soaking it all in. “Let me see your tits.”

It’s borderline comical—given the bralette is entirely see-through—but neither of them acknowledges it. It’s about the ritual, the words, the performance. And Jake, ever the good girl, peels it off with a little flourish, dropping it to the floor.

Bradley’s eyes roam over his chest, hungry. “I’m gonna fuck those later,” he mutters, almost reverent.

Jake groans, full-bodied now, his cock visibly hard and straining against the lace. His hands drift down to the waistband of his panties. “Should I take them off too?” he asks, voice breathy.

Bradley smirks. “Turn around first.”

Jake obeys, giving a little spin, hips swaying as he reveals that yes—the panties are, in fact, a thong.

Bradley swears under his breath, his hands coming up automatically to grip Jake’s hips. “Fuck.”

He pulls Jake closer, pressing his face in and biting one firm cheek, leaving a mark. Jake squeals, laughing through a moan.

“Hey! What happened to no touching?”

Bradley growls against his skin. “It’s my birthday. I can touch my wife if I want to.”

Jake opens his mouth like he might argue—but doesn’t. He doesn’t have anything to say to that.

Bradley’s hands slide around to the front, hooking under the waistband. He eases the panties down slowly, reverently, and once they’re off, he spreads Jake’s cheeks with both thumbs to get a look at his pretty, blushing hole.

“God, look at you,” he breathes.

Then he spits—slick and warm—right onto it. Jake shudders hard, muscles twitching.

Bradley leans in, hands firm, and lays a flat, filthy lick over the entire thing.

Jake whimpers, loud and needy, his knees nearly buckling.

Bradley moans low against Jake’s skin, the sound vibrating right into him.

He tastes it—faintly. The unmistakable slickness of dried lube, a little bitter on his tongue. It doesn’t taste good , not really, but the idea of it wrecks him. The idea that Jake had prepped for him earlier, lubed himself up in that new set of lingerie, maybe touched himself a little while waiting, trying to be ready—trying to be perfect —for Bradley’s birthday.

Bradley groans again, louder this time, and fucks his tongue into Jake’s hole with renewed hunger. It’s messy and desperate, wet sounds echoing in the room, his hands firm on Jake’s cheeks, spreading him wide.

Jake’s standing, barely—legs spread, knees starting to buckle, bent forward with one hand braced against the wall, the other fumbling toward his own cock.

“I—I picked this one ‘cause of the color,” he babbles, voice trembling and breathless. “Thought it’d look good on my skin, and I know you—know you love when my tits—” He shudders as Bradley drags his tongue back over him, slick and filthy. “When they—fuck—bounce a little. And the mesh, you can—you can see the hair, I know you like that.”

Bradley groans into him again. He does . God, he does.

They’d tried the shaved bare thing once, years ago, and it had thrown them both off so hard they didn’t even finish. It didn’t look like Jake. Didn’t feel like Jake. And while Bradley would’ve figured it out if Jake had wanted to keep doing it, he hadn’t. Thank God .

Because this? This is perfect.

Jake, this big, strong man, in delicate lace that barely holds him. A man who loves to be pretty. Feminized. Worshipped. But ultimately still a man, and his .

“Love your cock,” Jake gasps suddenly. “Love when you look at me like this, like I’m—like I’m everything—”

He breaks off into a strangled cry as Bradley’s tongue slips deep again, licking, sucking, eating him out with obscene focus. Jake’s whole body trembles. He’s barely upright now, thighs shaking, hole fluttering with every pass of Bradley’s tongue.

“Fuck—fuck, I can’t—daddy, please —” he chokes out, voice high and wrecked.

Bradley pulls back just enough to speak, lips wet, eyes dark.

"Oh yes you can, baby. You're always so perfect for me, aren't you? Always do what daddy tells you." His voice is rough, commanding. "And daddy is telling you that you need to come at least once before riding his cock. You don't wanna disappoint daddy, now do you? Definitely not on his birthday."

Jake shakes his head frantically, though Bradley can't see it from this angle. He's probably biting his lip too, the way he always does when he's overwhelmed.

Bradley goes back to eating him out with renewed fervor, tongue working him open with obscene dedication. His hands grip Jake's ass tighter, spreading him wider, diving deeper. Jake's whimpers turn to sobs, his whole body trembling as Bradley works him closer and closer to the edge.

