Sarah was in the kitchen stirring spaghetti sauce on the stove. The radio played some old pop song low in the background. It was Thursday evening, just after six. Michael walked in from the garage, still in his work boots, wiping his hands on an old rag.
“Hey babe,” he said, coming up behind her. He pressed against her ass lightly, chin on her shoulder. “Smells good.”
She smirked, not turning around. “Sauce or me?”
“Both.” His hand slid down her hip, under the hem of her loose tank top. Fingers brushed bare skin above her yoga pants waistband. No panties. She always skipped them when it was just them home.
Sarah kept stirring. “Dinner’s almost ready. You hungry?”
“Starving.” He kissed the side of her neck. His other hand cupped her tit through the thin fabric. Nipple already hard. “Been thinking about this pussy all day.”
She laughed quietly. “At work? Pervert.”
“Every damn minute.” He ground against her ass. She felt his cock thickening through his jeans. “You wet yet?”
“Maybe.” She pushed back a little. “Check.”
Michael didn’t hesitate. He tugged her yoga pants down just enough, past her hips. Cool air hit her skin. His fingers slipped between her thighs from behind. Two fingers parted her lips, found her slick right away.
“Fuck, yeah,” he muttered. “Soaking already.”
Sarah bit her lip, still holding the wooden spoon. Sauce bubbled softly. “Shh. Windows open. Mrs. Carter’s probably out watering plants.”
“Let her hear.” He rubbed slow circles over her clit. She shivered. “You love when I play with this tight little hole.”
She set the spoon down. Turned the burner to low. “Bedroom. Now.”
They didn’t make it that far.
Michael spun her around, lifted her onto the kitchen counter. Her ass hit the edge, legs spreading automatically. Yoga pants tangled at her knees. He dropped to crouch between her thighs, face inches from her pussy.
Pink. Swollen. Glossy. A thin string of wetness stretched when he spread her open with thumbs.
“Goddamn,” he breathed. Camera phone already propped on the spice rack, red light blinking. They’d started filming these little sessions a few months back. Just for them. Mostly.
Sarah leaned back on her elbows. Hair messy from the ponytail slipping. “Close up, baby. Get right in there.”
He zoomed the phone in. Lens almost touching her. His tongue flicked out, flat against her clit. She gasped loud. Real loud.
“Ohhh fuck—yes—”
He licked slow at first. Up and down her slit, tasting her. Then focused on the clit, circling, sucking gently. Wet smacking sounds filled the kitchen. Her hips bucked.
“Michael—shit—right there—”
He pushed two fingers inside. Tight. Hot. She clenched around them instantly. Pussy making those creamy sucking noises every time he pumped.
She moaned louder. High-pitched, needy. The kind that carried through walls if you weren’t careful. “Deeper—fuck—finger me harder—”
He added a third. Stretched her. Her thighs shook. Counter creaked under her weight.
“Gonna cum already?” he asked, voice muffled against her.
“Yes—don’t stop—don’t you fucking stop—”
Her back arched. First orgasm hit fast. Pussy pulsing hard around his fingers. Clear fluid leaked out, dripping onto the counter. She cried out, hand slapping over her mouth too late.
“Fuck—oh god—”
He kept licking through it. Tongue lapping up her mess. Phone catching every flutter, every drip.
When she came down, breathing ragged, he stood. Unzipped. Cock sprang out, thick, veiny, tip already leaking.
Sarah reached down, guided him. “Put it in. Raw. Fill me.”
He pushed in slow. Inch by inch. Her pussy gripped him like a fist. Wet heat swallowing every ridge.
“Jesus—still so tight after that,” he groaned.
She wrapped legs around his waist. Heels dug into his ass. “Fuck me hard. Make me cum again.”
He started thrusting. Deep. Steady at first. Kitchen counter rattling with each slam. Skin slapping loud. Wet squelching every time he bottomed out.
Sarah’s moans turned desperate. “Yes—yes—right there—pound my pussy—”
He grabbed her hips, angled up. Hit that spot. Her eyes rolled back.
“Gonna cum—again—fuck—”
Second orgasm crashed through her. Pussy spasming, milking his cock. She got loud—real loud. Almost screaming.
“Cum inside—please—fill me up—”
That did it.
Michael grunted. Thrusts erratic. Balls tight. “Fuck—here it comes—”
He buried deep. Cock pulsing. Thick ropes of cum shot inside her. One, two, three—more. Hot. Flooding her. She whimpered, feeling every spurt.
He kept grinding slow, pushing it deeper. Her pussy overflowed. Creamy white leaked out around his shaft, dripping down her ass crack onto the counter.
They stayed locked like that a minute. Breathing heavy. His cock still twitching inside her.
Finally he pulled out slow. Phone still rolling. Close-up of her used pussy—pink, puffy, gaping slightly. Thick cum oozed out, running in slow rivulets.
Sarah laughed breathlessly. “Holy shit. That was intense.”
Michael wiped sweat from his forehead. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” She hopped down. Legs shaky. Pulled yoga pants back up—cum already soaking through the crotch. “Sauce is probably burnt.”
He smirked. Turned the burner off. “Worth it.”
She glanced at the phone. Red light still on. “We getting multiple angles next time?”
“Multiple creampies too?” he teased.
She swatted his arm. “Maybe. If you’re lucky.”
They kissed quick. Messy. Tasted like her. Then she grabbed plates. He got forks. Normal life snapped back in. Dinner. TV in the background. Cum slowly leaking into her pants while they ate.
Just another Thursday.

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