- DADDY'S HOME
pairing: dev verma x wife!reader
tags: 18+ smut, sub reader, softdom dev, nipple play, yeah….tits.
authors note: requested by a pyari baby of mine :3 , hope you all like it Hehehhe. Sit back and enjoy ;)
Summer day’s in mumbai were the worst.
And Dev Verma’s job of being an investigator in the police force? became unbearable during the scorching heat and humidity.
The relentless heat, the mounting pile of case files on his desk, and that one stubborn investigation that refused to yield any answers had left the brooding officer far snappier than usual. As a result, everyone in the station found themselves walking on eggshells, careful not to attract the attention—or the wrath—of their increasingly irritable superior.
Dev had spent the last six hours in a sweltering interrogation room, sweating through his white button-down while a suspect played dumb. The case was going nowhere and his patience was now a frayed wire, sparking at the edges.
He drove home with his jaw locked, fingers drumming against the steering wheel.
The usual relief that he felt pulling into the building's shaded parking was absent. Instead of a sense of contentment washing over him in the anticipation of reaching home and seeing his lovely bebe, a gnawing need coiled low in his gut—something he'd been holding back all week.
The workload, heat, frustration,etc had got to the head of our beloved officer.
He wanted his wife . Needed her in that specific, consuming way that only she could fix.
He sat in the car for a long moment, breathing through his nose. The parking was quiet, just the hum of the AC unit and the late afternoon sun slanting through the leaves of the old oak out front. He needed to decompress before he entered your home where you would be present…waiting for him.
His wife. His young, cute wife.
The thought alone loosened something in his chest. The way you smiled when he came home.
The way you’d pad over to him, barefoot, in some ridiculously oversized shirt that hung off one shoulder. The way you'd wrap your arms around his neck and press that soft body against his, and he'd feel the tension start to drain out of him like water through a sieve.
Finally he got out of the car, slammed the door harder than necessary, then made himself take a long, slow breath to cool down.
Don’t take the stress of work at home.
It has always been the officers mantra for a good and happy home life.
The front door creaked open. The living room was empty, but he heard a faint rustling from the kitchen.
He followed the sound, his footsteps heavy on the hardwood, and when he rounded the corner, he stopped dead in his tracks.
There you were— leaning over the kitchen counter, scrolling through your phone having a glass of Glucon-D beside you.
But that was not it , you were wearing the shirt—one of his old white button-downs, unbuttoned at the top three buttons, the fabric so thin it was practically translucent in the afternoon light.
No bra. Fuck.
The late sun streamed through the window behind you, backlighting your figure, and he could see the outline of your dark nipples, the gentle sway of your breasts with every small movement you made. All thanks to the absence of the confines of a bra.
He was a gone man at the sight
No panties either, judging by the way the shirttail just barely grazed the tops of your thighs.
Dev was hard as fuck, the usually well fit trousers now tightening at his crotch.
You hadn't heard him come in.
You hummed a little tune under your breath, completely oblivious to the man thirsting over you, and Dev felt his throat go dry.
His frustration and pressure at work — all of it just melted away, replaced by something raw and immediate.
Awe. Pure, unfiltered awe.
"Hey, baby," you said, finally glancing up, pausing the reel about some sob story a man was using as a voice over while making a mid-ahh cake. Your face lit with that smile he'd been craving all day. "You're home early. How was—"
The last thread of restraint snapped.
You didn't get to finish your sentence before Dev crossed the kitchen in three long strides.
His big calloused hands came up and cupped your face, tilting your head back.
He kissed you hard, without preamble, his mouth claiming yours like he'd been starving for it, which he had. You gasped against his lips, then melted into him instantly, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, "Fucking day," he muttered. "I needed you."
You caresses his cheeks with your soft palms as he nuzzled into it, nipping the tender flesh playfully.
"Kya hua Dev?" You whispered, eyes searching his. He looks so tired it makes your heart ache.
He didn't answer. Instead, his hands slid down from your face, over your shoulders, along the curve of your neck, until they cupped the sides of your breasts through the thin cotton.
You let out a small squeak of surprise at his rough hands against your soft mounds.
Dev squeezed, gently at first, feeling their weight almost assessing as you leaned into his touch.
"Bebe…Bra nahi pehna?," he said, his voice so deep it hit your cervix.
"Garmi," you replied back, a little breathless at his gentle assault . "I like wearing your shirts without my bras." You added , arousing him further.
He knew and he fucking loved it.
Dev's thumbs found your nipples through the fabric, rubbing slow circles.
They were already hard, pebbled against his touch. He squeezed again, fuller this time, his palms molding your breasts like clay, using them the way he always did—as stress relief, something to ground him back to reality.
You look down at his veiny hands doing wonders, moaning softly.
Dev didn’t seem to like that, he needed to capture each and every expression of you into memory.
"Look at me," he commanded , his voice low.
You obeyed, your big eyes finally meeting his dark ones.
