It was a shit day. All day. Wake up: headache. Coffee: left on top of the car. Work: sucked. Drive home: sucked. I was hoping 2021 would start to bring *some* kind of change. I was hoping I could leave the shit day in the driveway. As I sat there for twenty-or-so minutes, I thought of everything that had been happening. Sarah’s new job. My job. Our conflicting schedules. Schedules so far out of line that our sex life had gone down the toilet. We were trying to make appointments to fuck rather than the spontaneous kitchen bang we would have on a Tuesday. Now, we were looking to share relations January 15th at around 7:30 PM (permitting neither of us were tired or feeling out of it). Everything was flaccid. My life. My dick. Everything.
It was 6PM. I still had an hour before Sarah got home. And, I could only imagine, it would be another sexless night. I took a breath and left my car; I made my way up the driveway with hopes of a hot shower and maybe some quick masturbation. As I got to the door, I made to my front pocket for my keys. Wrist deep in my jeans, I hear the door unlock from inside.
Sarah’s at the door. I was surprised. If Sarah beats me home, she’s usually in sweat pants and a hoodie of mine. Today must have been one of those freak accidents where times just lined up. She stood there, hair up in a bun, glasses on, lipstick fresh, and still in her work clothes. She had on a yellow, two-button blouse that was tucked into a pleated and brown skirt that ended mid-calf. She must have had her “good bra” on as well; her breasts were close to busting a button.
I loved seeing her like that. Demanding. Sexy. She was the naughty pin-up librarian I had always dreamed of having. Unfortunately, I never got to see her like that for long. Work was draining for both of us. As soon as we got home—comfy clothes came out. Sweat pants. Gym Shorts. Hoodies.
*My old Long Johns.*
As we stood at the door, I could feel a quick rush of blood surge to my face and cock. I was warm all over and I began to feel my heartbeat in my penis while my face revealed my surprise. She smiled and said “I got out early. I figured we could do dinner tonight.” She leaned out to kiss me. I reached around grabbed her by the waist and pulled her in. Slipping a little bit of tongue and biting her lip as our faces retreated. Her eyebrows raised and her cheeks flushed. She smiled and told me to come in. She walked into the house, leaving the door open for me to follow.
—
I entered and closed the door behind me and left my bag there. As I looked up, my eyes followed her from her feet to the back of her head. Something was different. She still had her heels on. She never kept her shoes on when she got home. They were usually back by the door. “Leaving the day at the door” is what she would say. And she was wearing stockings. She never wore stockings. I watched her walk down the hallway towards the back of the house. She cut left towards the kitchen and from there yelled,
*“Are you coming?”*
The warmth that spread from my chest to my groin had maintained. My face had returned to some semblance of normalcy. My cock had not. I felt it lie thick in my right pant leg. I took a breath—arguing with myself that I can’t enter the kitchen with a hard on. It’s just dinner. I took another breath and felt my cock soften, but ready just in case. A subtle throbbing remained while I made my way to the kitchen.
Our home was something we worked hard on. Something we had both designed and, in all ways, poured ourselves into. The wood work and paint were warm and inviting. Accents of forest green and gold lined the hallway. The red and gold Persian rug in the living room and the leather couch offered a place to converse and sit back with a coffee. Everything was meticulously considered. Design was deliberate. But that was who we were. Like a pair of masochists—we suffered for our home. The walls we were confined in were our sadistic master. Commanding our pain with lack luster conversations of paint, dining ware, and decorative accents. Each day there was a project, a crack in the plaster, dust on the mantle that whipped us and fueled our travels to HomeGoods on the weekends when we would rather be fucking in the car. An e-mail from the Kitchen Store, notifying us that the 30% off sale was ending, would drag us by the necks to spend our money on rustic cutlery or Acacia cutting boards when the only things we wanted to devour was each other. A mouth full of cunt, a throat full of cock, a drawer full of spoons. One of the three was always more important and it always seemed to have a cold and metallic taste.
