My Girlfriend's Blowjobs Are Legendary! Too Bad They're Not Just For Me… Part 8

The first few times Nora stepped out of the closet sent my mind racing. Her first choice, a sleek black dress that clung to her every curve like it was designed just for her.

“Mm. So?” Nora spun slowly in place, dark hair spilling over one bare shoulder as she struck a mock runway pose. “Girlfriend too overdressed for silly little coffee date?”

Overdressed? I could hardly breathe. If this was how she looked for a casual date… I was in serious trouble.

“Mm. Cage says yes” Nora teased as her gaze cast down to my now throbbing member with a coy smile “but face say no. Is too much, I agree. Save for fancy dinner date maybe. I try again. Please hold.”

The sharp click of her heels on the hardwood floor as she made her way back into the closet echoed with the kind of confidence that made it clear: she knew exactly what she was doing to me. A minute later, she reappeared in her next attempt—this time a short floral sundress, bright and colorful, its dainty straps pulled tight like they were begging for mercy against the weight of her chest.

She gave me a playful twirl, her dress flaring just enough to flash the tops of her thighs. “See? Very sweet, very cute. Coffee shop girl, ja?” She caught the way my cage strained and gave me a wicked little smirk before putting on a mock pout. “Mmm… but maybe skirt too short. Whole café get free show if little breeze comes. Boyfriend not like other men staring, hm?”

Her pout snapped into a grin, eyes sparkling as she leaned in close enough for me to feel her breath. All I could manage was a gulp. “Is funny. You hate eyes from stranger. But love when client put cock in me. What difference, hm?

My mouth opened, but nothing came out—just a strangled sound caught between a protest and a whimper. “T-That’s not—Nora, come on…”

She snapped her hand over her mouth, eyes wide in mock horror. “Ah, ja. Sorry, I say wrong. Luca not like men staring… only like men sharing.”

Her “apology” dripped with fake innocence, the snicker slipping through her fingers giving her away completely. My face burned, and before I could even open my mouth, she was already laughing her way back into the closet.

Finally, Nora emerged again, and this time she looked nothing like the dark temptress or the flirty sundress girl from before. Instead, she was devastating in the most casual way possible.

The white sweater clung to her body like it was designed just for her, hugging every outrageous curve and stretching tight across her chest until the soft knit looked ready to surrender. The neckline slipped wide at her shoulders, baring smooth skin before it tumbled down to end barely past her thighs—more suggestive dress than sweater. The sleeves flared into wide bells that swallowed her hands, leaving only her fingertips peeking out with every lazy gesture, kitten-like and deceptively sweet. Draped over the sweater, a slim chain carried the small key, the silver catching the light with every sway—an unspoken reminder of exactly who held the lock on me.

Her leggings were jet black, painted onto her legs with a second-skin smoothness that left nothing to the imagination. Every step pulled the fabric taut, tracing the shape of her thighs before tapering down her calves. And her ass—God, her ass—looked like it had been sculpted just to test the limits of my self-control, each curve defined and lifted until the oversized sweater hanging down only made the contrast sharper. A hint of softness on top, wicked sharp lines below.

On her feet, ankle-high suede boots in warm gray added a boost of height, their chunky heels clicking against the floor with casual authority. The effect was effortless—like she hadn’t even tried, and yet somehow looked devastating.

Her hair was knotted up in a messy bun, artfully careless, with a few strands falling free to frame her face. And then came the glasses—oversized, round frames that screamed parody, as though she were auditioning for some nerdy porno. She pushed them up her nose with exaggerated drama, squinting at me like I was a textbook she was pretending to study—though the smirk tugging at her lips made it very clear she’d already decided exactly what lesson I’d be getting.

“Well?” she teased, tugging the sweater a little lower off one shoulder, the motion so small but feeling intentional all the same. “Nora is ready for café date. You think maybe people believe I am innocent girlfriend? Or still too sexy for poor Luca?”

