Another post from the amazing Lavinia De La Roux, whose bio you can read here. A follow up from The Supermarket, this is what writing for me does to you.
This evening I told my husband that I was going to have a guest post on Duct tape and daddy issues. I warned him he might not want to read it because it might surprise him.
“Is it about you playing solo?”
“… Yeah…” How did he know?
“In the carpark?”
He knows?! How does he know?
I’m blushing furiously by this point.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he chuckled, crouching down near the new bog garden to look at the carnivorous plants. I followed him, standing nearby, bending down to remove a couple of weeds that had sprouted up in a flowerpot. He continued to talk to me about the plants, one of his hands sliding very slowly along the inside of my thigh, up my shorts to my boxers. I blushed even harder, I knew I was already turned on just from talking to him, I knew what he’d find if he explored further. I was embarrassed. I had two options; play it off and move away, or own it. The bravery I’d felt in the carpark a few days before rose up and I shifted my legs apart slightly, inviting him to slide his hand into my underwear. The sound he made, somewhere between surprise and satisfaction, when his fingers found me wet went straight to my cunt and I held my breath, trying not to moan when his thumb slid inside me. My muscles clenched around him, gripping him hard, letting him know how much I enjoyed the sensation of him pleasuring me, of how much I wanted it.
I was standing in the garden being fingered by my husband with one set of neighbours talking just on the other side of the hedge, barely two feet away and a four-foot fence separating us from the other neighbours' garden. They could have walked out and seen what we were up to at any moment. Several of the windows overlooked the garden including our daughters and I half-heartedly mentioned it to him.
“If anyone sees us, they’ll think we’re just looking at the plants,” he assured me, stroking my clit.
“We should go inside…” Eventually, he pulls away and stands up, the front of his shorts tented over his hard cock. It’s sexy as hell and a major turn-on knowing my body does that to him, that my arousal and pleasuring me makes him hard.
“I want to be inside you.” I love hearing those words, knowing he wants it now and can’t wait until our daughter is asleep later. I follow him into the kitchen, watching his ass, the muscles moving in his legs. I love looking at him and I’m feeling sexy from knowing how much he wants me.
I pull the living room door closed and we look around for a moment, trying to find somewhere suitable for our height difference. When I turn back to him, he has his cock out and he’s stroking it slowly. I can’t tear my eyes away nor resist reaching out and running my fingers up and down that hot length, over the flared head that feels all kind of amazing when it hits my Gspot just right.
Giving up on the perfect spot, I pull my shorts and boxers down, bending over one of the breakfast bar stools. I rise onto my tiptoes, knowing he will have to bend his knees to line us up properly but I’m aware of time slipping away and we could be disturbed at any moment.
He knows exactly what I want and I know he wants it too. He moves closer and I feel the heat of his body against mine. I love that first bit when the head of his cock teases me, nudging at my entrance, and it never disappoints. When he’s bathed in my wetness, he slowly pushes into me and I moan, revelling in that breathtaking sensation that I wish I could relive over and over and over.
At first, it’s slow but when I push back against him, trying to use the stool as leverage even as it shifts across the floor, he picks up speed, fucking into me harder until his balls are slapping my cunt adding to the amazing sensations crashing through my entire body.
His breathing grows heavier and the sounds he makes drives my pleasure higher. I love his voice; I love hearing him gasp and swear and moan.
He slows down, changing the rhythm, hitting me in a different spot. The stool creaks and I grip it tighter, biting my lip, trying to keep quiet. When he slams into me again, groaning, I know he’s getting close and it drives me higher, pushing me closer as well. I’m still on my tiptoes and my legs are shaking but I ignore the ache in my muscles, gasping softly as my husband grips my hips and shifts me slightly to get a better angle, to push deeper.
He says something in that rough, sex-drugged voice but I don’t catch the words, I don’t need to, the tone alone makes me tingle and my muscles grip him tight. He moans, thrusting hard, burying himself balls deep as he cums, his body trembling and his breaths teasing the back of my neck.
Neither of our legs are working properly when he slips out of me and we both grip the breakfast bar to stay upright. Clean-up is going to have to wait a minute or two and we snigger about the fact that if we get caught now, we wouldn’t be able to deny what we’d been up to. He lowers his head to mine, kissing me softly.
“More later,” he promises, his voice still breathy from his orgasm.
Comments