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I was at the butcher block at the center island, carefully slicing the ginger into transparent sheets with my wicked-sharp blade. The others were all outside at the pool, and I was happy, alone in my kitchen, working in perfect concentration in a pool of light from the overhead spot. Someone had come in, and now was pressing against my swimsuit-clad rump, pressing me hard against the island. They carefully removed the knife from my hand, placed it safely out of my easy reach, and placed their left hand over my mouth. I felt breath on my cheek…and then an instant later, the bristle of beard!

Not my freshly-shaved husband, then. Definitely not him.

Low and implacable, the voice rasped: “Don’t scream, and I’ll take my hand away.” I nodded that I understood. “I only have two hands…and there is so much here to explore, and so little time…” he trailed off, and as he did allowed his hand to play briefly around my lips, gently prising my mouth aside, then dragging a little bead of saliva, down my chin, my throat, lower…

His right hand was on my hip, seeking and finding the side tie to my bottoms. Untying the right side. Sliding calloused fingers onto the newly-uncovered flesh, the sensitive declivity where thigh and hip and abdomen conjoin…Then lower, the fingers somehow conveying that I should widen my stance, as their explorations continued.

I pressed backward now, rhythmically, reaching behind me with both hands to pull his remarkable hardness against me…a low moaning gasp arising unbidden from some long untapped lust. From me. In me.

Meanwhile, his left hand found the thin triangle of fabric covering my left breast and sliding a thumb underneath, pulled the fabric apart, and the breast completely out.

“You’re like a fuckin’ cornucopia of earthly delights…”

He was nuzzling, kissing my neck, my cheek, the side of my throat. I could only moan, covered in goosebumps, oozing lust. He briefly tangled those blunt fingers in my curls, then lower, gently brushing the outthrust prominence of my clit.

Suddenly thrusting that hand into my mouth, gathering drool from my lips and tongue, then back to my sex. I was shuddering, choking off a scream, acutely aware of how scary he seemed, but how perfectly, exquisitely, he seemed to know me. The delicacy of his touch on my clit, the gentle rolling of my nipple… I *slammed* into the most intense orgasm of my life.

Convulsing, weak kneed, he supported me for a few moments, holding me in his arms, then with a final gentle kiss to my cheek, he whispered: “see you soon.”

I heard the front door open, close. When I went out to rejoin the party later, composed, I looked around, looking for him intently.

Not one man there had a beard.

NSFW: yes

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