[F]inally Stuffing my [M]arried Coworker on Black Friday

First of all, I don’t want to fucking hear it. No, that title is not beneath you. I mean, you’re the one who is reading word porn on reddit, on a Wednesday. So don’t judge me for my objectively awful attempt at clickbait.

Which brings me to my second point. You may have judgmental inclinations toward my lack of COVID-related caution. But let’s remember why you are here. To diddle yourself whilst reading my morally questionable memento. So while I know that we are in a pandemic, I make no apologies for my undeterred pursuit of pussy.

With those housekeeping items out of the way, strap the fuck in for our ride, and please keep your hands inside your pants. Feel free to skip to the *** if you have an aversion to long-windedness and/or verbal foreplay.

—

Black-Motherfucking-Friday. An appropriate day all things considered. Just 24-ish hours after risking the transmission of 2020’s greatest performance to express my thankfulness for my family, I was coveting something I had no business coveting. I’ll be the first to admit, in years past as I’ve seen a massive number of assholes lining around the Best-Buy block, I have sat in judgment. You don’t need the fucking TV. Stay the fuck home and continue to be thankful. Just eat turkey sandwiches and play monopoly with your cousins for Christ’s sake. And yet, there I was, stampeding my way through an Airbnb. Tearing through clothing. Thrashing like an animal. And fucking the hottest woman I’ve laid eyes on in as long as I can remember.

Let me back up and set the stage a bit. I decided to risk it all for thanksgiving and go home to my family. Just the immediate ones, just the four of us. My brother lives at home. He was already down on his luck and moved in with my parents before the world ended. And my parents are retired. The three of them have hardly left the house since the Holidays last year. And I work almost exclusively with a client that requires weekly testings. Your boy was, and is, in the clear. I made the long, lonely road trip across several states to be back home.

Was I really interested in reliving the election with my loved ones? Or listening to all the ways this fucking horror story has destroyed parts of our lives? Obviously-fucking-not. But I was lonely. Desperately so. I’ve played it safe more often than not and I just fucking missed people. I also missed fucking people. Which is what made this whole ordeal that much more intoxicating on an anthropological level.

So back home, right out of school, I had been lucky enough to land a pretty good job. I had since moved on entirely, but it was an all-around successful experience. One of the most enjoyable factors had been Ashley

*— Jesus, I’m having a hard time typing her name with the butterflies right now. No amount of one-liners or gratuitous metaphors is going to get the point across. This girl is a fucking goddess —*

All my coworkers actually, were amazing. Not a lot of folks are lucky enough to adore their team. And while Christian, Jenna, and Mike were all fantastic, Ashley and I had something special. She was the first person I met on the job, albeit just an hour or so before the others. Ashely had started just a few months before me. In face, she had moved to town with her newly-wed husband for the job.

The moment I walked into the room and saw her, sparks flew. Not necessarily sexual ones, just all of the fucking sparks. My good-person senses were tingling. She shook my hand like the captain of a fucking battleship. Light seemed to emanate from her glowing smile. The whole room smelled good. But then as the sensory overload tapered, I got ahold of myself and locked eyes with that magnificent woman. Dark, kind eyes, surrounded by a very intentional tangle of black hair. She freed my hand and stepped half a pace back. The singular moment of downtime provided a window for recon.

In my interview process, I had learned the names of my would-be teammates, and not much else. Of course, when I heard the name Ashely, my mind (just like yours did) conjured up images of early-2000’s hot girls. A Pink Motorola Razr. Bath & Bodyworks Warm Vanilla SugarTM. Maybe some low-rise Hollister jeans. But what stood in front of me was a whole-ass woman. Strong, confident, graceful, and tight as fuck. And somehow, years after that first encounter, Ashley has only become more rapturous.

