I don’t know why the feeling of you cupping my jaw while you kiss me makes me so hot, but it does. It could be the kissing scenes in old movies—you knew those chicks fucked, but how could they, so delicate and proper and well dressed? But you know that behind closed doors they engaged in unabashed, unexpected fucking. At least the lucky ones did.
I squeeze your naked ass hard with both hands and I grind up against you, spreading a trail of little kisses along your neck. My senses are overwhelmed with your reaction to what I’ve got hidden in my pants, something I put on when I got home, purchased especially for this occasion. You moan and press yourself back and forth against it, leaving a warm sticky trail on my cutoffs. I tell you it feels good. Beads of sweat drip from your hair onto my arms, chest and face, leaving the scent of your coconut hair conditioner everywhere.
My hands snake up to the small of your back and you lean down into my face, kissing me hard as we rock against each other. Our lips wet and slippery, our tongues entwined, you raise yourself up higher on your knees, pulling up my tank top to rub your moist curls against my abdomen. My hands run up the backs of your thighs, pushing your skirt up until it’s caught around your waist, cupping your ass, giving it tight rhythmic squeezes. You moan, arch your back, your pussy pressing harder against me, fucking at me. I run my fingers along the tops of your stockings, let them stray into the dark, warm place where your thighs meet, just below your ass. You groan and your legs bend as your thighs part for me, then you whimper as my fingers caress them, grazing your pubic hair from behind, titillating you further. You rest your forehead on my shoulder, panting. So many choices for my next move.
“So, wife, what would you like to do now?” I whisper, still caressing you between the legs, just next to your pussy, the velvet-soft skin of your inner thighs.
“I brought burgers home from work,” you whisper as your fingers open my fly just enough that you can pull my fabulous new hot-pink cock out, bending it in ways I imagine would hurt if it were real. But when you wipe your hand through your come and begin to stroke the length of it, it’s more than real enough. I groan as you start slowly jerking me off, pressing the base of it hard against my soaked clit with every stroke.
“Ugh, burgers, yeah, let’s just stop now and have burgers,” I whisper, stroking your pussy gently, as your come drips down my hand. You gasp. I grab your hips and lower you toward my cock. You ride the tip of it for a moment, your mouth open, your eyes closing with pleasure, rubbing your clit against it. I slip it into you quickly, pulling you down until you are sitting in my lap. You shudder, whisper my name. I keep hold of your hips and begin to move you up and down, thrusting up into you, sure and slow. I stare at your hands as they unbutton your shirt to reveal your fantastic tits in their little black satin bra. I press my face into your cleavage and breathe deeply—like the white stuff in the middle of Oreos, that’s what your body lotion smells like. I keep my hands on your ass as I rub my face all over your tits, biting at your nipples through the satin as I fuck you.
“Oh, yeah,” I say.
“Oh, yeah? My legs are gonna break off at the thighs if we stay in this position much longer.”
I laugh. You wrap your legs around me and I put my hands on your ass, staggering two steps to gently lay you down on the coffee table, and start fucking you again. The pressure of the base of the dildo against my soaked clit is immensely pleasurable, but it’s only one of the things that makes me keep fucking you. The main thing is the sounds you make, and after that, how beautiful you look, lying on your back under me, hair spread out around your head, your face flushed with sex. Your eyes are closed and your mouth is open, smiling, making the most erotic little grunts in time with my thrusts.
“Oh, baby, I love you,” I whisper into your ear, listening to your breathing, ragged and excited, tiny gasps. I wrap my left arm around your shoulders and rest my head against yours, breathing hard, holding you close, our bodies sliding against each other. My right hand snakes up your side, caressing your skin, moves up onto your breast and stays there, squeezing in time with my thrusts.
“Oh, yeah, baby, just keep fucking me.” Your voice is deep and makes me want you more.
I fuck you faster, deeper, dripping with sweat. My cock slides in and out of you, pressing against your clit, against my clit. I bite your shoulder harder than I mean to. I whisper that I’m going to come.
“Yeah… okay,” you moan and grab my ass, your feet high in the air behind me, pressing your pussy against me faster and harder, starting to come as I start to come. Your gasps and whimpers send chills through me, my toes feel cold and I come with you, my face pressed against your neck.
Eyes still closed, I kiss you. Your mouth is hot and wet and tastes like sex.“I love you,” I whisper.
“Yeah. For seven years now.” You laugh. “Happy anniversary.”
“Yeah, happy anniversary.”
I pull out of you gently and we sit together on the couch, pressed up close, stuck to each other. I reach for the bag of burgers. Life is good.
SKIN DEEP
Anna Watson
Rosa was such a slut that it took her the better part of a year to realize there was a pattern to Terry’s disappearing acts: a moon pattern, to be exact. But for a while there, Rosa just wasn’t paying attention; so every time Terry pulled one of her no-shows, Rosa would just chalk it up to a bad mood and carry on with her fabulous life. Rosa’s postmonogamous, polyam-orous motto went something like this: “There are a lot of apples bobbing around in the barrel.” She had several players on offer, casual and less so, who were often available when Terry broke a date and who were more than happy to welcome her into their arms (and mouths and cunts). It had taken Rosa no little time to reach this place, physically, spiritually and mentally, and she thoroughly enjoyed being there, often congratulating herself on the sweet fruits of what had been (and continued to be) very hard labor. She had discovered that being a slut, one with manners and morals, was just as difficult as being a model wife.
But once she figured out what was going on with Terry, she felt pretty stupid. Why hadn’t she paid more attention? She had felt Terry pushing her away and she had gone off to frolic elsewhere without checking to see what was going on. She had waited for Terry to come to her when maybe it was time for her to go to Terry. Terry, with her suits and her buzz cut, her ripe biceps, her complicated, delicious old-school self. This was not someone Rosa wanted to let drift away, especially since Terry was smart and tender and made Rosa laugh. The two of them had already been through a lot of emotional shit together, pushing each other’s buttons, all that. They’d wrestled with monogamy (Terry), emotions out of control (Rosa) and who knows what all, but they’d come out on the other side of it, to a better understanding and a deeper trust. Oh, Rosa liked Terry.
Dialing, Rosa thought, There are six thousand nerve endings in the clitoris. This fact always gave her strength. When Terry answered, Rosa said, “Hey, baby,” in a way that usually had Terry growling out cocky commands like, “Get your fine ass over here right now, girl, so I can pin you up against the wall and fuck your brains out.” Tonight, though, she just sighed and said, “Oh, hi, Rosa.” Right on time, by Rosa’s count. Damn, she was regular.