Kitchen Island

It seems like ages since I had a chance to write anything not work related. I'm afraid I might have lost my long-time editor, LarryInSeattle. I hope not. I hope he's just on vacation. In any case, it goes without saying any errors are the result of my near total inability to read what is on the page versus what I'm thinking in my head. Forgive me.

Categories. I hate them. Married couples can have "Erotic Couplings"; I certainly hope so. "Loving Wives" seems to be mostly about men making women do something they don't want to do. So, "Erotic Couplings" it is.

It's short. I hope it's hot and a bit sweet. Let me know what worked and what didn't.

Enjoy.

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"Are you crazy?" she hissed.

"What?" He asked with a grin, his hand still under her skirt. Her question wasn't unreasonable but he noticed she hadn't pushed his hand away. "Why are you whispering? Mack is waiting outside." This was true. Mack, realtor and friend, had told them to go inside, look around and meet him out front when they were finished. He had also told them to take their time. "Look at that island" he muttered against the back of her shoulder. "Look familiar?" His fingers moved higher up her bare thigh.

"Yeah, but..."

"But, what? It looks exactly like the island in the movie we watched last night. You know the one." He pulled her closer, pressing his chest against her back. He leaned in and kissed the side of her neck as the hand under her skirt found the leg of her panties. "You know. The one that had you so wound up." His fingers danced over the front of her panties. "And wet," he said, smiling against her neck. He didn't see a lot of difference between porn "by women for couples" and regular porn. By regular porn he meant the production stuff, not the amateurish free shit on PornHub. On the other hand, he didn't care. If "couples' porn" was what she was comfortable watching, then couple's porn was fine with him. He had to admit the one they'd watched last night, snuggling with their backs against the headboard of their bed, had been fucking hot. A kitchen island, very similar, if not identical, to the one they were looking at, had played a prominent role in that production.

They'd been married for almost six years. It was time to buy their first house. They'd like the look of this one. It was at the top of their budget but it was bigger than they were looking for. It was more than big enough for the four of them. It was big enough for five, if they wanted to go ahead and have a third child. The kitchen was big, old but big. The house was old. And big. The backyard, visible through the bay window beyond the kitchen table was, you may have guessed, big. The yard was well maintained with mature trees and a fence. A dog would be a possibility. He wasn't thinking about a dog, not now. He was thinking about how his growing erection felt pressed against her butt, the way her hair smelled and how wet she'd been after watching the couple in the video fucking atop a kitchen island. A kitchen island just like the one less than three feet from where they stood.

He pressed the thin cotton of her panties into her slit and kissed the side of her neck.

"Mmm, that feels nice but..."

He nipped at her ear lobe and moved his finger higher, touching the firm nubbin of her sex. He pressed his dick against her. "Mack will wait for us. No one's here but us." His whispered words tickled her neck and she shivered.

"But..."

"Mmm," he breathed against her skin. "What about your butt; you know it drives me crazy."

"I said 'but' and you know it," She tried to sound irritated but he knew her too well for that. "What if he comes in?"

"He won't."

Whatever protests that might have been forthcoming were lost as a soft moan escaped her lips. He was kissing her behind her ear. When she relaxed against him, he smiled. Game over.

"That's not fair," she protested. She told herself she should be angry with him. He wasn't playing fair, kissing her neck like that, rubbing his dick against her like that, touching her pussy like that. He wasn't playing fair. She told herself she should be angry. She couldn't seem to find any anger, only desire, not with the feel of his lips against her neck. Or his finger pressing against her panties.

"No, it's not," He murmured against her neck. He felt the growing heat of her skin against his lips. His finger hooked her panties and tugged. He pulled them down her thighs. He reached around with both hands and pushed them below her knees, squatting as he did so. Her panties fell in a puddle around her ankles. He slid his hands up the outside of her legs, letting his fingers dance over her skin. He put his hands, palms facing, between her legs and brushed the backs of his hands down the soft skin of her legs. When he reached her ankles, he guided her feet out of her panties. She didn't resist the urging of his hands.