Our professional relationship lasted a few years until I moved away. During that time she and her husband had laid the foundation of a perfect life. He had a seriously killer sales gig downtown. They had the cutest fucking house and baby, and dog, and everything. Ashley was the opposite of flashy or plastic, but she also clearly took care of herself in all aspects. Her clothes were cool as fuck. Her hair, nails, makeup, always perfect. Her body, a goddamn sculpture.

She and I had a perfect work relationship. We both cared a lot about the work itself and took real pride in our careers. We handled that shit. And most days, we had a ton of fun doing it. From the moment we clocked in, we were BFFs. And the moment we clocked out, practical strangers. Sure, we knew about each other’s personal lives from what we shared, but we didn’t actually know each other, ya know? A couple times a year we’d realllllly loosen up with the team at a conference or company party, but then back to business as usual come Monday. And we never crossed a fucking line. Never really even came close.

Why? Well for a number of reasons. We valued our careers, each other’s partners (her Husband, my whatever’s), and mutual fucking respect. Oh, and she was lightyears out of my league. Holy shit. For that matter, so was Husband. I mean, I’d fuck him tomorrow. In fact, that would be ideal. If I could fuck both of them, together, at the same time, with no lies or secrets. And no fucking remorse. But they are not those people. And this is not that story. No, instead this is that story you replay in your mind over and over. Second-guessing every moment, but knowing deep down from the very beginning, you did a bad fucking thing. And this is how it happened.

**Day Before Thanksgiving**

I posted an obligatory terrible photo of my childhood home with a meager attempt at irony for the caption. I was quickly confronted with the fact that my small family had drifted apart considerably. This was gonna be an awkward fucking weekend. I was on my phone way too much. A DM notification popped up. I saw “@ashley’susername” flashed across the top, the only name I had really known her by the last couple of years. A genuinely innocent smile crept across my face.

Ashely: “HEY! I saw your post. Are you in town for thanksgiving??”

Me: “Sure am! Did you guys stay home?”

Ashely: “Yeah, didn’t want to risk it :/“

Me: “I totally understand”

Ashely: “But honestly I’d love to hang out! Wanna grab dinner on Friday night?”

Me: “Hell yeah. Is anywhere open tho??”

Ashely: “Yeah, [Insert generic gastropub name here] is doing the patio thing.”

Me: “Jesus it’s gonna be cold lol”

Ashely: “Lol it’s ok, the bourbon will help.”

Me: “haha deal.”

She “liked” my last message, but didn’t reply. Radio-silence the rest of the evening.

I was sure she had just been wishfully reminiscing about the old times. I doubted I’d hear from her again. But fuck, it would be nice to go out for a night. It’d been months goddamnit. And I didn’t realize how much I had actually missed her. The rest of the old team too, but especially Ashley.

I found myself replaying a few memories over and over. That one birthday night she and Jenna and Christian had planned for me, even after I told them I was not a “birthday guy.” Fuck, Ashley had looked good that night. I had missed the regular glances at her short but shapely legs and perfect fucking jawline. Then there was the corporate Christmas party that same year. That had been the year of the red dress fiasco.

Ashley had donned a rather revealing red satin dress that displayed quite a bit of her uh…. Christmas cheer. But she had paired it with a big flowy sweater to tone it back down. Well, a couple hours into the painful workplace event and she had enough liquid courage to ditch the cardigan. Her Boughs of Holly had more than one North Pole standing straight that night (ok, I’m done, I’m sorry). And first thing Monday she received a notice regarding the formal complaint (undoubtedly) made by the office crones to HR. She was so fucking embarrassed but it became the butt of many jokes within the team.

Before I knew it, I’m running a fucking mental marathon to conjure up the long-passed images of her in that red dress. Dancing joyfully to the awful throwback music. Not giving one shit about her young-mom tits bouncing wildly. And now I was scrolling through her insta, looking for pics from around the same time. I found one. Surrounded by pleasant images of family life, home decor, etc. There it was. A gym pic.

