I kissed Jack goodbye, walked back through the living room to see our clothes strewn all over the room. In my tidy house, this could only mean one thing: there was some fucking going on.

This morning Jack told me to hurry back from the bus stop, and as I came back to the door I see he had it partway open, his hand in his pants, stroking his cock. My mouth dropped.

I walked inside and just started ripping things off, as did he. And oh! Oh, my readers, how I wish I could have had a mic hooked up just to record it for you, because the accoustics in our kitchen are quite lovely (as I’m sure our neighbors have noticed) but there was no time for that. I was already spread facedown across the kitchen counter.

Darling Jack had the lube in his hand, slowly wiping it all over my pussy, pausing on the clit for a few languid circles, then back, slowly up and down. I couldn’t help but perch myself higher and higher in the air, legs straining on tiptoes, more, more…

I believe I mumbled something about, “God, that makes everything better.” I hadn’t slept well last night. I was in a lot of pain by the time I woke up, but each circle and slow pass he made over my slick pussy just made all of it melt away. I strained higher, and bucked back each time he got his fingers close to my cunt, trying to impale myself on his hand. He just chuckled, “What a good girl you are.”

My hips started to swing, my pussy contracting with the imagined thrusts of his cock, my imagination taking over and making me desperate, moaning and clutching to the countertop. At the point that one hand started to drag, nails down and clawing into the counter he relented. “You want some cock, don’t you, baby?”

If I were a stupid girl I might have turned around and said, “Well, fucking DUH!”, but I’m not. (laughs) Instead, I just let out a slow tortured mewl. He knows.

While he’d been stroking me, he’d been using the other hand to stroke himself, and he just moved to the right and plunged right into me. I howled, I couldn’t help it. It felt good, but it HURT. I LOVE that combination.

It wasn’t him that was hurting me, really. It was the fact that I’d spent far too long on the exercise bike the day before, and the muscles right around my pussy were sore as hell. Each thrust he made rammed his hips up against those muscles, but also filled me with cock. Oh, glorious. It’s the same reason I love being spanked; the combination of pain and pleasure keeps me entirely focused and somehow…makes the pleasure far more noticeable.

I closed my eyes, refusing to see the homework to be checked, or the list of errands to be run, and just focused on the pain and the pleasure of being fucked. God, how I love being fucked. The sliding of his cock, the subtle slip of his foreskin as he pulls out and then pushes back in, the fullness of my pussy, the texture, the friction, the slickness, all of it. I love it most when he grabs me by the hips. The feel of his strong arms pulling me backwards onto his cock is transcendent. There is nothing but submission, perched for his use, filled by his desire. (moans)

After I’d orgasmed repeatedly, he pulled me backwards and said, “Grab your ankles”. Flexibility is such a joy, I tell you. I leaned down, grabbed my ankles, and scooted forward until the back of my head was touching the cupboard doors (that way, when he thrusts, I don’t keep smacking my head, it’s distracting, dammit!). From there, I had the most lovely view of looking up to watch him fuck me, to see his cock in action, and watch his balls and they tightened and slapped up against me. The muscles in his thighs, his legs, fuck, what a view. And all along he held my hips tight in his hands, clutching me and fucking me until he came.

We paused, breathless, then he helped me up to rest my head on the counter and regain my balance. We kissed, slow, deep, softly, and then Jack turned to go to the shower, the words trailing behind him as we walked down the hall, “Now that’s how I like to start my Friday!”

Indeed.