Kitchen Interlude
Her house. She was there; I could see her through the windows
in the kitchen. Her husband was away. I didn't know
where; I didn't care. I had parked a block away and it
was easy to slip in through the back door.
She gave a little startled shriek when I came into the kitchen.
"My God, " she said, "you scared the daylights
out of me."
"Sorry." She's a pretty lady, though you'll
rarely hear her admit it. "I wanted to--"
"I'm so glad to see--" she started at the
same time. Brief laughter. Not nervous laughter, but with
something bubbling underneath. At least for me.
She grabbed my hands and pulled me close for a kiss. Usually
we do this little dance, where we have a light kiss and then
a heavier kiss, exploring one another's mood. (I'm
not sure why; our moods almost always lead to fucking. More
efficient to assume fucking, I guess, but not nearly as
polite.) No light kiss today. My kiss was immediately heavy,
invasive, sexual. Not polite at all.
"What was that?" I saw--or hoped I saw--delight
dancing in her eyes.
"Are you a slut today?" I said as I brought my
hands up to her breasts. Sweet heavy breasts, round and
full, and sensitive.
"Mmmmmm, " she said, as she closed her eyes,
then opened them again. "You're rough today."
"I need to fuck you."
"I like it."
"Are you a slut today?" I repeated as I unfastened
her shorts and thrust them to the floor.
"Feel how wet I am." I did. She was. Her pussy
lips were already slick and swollen semi-stiff. So fucking
sexy. I might have said it aloud.
She reached down to the left leg of my shorts, where the head
of my cock was protruding, and she ran her thumb over it.
"How come this isn't in me yet?" she asked
me.
"Take off my shorts."
"Fuck me with them on."
I hiked up the leg of the baggy shorts and my cock popped up
and free. She squeezed the shaft with her hand and sighed
happily.
"From behind, " I told her, and she waved her
ass at me. I held her hips with both hands and pressed my cock
against her. There was that moment of flexion as her body
adjusted to mine and then I slid right into her pussy, her
all hot and wet and tight and nothing but sex.
I stopped thinking right then. All I felt was her, and that
length of me that was in her. All I heard was wet skin on skin
and the slap of my hips on her ass, and the distant jingle
of china as each hard thrust was transmitted through her
to the counter and beyond.
I think she came, but I don't know. I was close to coming,
so close, and she was pushing back at me, both of us grunting
with sweaty passion and I knew I was going to come soon, soon,
another stroke, two, three, soon dammit when she gasped.
I heard the sound of a motor and chain. The garage door opener.
Her husband.
I couldn't stop--I kept fucking her, three, two, one,
and my sperm poured from me and then I couldn't leave
because I didn't want to leave a trail of come on the
floor.
"Oh, fuck, " she moaned as I finally pulled
out, and she was already bending down to get her shorts.
I was out the back door in an instant, trying to tug my shorts
down over my still-hard cock. Not enough time to get across
the yard unseen; I ducked under the kitchen window.
He sounded irritated. "What are you doing with your
hands in your pants? In the kitchen?"
"Hey, " she said to him breathlessly. "You
want to fool around?"
"In the daytime?"
"I know, " she said. "I'm such a slut."
|