The way that sweater clung to her chest, straining across those massive curves, it was like the fabric had been made to make me suffer for my sins. Every rise and fall of her breathing stretched it tighter, daring the seams to hold, while the key to my cage glinted brazenly against the white knit. Not hidden, not subtle—hung right where everyone could see. Proof of what she owned, proof of what I wasn’t getting free from.

Her leggings were just as merciless. They didn’t just hug her ass—they pressed into it, shaping each cheek into perfect, rounded curves that shifted hypnotically every time she moved. It wasn’t an accident. Just like how she knew I had a weakness for taller women, or how those oversized glasses perched on her nose had made my stomach do a flip. She wasn’t just wearing an outfit; she was weaponizing it. Solely against me.

“Aaaand Luca is speechless and leaking,” Nora sang, eyes sparkling as she slipped her hands into her sleeves and rocked back on her heels, swaying side to side with an exaggerated bounce. She looked so casual like that—cute, cozy, almost wholesome if not for those divine proportions—except I knew exactly what she was doing.

“I think I have winner,” she continued, beaming as if she’d just done me a kindness. “Frilly dress too cold. Tight little skirt too drafty. But this? Now I am nice, soft, warm all day long…” She leaned down, lowering her voice into that playful purr, “…all for cute horny boyfriend who cannot touch. Isn’t that sweet?”

She said it with the care of someone offering comfort, but every word pressed down on the cage already aching between my legs. And the worst part was that she knew it—God, she knew.

I’d always been a little embarrassed by my… turn-ons. But seeing Nora right now—seeing her enjoying herself, enjoying the power she had over me—it was something else entirely. She’d sworn she had never been a dom for anyone. Always the slut to be bent, used, filled. Always the hole, never the hand holding the leash. A toy to be played with, not the one playing. And yet, the way she teased me now, the way she leaned into my weakness like she was born for it—it was like my confession had flipped some hidden switch inside her.

“Ooookay…” Nora finally said, her voice wobbling in a way I wasn’t used to. “I… think I break boyfriend…?”

Her eyes flicked from my leaking cage up to my face. She tilted her head, almost like she was waiting for me to react, and when I didn’t—when I just sat there, completely wrecked and speechless—her cheeks actually colored. Her lips twitched like she wasn’t sure whether to grin or pout.

“S-Sorry! You look absolutely perfect, Nora. I… umm. Yep.” God, I couldn’t even string words together.

“R-right! Then… Nora step out so Luca can dress,” she blurted, waving her sleeve-covered hands like she needed to shoo herself away. “I’m too much distraction. I go, uh… make breakfast for us!”

And then she bolted for the doorway. Actually bolted.

I blinked, my brain slowly catching up to what had just happened. The way she’d stumbled over her words. The flush spreading across her cheeks. The nervous little rush in her tone. For the first time all morning, Nora hadn’t looked like the perfect, untouchable goddess with every move planned out. No, for that one tiny moment, she’d looked almost… flustered.

And that’s when it hit me. For all her confidence, all the polish she carried from being an escort, Nora had practically zero experience with this—dating someone. Teasing was one thing, but being seen, really seen, as herself? That still rattled her. She might have slept with half the state, but right now, she was just a girl with a crush who’d gotten carried away.

I couldn’t help smiling at the thought as I swung my legs over the edge of the bed. Then I groaned. My balls felt massive—tight, swollen, achy after every outfit she’d paraded in front of me. I pressed my hands to my thighs and muttered under my breath. “Yeah… breakfast better be worth it.”

Even through the closed door of the bathroom, I could hear Nora scurrying about in the kitchen. The sound of pans clanging was audible over the roar of the showerhead. The cold shower turning into more of an attempt to calm my caged member down than to actually freshen up.

It was only after stepping out of the bathroom when it hit me. The aroma of rich spices filling her apartment sent my stomach rumbling. But what really caught me off guard was the sound. A cheery, melodious humming filled the entire room. Walking into the kitchen, I swear Nora might have been the reincarnation of some famous Disney princess chef. Her voice was beautiful, humming a sweet yet unfamiliar tune, no doubt something from Norway, I was sure.