She was standing in front of a mirror, flexing hard but doing her best to look like she wasn’t. Her wild black hair was pulled back, messy after her workout. Her leggings pulled high and her hips thrown to the side. Her teal sports bra wasn’t doing a goddamn thing. Neither was the ultra-loose tank top draped over it. The one she was just barely pulling up to reveal the tiny flat stomach she killed herself to keep.

Fuck. I snapped out of it. I realized how deep into fantasy land I was and put my phone down. I felt guilty. Here she was, always kind and professional, reaching out like a good friend. And it took me zero time to objectify everything about her. But c’mon, you would fucking too. Why else would you be reading this shit?

The guilt faded. We ordered pizza as an easy pre-thanksgiving tradition. We watched Elf. Fucking love that movie. It never gets old. I drove back to my Airbnb (weird I know, but my parents’ house is small and I like my space). I turned on the shower and sat on the toilet. I scrolled aimlessly while the room filled with steam. Secretly I was just waiting for another DM notification. Nothing. Now I was in bed. Phone in one hand, cock in the other. I was on pornhub typing…

“Milf black hair”

“Young milf black hair”

“Skinny milf black hair”

“Slim thick black hair”

Fucking finally. Found one. And it took me all of 90 seconds to finish. By the end of which my eyes were closed, listening to the over-the-top moans while images of red dresses and teal sports bras flashed across my mind. FUCK. I came hard that night. But post-nut clarity and another hot shower brought me back to reality. I would not be fucking Ashley anytime soon, or ever.

Morning came and I drove back to my parents for a surprisingly fantastic thanksgiving. We hung around all afternoon, watching The Office and drinking wine. Around 7pm my phone dinged loudly. I snapped out of my buzzed food coma and sat up on the couch to pull my phone from my pocket. A text, from “Ash” popped up on the lock screen…

Ash: “Hey! Idk if this is even still your number. But I DM’d you last night and didn’t hear back ? we still on for dinner tomorrow?”

Me: “Shit! I’m so sorry, I passed out early”

Me: “Yes, would love to!”

My heart was fucking pounding now. And that dramatic transition from buzzed to sober was taking place. The room felt like it was closing in around me.

Ash: “Yay! I’ll meet you there at like 8? Sorry, I gotta do bedtime first lol”

Me: “No, that’s perfect”

Ash: “Awesome. Haven’t gone out in ages. Promise not to report me to HR if we have another red dress situation? LMAO”

Holy shitballs batman. First instinct: pure guilt. Primal fucking fear. She knows. I know she knows. She fucking knew I was scrolling through her insta last night. She read my goddamn mind. She could see my search history, that absolute cesspool of hormonal instinct. But then after the micro-panic attack subsided, the lightbulb flicked on. The horny lightbulb. She was bringing that up? Was she thinking about me too? Hell, maybe she scrolled through my insta? Wait, fuck. I hope not. It’s so depressing.

Me: “I make no promises ? but don’t let that stop you.”

Ash: “I won’t ?”

Ash: “See you at 8!”

I “hearted” her message.

The rest of that night and the following day — THE day — could not have dragged along any fucking slower. It was like the gods had taken a holiday too and left some giant mythical sloth in charge of spinning the earth. I won’t bore you with all of the never-ending time-wasting before our dinner date. Just one more confession, slightly relevant to our plot.

I had a Tom & Jerry-esque shoulder angel experience around 4:00pm. You know the time. I was scrolling through insta’s god-awful “explore” tab, bombarded with weird bot accounts of fully photoshopped individuals. But the fucking algorithm was winning and I was horny as hell. I wound up on some pages called “gym_fitnees_success_portraits” or some horrific shit like that. I lingered on an image of this black-haired bombshell that had been filtered and enhanced beyond human recognition. Within seconds I was back on Ash’s account, on that one fucking gym photo from a few years ago.