He stood, drawing his hands back up her legs. He pushed her skirt up, exposing her. He pressed gently against the middle of her back. She leaned forward and rested her hands atop the butcherblock island, all thoughts of protest washed away by the sensations flooding her brain. He dropped again to sit on his heels. His hands never left her. He kissed her bare bottom, kissing first one, then the other dimple that rested just above her butt cheeks. His hands kneaded her ass, not too hard, not soft. He kissed her lower back, her cheeks and then the top of her crack. He put one hand on the front of her hip and pulled her hips back toward him and she leaned lower over the butcher block, her back now almost horizontal, her rear end pushed out.

He teased her, kissing the upper half of her crack, licking it, making it wet. When his tongue drew too close to her most private spot, he felt her tense. He'd made peace, more or less, with the fact she was never going be comfortable with backdoor play. He used one hand to urge her legs further apart. He tilted his head and pressed it between her legs. His face was closer to her bottom than she would normally care for. The stubble on his chin tickled the lonely patch of skin between her pussy and ass. When he extended his tongue, he was able to touch the bottom of her slit. It was his turn to moan. She was so wet. Her moisture began to flow over the tip of his tongue as soon as it entered her. Her taste lifted him to a higher plane of desire. He pushed hard and was able to get more of his tongue between her lips. It wasn't enough. He longed to turn her around and bury his face in her pussy but the image of her bent over the butcher block island was too powerful. He imagined how they would look if they were being filmed. How wet, how hard would others get watching them?

He pulled back. She started to turn but he stopped her. He swiveled as he sat his ass on the cold tile floor. His back was now against the back of her legs. Ducking his head, he leaned back between her legs. Understanding what he was trying to do, she put one foot on the shelf at the bottom of the island.Once his head slipped past her thighs, he untucked his head. The top of his head hit the underside of the island. He didn't notice. He doubted he would ever see a more beautiful sight than this, his wife's pussy, gleaming with desire. Her lips, pink and red, above them, the proud jut of her clit, begging to be worshipped. He vowed to start doing crunches. In the event he ever found himself in this position again, he wanted to be able to put both hands on her ass. As it was, he needed one to support himself, leaving only one hand for her ass. He pulled her onto his waiting, desperate, mouth. He parted her with his tongue. He pushed his face into her until his nose was pressed hard against the top of her slit. He hooked his tongue and found the spot on the front wall of her pussy that drove her crazy. Was there such a thing as a G spot? He couldn't fucking care less. All he knew was working that part of her pussy with his finger or his dick or his tongue made her quiver. She quivered. He tilted his head back, dragging his tongue up her slit. He stopped and rubbed the tip of his nose in circles around her clit.

He teased her, touching her clit with a touch that was more a dream than a reality. He blew a puff of breath over her clit before flicking it with his tongue. The sound she made was more of a groan than a moan. He rewarded her, and himself, by wrapping his lips around her clit and tugging as his tongue flickered over her sex. He felt it twitch. Her little lady dick twitched beneath his tongue and his fingers tightened on her ass. He groaned in frustration. He needed more hands, more tongues, more cocks. The thought of taking his mouth away from her clit devastated him but the need to taste more of her pussy was stronger.

He shifted lower and suck one pair of her lips into his mouth. He parted them with his tongue. He moved to the other side and repeated the maneuver. He pulled back slightly, stiffened his tongue and entered her once more. His cheeks were wet. Hell, his face from the nose down, was wet. He pushed deeper. She began to move.

Her hips bucked forward, then pulled back slightly. This was new. This was a first. He did his best to keep his tongue as stiff as his dick and to hold still, other than massaging her ass with his hand. He held his head still and let his wife fuck herself on his tongue. She pushed forward, pinning his head between the side of the butcherblock island and her pussy. She held herself, impaled on his tongue and moved her hips in small circles, rubbing her sex over his nose. Or, rubbing her clit with his nose, it all depended on your point of view. One of her hands left the top of the island and her fingers twisted in his hair.

He pulled away, scooting downward. She pulled at his hair. "No! Don't stop!"