And as I walked from front door to the kitchen, I hated that place. I hated how I worked to make everything look so perfect. I hated how Sarah and I had been so consumed by plaster and plastic and not each other. The warmth in my chest and belly shot back up my throat and into my face. I stopped and looked at the walls, at the trim, at that stupid fucking doormat. And I was angry. We made a home and it ate us up and swallowed us whole. And there we were: collared and gasping for breath while we drowned in our collection of things. Stuff. Inanimate. Unloving. Cold.
I closed my eyes and focused back on walking towards the kitchen; towards Sarah. I felt my face cool. The throbbing in my jeans had disappeared and my member lay warm against my leg. I moved onwards to the woman in the kitchen. Sexually and emotionally devastated within thirty seconds of entering my home. Beaten back by brick and mortar.
As I walked forward, I heard the floorboards creak beneath my feet. And in that moment, I was brought back to the strangeness of the situation. Sarah was in the kitchen. On the Italian, ceramic, tile floor that we worked so hard for. And she was in heels. And it was silent. There was no side step at the sink to be heard. There was no scrape of the leather sole dragging across the tile. There was nothing. Just my own footsteps creaking towards the kitchen.
At the end of the hallway, I turned left, to find Sarah in the kitchen at the sink. Quietly standing with her back towards me looking out the window into our small backyard. Her silhouette in that room hardened me in step and muscle. Her waist pressed against the edge of the sink, her back arched only slightly as if stretching and her hair gently falling down her shoulder in a wave of dark curls. She was a picture of my hunger. Her blouse tightened against her back and her skirt hugged her hips. The outline of her ass, plump and visible, began to sway left to right.
My step quickened as I approached her; feeling my stomach flutter and the blood rush back to my penis. *“Calm down,”* I thought to myself as I came up behind her. *“No need to rush things.”* In five slow steps, I embraced her from behind; wrapping my arms around her waist, locking my hands just below her belly button. I nuzzled my face into the exposed flesh of her neck and bit at her with tender teeth and a warm kiss. She released a subtle gasp and pushed herself up only slightly, pressing her ass into my groin.
Her warmth was satisfying and welcoming as I continued to gently kiss her. Delicately making my way from her shoulder to her ear; each kiss carried a playful bite and the wetness of lips that would lightly suck upon the supple skin wrapped beneath a thin layer of cloth. Upon her ear I paid more attention. Each breath carried the intent to devastate her control. Circling her lobe with my tongue, I could feel her earring in my teeth as I sucked. Her hands left the counter; one grasped the back of my head with her fingers weaving into my hair, scratching for a sense of security. The other hand reaching back to my hip. I could feel her nails dig at the denim of my jeans. I felt her thumb in my belt loop as she continued to grasp at my side, reaching for my ass. Our bodies warmed together amid the surrounding chill of our home. The faded designer curtains watched in anticipation as her finger nails dug into my scalp. The glasses in the cabinet shook with each tremble from Sarah’s throat. The cabinet full of spoons hid away as I pressed the weight of my hips into her ass. They had been overshadowed by a carnal desire to fuck; to scratch until bleeding; to bite until bruised; to vigorously thrust with the intention of crumbling the perfectly maintained plaster around us.
And as our hips gyrated in sync I could hear soft moans escape her lips. *“Fuck,”* she whispered as she thrust herself backwards into me. Hungry, I fed upon her; tasting the salt on her, breathing in her perfume and pheromone. My cock had been engorged and ached to be held. I unentwined my fingers and grasped at the front of her skirt; bunching the fabric into my fist, holding it between my thumb and palm, and reaching down her thigh once free of any, though enticing, fabric induced hindrance. Dragging my nails across her thigh and towards her groin, I stopped. There was something new. Something different.
A strap of leather circled her thigh.
She was, from what I felt, wearing a leather garter. Something I didn’t know she owned. She whispered to me, *“Don’t stop*.*”* She exhaled, sharply, “Keep going,” and she dug her nails into the nape of my neck. To which I replied with a calloused grip upon her tender skin and continued at her request. I continued upwards with my hand, squeezing at her thigh and making my way to a most anticipated destination. And as my fingers traveled slowly, delicately, and still expressing the strength I carried in my hands and careful caresses; I inserted my knee between her legs and spread them as I held her upright in my arms. Her heels hiccupped across the tile, her pulse quickened against my cheek, and I felt a smile stretch across her face. Her legs spread; her black heels firm against the imported, Italian tile that watched in horror as we ignored its importance entirely.