"Bad day," he repeated, his fingers kneading your flesh, rolling your nipples between thumb and forefinger. "And all I could think about was coming home and seeing you like this."
"Hngh…I’m here," you reassured, trying to muffle those adorable noises of pleasure.
"I know, and I’m going to take full advantage of it.." He backed you up against the counter, forcing you to sit on the edge. His hands never left your tits, palming them, using them like the stress balls he needed. "God, I love your tits, bebe. You know that?."
You nodded, a tiny whimper escaping your lips.
He pulled the shirt down, exposing both your breasts fully—full with dark nipples that begged for attention.
He dipped his head and took one in his mouth, sucking hard, swirling his tongue around the sensitive tip.
You arched your back, pushing more of yourself into his mouth, your fingers tangling in his hair.
Dev groaned against your skin, the taste of you, the feel of you, washing away every last shred of his earlier frustration.
He worked your left breast with his mouth while his right hand kept kneading the other, pinching and rolling your nub between his fingers until you were trembling.
When he finally pulled back, your nipple was red and glistening. He switched sides, giving the same treatment to the right, his big palm cupping the left and squeezing rhythmically, like he was massaging his own stress away into your soft flesh.
"Harder," you whispered, grinding on to him. Your own pleasure overriding your being.
He complied, his grip tightening, his mouth sucking harder. His fingers dug into the plump curve of your tits, leaving faint red marks. He didn't care if it bruised a little—you loved the marks, loved being his and ESPECIALLY—loved being manhandled by his big hands.
Minutes passed, the only sounds in the room being your breathy moans and the wet suction of his mouth slobbering all over you. When he finally straightened, he kept his hands on you, cupping both breasts, holding them like they were the most precious thing in the world.
"Relaxed?” You murmured, your voice husky.
He looked at you—you with your flushed lips, half-lidded eyes, shirt hanging off one shoulder, tits bare and marked by him. The sight of you like this, so open and willing, made something hot and possessive burn in his gut.
"Getting there," he said. He lifted one of his hands to your mouth, his long thick fingers inviting "Suck."
You took his fingers into your mouth without hesitation, your tongue curling around them as your eyes locked on his. He watched you, his cock thickening in his pants. He let you suck his fingers clean with no desire to rush you.
When he pulled them out, he reached down and unbuttoned your shirt the rest of the way, letting it fall open, exposing you completely. Then he slid his hand down, between your thighs, playing with your folds and found you already wet.
You were such a good girl for him, always prim and ready to satisfy him.
"Been waiting for me?" he growled.
"All day," you whined. Dev's frustration was gone now, replaced by a focused, hungry need. He lifted you off the counter, your legs wrapping around his waist, and carried you towards the couch, your bare tits pressed against his hard clothed chest as you grind your wet heat against his belt buckle.
His forehead pressed against yours as he gently put you down on the sofa, the weight of his satisfaction settling between you like a blanket. "Good wife," he murmured, the words a brand on your skin.
Then he pulled back, his hands leaving your marked breasts, and you felt the absence like a withdrawal—cold air rushing in where his palms had been. But the predatory look in his eyes was enough to warm you up again.
"Now," he continued, voice dropping to that quiet register that made your thighs clench, "I will take off my clothes, and you will lie there, still, with your tits bare and wet for me. Understand?"
You nodded, the word catching in your throat. "Yes, Dev."
"Hmm?"
"Yes, Sir," you corrected yourself, wanting to make your husband proud.
He stood up from the sofa, the cushion shifting as his weight left. You stayed where he'd placed you—sprawled on your back, legs slightly parted, your chest damp and aching from his attention.
The late afternoon sun slanted through the window, catching the lines of his body as he moved to the foot of the sofa.
He started with his White cotton shirt, damp with sweat from the long day. He unbuttoned from the top down, slowly, each button slipping free with a soft pop. His chest was revealed inch by inch, showing the broad planes, the dusting of dark hair that thickened at his sternum, and the faint scar near his ribs from a case gone wrong.
His skin was warm, flushed, and when he shrugged the shirt off his shoulders, the muscles in his arms flexed as the fabric fell to the floor.
Your mouth watered at the delicious sights of your husband.
His smirk caused you to blush a beautiful red blush. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband and pushed his trousers down. He stepped out of them, kicking them aside. Now he was in nothing but his boxer briefs—dark grey, the outline of his cock visible, the head pressing against the fabric. Pre cum staining the fabric a darker color of grey.
He climbed onto the sofa. His weight dips the cushions as he looms over you. Straddling your hips, his knees bracketed your thighs, and cock brushed against your bare stomach through the thin fabric of his boxers.
He looked down at you with want, and his hand came up to cup your jaw, tilting your face toward his.
"You're doing so well," he said, his thumb tracing your lower lip. "So perfect. I have had a rough day, so keep your hands at your sides and let me take what I need."
