Domestic Bliss [M25/f18/f38/f19/f18] [Dom/Sub]

Hi this is my first short story, hope you like it. Feedback is appreciated.
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It’s been about two weeks since Jon took the Paylin household under his control. When Jon first arrived, he told the husband to leave and not come back. He told Ms. Paylin she serves him and has to do everything he wants. It turned out Ms. Paylin, or Sarah, is a Michelin-starred chef and a great fuck. Six days ago, she told Jon that her daughter Hanna was returning home from university for summer break the next day. Hanna fell under his control even faster than her mom.

It's Friday, and Jon is laying naked on Hanna’s childhood bed, scrolling through Hanna’s phone, looking at her friends while Hanna is naked and slowly sucking his cock and licking his tip, enjoying every moment. In a couple of days, Hanna is going to have some friends over to catch up, but actually, they are all going to end up getting fucked by Jon. Jon is making her a list of who to call.

There’s a knock on the door.

Jon doesn’t flinch. Hanna doesn’t stop.

“Go see who that is,” he says without looking up from the phone.

Hanna gives one last slow lick, then rises without shame, her body moving fluidly as if nothing in the world could embarrass her anymore. She opens the bedroom door, not even bothering to cover up.

“It’s Mom,” she says, turning back toward him. “She’s asking if you want her to start prepping dinner.”

Jon raises an eyebrow. “What’s on the menu tonight?”

“She said she’s thinking duck confit with sweet corn purée and some kind of heirloom tomato salad.”

Jon tosses Hanna’s phone onto the bed, stretches out, and smiles. “Tell her yes. And make sure she opens a bottle of that Pinot she was hiding in the garage fridge.”

Hanna nods and leaves.

He hears her soft voice at the top of the stairs, relaying the instructions. Then Sarah’s muffled “Yes, Jon” in return.

Jon lies back, staring at the ceiling. The house was beginning to feel like his in a way he hadn't even planned for. Not just a place—**his** rhythm, **his** atmosphere, **his** quiet little world.

He hears the clink of wine glasses downstairs. Hanna returns a minute later, a little bounce in her step, eyes eager.

“Want me to finish?” she asks, crawling back onto the bed.

He doesn’t answer. He just reaches for the phone again.

“Let’s talk about your friend Melissa,” he says, unlocking the phone again and pulling up the photo of a brunette with heavy eyeliner and a lazy half-smile.

Hanna settles between his legs, resting her chin just above his stomach. “She’s loud. Flirty. Says she’s bi but I’ve only ever seen her date girls.”

Jon studies the photo for a moment. “She’s coming Sunday?”

“If I tell her to, she’ll come.” Hanna grins up at him. “She thinks I’ve got some ‘hot scene’ going on back home.”

Jon runs his fingers through Hanna’s hair absently, eyes still on the screen. “Tell her there’s truth to that.”

He scrolls further. “What about this one—Jessica?”

Hanna shrugs. “Super sweet. Total pushover. You’ll like her.”

“I like all of them,” Jon says, putting the phone down. “But I’ll decide who stays after I’ve had a taste.”

She purrs a little at that, pressing her body closer to his. He lets her kiss his stomach, lazily, then his hip, then lower again.

Downstairs, soft jazz is playing. The scent of seared duck fat and roasted garlic is starting to creep up through the vents.

Jon closes his eyes. *Domestic bliss.*

---

**Later that night.**

The house is quiet again.

Hanna is in the living room, curled up on the couch watching something she won't remember in the morning. Jon told her she wanted to unwind, and she did. No questions.

In the kitchen, Sarah stands barefoot at the sink, slowly drying the last wine glass. She’s still wearing the apron from earlier—dark red, tied low around her waist, nothing underneath. Her hair’s up now, practical and neat, like she’s waiting for a review.

Jon walks in, finishes the last of the Pinot, and sets the glass down on the counter. He moves behind her without a word, sliding his hands under the apron and cupping her breasts with practiced ease. She lets out the smallest breath, but doesn’t stop folding the towel. He presses his body to hers—close, deliberate, grounding her with his presence.

“That was good,” he murmurs, his thumbs brushing slowly across her nipples. “You’ve got talent.”

Sarah smiles, still facing forward. “Thank you, Jon.”

“Tell me what you were thinking about during dinner.”

Her hands pause, the towel forgotten. “I was thinking how nice it was to cook for someone who actually enjoys what I make. And… wondering if you’d want dessert.”

He shifts his weight slightly, his grip tightening just enough to make her lean back into him.

“I’d rather have you.”

She turns her head slightly toward him, apron gaping a bit more with the motion. Her nipples are hard under his palms, and her breath has picked up.

“You always can.”

