The Kitchen (erotica)

I’m imagining what we can do when we get together. I’d come to your flat. I’d come to the door, we’d hug. It would be kind of awkward and you’d make some joke about getting laid. We’d take my bag to your room. The bed would be there, waiting, fresh sheets. There would be a pile of condoms and lube and toys next to the bed.

We’d drink tea and chat and steal touches. Our hands would brush against each other. I’d stand up and put the empty mug in the kitchen sink. You’d follow me.

I’d be wearing a tight black pencil skirt. You’d come up behind me and stroke my back, kiss my neck, run your hands down the sides of my body. You’d grip my waist and push yourself against me, trapping me next to the sink. Shivers and tingles would be running through me.

I’d free myself from your grasp and move to the nearest work surface and sit on it. You’d touch my legs, sliding your hands under my skirt, stroking your hand up my stockings, feeling my wetness through my lace panties. I’d beg you to put your fingers inside me but all you would do is circle the edge of my hole, teasing, and tormenting me.

I’d undo your flies and take out your cock. It would already be wet. I’d try to masturbate you, but you wouldn’t let me. You’d step back and lift my skirt up higher and you'd pull the panties off me to expose my bum.

You’d push my legs apart.

You’d tell me to masturbate as you'd take your cock in your hand. You’d hold your cock, stroking it up and down.

With one hand I'd have to keep my balance on the work surface as I’d play with my clit with the other. My juices would be dripping on the counter.

You’d stop; go over to where the cooking utensils are kept. You’d take the thing with the biggest, longest, thickest handle you could find. You’d thrust it into my cunt.

All the while I’d still be playing with my clit. Two fingers pressing painfully hard, moving in rapid, frantic circles. You’d keep pushing the handle in deeper, wondering when I would stop you. You’d hold the handle with your left hand, thrusting it in and out while you’d grab your cock with your right hand. You’d grab it, hard, then soft, changing your roughness and speed so you don’t yet come.

I’d get closer and closer, finding it harder and harder not to come. My groans would be getting louder and louder. My face would be flushed and you would see redness around my neck going down my cleavage, into the space hidden by my clothes. I’d beg for permission to come. You’d tell me to. My orgasm would come in hard, rolling waves, seemingly lasting forever. I’d beg you to come. You would, with pleasure so intense it would be almost painful. The juices would shoot over my bare legs. You’d put your arms around me. I’d wrap my arms around you and caress your hair.