He shifted forward, his boxer-clad cock sliding against your belly, rubbing the wet fabric on your skin. His hand moved to his waistband, and he pushed his boxers down just enough to free himself— the head flushed and slick. He didn't remove them fully. He wanted the fabric still there as a tease.
He pressed the tip of his cock against your stomach, then dragged it up, over your sternum, until it rested between your breasts. The wet head touched your skin, and you shuddered.
"Now," he said, his voice a whisper, "hold them together for me."
Your hands rose, trembling, and pressed your breasts around his shaft. The soft flesh enveloped him, the slickness of his arousal and your own sweat due to the heat making the glide easy.
He began to move—slow and shallow thrusts, his cock sliding through your cleavage, the head emerging at the top, brushing against your chin.
His breath hitched at the lewd sight, eyes staying locked on yours.
"That's it," he breathed. "That's my good wife. That's exactly what I needed."
He moved faster, his hips rocking, his hands bracing on either side of your head. The slap of his balls against your chest was rhythmic, punctuated by his low moans.
With a guttural groan he released onto his second favourite spot on you.
His rhythm between your breasts faltered as your hands pressed your breasts tighter around his shaft, slick with your drool and the first pearly beads of his cum.
He let out a long, shuddering breath, his eyes half-lidded, but then he stilled. His cock rested against your sternum, hot and heavy, the head just below your chin.
He looked down at you—at the wet mess he’d made of your chest, at your parted lips waiting for his next command, at the way your body trembled beneath him, wanting more. You were the picture of divine ruin.
He pulled back slowly, the glide of his shaft leaving your cleavage with a wet sound.
You whimpered at the loss, but he placed a reassuring hand on your stomach.
"Shh," he murmured. "I know what you need. What I need, too."
He shifted his weight off your hips, sitting back on his heels between your spread legs.
His boxer briefs were still rucked down, his cock standing proud.
His eyes traveled down your body, from your swollen nipples to the curve of your waist, then lower to where your thighs were open, wet, glistening.
Your pussy was slick and ready. He traced a finger through the moisture, gathering your arousal, then brought it to his lips, tasting you with a low groan.
Your breathe hitched at the scene.
"You're so wet for me," he said, his voice thick. "This is what I do to you. This is what you need isnt it baby girl?."
He leaned forward, positioning himself between your thighs, the head of his cock nudging against your entrance.
He teased you torturously , dragging the tip along your slit, collecting your wetness, circling your clit with the sensitive head.
You gasped, your hips bucking, but he pressed a hand to your hip to still you. Like you were a petulant impatient puppy.
"Stay"
He pushed in, just the tip watching your face as you stretched around him. Not wanting to miss a single moment of this intimate evening.
You made soft noises of pleasure as you adjusted to his impressive length. He waited, giving you time before pressing deeper—inch by inch, filling you, the thick length of him pushing past your tight walls.
You felt every ridge and pulse of his vieny cock. He was so deep inside you that it stole your breath, drawing an overwhelmed scream from your lips.
He finally bottomed out, his hips flush against yours and balls resting on your plump ass. He stayed there, letting you adjust, his forehead resting against yours, your breaths mingling.
"Look at you," he grunted in pleasure, absolutely pussy drunk “Taking all of me like the good dutiful wife you are"
He began to move—slow, deep thrusts that made the sofa creak in rhythm.
His hips rolled, each stroke deliberate, grazing that spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyes. He watched you, his hands gripping your hips.
He started to increase his pace, unable to resist the need that had been bubbling inside him since the work day ended.
"Fuck! My good little wife…. who only is a slut for her husband~”
“O-only for you”
The sound of his skin slapping against yours filling the room. The wetness of your pussy made every thrust slick and easy, his cock gliding in and out, coated with your arousal.
He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a deep, languid kiss, his tongue sliding against yours as he fucked you.
"I'm going to fill you up," he growled against your lips. "I'm going to pump you full of my cum, and you're going to take every drop. Understand?"
You could only moan in response, your nails digging into his shoulders, your legs wrapping around his waist to pull him deeper. His thrusts grew harder, faster, more erratic.
The springs of the sofa made creaking noises. His breath came in ragged gasps.
"I'm close," he panted. "Tell me where you need it”
"Please—please, Dev—fill me up—in me…I need it—"
That was all the permission he needed. He buried himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing as he spilled inside you—wave after wave of hot cum, flooding your pussy, leaking around his shaft.
He groaned your name, his body trembling, his forehead pressed to yours as he rode out his orgasm.
When he finally stilled, he stayed inside you, his cock softening slowly and breath mingling with yours. He kissed your forehead, your nose, your lips in reverance, worshipping your features.
"Good wife," he whispered woth each peck. "My good wife."
He pulled out gently, a trickle of his cum seeping from your used pussy ruining the newly installed couch. He lay below you, pulling you against his chest, one hand splayed possessively over your belly where his seed was still warm inside you.
Suddenly…summer day’s in mumbai didn’t feel the worst.
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