Jon keeps fondling her as he leans in closer, letting her feel the heat of him at her ear.

“Do you miss him?” he asks quietly. “Your husband.”

She shakes her head, no hesitation.

“No. I think I missed being wanted more than I ever missed him.”

Jon nods, pleased, his hands still working her slowly, possessively.

“Good,” he says.

“You’re going to be very busy Sunday,” he adds, letting one hand trail lower down her stomach.

“I know,” Sarah whispers, already tilting her hips in anticipation.

---

**Sunday evening.**

The dining room glows with soft candlelight, warm and flattering. The food is mostly finished, plates pushed slightly aside, wine glasses half-full. Laughter lingers in the air.

Jessica and Melissa are relaxed, cheeks flushed with wine and praise. Sarah’s duck à l'orange had done more than impress—it had disarmed.

Melissa leans back in her chair, swirling the wine. “I swear, if I lived here, I’d be three sizes bigger. Your mom’s cooking is dangerous.”

“She’s mine,” Jon says simply, smiling. “She cooks for me.”

The laughter stutters. Melissa glances at Hanna. Jessica gives a nervous chuckle, unsure if it was a joke.

Jon stands.

“Let’s move to the living room.”

His tone is casual but final. Everyone rises. Sarah collects the dishes without comment. Hanna takes Melissa’s hand, gently guiding her toward the other room.

In the living room, Sarah and Hanna slip to Jon’s sides, clinging to his arms like they belong there—bodies pressed close, eyes only on him. They watch the girls now with the same hunger and excitement Jon does, quiet and eager.

Jon looks to Melissa and Jessica.

“Take off your clothes.”

Melissa stares. “Wait, what?”

Jessica opens her mouth, then closes it again—fingers already hesitating at the hem of her shirt. Hanna gives her a soft nod.

Jessica peels her top over her head, slowly, revealing small, trembling breasts. Her hands shake slightly as she undoes her jeans, sliding them down her thighs until she stands completely bare, blinking under the soft lighting.

Melissa follows, more confused than scared, as if dreaming. She strips with the unsteady movements of someone unsure why she’s doing it but unable to stop. The last thing she removes is her necklace, letting it fall to the side table without a word.

Jon gestures. “Now kneel.”

Melissa and Jessica lower themselves side by side on the floor in front of him, naked and silent.

Jon steps forward, Sarah and Hanna still close to his sides, watching intently.

He begins to circle the two girls slowly, hands behind his back. He takes his time, gaze lingering on every detail—their bare skin, the curve of their spines, the helpless tension in their posture.

He smiles. “Good choices,” he says to Hanna, voice low. “Very good.”

Hanna beams, proud. “They’ll be happy. You’ll see,” she says to the girls, voice sweet and dreamy. “This is the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

Sarah nods, eyes still locked on the kneeling pair. “You’re lucky. You don’t even know it yet.”

Jon stops in front of them, content.

Exactly as it should be.

---

**Later that night.**

The room is dim and warm, lit only by a bedside lamp turned low. The sheets are a mess, the air thick with sex and soft, breathy sounds. Jon is on his knees behind Melissa, one hand gripping her waist, the other pressing into the small of her back as he fucks her slowly, deliberately.

Melissa’s mouth is open, panting, her fingers clawing lightly at the sheets. She moans without thinking, her body giving in even as her mind tries to catch up.

Jessica is locked in a kiss with Sarah on the other side of the bed. Their hands explore freely—tentative at first, then deeper, hungrier. Sarah’s leg is draped over Jessica’s hip, keeping her close. Jessica’s resistance is fading, replaced by the rush of heat and submission.

Hanna sits beside Jon, touching herself lazily with one hand, the other stroking his chest, kissing his shoulder, his neck. Her eyes never leave the other girls.

“You’re doing so well,” she whispers in Melissa’s ear when Jon pulls her up for a moment. “He’s giving you what you need. Just let go.”

Melissa only moans in reply, hips pressing back into Jon instinctively.

Hanna turns her attention to Jessica now, eyes bright. “Kiss her deeper,” she says softly. “Don’t think. Just feel. You belong here now.”

Jessica obeys, her hands tangling in Sarah’s hair, her breath quickening.

Jon watches them all, his rhythm slow but powerful, owning Melissa’s body as easily as he had taken her mind. Her moans are different now—less confused, more needy.

He leans forward slightly, gripping her tighter. “You’re mine,” he says, low in her ear.

“Yes,” Melissa gasps, her voice breaking with a mix of release and surrender. “Yours.”

Hanna smiles and kisses Jon again, slow and adoring. “They’re almost there,” she murmurs. “They’re starting to understand.”

Jon closes his eyes and lets himself enjoy the moment—his world, his rules, his girls.

And it was only just beginning.