Over the Sink
A little bit of erotica I wrote, because even women just want a quickie now and then.
“Don’t kiss me on the neck.”
“Why? I thought you liked it.”
“I do. Just not right now. I just want fucked. Just stick it in.”
“Okay, but don’t bitch at me later.”
“Christ, shut the hell up and stick in it.”
And then he is pushing her over the kitchen sink, sliding her skirt up over her generous, round ass. Surprised to see she is not wearing panties, he thinks better of saying anything; she obviously isn’t in the mood to listen.
As he goes to push her right leg out further with the cap of his bent knee, she moans.
“Hurry up, damn it. Give me that cock.”
And so he presses between her legs, again surprised when the head of his cock glides so easily between her already-moist thighs to bob against her sodden bush. She grunts, wiggling her slit back onto the head. He feels himself slide into her–fast and deep–with hardly any effort.
As he starts moving in and out, he can hear the slick sound of her juices coating his pistoning cock and feel them oozing between the hair on his balls. The smell of her sex wafts up to surround both of them. He moves quicker; her animal need has quickened his pulse, sharpened his need.
She’s curled her fists along the edge of the sink, her white knuckle grasp helping her to push back. Her breaths are fast. She is grunting and groaning, then whimpering.
“I need it. Right there. Yes. There.”
And then she is crying and her cunt is rhythmically spasming around his cock as she begins cumming. The raw quickness of her orgasm pushes him over the edge and he is pumping his load into her, his face buried between her angora-covered shoulder blades.
They stay that way, hunched over the sink like twin embryos as they catch their breath.
And then she stands up straight, his dick sliding out of her and down her thigh–a slug, leaving it’s slime.
“Okay, leave me alone, now. I need to finish these dishes.”