“Go jerk off right now” – me wearing a red suit and horns

“Holy shoot, chill” – me wearing white robes and holding a harp

“Just fucking do it. Practice for the real thing” – devil me

“Cheese and rice! She is married gosh darn it!” – angel me

I thought to myself equally ridiculous thoughts. That rubbing one out might ruin the potential orgasm I’d be sharing with Ash that night. And that it might also make me last a little longer. Then I shot back into orbit and into reality. There was zero fucking chance I’d be fucking anyone that night. So in a strange turn of events, the rational brain and the horny brain were in agreement. Just go jerk off for Christ’s sake.

I did. And when I opened my eyes from the momentary ecstasy and escapism, I looked down to realize that in my primal passions, I had liked that one gym photo from a few years ago. “Fucccccccccccck me,” I groaned for the second time in under a minute. I simply unliked the photo. But, (like I still am and will always be) was fully confused as to what kinds of notifications this would prompt on Ash’s end of the digital interaction. Fuck.

Well fast forward a few hours and the mixed emotions of expectations, pre-regret, continuing hornyness, actual loneliness, nostalgia, and plain old fear were swirling around my mind like a magic 8-ball. I was just waiting for some fucking clarity on the evening’s fortunes. I pulled up to the little hip street where our over-priced and obnoxiously named rendezvous was located. I parked on the street and did one more quick breathing exercise in my rear-view mirror. I stepped out and strolled down the sidewalk, acutely aware of every quirk and imperfection about myself. Every weird fucking movement I did just trying to walk like a human being. Every single additional pound placed on my body since I last saw Ash IRL.

I strode up to the restaurant at 8:00pm on the dot, only to see her and her A-type, early-is-on-time, perfect self already standing by the door. Still a couple yards away, I opened my stupid mouth to call out. It felt like every tooth in there had suddenly doubled in size, interfering with my also-stupid tongue, and forcing the award mixture of two distinct words. “Hey-lo!” I cried out like an idiot.

Her eyes darted up from the phone. Her sharp jaw and chiseled cheekbones were angelically underlit by the device. Her smile flashed and she radiated genuine happiness. “Heyyyyy!” Ash called back as I closed the distance. Thankfully she initiated the next move in the social dance before I could continue to make a fool of myself. She reached out with both arms for a friendly, and friend-old hug. A perfectly executed gesture. Quick-release and she stepped back half a pace. Not unlike that first handshake so long ago. And again, the momentary pause allowed me to take her all in.

Ash was standing in front of me, in real life. Even in her heeled boots, a head shorter than my vary average self. Her black mane danced and waved, parting around her face, framing its perfection. Her lips glowed a dark red, red that matched the sheer top. It parted deep and wide between her heavy breasts. But their full magnificence was concealed by the large knit sweater layered on top, which hung low to the knees of her painted-on jeans. Her wide hips were pushing the seams to the very limit, yet doing so with careless ease.

“Holy shit, Jamesfuckingbuck! how are you??”

“Oh, you know! Hanging in there, you?”

But before she replied the hostess stepped outside to escort us to our patio table, set for two. Only one chair of which was close enough to the propane heater for it to do a goddamn thing. She offered me the hot seat and I of course denied. We sat and locked eyes, both smiling. Finally, past the nerves and the rushed interactions of arrival, we really looked at each other, both genuinely happy to be reunited with a friend.

We didn’t even touch out menus or water between sitting down and the second time our server came to check on us. We were deep in catch-up conservation but having picked up like we never left off. We were both laughing and comfortable, relaxed. Still, I’m not sure if we had genuinely missed each other so much, or we had been closer than we’d thought, or just fucking lonely from the shit show of a year. Probably some combination of all three. But one thing was certain, all my nerves and expectations were gone. This was good, innocent fun, With a really sexy friend. There were reasons we’d never crossed a fucking line. And with the horny brain shut off, I was grateful for all of them. And then the vibe, fucking changed.

