Every time a real man makes me scream in ecstasy, I drop a bead into their jar – My husband’s jar pales in comparison to theirs…
Every bead in the jar represents a time I’ve writhed beneath a real man while my husband whimpers in his designated corner. When it fills—and oh, how quickly it’s rising—I might grant him permission to stroke his pathetic inch while I whisper exactly how each alpha stretched me in ways he never could.
Trembling on his knees, my husband watches me add another man’s bead to the overflowing jar. He aches for my attention and I relish seeing him beg. He wonders if he can please me enough for another bead in the jar, but we both know his training has just begun.