After a few minutes, Jake is begging—voice high and desperate, words tumbling over each other. "Please, daddy, please can I—I need to—fuck, I'm so close, please let me—"

Instead of pulling away to answer, Bradley taps the side of Jake's thigh twice—sharp, deliberate. Their code for green. Permission granted.

Jake comes with a shout, untouched, his whole body seizing as he spills all over the hardwood floor of their bedroom. His knees nearly give out, only Bradley's grip keeping him upright as he rides out the waves.

Bradley doesn't stop. He eats him through it, tongue relentless, until Jake stops clenching around him and Bradley can tell his orgasm is finally over. Only then does he pull back, pressing one last kiss to Jake's trembling thigh.

"God, I bet that felt good, huh baby?" Bradley murmurs against Jake's skin.

Jake hums in agreement, too come-drunk to verbalize his thoughts properly.

Bradley grips his hips and turns him so Jake's front is facing him. Without hesitation, he takes Jake's slightly softening cock into his mouth to clean him up, moaning at the taste of his wife's come. Jake hisses at the sensitivity but doesn't tell him to stop.

Bradley pulls off with a pop and smirks up at Jake. He stands up from the edge of the bed and steps around him to take off the rest of his khaki uniform—shirt, undershirt, pants, underwear, socks—and leaves them folded neatly on top of the dresser.

Jake whines from behind him. "You're taking too long to fold them when you could be fucking me."

Bradley takes his time after that remark, deliberately smoothing each piece of clothing with methodical precision. He's already fully hard from watching and tasting Jake, his cock heavy and aching between his legs. So he grabs himself and strokes downward twice, slow and deliberate.

Jake shuts up immediately, apparently transfixed at the sight.

Bradley smirks and walks toward where Jake stands. He grips him by the throat, squeezes just a little, and kisses him roughly—all tongue and teeth and possession. Then he pulls back and moves to lay in the center of the bed.

Once settled on the bed, Bradley continues to stroke his cock slowly, deliberately, his eyes never leaving Jake's face. Jake stands there watching, transfixed, not having been given an order yet. His chest is still rising and falling rapidly from his recent orgasm, skin flushed and gleaming with a light sheen of sweat.

"You're gonna come suck my cock a little," Bradley says, voice low and commanding, thumb swiping over the head with each stroke. "Just to get it wet enough for you to ride me."

He doesn't want to use any more lube tonight. He's eaten Jake out thoroughly, tongue-fucking him until he was loose and pliant, and Jake was already prepped from whatever he'd done earlier while waiting—probably fingering himself open in that pretty lilac set, getting ready to be perfect for Bradley's birthday. Spit should be enough. Bradley knows Jake has taken him with way less prep before and loved every second of it.

Jake starts to reach for his garter, fingers hooking under the lilac band like he’s about to slip it off.

“ Don’t, ” Bradley says, low and firm.

Jake freezes. Looks up.

“Keep it on.”

A flush spreads across Jake’s cheeks, soft and surprised, but he nods—silent and obedient—and lets his hands fall away. The garter stays, hugging his waist like a secret, the loose straps still grazing the curve of his thighs.

Jake crawls onto the bed in front of him like a seductress, all fluid movement and feline grace. His muscles ripple beneath golden skin as he moves, still naked now, cock hanging heavy between his thighs. He settles between Bradley's spread legs, bracing himself on his forearms.

Without hesitation, Jake spits directly onto Bradley's cock—a thick glob of saliva that slides down the shaft. Then he takes him into his mouth, lips stretching around the head, tongue working in practiced circles.

Bradley groans deep in his chest, his free hand immediately tangling in Jake's hair. "Fuck, just like that."

Jake's mouth is perfect—hot and wet and eager. He works his way down slowly, taking more and more of Bradley's length, cheeks hollowing as he sucks. His tongue traces the thick vein on the underside, flicks against the sensitive spot just below the head that makes Bradley's hips jerk.

"God, you're so good at this," Bradley breathes, fingers tightening in Jake's hair. "Ten years and you still suck cock like it's your fucking job."

Jake hums around him, the vibration making Bradley curse under his breath. He can feel Jake's throat working, the way he swallows around the head when he takes him deep. Jake pulls off with a wet pop, strings of saliva connecting his lips to Bradley's cock, and immediately dives back in—licking, sucking, worshipping.

After a few minutes of this—Jake's mouth working him over with single-minded focus, Bradley's thighs trembling with restraint—Bradley's hands tangle more firmly in Jake's hair and he pushes him off gently.