We were all the way through our food and most the way through our fourth drink. It was almost 10:30 and her phone lit up on the table and began buzzing. “Hubs” flashed across the screen. Ash picked it up and cleared her throat quickly.

“Hey babe…. No sorry, I meant to text you. We went back to Jenna’s place for cheaper drinks… yeah, It’ll probably be a late one haha…. Ok, thanks. Love you too!”

She hung up and took a second to catch my eye. I realized I was staring at her with a faint what-the-fuck-was-that expression on my face.

“I’m sorrrrry,” She pleaded. “I told Husband the whole gang was getting back together tonight, I didn’t want him to make it weird.”

“No no,” I wiped the look off my face, “I totally understand…”

“But I guess I just made it super weird??” She half-giggled, half-apologized.

“A little,” I chuckled and took a big swig of my drink.

But her apparent bashfulness quickly faded. It was as if the burden of secrecy had been lifted off her shoulders and she began to really loosen up. In a cathartic parallel, Ash reached up and peeled off her chunky knit cardigan, resting it on her chair. For the first time, it was clear just how low-cut her sheer red top was. It didn’t help that the silky black bra beneath it contrasted sharply with her pale olive skin. Neither did that fact her large pillowy tits looked to be a least a full size too big for the poor thing.

Ash fanned her face, “Whoo, I’m not sure if it’s this heater of the whiskey, but it’s working.”

Liquid courage and curiosity got the better of me. “So why didn’t the whole gang back together tonight?”

“I knew you were going to give me shit.” But she smiled.

“Honestly, I had planned to text Jenna and Christian when I text you. I was even considering texting Mike. But with COVID and the holiday, it was just too much.”

“I know, I’m just giving you a hard time.” I smiled back.

“Plus I wanted you to myself. I see at least two of them every week.”

I polished off my glass and pressed my luck. “Soooo you lied to Husband because you want me all to yourself?”

“Fuck you!” She shouted playfully, and a bit louder than she’d meant to. The folks at the table 6’ away from ours gave us the side-eye and paused awkwardly.

Ash embarrassedly covered her face with one hand but we both laughed. I reached out and before I had time to second guess myself, squeezed her hand left on the table with a firm, comforting grip.

“I’m just teasing!”

She smiled back, a little sadly, and seemed to instantly sober up. “No, honestly, we’re just having a little trouble right now.”

I got really fucking quiet and sobered up too, mind absolutely racing with questions and consequences. All of which seemed to contradict one another.

“Nothing terrible, just normal young-married-people shit. And young-parents shit. And young-parents-who-can’t-get-pregnant-again shit.”

But now it was clear neither of us had fully sobered because she was saying more than she meant to. And she was crying more than she meant to. And I shot a hand back across to her’s and didn’t let go. And neither did she. But the intimate vulnerability passed and Ash put herself back together like she always did. She wiped her tears and forced a laugh and back-peddled.

“Sorry, you did not need all that!”

“No, please don’t be…”

“And honestly,” she chuckled and raised her glass, “I just needed another red dress kinda night” Before polishing off her drink as well.

“Well, I promise not to make any formal complaints,” I tried to match her tone to lighten the tension, “but I can’t make any promises for them.” I jerked my head towards the folks at the table 6’ away, who were now obviously paying closer attention to us than to themselves.

Ash laughed heartily.

“Let’s get outta here,” she said. We paid the bill and walked out front.

“Soo…” I began, but she cut me off.

“Your place. If you don’t mind…”

“Not at all,” I replied in my most forced calm voice tone. And I ordered the Lyft.

15-minutes later and I shivering on the front porch of my little guest-house while I punched in the door code with numb fingers. Ash peered around my shoulder at my shaking hand.

“Hahaha you’ve been away from the cold for too long”

“No, I just get nervous bringing pretty girls home”

“Touché.” She laughed. She kicked off her boots and plopped down on the couch. “You do have cheaper drinks here, right?”