“Look! Luca! I make omelet!” Nora was practically grinning ear to ear when she saw me, making sure to step to the side so I could get a better look at her masterpiece. Nestled in the pan lay a perfectly cooked golden omelet, with hints of cheeses, meat, and vegetables bulging out of the seams. Honestly, it looked like something you’d see on a cooking channel, not on a sleepy morning in her apartment.

“Wow. That looks. Well, actually amazing Nora.” My compliment doing little to hide the shock in my voice.

Pointing her spatula at my gut accusingly Nora frowned saying, “I say I go make breakfast, remember. What you expect? I feed my man bowl of cereal? Pfft. I big girl. Take care of myself you know.”

“I know, I know.” I raised my hands in mock surrender, laughing at the sight of her puffing her cheeks while waving a spatula like a weapon. “I just didn’t know cooking was one of your secret talents.”

“Secret?” She sniffed proudly, then smirked as she flipped the omelet onto a plate. “I am great cook. Used cook for all the girls at den back in day. They joke Nora could be famous chef… if I didn’t ruin taste buds with too much cum. Always say Nora like food too salty. I say adds flavor.”

There was the Nora I knew. Casually joking about her life as an escort like it was just another silly story from her past and somehow turning it into a punchline about breakfast. Only she could make a confession like that sound lighthearted.

She placed the plate in front of me with a little flourish, sliding into the chair across the table with her own fork in hand. The sweater sleeves were so oversized she had to bunch them up just to keep them from dipping into her food. Watching her fuss over them while puffing her cheeks in mild annoyance was so uncharacteristically normal that I had to stop myself from laughing.

As she shifted to get comfortable her foot slid slowly along my leg, tracing a path that made it impossible to focus on anything but her. My pulse stuttered.

“Eat, Luca. Before get cold,” she said, nudging my plate closer with the tip of her fork. “I wake up early, work very hard for this omelet. You better say is best breakfast ever.”

I obediently cut into the omelet, half expecting it to taste like… well, eggs. But the moment I took that first bite, flavor hit me like a freight train. Rich cheese, perfectly cooked veggies, even the seasoning was spot on. My jaw went slack.

“Nora…” I blinked at the plate, then back at her. “This is incredible. Like—this is seriously one of the best omelets I’ve ever had.”

Her cheeks flushed with the kind of pride she usually tried to mask with teasing. “Heh. See? I tell you. Nora is amazing cook. Not just pretty face.” She leaned her chin into her palm, fork dangling lazily in her other hand. “You eat more, or I be sad girlfriend.”

I laughed and took another bite, shaking my head. “I mean it. You’ll make a wonderful wife someday, you know that?”

The words slipped out before I could catch them.

Her fork froze halfway to her mouth. For a second, her eyes softened in a way that made my heart stop. Then, with a mischievous grin curling at the edges of her lips, she popped the bite into her mouth and chewed slowly, as if considering.

“Mm. Wonderful wife, huh? I lock you in little cage, torture you all night, make you fuck hand, then feed you breakfast. Is this what wife do in America?” She squinted at me over the rim of her glasses, her voice dripping with innocence.

I nearly choked on my omelet. “That’s… not exactly the traditional definition, no.”

“But Luca still say it like compliment.” She tapped her fork against her plate, eyes glinting. “So maybe you want this Nora as wife, hmm?”

My face went hot instantly, and she knew it. Her smirk widened as she reached over the table to steal a piece of my omelet, humming happily when she tasted her own cooking again.

“Poor Luca,” she teased between bites. “Already dreaming of wedding. Don’t worry. I let you be pretty bride.”

I tried to keep eating normally after that, but every time I glanced up, Nora was still watching me with that smug little grin, glasses sliding down her nose like she was some all-knowing professor who had just found out her student had a crush on her.

“You blush too easy, Luca,” she said at last, distracting me yet again with her foot under the table so she could spear another bite of omelet. “Maybe I should feed you myself. Like little baby. ‘Say ahh for mama, Luca.’” She smiled, holding out her fork with a piece of red bell pepper stolen from my plate.