"That's enough," he breathes, chest rising and falling heavily. His cock is slick and shining, perfectly wet. "Come sit on it, baby."

Jake crawls forward some more, positioning himself over Bradley, thighs spreading wide as he straddles him. The garter still clings to his waist, snug and flattering, the lilac band cinched just enough to make his torso look narrower, more delicate—though nothing about the way he moves is timid. One of the straps brushes faintly along Bradley’s hip as Jake shifts into place.

Bradley watches, transfixed, as Jake's chiseled abs contract with the effort of lowering himself slowly onto Bradley's thick cock. It's always a bit harder for Jake to take him like this—Bradley's so thick and long that the angle makes it a challenge. But Bradley knows it hits Jake's insides just right when he does manage it—knows exactly how good it feels for both of them.

Bradley doesn't rush Jake's descent, just lies back and groans at the slow, exquisite drag of Jake's hole stretching around his cock, taking him inch by careful inch. Jake's face is screwed up in concentration, breath coming in short pants as he works himself down.

"That's it, baby," Bradley murmurs, voice rough with restraint. "Take your time. You're doing so good."

When Jake finally sits flat against Bradley’s hips, taking all of him completely, they both let out shaky exhales. The garter shifts slightly with the motion, the lilac band stretching just a little tighter around Jake’s waist, one strap slipping crooked across his thigh like it’s clinging for balance.

Bradley immediately reaches up to rub slow, soothing circles on Jake’s hips with his thumbs, eyes flicking once to the garter and then back to Jake’s face—like he can’t decide which sight is more overwhelming.

"Fuck, look at you," Bradley breathes, eyes drinking in the sight of Jake seated fully on his cock, golden skin gleaming, chest rising and falling. "You're so fucking perfect, princess. Taking all of daddy's cock like such a good girl."

Jake whimpers at the praise but says breathlessly, "I'm supposed to be taking care of you for your birthday."

Bradley chuckles, the vibrations traveling through his chest and making Jake clench around his cock. The sensation draws a low groan from both of them. "Baby," Bradley says, hands still rubbing those soothing circles on Jake's hips, thumbs pressing into the sharp bones there, "any day I can watch my pretty little wife bouncing on my cock is a good day. Best birthday present a man could ask for."

Jake takes that as permission and starts moving, bracing his hands on Bradley's chest for leverage. He lifts himself up slowly—so slowly that Bradley can feel every inch of drag against Jake's tight walls—before sinking back down with a soft, needy sound. His fully hard cock slaps against both their stomachs as he finds his rhythm, creating wet sounds that fill the room along with their increasingly heavy breathing.

Bradley's hands slide up Jake's sides, mapping the familiar territory of his ribs, the hard planes of his chest, before settling back on his hips to guide the movement. Not controlling it—just helping, supporting, worshipping every roll and lift of Jake's body above him.

Jake closes his eyes and throws his head back as he moans in pleasure, lost in the feeling of Bradley filling him so completely. His throat is exposed like this, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows hard, and Bradley can see the flush spreading down from his cheeks to his chest. The angle hits Jake perfectly, just like Bradley knew it would, and every downward motion sends sparks of heat through his entire body.

"Fuck," Jake gasps, voice high and breathy as he picks up the pace slightly, thighs burning with the effort. "You feel so good, daddy. So fucking big inside me."

Bradley’s grip tightens on Jake’s hips, helping him move, guiding him into a rhythm that has them both panting. The garter shifts with every bounce, the lilac straps tugging slightly against Jake’s thighs, the band riding just a little higher on his waist like it’s trying to keep up.

“That’s it, princess,” Bradley groans, eyes locked on the way Jake’s cock bounces between them, the way his abs flex with each movement. “Ride me just like that. So fucking beautiful like this.”

Jake's movements become more confident, more desperate, chasing the pleasure that builds with each stroke of Bradley's cock against his prostate. His hands slide up his own chest, pinching at his nipples, putting on a show even as he loses himself in the sensation.

"Tell me I'm pretty," Jake whimpers, the words spilling out unbidden as he grinds down particularly hard. "Tell me I'm your good girl."

"Fuck, you are, baby," Bradley groans, his voice rough with desire. "You're such a good girl for daddy. Picking out those pretty panties and waiting for me to get home. Did you buy more? Please tell me you bought more. I fucking love that you spend my money on getting yourself all dolled up."