I reached the fingers of my left hand back and pressed firmly on her asshole. I felt the thin, lace of her thong between our skin. I slowly brought my hand from back to front; paying thoughtful attention to both wanting orifices. I rubbed her soaked mound with my thumb and gently massaged her tender anus with my ring finger. She moaned and stiffened with the increased attention to her nether regions. My ache, though severe, had to continue.
—
Her body tightened and she released another sharp gasp as my fingers found her soaked, lace, panties. I massaged her there, feeling her warmth—wet and ready—under my fingertips. Sarah’s hips begin to thrust forward—against my open palm and beckoning fingers—and back, against my aching groin. I could feel the loose fabric of her skirt drag against my jeans and only made the tightness of my 505s feel tighter. I could feel the heat in my face encircle my neck and choke me down to my cock. The fabric of my jeans rubbed against the tip of my dick, ensuring that each thrust from Sarah was received with slight irritation. I needed to relieve myself of the clothing between us. But,
*“Calm down. No need to rush.”*
I continued to thrust into Sarah. I continued to press gently with the middle and ring finger of my left hand. Her right hand left my hip and grasped the counter to brace herself. My right hand made way to her neck. My fingers traversed her body slowly—dragging up her abdomen and to her breasts. I grabbed at them hard and searched for her nipple behind her bra. And, again, a surprise.
There was none.
Her breast was fully supported, by what I felt, another strap. There was a strap below and across her breast, but no cloth. I could feel myself bite at her neck harder with the realization that, maybe, Sarah had gone shopping. That, maybe, the leather garter was part of an entire ensemble waiting to be on expose.
I pinched her left nipple with my thumb and index finger, as I embraced the rest of her with the remainder of my hand, pushing her flesh towards her throat. As I nibbled at her left ear lobe, my right hand continued its journey to her neck, and upwards to her open mouth, where I entered her. She bit down onto my fingers and sucked on them. I pressed down firmly on her clit, eliciting a gentle moan. I pulled my hand away from her mouth and grabbed her by the throat, delicately squeezing the softness of her reddening, porcelain skin. Sarah’s hips gyrated faster towards my hand and my, now very noticeable, cock. And with her hastened thrusts, I could feel her pulse in her neck. I could hear her breath grow ragged. I could feel the heat emanating from her body. I could feel how wet she was and pulled her panties to the side with my left hand. I could feel her mouth open against my cheek as she swirled her tongue around my middle finger. I entered her for a second time. Penetrating her, she moaned and bit down at my knuckle. Her pussy was warm and embraced the tip of my middle finger with a gentle kiss. I knew she had wanted more. I had wanted more. But her panties were a hindrance. I tried to hold them to the side so I could fully immerse my fingers in her cunt. She pulled her right hand from my back and reached down in front of her and
Snap.
She *had* gone shopping.
Unfound by me were the two snap buttons at the top of her underwear. I felt the lace lay across the top of my hand. I know she could feel me smile against her neck; the muscles there tightened and she let out a gentle laugh.
“Surprise”
She said to me and quickly put her hand back to grasping at my ass. With her panties out of the way, I could finger her to the fullest extent. With my middle and ring finger, I plunged into her. Circling her clit with my thumb and exerting just enough pressure to ensure that I had no intention of leaving that area. I reached deep, something she often said she loved about me. Large hands. Long fingers. In and out. My fingers thrust into her over and over until I felt her wetness at my knuckles. With each thrust, Sarah quivered. Her legs trembled and her thrusts began to fade away from me and towards my hand.
I let my fingers idle inside of her. I intended to make her cum. And while my cock throbbed, my blood boiled to please her. My desire was to make her shake and moan and scratch at me like a wild animal. I wanted to feel her become the quaking I felt beneath me in that clean Italian tile. I wanted to feel the fire in her belly at my fingertips. I focused entirely on stimulating as much of her as I possibly could in that moment.