I rolled my eyes, though I couldn’t hide the smile tugging at my lips. “What? No airplane sounds? How am I supposed to eat under these conditions?”

Nora popped the food into her mouth with a smug little shrug. “Airplane? Pfft. I more train girlie. Much better rhythm.” She leaned closer, lowering her voice just enough to make my ears burn. “Trust me… Nora know exactly how it feel when whole train run through tight tunnel. Choo choo Luca.”

My jaw dropped, but she just chewed happily like she’d said nothing outrageous at all. Watching her stab yet another bite off my plate, I tried to focus on her pilfering instead of the mental images she’d just shoved in my head.

“You know,” I muttered, fighting back a groan, “if you keep eating all my food, you won’t be able to fit into that future wedding dress, Ms. Perfect Wife.”

“Is okay,” she said breezily, spearing another bite off my plate before I could stop her. “Any extra food just go straight to tits. See? I do Luca big favor. Bigger tits mean better wife, ja?” She punctuated the thought by tapping her fork against the heavy curves straining against her sweater, jiggling them just enough to make my face flush red.

Sadly—or maybe happily—it was true. Every stolen bite seemed destined to end up right there, pressing that poor fabric to its limits. And of course, dangling perfectly between them was the key. Our key. The way it gleamed against the pure white sweater made it stand out like a beacon, so anyone in the café would know exactly who owned me the moment they looked.

“I suppose this means you’ll be stealing my fries when ever we go out to eat then too?” My laughter turning into a sigh as I looked down at my dwindling meal.

“Of course. Girlfriend privilege.” She stole yet another piece of food off my plate with her fork, then leaned back in her chair, humming contentedly. “Mmm. Is perfect. I really am wife material. Just… maybe not boring American wife. More… Norwegian wife. Veeery different.”

I raised a brow, already suspicious. “Different how, exactly?”

She gestured lazily with her fork toward the key hanging against her chest. “American wife maybe bake casserole, kiss husband on cheek, go shopping at Target. Norwegian wife? Lock husband’s cock, make him blush in public, act big slut, eat all his breakfast, then give him snuggle.”

I nearly choked on my coffee. “That’s not a cultural thing!”

“Shhh.” She waved me off, smirking. “Do not question foreign customs. Very disrespectful. Maybe I report you to embassy.” Her little giggle after nearly had me spitting coffee all over the table.

"Despite the playful banter, breakfast didn’t last long—mostly because Nora kept “helping” herself to my half of the food by distracting me with her foot under the table. By the time I set my fork down, she was happily licking the remnants of melted cheese from her thumb, slow and unhurried, her lips closing around it like she meant to make me watch. Maybe this was why the portion she gave me was so much bigger than her own…"

“All done?” she asked brightly, bouncing out of her chair before I could answer. She stacked both our plates and deposited them in the sink with a clatter. Then she clapped her hands together, sweater sleeves swaying like little flags. “Okay! Boyfriend ready for date now.”

I stood, adjusting my shirt nervously under her scrutiny. “You mean… we’re actually going out like this?”

“Of course. You think I dress this cute just to sit inside?” She twirled once in her sweater and leggings, messy bun wobbling dangerously on top of her head. “We go café, then bookstore. You buy me coffee, I buy you manga. You like those cartoon girls, yes? Always crazy hot, big eyes, body like—” she made an exaggerated curve with her hands, smirking— “very unrealistic. Like me, ja? Very romantic.”

“Café first? But didn’t we just eat. Or well. Didn’t you just eat?” I chuckled as I held the door open for her.

“Right. Boyfriend not built like perfect wife. Okay, we go on walk first. I show you off on street. Then we go café and bookstore.” She slid back on her chunky suede boots she had kicked off to tease me more effectively earlier, then snatched her bunny backpack off the counter. After passing through the doorway, she turned back to me with that mischievous sparkle again. “And Luca? Remember… cage stays on. So behave. Or date end with punish.”

I groaned, earning a sing-song giggle in reply as she grabbed me by the arm and practically dragged me while skipping down the hallway.