Bradley and Jake both know they have shared finances, but the thought of Bradley alone paying for the lingerie is so hot they lose themselves in the fantasy. There's something intoxicating about the idea of Bradley working long hours, earning money that Jake then uses to buy delicate lace and satin, transforming himself into something beautiful and feminine just for Bradley's pleasure.

Jake moans at the praise, his movements becoming more erratic as pleasure builds. "I—I did," he gasps out between bounces. "Ordered three more sets. Black lace, red satin, and this pale blue silk that I thought would bring out my eyes."

Bradley's eyes roll back, his grip on Jake's hips tightening to the point of bruising. "Jesus Christ, Jake. You're gonna fucking kill me."

"You're lucky I didn't make you ride me in them," Bradley continues, voice getting rougher as Jake's pace increases. "But I like this set too much to ruin. The way that lilac looked against your skin, fuck. But next time, Jake—watching you cream up your little panties while I'm inside you is always so fucking hot. Want to see you come untouched in those pretty things, want to watch the lace get all wet and messy."

Jake clenches around Bradley at the words, his hole fluttering and gripping Bradley's cock like a vice. The sensation draws a sharp curse from Bradley.

"Fuck," Bradley swears, his hips bucking up involuntarily to meet Jake's downward motion. "You like that idea, don't you, princess? You ride me so good, baby. Shit—That's it. Bounce on daddy's fucking cock. Show me how much you love taking it."

Jake whimpers, his thighs trembling with effort as he continues to rise and fall on Bradley's thick length. Sweat beads along his hairline, his chest flushed and heaving with exertion. "Love it so much," he pants. "Love how you fill me up, love being your good girl."

"Tell me more about your plan, baby," Bradley says, voice strained with effort as Jake continues to bounce on him, sweat glistening on both their bodies. "Did you want daddy to come inside you like this, or do I get a turn to fuck you? What was the rest of your little birthday surprise?"

Jake, ever the submissive, and unused to being allowed this much control, seems unable to answer. His mouth opens and closes wordlessly, overwhelmed by sensation and the choice being presented to him. His movements have become sloppy, desperate, chasing his pleasure without any coherent thought behind it.

Bradley watches him struggle for a moment, taking in the sight of his wife completely undone—flushed from chest to face, hair mussed, pupils blown wide with lust. It's beautiful and pathetic all at once.

"Aww, are you too cock stupid to think right now?" Bradley mocks him gently, voice fond even as it's commanding. "Poor little princess can't even remember her own plan. Do you need daddy to do it for you? Need daddy to take control and fuck you the way you really want?"

Jake just moans and nods frantically, relief flooding his features at not having to make the decision. The responsibility of being in charge, of setting the pace, has clearly become too much for his pleasure-addled brain.

Bradley takes that opportunity to flip Jake onto his back in one smooth, powerful motion, pulling out just long enough to maneuver them both. Jake whimpers at the loss, his hole clenching around nothing, but before he can protest, Bradley has him repositioned exactly how he wants him.

The garter twists slightly around Jake’s waist with the movement, the lilac band tugging snug against his skin, one strap sliding higher on his thigh as his legs spread open beneath Bradley’s grip—half-wrecked and impossibly pretty.

He takes one of Jake's legs and puts it over his shoulder, spreading him wide and open, then drives back into him with purpose—deep, hard, unrelenting.

Bradley knows this angle drives right into Jake's prostate with every thrust. He gets immediate confirmation when Jake squeals and grabs at Bradley's arms, fingernails digging into muscle, leaving crescent-shaped marks.

"Don't stop, don't stop, please don't stop," Jake begs, voice high and desperate, nearly sobbing with the intensity. "Right there, daddy, fuck, right there—"

Bradley chuckles, low and satisfied, settling into a punishing rhythm that has Jake's entire body jolting with each thrust. "There's my good girl. This is what you really wanted, isn't it? To get fucked stupid by daddy's cock."

It only takes a couple minutes of Bradley nailing his prostate with surgical precision for Jake to start begging to come, tears forming in the corners of his eyes from the overwhelming sensation.

"Please, daddy, please can I—I need to come so bad—fuck, I can't take it anymore—"

"Good girl," Bradley praises breathlessly, never stopping his relentless rhythm. Sweat drips down his chest as he maintains the punishing pace. "So proud of you remembering to ask." As much as Bradley loves that he can make Jake come untouched—and he's done it countless times, including once less than thirty minutes ago—he wants to watch Jake touch himself. "You can, but you have to play with your little clit while you do it."

