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The sounds of the neighborhood block party isn’t on the street outside are echoing up into my bedroom, muffled by the windows and drawn curtains.
Inside, the hard, visceral slapping of flesh on flesh is only overshadowed by the deep, guttural sounds of your moaning into the pillows on my race-car bed.
Gripped tightly in your fists, and bit down on between your gritted teeth, my Star Wars sheets are the only thing keeping you from slamming into the wall as I hammer my hips into you.
You can’t remember exactly why you agreed to come up here. I’d practically dragged you into the house. You didn’t have a chance to really say no, not that you would. With a piece of hard, white fuckmeat like mine giving you the proper fucking your husband can’t, the only thing you can think of now is the excuse you’ll use to see me next time.
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- 1 year ago
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