He didn't listen, too lost in his desire for her to listen. He scooted from under her and sprang to his feet. He unzipped his pants and fumbled to free his cock, cursing the entire time. It took no more than a second or two but he was ready to howl in frustration by the time he'd freed his dick. He stepped between her legs and thrusted his cock between them. Her hot, and very wet pussy, cradled the top of his cock. He used one hand to move his dick between her lips, wetting it. He steadied himself, the head of his cock pressing against the mouth of her pussy.

He entered her hard and fast. Six years of marriage and two children had done nothing to diminish the ability of her pussy to grip his cock but he wasn't afraid of hurting her. She was as wet and ready as he'd ever known her to be. His thighs smacked against her ass. He watched the impact ripple over her butt cheeks and across her back. She was lying atop the island now, head turned to one side, one eye watching him, arms stretched out. Her fingers clung to the far side of the island, hanging on as if afraid she'd fall if she let go. She clung to the island; he clung to her hips.

He pulled himself into her with his hands, pushing with his hips, until the head of his cock was pressed against the firm mound of her cervix. She moaned as the pressure sent a wave of achy, crampy pleasure through her belly. He held himself there, twitching his hips, pushing into her, before he pulled back.

He pulled nearly out of her before slamming back in. He fucked her, hard, for a dozen or so strokes. She watched his face. He leaned back and watched his cock fuck her. He watched as her pussy clung to his dick. He watched as her ass cheeks flattened when his body banged into hers. The kitchen echoed, in that way that empty rooms do, with the sounds of their bodies pounding into each other. He made himself stop. He had told himself, when he'd first reached under her skirt, that he would tease her a little, maybe even fuck but her fast. Despite what he'd said he was a little worried Mack would barge in, wondering what was taking so long, checking to see if they had questions. He was no longer interested in a quick fuck, worried or not, he wasn't ready to cum, wasn't ready for her to cum. He pulled all the way out, the tip of his dick barely between her lips. He paused and then entered her again but slowly.

His eyes never left the spot were their bodies united. He marveled at the sight of his cock disappearing into her pussy. Not for the first time he wished he could disappear inside her cunt. In his head he saw his body stretching out, thinning, like a star being drawn into a black hole. A lover's cunt as a singularity, was that a metaphor?

When he felt his dick against her cervix, he held himself still. He reached around her hip and found her clit. When they'd first started sleeping together, he'd rubbed her in small circles, like she'd shown him. It was the same way she rubbed herself when she masturbated. As he grew more confident it dawned on him that he always jerked off the same way. He realized so did she. Was that because that was what felt the best or is that just the way he first learned to jerk off? He wasn't sure about himself much less his lover. What he did know, and loved, about her was she loved routine. Routine was something he needed, even if he didn't always appreciate that fact. He bet himself she'd never tried touching herself in any other way. He'd decided to take a chance.

The gamble paid off. He'd gotten her off by rubbing up and down the shaft of her sex. That had worked nicely. What worked even better, if she was turned on enough, and he was pretty sure she was turn on enough, stretched out atop a kitchen island with her pussy full of his dick, was to pluck her clit, almost like a guitar sting. That's what his finger began to do. His finger tip curled then strummed, a single stroke, over the head of her clit. He increased the pace and she began to thrust back against him.

"Cum for me, baby. Cum for me," he panted.

"Fuc..." she started to scream, then rolled her head forward and bit the back of her arm.

Without taking his finger from her clit, he began to fuck her once again. Her body began to thrash beneath him, nearly throwing him off. She stiffened.

He rammed himself home and came as her pussy clenched so hard on his cock he didn't think he could pull out if he wanted to. He didn't want to. He came with the head of his cock hard against her cervix. He pumped his semen straight into her womb. As the fever began to clear from his brain, he prayed that the third child might be about to be conceived.

He collapsed atop her. They panted. He felt sweat dripping from the tip of his nose onto her back. His cock began to soften. When her pussy ejected him, they both moaned. He stood up and stepped back. He couldn't help but look between her legs. As he expected, their bodies' gifts to each other were running down the inside of her legs. She followed his glance and frowned. "Oh, shit. Do you see any paper ..."?