My hips thrust towards her putting pressure on her ass. I continued to nibble at her neck, shoulder, and ear. My right hand was now tenderly squeezing at her throat as my left focused on pleasing her internally. I continued to massage her clit as I found my way to her g-spot. I slowly and firmly pressed with my middle finger. Now, she was mine.
Sarah’s legs stiffened and I could feel the muscles in her ass tighten. Her thrusts became quicker and I maintained a slow and steady rubbing inside of her. I was tempted to speed things up, with her reaction, I was almost convinced I should mirror her. But, with each slow stroke inside of her, with each calloused and gentle circle of her clitoris, her pace quickened; her breath became more ragged, her nails dug deeper into me, she had to remove her right hand from my back to steady herself on the sink. Looking over her shoulder and down to her breasts I was made aware that her nipples were erect and visible through her shirt. I could see dampness darken her blouse at the buttons as a trail of sweat made its way from her neck to the valley of flesh that lay beneath her cotton exterior. Sarah bit at her lip and closed her eyes as I reached deeper inside of her. Her moans were more frequent and jagged. Each exhortation from her mouth was sharp and near breathless. Her vulgarity was prominent and increasing by the second. With the slightest amount of pressure, a whispered *“fuck”* would escape from behind her teeth. Her lips would depart and tremble with the internal pressure applied by my fingers. Entering her repeatedly elicited a warmth at my hand that embraced me and let me know to keep going. Don’t stop. Don’t.
I had her. She was in my complete control. With a flick of a finger she would tremble. At the slightest pressure I could feel her body drop towards my hand. It was time, now, to command. At her ear I whispered
“I want you to come for me.”
She immediately loosened her body and moaned. A trickle of spit came out with the following *“fuck.”*
“But not yet.”
Sarah continued to grind herself into the palm of my hand. I could feel the tensing of her entire body. Her pussy gripped my fingers inside of her as I sped up. My fingers fluttered inside of her vigorously, my pinky barely penetrating her asshole and my thumb still gently circling her completely engorged clit. I began to hunger for her more. I could feel myself salivate at the thought of her coming. I grew hot with the feeling of her wet pussy surrounding my hands and thought of how I yearned to enter her with my throbbing organ. I desired to be inside of her. But, my desire to please her outweighed the necessity that was determined by my cock.
As I fingered her, deeply and passionately, I could feel the time was coming. Climax was near as she convulsed in my arms. Her words of encouragement furthered my need to feed her lust. *“Don’t stop,” “fuck,”* and *“Jesus Christ,”* hung above my head as she began to lose control. Sarah began to stretch her body backwards and upwards. My fingers applying enough pressure to stimulate her clit, her g-spot, and her asshole, she began to moan out
*“don’t…don’t…don’tsto…yes..”*
It was then that she climaxed. The convulsions and tremors that had been shot through her body had almost knocked us over. But I held her there, pushing into her deeply to caress her through her orgasm. And as she began to fall limp, I slowed my pace, yet remained inside of her. Slowly, I exited her.
Sarah had stood up at this point; back still facing me. She began to adjust her skirt and straightened herself upright. She turned to look at me; red faced and sweat dripping down her neck, she pulled me close, grabbed my hand, and kissed me hard. As she departed I opened my eyes to find hers still closed. She had a smirk across her face and seemed, truly, relaxed. As I went back to kiss her, she pulled my hand towards her mouth and began to suck on my fingers.
The sight of her sucking on my fingers that had just been inside of her, still wet with her come, had almost made me erupt. I was weakened and near collapse when the remaining blood that had been circulating around my head had shot directly for my cock. In one hand she held my fingers in her mouth; the other reached for my own engorged and throbbing flesh.
I grabbed her and stopped her before she could get to my zipper. She smiled with eyes closed and began,
“But, it’s my tur..”
I grabbed Sarah by the ass and lifted her onto the counter where she was stood. Placing her there. I began to kiss her hard as I felt her hands go back to my hair and neck. Slowly, I began to descend upon her. I made way for her waist and lifted her skirt to find a second leather garter. The panties had been left unsnapped and I had been left hungry.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/lchu93/first_time_writing_erotica_suggestions_welcome