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 “Stop hitting me.” I grumbled. 

I’d come home late and tried to manoeuvre my body into the bed without waking you. My reward was a dozen open palm slaps to the chest. While sleep-addled, you had the tendency to treat any foreign object in your bed as a threat, and in your mind, an enthusiastic, clumsy offence was the best sort of defence. The one time I tried to surprise you, fuck you awake in the early hours of the morning, you’d ended up kneeing me in the stomach. 

You yawned and turned your back to me. You said, “sorry, Bunny.” And snuggled back under the covers. 

‘Bunny’ was one of the nicknames you used for the cat. A chunky orange stray we found on the tarmac outside our apartment complex. An absolute bastard, he liked to bite our ankles if we didn’t feed him dinner fifteen minutes early.  

“Not a cat,” I said.

“Sure.”

I huffed a laugh, drew close, wrapping my arms around your middle. My arms sunk in slightly, where the soft skin of your stomach turned into love handles. I kissed your nape, and watched a shiver wrack your body.

A second later, you murmured, “you can put it inside.”

“Yeah?” I slipped my hand down the front of your underwear. “Wet already?”

You hummed as I pressed a finger inside. “Soon as I realised you weren’t the cat.”

I almost responded, but before I could, I noticed something different. My mind stuttered to a halt. Mouth dry, I had to take a deep breath before I spoke. “Did you go out again?”

“Mhm.”

“Same guy?” My cock strained against my pyjama pants. I added another finger, pumping into you with a gentle rhythm. My face burned, I must’ve been bright red.

You rolled your ass against my crotch in easy, lackadaisical circles. The pleasure ached, my cock throbbed against you, my skin flushed and tingling. I grabbed at your hips on instinct, at first, too tight, then more gentle as I groaned softly. When you spoke, I could hear the smile in your voice. “Same guy.

Desire spread through my gut, leapt into the pit of my throat and fluttered there. I took my fingers out of you, so, hands trembling, I could pull my dick out of my underwear. I pressed my bare cock against your plump ass, between the crest of your cheeks, humped shallowly over your silk panties. I was leaking precum already. “Did you like it?” I asked.

“I did.”

“Tell me what he did to you.”

“Mhm.” You said, “met up with him at that bar—the one you take me to sometimes, where we caught that guy jacking it in the lady’s restroom—he bought me a drink, something fruity, can’t remember.”

You were teasing me. I shifted, so my hips were pressed properly against you, tugged your underwear down to your knees, and slid the head of my dick over your pussy. You pushed back into me, but I tightened my grip, so you couldn’t move too much. “Did he fuck you here, or at his place?” I asked.

“Here.”

I bit down a shiver. “In our bed?”

“On the couch,” you said. “You want us on the bed?”

I tucked my head into the curve where your neck met your shoulder and let my face rest against your hair. You smelled like coconut oil and peach shampoo. I tried to keep my breath under control—to calm down. A warm, comfortable quiet filled the bedroom as you waited for my answer. I spoke, though my voice was husky. “Yeah.”

“Next time.”

I groaned. Arousal came in waves, now. My cock slipped between your legs, catching at the edge of your hole. I wanted to get inside you. “What did he—how’d he fuck you?”

Your breathing picked up, the back of your thighs shivering where they met the front of mine. “Started by sucking him off. I bent backwards over the couch and he fucked my mouth.”

“Fuck—“

“I rode him, too. He held me up and fucked into me—“ You cut yourself off with a desperate moan as I sank into you.

You were wet, warm, practically hugging my cock. I had to pause—didn’t want to finish too early. “Keep going,” I grunted, working my finger in circles on your clit.

Your breath caught your words, so half of them were hitched, interrupted by moans. “God—he got me in missionary, after. He pressed my knees up to my chest, pushed a finger in my ass and pounded me. His dick was thick as hell, I thought it was gonna split me in two. Came inside me like that twice, fucked me like he wanted me pregnant.”

I thrust slowly, and every time I bottomed out, I held myself inside a little longer. I wondered about his jizz mixing with mine. I wondered about him groaning, pushing up into you, spurting ropes of cum inside. I wondered about lapping up the mess from the place where your pussy met his cock. My eyes were unfocused, I was drunk off the idea alone.