He quieted her with a kiss. It was a long, slow kiss. They'd fucked. They'd rutted. With their kiss they made love. If she noticed his dick was leaking on her skirt she'd didn't' seem to mind. When she pulled back, he saw her eyes begin to scan the kitchen, looking for paper towels, napkins, Kleenex, something.

A wicked thought occurred to him. She'd probably freak out. He was a little freaked out himself but what the fuck. He took a hold of one of her wrists, getting her attention. She stared at him. She read the look on his face but wasn't sure what new craziness he had in mind. She was startled when he ran his free hand up the inside of her thigh. She was beyond startled when he popped his fingers into his mouth. He grinned around his fingers at the look of shock on her face. Before she could react, he wiped off the other thigh and again popped his fingers into his mouth.

She jerked her hand away and stepped aback. "Are you nuts?"

She asked him that a lot. After all this time did she really need to ask? He smiled at her. "What? You know how much I love eating your pussy. Besides, where you going to walk back outside with your pussy running down your legs?"

"It's not 'my pussy'. It's my pussy and your cum," she hissed.

Back to the hissing, he shrugged. "Yeah, kinda weird but you eat my cum when you blow me."

"That's different."

He shrugged again and stepped closer. He saw her stiffen. "Relax, baby," he whispered as he reached past her and ripped off a paper towel. The paper towel holder was behind her, on the island. She hadn't notice it before because she was too busy being fucked.

He used the towel to wipe off her thighs. Part of him want to ask her to skip this step, wanted her to walk back out the front door to meet Mack, her legs shiny. "Marking my territory?" he wondered silently. When he leaned in to kiss her, she pulled her head back. He leaned closer, lips almost touching, close enough that her face had become a blur. Their eyes were open. They stared at each other. He didn't move. Let her decide. He inhaled slowly, audibly. He could smell her. She had given him a pussy facial. His cheeks and chin might be dry but she'd marked him, every bit as much as he'd marked her.

She kissed him. He smiled. He pushed his tongue forward. He could taste her on his tongue. He could taste something else, something he assumed was his semen. Would this be too much for her? No, evidently not. He lips parted and her tongue played with his, not for long, but it happened. He pulled back, gave her a big smack on the lips and grinned.

"God, I fucking love you."

Sanity was rapidly reasserting itself in her eyes. Still, she smiled. "I know. I love you too. We better look at the rest of the house. Where are my panties? You want to wash your face quick?"

He shook his head. "We can look but I don't care. We're buying this house. Leave your panties off, please? I'll put them in my pocket. No, I don't want to wash my face. No one will notice and even if they did, I want them to think, 'holy shit, she lets him eat her, what a lucky bastard'." He bent and picked up the white cotton pants with blue polka dots. He held them in one hand as he put away his dick. It was still leaking. Shrugging, he wiped the head with a fingertip and sucked it cleaned. She shook her head. He zipped up and dabbed at the wet spots on the front of his pants with her panties before shoving them into one of his front pockets. She started to protest but he could see a gleam in her eye. She was competitive, more so than he. He'd challenged her, expecting her to demand her panties back. The gleam told him she'd decided to not rise to the bait. He smiled again and kissed her.

"You're fucking amazing."

"And you're fucking nuts. Come on."

She made him look at the rest of the house. It made no difference to him, he'd made up his mind; she loved the house.

"Should we? Is it too big? Can we afford it?" she said looking around at room that would perfect for a nursery.

"You know we can afford it. We set a very cautious budge and this house doesn't go over that. Besides," he kissed her and then put a hand low on her stomach. "I just made you pregnant. We'll need the extra room."

She looked at him, put a hand over the one resting on her tummy. She looked down at their hands, looked at her tummy, then back up. She smiled. "Well, alrighty then."

They went back through the kitchen on their way out. As the walked between the island and the counter, he pulled her panties out of his pocket and dropped them, marking his territory.