Jake tries desperately to grab himself, but it's so sensitive from the overstimulation and the constant pressure against his prostate that he can't get a good grip on it. His hand keeps slipping off the slick head, fingers trembling uncontrollably. He whines pitifully, voice breaking, "It hurts, daddy. I can't—my hand won't—"

Bradley watches the struggle with dark amusement, his thrusts never faltering. "Poor baby," he mocks, voice dripping with fond condescension. "Daddy has to do everything himself, doesn't he? Can't even touch your own clit properly."

He spits into his free hand—the one not holding Jake's leg over his shoulder—and reaches down to wrap it around Jake with a firm, confident grip that immediately has Jake arching off the bed.

Bradley can tell it's almost too much for Jake to bear, his whole body going rigid, muscles straining as he fights between wanting to pull away from the intensity and push into it. His breathing becomes ragged, almost hyperventilating.

"Color, baby," Bradley demands, his voice cutting through Jake's overwhelmed state. He stills his movements slightly, still buried deep but gentler now, waiting for confirmation.

Jake practically screams his response, voice cracking with desperation, "Green, green, green! Don't stop, please don't fucking stop!"

Satisfied with the enthusiastic consent, Bradley starts stroking Jake in perfect time with his thrusts—slow drags up on the pull out, firm squeezes on the drive in. The dual stimulation is overwhelming, Jake's body caught between the relentless pressure on his prostate and the slick friction on his clit.

"If you don't come before I do," Bradley growls, his own control starting to fray at the edges as he watches Jake fall apart beneath him, "you won't get to come again at all tonight. This is your only chance, princess."

The threat pushes Jake over the edge almost instantly. He comes with a strangled cry, back arching completely off the bed as he shoots thick ropes of come up to his chin, some landing on his chest, his whole body convulsing with the intensity of his orgasm. His hole clenches rhythmically around Bradley's cock, drawing groans from both of them.

"That's it, baby," Bradley praises, voice rough with his own approaching climax as he watches Jake's face contort with pleasure. "So fucking beautiful when you squirt for daddy. Look at you, making such a mess. Such a good girl for me."

Jake had his eyes clenched tightly closed throughout his whole orgasm, face scrunched in blissful concentration, but now that the waves have subsided, he's looking up at Bradley with glazed, satisfied eyes. His pupils are still blown wide, chest heaving as he comes down from the high, come cooling on his skin where it's splattered across his chin and chest.

Bradley growls at the attention, something primal and possessive stirring in his chest at the worshipful, fucked-out look Jake is giving him. The sight of his wife completely wrecked beneath him, golden skin flushed and gleaming with sweat, sends another surge of arousal through him.

Feeling generous after Jake's perfect performance, Bradley drops Jake's leg from his shoulder to wrap both of Jake's legs around his waist instead, shifting the angle mercifully off his oversensitive prostate. Jake lets out a shaky breath of relief at the reprieve.

With a firm grip on Jake's waist, Bradley uses his considerable strength to slam Jake down on his cock as he fucks up into him with renewed vigor, the change in position allowing him to go deeper, harder. The wet sounds of their coupling fill the room, obscene and desperate.

“Such a good wife," Bradley groans, his voice rough and possessive as he pounds into Jake's pliant body. "Letting daddy use your tight pussy like this. Taking everything I give you. What a perfect birthday gift you are, baby."

The praise, the possessive words, the relentless rhythm—it all combines to push Bradley over the edge. He comes shortly after with a deep, guttural moan, buried as deep inside Jake as he can get, his whole body shuddering as he fills him completely with thick ropes of come. His grip on Jake's waist tightens to the point of bruising as he rides out his orgasm.

He lets his head fall onto Jake's chest briefly, both of them breathing hard, hearts pounding against each other. Jake's hands come up to stroke through Bradley's hair, gentle and soothing.

After a moment to catch his breath, Bradley pulls out slowly, his softening cock slipping free with a wet sound. Jake whimpers at the loss, his hole clenching reflexively around nothing.

But Bradley isn't done with him yet.

He bends Jake at the waist by pushing his hands underneath Jake's knees, folding him nearly in half and spreading him wide open. Jake's hole is red and swollen, gaping slightly from Bradley's thick cock, and Bradley can see his own come starting to leak out.