“Obvs.” I retorted, stepping into the micro kitchen and pouring a couple glasses of the cheap wine my host had thoughtfully placed on the counter. I stepped into the tiny living room and handed her the generous pour, taking a big sip of mine before kneeling to fiddle with the electric fireplace. Ash flicked on the TV behind me and selected some holiday music channel. I found the switch for the fire and then turned around.

“Oh no no,” I laughed in big exaggerated tones, instantly feeling the results of red wine and rye swirling around my head.

“You said you wanted another red dress night!”

I took the remote from her hand and scrolled through the music channels to something titled “80’s big hits” or some shit like that. The unmistakable snare drum of the era began to thump as she got up from the couch laughing. We both took big drinks from our glasses before setting them down on the little side table.

***** This is it, dirtbags *****

“I guess you’re right” Ash mocked and she pealed that stupid sweater back off. She bunched it up and threw it at me with both hands. I smoothly (thank you, alcohol) caught it in one hand and re-directed it to the couch. I looked back at her. Standing there. Dancing there. In real life. Taking her all in.

Now with her boots off, she was noticeably tiny, like the living room around us. The over-sized couch forced us close together as we half-joking, half-drunkenly danced. Those ultra-tight jeans flexed and stretched with her round hips, moving side to side. Her big, milfy tits bounced up and down behind her sheer red top. Every beat of the drum, an opportunity for them to simply break free. Her black mane swung wildly side to side as she turned her head back and forth, visibly shaking off her inhibitions.

The alcohol, the heat of the electric fire just behind me, the closeness of the walls. Everything slowed down. Time was crawling. The sounds faded into nothingness as the tunnel closed around her. Without hesitation, I reached my hands around her waist and pulled her close to me. Ash didn’t skip a beat. She flung her arms around my neck and jumped, wrapping my waist with her perfect little legs. Half falling, half charging, I dropped her down into the couch, resting my knees beneath her. My hand flailed to find the remote, stabbing the power button and shutting off the stupid TV.

Her dark red lips were on mine. Her tongue was on mine. Her fingers were twisted through my hair, pulling, and massaging. My moans came quick, leaking out of my throat and into hers. She knew what she was doing to me. She could feel what she was doing to me. She began grinding into me. I felt her push hard against my erection.

We communicated effortlessly. I felt the motion of her body turning mine, pushing me to sit. A second later she sat high on her knees, straddling my lap. Her nails pressed softly into the back of my head as she tugged back. Ash dragged her teeth over my neck, sucking at my skin. My hands pushed and pulled across her denim-clad ass, tugging on her back pockets. She reached back and shoved one of my hands between her waistband and her skin. I gripped a handful of her tight butt, the lace string of her thong looped around my thumb. It didn’t take long for my other hand to join.

Ash stopped abruptly, taking her mouth off of mine, scraping the spit off her bottom lip with her teeth.

*— That one mental image alone is going to send me over the edge of orgasm tonight, and tomorrow, and the next day. —*

Ash reached her hurried hands down, unbuttoning her jeans as fast as she could. She stood up on the floor, feet together between mine, and untucked that sheer red top from her pants. She looped her thumbs in her waistband and shook her curvy hips out of her jeans, stepping each foot out as they hit the floor. Bent over in front of me, her tits spilled from her black bra, her shirt getting in the way. I didn’t wait for her to stand back up, I yanked at the hem of her top pulling it up over her head. Ash welcomed the help and ducked out of it.

Still racing as if the humankind-ending meteor was just seconds away from earth, she reached back to unclasp that stupid bra. The motion and the angle accentuated the enormity of her breasts. With an audible sigh from the both of us, she flung the bra to the floor. Her tits fell down in front of her, bouncing cartoonishly. They hung lower than I expected. Big tan nipples standing proud. Faint stretch marks flowing down their sides. Fucking perfect breasts.

