[Erotica] Kitchen Counter

Image Via Pixabay


I watch as the chilled wine splashes into a large wine glass, his hand then sliding the glass towards me across the smooth marble kitchen top.

I raise the glass to my lips and I down it in one. It’s not the way I imagine he expected me to drink it, but sipping means conversation and conversation isn’t what I came for.

I move around the large island in the centre of the kitchen, my hand trailing along the cool marble beneath my fingertips. When I reach him his eyes are fixed on me, his own wine glass halfway to his lips, my behaviour having stopped him in his tracks.

I remove the glass from his hand, that wine too is also taken care of swiftly. I place the glass on the kitchen top and waste no time in placing my wine tainted lips against his warm mouth.

He wastes no time in catching up with my sense of urgency. Skirt lifted. knickers off. All the while his tongue is dancing with mine and my cunt is delighted that it will not be denied for much longer.

His picks me up and sits me down on the kitchen counter, the marble is like ice against my skin. I’m raised too high for him to fuck me, and I lean back on my hands expecting a show while he tongues, sucks and fingers me to orgasm, his sense of need seems to match my own though and I watch as he undoes his zip and casts off his trousers and boxers, his cock hard and unbelievably about to be sheathed in a condom he had stashed in a kitchen drawer!

When he’s ready he pushes me down onto the hard marble, as he raises himself onto the countertop, treating it like a bed. He spreads my legs, slides a finger up through my wet slit, looks into my eyes and eases his cock into me with one, long, slow movement.

That is the last we see of slow, or long for that matter.

He fucks me as if his life depends on coming in the next five minutes, and I finger my own clit with the desperate, urgent need to come with his cock deep within my cunt. I need to feel him, grip him, be fucked by him but I don’t need him to make me come and he gets it, he’s fucking me to feel, to fill and to find his own pleasure.

We come within seconds of each other, fingers digging and scratching at the others flesh, guttural, primal moans filling the air.

When we’ve caught our breath, he’s standing up, pulling his trousers on and pouring more wine and this time it’s him that downs it in one.

‘Fuck! I needed a drink after that. And Now? Let’s eat, we’ll need some energy so we can do that all over again! It’s been too long my friend, there is much fucking to be had.’


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