I trailed a hand underneath your T shirt, squeezed your tits, rolled your nipples between my index and thumb. “How’d it feel after the first time he came? When he kept going after he shot his load in you?” You whimpered, and I took that at face value—it must’ve been amazing. I picked up speed, fucking you properly, dragging my cock against the bottom of your cunt. “Did he come in your ass?”

“Yes.” You panted, tried to meet my thrusts with your hips. Your soft body pressed up against mine, and the slap of skin on skin echoed off the walls. “Yes—pushed my face into the cushions and fucked my ass, held my hands behind my back, made me take it like a whore—filled me up—so good. Fuck—harder—harder.” 

“Yeah?” I hammered into you, my balls smacked against the back of your thighs. I tried not to let the sensation overwhelm me, but it felt so good, jolts of pleasure pulsing through my cock. “You like being treated like a slut? Fucked like one?”

You could barely respond, only choked out your affirmative and let your head tip back as you came. Long, curly black hair pooled on my chest, over my shoulders. I just barely caught the side of your face through a curtain of hair. You were blissed out, eyes closed, soft lips parted, flushed. I could see why he fucked your mouth first chance he got.

The tether I’d used to keep myself from finishing early snapped. I wrapped a hand beneath your thigh and lifted it as far as your underwear would allow. I fucked hard and deep as you shuddered, your walls fluttering around me, spurring me on towards my own climax. Hoarse, helpless, I asked, “where d’you want it?”

It took effort for you to register my words. You spoke, voice hiccuping, syrupy, exhausted. “Inside, please. Please.”

I couldn’t answer. I ducked my head into your hair and screwed my eyes shut against the wave of ecstasy. My dick throbbed, my rhythm stuttered as I pushed in to the hilt, fucked shallow and quick while I orgasmed. Pleasure washed over me as I filled you up, thrusting in time with each spurt, groaning, humping into the wet mess inside until I was empty.

After I pulled out, spent and sticky, I hauled us closer together. You wriggled around to face me, your eyes lowered, lashes fluttering against the sleep that wanted to take you. I was warm all over, satisfied, ready to pass out too.

A quiet moment followed, you cradled a hand at my jaw, rubbing a thumb absent-mindedly over my stubble. “If you like slutty, I could wear fishnets next time—“

“Stop,” I said. “You’re gonna make me hard again.”

“Ok, asshole, come home late one more time, you’ll see. I’ll wear black tights and they’ll already be torn where my pussy is.”

My face went hot. That was gonna haunt my fantasies—possibly for the rest of my life. I’d be thinking about it all through work tomorrow. “Fuck you.”

“Just did,” you said. “It’d be a punishment.”

“It’d be a reward.” I pulled you in close, nosed at your cheek. “You’re gonna train me to come home late more often, like Pavlov’s dog.”

You clicked your tongue in annoyance. The sound was sharp in the silence. “One doctorate, and suddenly you’re the prince of psychology—you’re not even accurate.”

I pressed my face into your neck. “Don’t care.”

My head bounced on your shoulder as you laughed. “You’re pissing me off. I can’t sleep now,” you said. “I need to shower.”

Usually we’d spoon. I looked up. “Why?”

“I kept his cum inside waiting for you. It was hot before, but now it’s kinda gross.”

“Felt good when I was fucking you,” I mumbled.

You grinned. “I know.” When you stood, you put your ample, bare ass on display. Your soft stomach, your love handles were hidden under the large t-shirt you stole from me. Next time I’d get you completely naked.

I got up and followed you to the bathroom, gave you a smack on the backside as I passed by. It was gentle, but you squealed anyway, mock-offended. And like that, the peace was broken, and we were wrestling.

I had to pin you back on our bed before you stopped shoving me—had your wrists pushed into the mattress, and your hair fanned around you like a halo. You were giggling, breathless, so I kissed you, your mouth, your throat, the underside of your jaw where your beauty mark lived.

You said, “let me get up, at least.” And then, “shower with me, okay?”

Showering with you was chaotic, confusing, and more trouble than it should be worth. Every time we stepped into the same bathroom, the chance of serious injury quintupled. Bathing together while we were both exhausted and frisky would be truly dangerous—we’d be on par with mountaineers, or maybe deep sea cave divers. I nodded. At this time of night, an adrenaline rush couldn’t hurt.

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NSFW: yes

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