Holllllllly shit. Holy fucking shit. How were they real? How were they legal? I took one in each hand, seriously out-matched, and pulled softly towards me.

“Bite them.” She demanded.

I shoved one in my mouth and pressed the other against my cheek. She moaned as my tongue found the edge of her nipple and flicked across it.

“BITE them,” Ash emphasized.

I bit down softly and tugged back. I switched targets, letting my lips linger in her cleavage while lifting both tits together. I bit hard on the round flesh of her other breast. Her moan turned to a soft yell and her nails dug harder into my traps. I played with, worshipped her tits for a few more minutes. They were slick with salvia before we both became uncomfortably aware of the layers of clothing still between our sexes.

Ash jumped off my lap and knelt down between my legs. I spread my knees wider and slouched back, ripping off my shirt in the process. She clumsily unbuckled my belt and I began unbuttoning my jeans. She yanked them down to my ankles and paused. Ash locked eyes with me and in one of the hottest, most intimate displays of simple affection, she helped me fully undress. Then rising back up onto her knees she traced my legs with her fingers. Higher she dragged her hands until she reached my penis. It was throbbing, pulsing even, standing on its proverbial tippy toes.

One hand quickly wrapped around the shaft, the other cupped my balls. In a deft, synchronized slide of hand, she tugged at both. She hung her head over the tip and spit. More saliva dripped from her mouth, trailing down my cock, finding its way between each of her fingers and me. She pushed her face lower. Her black hair spread over my thighs, tickling. When she took me in her mouth I felt the weight of breasts spilling over my legs. But instantly my mind raced back to her mouth when she squeezed my balls hard and sucked and sucked and sucked. I rested my hand on her head and quickly lost any timidity. I tangled my fingers in her mane. I’d been dying to do it. I pulled her hair while she devoured my dick.

*— Fitting 5 and three-quarter inches in one’s mouth is not the most Herculean of tasks. Nevertheless, she triumphed flawlessly. —*

Her slow pace was everything. She captivated every ounce of me. Her dark eyes held mine. But my peripheral vision was working double time. I saw her stand slowly in front of me. She gratuitously dragged her sharp nails up the sides of her legs, along her stomach, and cupped her tits. She squeezed and pulled at them before continuing her hands up to brush through her tangled hair. Share stared down at me, biting her lip and grinning. She was showing off for me. I was transfixed and she was loving it.

She pushed her hands back down her body and my eyes followed. She reached the black hairs trialing to her pussy. Her lips were dark and shining, already teaming with wetness. Her voice pulled my eyes back to hers.

“Condom?”

“Wallet,” I stammered, pointing at my jeans next to her feet.

Ash’s rushed fury was back. She snatched up the denim and rifled through the pockets. She tore open my wallet and discarded it before opening the single condom with her teeth like it was a top-ramen flavor packet. With the elite condom-placing skill that only married women possess, she unfurled it over my cock. She straddled me again. I embraced her, pulling her mouth back onto mine, but she quickly broke away. She sat up high. Her tits slapping across my chin and face while reaching between us. She guided me in, slowly dropping back down, filling herself with me.

“You—fucking—giant” she groaned between upward and dowward strokes. She lied right into my ear.

She accelerated smoothly. Faster and faster until our skin slapped together. The leaking slick flow of her pussy made it easier and easier. Better and better.

“fuck, Fuck, FUCK” I called out.

“CUM for me??” Ash begged.

“YES”

“Where?!”

“TITS” was all I could manage.

She lept off and I spread my knees. She knelt back down over my lap, ripping off the condom. This time she shoved one tit against my shaft, taking it in the other hand. She tilted her head to the side and jerked hard and fast.

“FUCCCCCCCCK ASSSSSH” I yelled, in a real, guttural yell.

“YES!” She excitedly whispered. She pressed both tits around my cock, heaving them up and down. The semen shot sideways, landing partially in the black pool of hair on my lap.

