Investing in My Crippled Wife: My Duchess Makes me Overpowered

The modest home sat quiet beneath the moonlight, its floorboards creaking under the weight of a person walking through. Only the creak of windows and the distant hoot of an owl broke the stillness. In their shared bedchamber, the fire had burned low, casting long amber shadows across the rumpled sheets where Isolde waited.

She lay propped against a nest of pillows, her crippled legs stretched before her, pale and motionless beneath the thin nightdress. The fabric clung to her body, outlining the curve of her breasts, the dip of her waist. Her dark hair spilled loose over one shoulder, and her eyes—sharp, hungry—tracked Emeric as he entered the room, still half-dressed from the day.

”Come here,” she said, voice low and commanding.

It was a quiet authority of a woman who knew exactly what she wanted.

Emeric paused at the foot of the bed, his gaze traveling over her. The nightdress had ridden up, exposing the smooth skin of her thighs. He swallowed, already feeling the familiar tightening in his groin.

Isolde crooked a finger. ”Closer.”

He obeyed, climbing onto the mattress. She reached for him, fingers curling into the front of his shirt, pulling him down until their faces were inches apart. Her breath was warm against his lips.

”I’ve been thinking about you all day,” she murmured. Her free hand slid down his chest, over the hard plane of his stomach, until her palm pressed against the growing bulge in his trousers. She squeezed, slow and deliberate. ”Thinking about how I want you.”

Emeric’s breath hitched. He leaned in to kiss her, but she turned her head, denying him. Instead, her fingers worked at his laces, freeing him beneath. It sprang into her hand, already thick and ready. She stroked him once, twice, her thumb circling the sensitive head, spreading the bead of moisture that gathered there.

”Not yet,” she whispered. ”I want to feel you ache for me.”

She was different today. She was like a different type of beast. What had gotten into her?

She guided his hand between her legs. The nightdress was already damp. He pressed his fingers against the soaked fabric, feeling the heat of her below.

Isolde sighed, hips shifting as much as her crippled legs allowed. ”Touch me properly.”

Emeric pushed the fabric aside. His fingers found her slick folds, parting them. She was wet—slick and ready. He circled her clit with the pad of his thumb, slow, teasing strokes that made her breath catch. Her hand tightened around him, matching his rhythm.

”That’s it,” she breathed. ”Just like that.”

They stayed like that for long minutes, hands working each other, building heat without rushing. Isolde’s thighs trembled under his touch. Her nipples peaked against the thin nightdress. She watched his face, eyes dark with desire, reading every flicker of pleasure that crossed his features.

When she was ready, she pushed him onto his back. With careful movements, she shifted, swinging her legs over his hips. Her crippled limbs were dead weight, but she managed, settling astride him. The nightdress bunched around her waist. She reached between them, gripping his cock, positioning the head against her entrance.

”Watch,” she commanded. ℯ

She sank down, inch by inch. Her pussy stretched around him, tight and hot. Emeric groaned, hands gripping her hips. Isolde took him fully, seating herself with a soft moan. She stayed still for a moment, savoring the fullness, the way he throbbed inside her.

Then she began to move.

Her hips rolled in slow, grinding circles.

This was all thanks to the few months of care she had been receiving with Tatia.

Hip movement had been impossible before her. But now she had begun to regain some form of sensation in her hips if even to do this.

And this was plenty.

She used her arms for leverage, lifting and lowering herself, each motion dragging his penis along her inner walls. The angle let her control the depth, the pressure. She leaned forward, bracing her hands on his chest, and rode him with deliberate, sensual rolls of her body.

Emeric thrust up to meet her, but she shook her head. ”No. Let me.”

He stilled, surrendering control. Isolde set the pace—slow, deep, torturous. Each downward stroke buried him to the hilt. Each upward lift left only the head inside her, teasing them both. Her clit rubbed against his pubic bone with every movement, sending sparks of pleasure through her.

Sweat beaded on her skin. Her nightdress clung to her breasts. Emeric reached up, cupping them through the fabric, thumbs brushing her nipples. She arched into his touch, pace quickening just slightly.

”Tell me how I feel,” she demanded.

”Tight,” he gasped. ”Hot. So damn wet.”

Isolde smiled, a wicked little curve of her lips. She clenched around him, inner muscles squeezing his cock. ”And you feel perfect. Thick. Hard. Mine.”

She rode him a little faster now, as much as her hips could allow. The wet sounds of their joining filling the room. Her breath came in short pants. Emeric’s hands slid down to grip her ass, helping lift her, but she remained in charge, dictating every thrust.

The first climax built slowly. Isolde felt it coiling in her belly, tightening with each roll of her hips. She chased it, grinding down harder, taking him deeper. Her thighs burned with the effort, but she didn’t stop.

”Emeric,” she moaned. ”I’m—”

Her pussy fluttered around him, then clenched hard as orgasm crashed through her. She cried out, body shaking, hips jerking erratically. Wetness flooded around his cock. Emeric groaned at the sensation, fighting his own release.

Isolde didn’t stop moving. She rode through the aftershocks, drawing out every pulse of pleasure until she was trembling and oversensitive. Only then did she lift off him, his penis slipping free, glistening with her cum.

She shifted, settling beside him on her side. Her hand found his cock again, stroking him with firm, slick pulls. ”Your turn,” she whispered. ”But not inside me yet. I want to watch.”

Emeric’s hips bucked into her fist. She twisted her wrist on each upstroke, thumb pressing against the tip. Her other hand cupped his balls, rolling them gently. She leaned in, lips brushing his ear.