Without hesitation, Bradley dives in to eat his own come out of Jake's well-used hole. His tongue laps at the rim, then pushes inside to chase every drop, groaning at the bitter-salt taste mixed with Jake's own flavor.

Jake screams at the sensation, his oversensitive body jolting at the contact. His hands fist in the sheets, knuckles white as he tries to process the overwhelming stimulation.

Bradley thinks, not for the first time, that he's glad they have their own house now—not that shitty apartment they first started in where the walls were paper-thin and they had to muffle Jake's cries with pillows, always cautious of how loud they were. Now Jake can scream as much as he wants, and Bradley loves every desperate sound.

Bradley takes a break from his thorough cleaning just long enough to pull back and command, voice rough with satisfaction, "Come on, baby, push it out for me. Let daddy see all his come."

Jake groans, face flushed with embarrassment and arousal, but he obeys like the good girl he is. He bears down slightly, and Bradley watches with dark fascination as more of his come leaks out, dripping down toward Jake's crack.

Bradley swoops in eagerly to lick it up, his tongue following the trail of come as it drips from Jake's cunt, not wanting to waste a single drop. Jake's thighs tremble in his grip, overwhelmed by the relentless attention.

Jake says breathlessly, "I can't believe you do that."

His voice is still shaky from the overstimulation, chest rising and falling as he tries to catch his breath. There's something between mortification and arousal in his tone—like he's scandalized by Bradley's enthusiasm but can't deny how much it affects him.

Bradley stops licking him just long enough to place a deliberate bite on his ass cheek, teeth sinking into the firm muscle just hard enough to leave a mark besides his earlier one. Jake releases a sharp yip at the unexpected sensation, his whole body jolting.

"Shh," Bradley murmurs against his skin before going back to his thorough cleaning, tongue working with methodical precision to chase every trace of his own come. He's relentless about it, almost obsessive, like he can't stand the thought of wasting even a drop.

When he’s finally satisfied with his work—Jake’s hole thoroughly cleaned and glistening only with saliva now—Bradley drops Jake’s legs gently and leans up, kneeling on the bed between Jake’s spread thighs. His hair is mussed, lips swollen and wet, and there’s a satisfied gleam in his dark eyes.

He takes a moment to look.

Jake is flushed and panting, his skin streaked with sweat and come, head tipped back against the pillows, completely wrecked. Still wearing nothing but the lilac garter, snug around his waist like a ribbon tied just for Bradley. The straps are skewed now, tangled and half-twisted around his thighs, and the sight of them—framing his flushed, slick body—makes Bradley’s stomach flip.

There’s something about it, about him , that knocks the air right out of Bradley’s lungs. Jake, fucked out and glistening, laid out in their bed like a gift only Bradley gets to unwrap.

Bradley exhales softly, voice gone reverent. “Jesus, Jake,” he murmurs. “Look at you.”

Jake peeks open one eye, still dazed. “No thanks, I’m good,” he mutters weakly, and Bradley huffs a laugh.

“And last time I checked, you love swallowing my come,” Bradley adds, tilting his head with an amused expression as he wipes the back of his hand across his mouth. “I love eating you out. How’s this any different?”

Jake’s blush deepens, spreading down his neck to his chest. He’s still sprawled boneless on the bed, come drying on his skin, looking thoroughly debauched. “Because I’m not eating my own come,” he protests, though there’s no real conviction behind it.

Bradley tilts his head, mock-considering. A slow smirk spreads across his face. “You have before.”

Jake's face goes even redder at the reminder, his eyes darting away. They both remember those times—usually when Bradley's gotten particularly commanding, when he's made Jake come in his own mouth or kissed him immediately after he had sucked Jake off, transferring the taste between them.

"Well," Jake mutters, voice barely audible, "it's hot when you tell me to."

Bradley lets out a full belly laugh at that confession, the sound rich and genuinely delighted. It rumbles through his chest as he leans forward, bracing his hands on either side of Jake's head.

"Oh, baby," he says fondly, still chuckling. "You're somethin’ else."

He captures Jake's lips in a deep, thorough kiss. It tastes like salt and sex and satisfaction, bitter-sweet and filthy in the best way. Jake makes a soft sound against his mouth—half protest, half surrender—before melting into it completely despite his embarrassment. His arms come up to wrap around Bradley's shoulders, pulling him closer as if he can't help himself.

When they finally break apart, both breathing heavily again, Bradley rests his forehead against Jake's.

"Happy birthday to me," he murmurs, voice warm with contentment and lingering desire.