“Yessss, yes. Yes.” She giggled and continued, slowing her pace.

The cum kept coming, rolling in beads up my length, out of my head, and onto her tits. She finally let go, spreading it around with two fingertips. She bit her lip like a pornstar. But then she grinned up at me like an angel.

My hand had tangled in her hair again, but now it relaxed, gently brushing through to find her face. I caressed her cheek softly and she kissed my fingers. She patiently waited for my ecstasy to fade. But then her face changed. With hunger in her eyes pleading lips, “finish me?”

I snapped out of my own pleasure, ready to find more in giving it to her. I stood up and we switched places. She reclined on the couch, laying back on the cushions. I knelt in front of her while she slowly raised her legs over my shoulders.

Her feet gently trailed across my back. I gripped the top of one of her tiny thighs. I tenderly grabbed her wrist. Ash closed her legs tight around my ears as my nose flicked her clit, putting my tongue in position. I lapped at her soaking pussy, slowly and deeply. Dragging the tip of my tongue all the way up, between her labia and across her clit. Up, over, back in deep. I repeated the motion with more and more force. Her moans matched my pace.

I paused at her clit, stopping there to lick again and again, faster now. Her eyes rolled back and her head followed.

“yes, Yes, YES” Ash cried out.

I knew I had her close. I let go of her wrist and arched my shoulder forward. I need space to slowly insert my fingers behind my tongue. Just one, then two. Her legs tensed and one of her feet arched. I felt it tightly curved over my shoulder. She was the one pulling my hair now, the other hand tugging at her own tired nipples. Words became moans, moans became screams.

My fingers curled and beckoned inside of her. I sucked at her clit, trying to softly, but firmly pullllll the orgasm out of her. She was yelling now and the build-up was pouring over the edge. She cascaded onto my tongue. My mouth was full of her taste. Both hands now grabbed my head, squeezing it as her hips arched and her legs froze.

“YESSSSSSSSSSS” Ash cried out.

Her come-down was quicker than mine. She dragged my face up to hers, determined to taste herself. We collapsed into the couch. We made out like real romantics, covered in cum and sweat.

Before I knew it, I was waking back up. Just an hour or so later. Her little legs draped loosely around either side of my torso, my face cradled by soft pillowy tits. My back ached from the awkward sleeping position. I was sticky and sore and didn’t give a shit. Ash was stirring too. She smiled at me affectionately. I was still half-asleep. She slid out from under me and I rolled to my back. She straddled me again kissing me softly for a few minutes and gently teasing my cock between us.

Then she got up and walked away. My half-closed eyes were mesmerized by her nakedness, glowing in the artificial firelight. My eyes closed again. I’m not sure it was for another 30 seconds or 30 minutes. But her lips were back on mine. My hand reached out to find the jeans she was wearing. It slid up to the texture of her sheer top and grabbed at her knit sweater. I was waking up now. I reached up through her tangled hair, clean of any evidence, and found the soft skin of her face. I pulled her into a deeper kiss, pushing my tongue into her mouth. I felt her smile widen. She pulled back. Her dark eyes found mine. She looked more beautiful than ever.

“Bye.” She smiled sadly.

“Bye…” I whispered.

She walked around the couch. It was still dark and the cold rushed in for a moment. I heard the front door open and close. Then the door of her ride. And I fell back asleep.

Two hours later I woke up stiffer than before with no perfect body wrapped around my own. I got up, showered, and began to feel the hangover. I popped two Advil, chugged a glass of water, and got into bed. I got up at least 4 times to piss. All-day the next day, my phone was glued to my hand. I thought I had been on my phone too much before. But I was back at my parents for my last day in town. Opening insta like an addict. Checking for texts I might have somehow missed. That evening I posted one more bad picture of the tree in our front yard. Two minutes later, “@ashley’susername” liked it. And that was it.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/rw7zq0/finally_stuffing_my_married_coworker_on_black