Cashing Checks

Pressure.

Pain.

Pleasure.

Calloused fingers wrap around your waist, locking on the protruding bump of your hipbone. Your knees twitch inwards, responding to the familiar sensation of your opening being stretched to receive. Those rough fingers tense, giving you a fraction of a second's warning before the pressure moves suddenly deeper, stealing your breath and sending a brief burn through you as muscles stretch before being fully ready.

"Fuck!" you wince, the lilt of your voice pitched higher by discomfort. You reach back, palm finding the firm muscle of a toned abdomen, pushing to discourage any further movement. More fingers play through your hair, starting just below your shoulder blades and tracing up to your scalp.

"Sorry, Abs..." your husband murmurs, his chest pushing up against your back. You feel him shift, head leaning down, hand pulling your hair to the other side. Gentle lips press against the skin of your neck, his warm breath spilling along your collarbone. A deep chuckle rumbles, the sound causing your shoulder to lift without a conscious thought. "Even after all these years, I just can't help myself when it comes to that tight little pussy of yours."

His words send a tingle down your spine, causing you to shiver. Fingers pull back down through your hair, gently tugging free at the end. His hand drags over the thin fabric of your cardigan, slipping around under your arm, finding the opening. Fingers curl, sliding the garment back enough to expose that side of your chest, then release. He cups you deftly, fingers spreading to capture the swell of your breast in his grip.

"Sam..." your voice moans softly, eyes closing while you focus on the teasing press of his fingers and his palm.

"That's a good girl, Abby." He whispers in your ear, punctuating the statement with a roll of your hardening nub in his fingers. Your face flushes with heat, the simple praise shorting out your thoughts for a moment. The hand enamored with your breast pulls back gently, encouraging your hips to tilt forward and your back to arch slightly. "Breath for me, love," he reminds you. You force a slow breath in, then release it. You start to take another when Sam speaks again, his voice soft in your ear, "That's my girl. Take your time to adjust."

You nod, eyes still closed, your body gradually becoming accustomed to your husband again after several weeks away. The hand on your hip releases, his own hips pushing forward gently against your rear to keep himself seated in you. It lifts, fingers wandering up your back until they index into your hair. He combs through your locks again, slowing his own breathing to regain control after his initial shove into you.

A few more shared breaths pass, the discomfort of him stretching you fading into a pleasant fullness. You lift your hand from his hip, bracing it on the edge of the counter he's "managed" to trap you against. Your other moves to cover his on your chest, applying an encouraging press to the back of his hand as your fingers intertwine with his. You turn your head and open your eyes, finding the bright, loving green orbs of your husband's gaze just to the side. The warmth of his look brings a smile to your lips, lips that then press against his in a slow, sensual kiss.

"I've missed you." You murmur, pulling back. The soft smile on his lips causes familiar butterflies to flutter inside of you, a sense of contentment settling over you, emphasized by the full feeling of your union.

"Believe it or not," he starts teasingly, fingers pulling a strand of hair from your eyes and back over your ear, "I've missed you too."

The corners of your lips twist up into a wry grin as you cock an eyebrow at him. "So that's why someone was so impatient today."

He nods slowly, "I'd have never used the word impatient," His lips press into the skin behind your ear, teasing out a sigh from your throat. "But her distinct lack of panties when I got home suggests that is a fair description for someone." Further warmth surges to your cheeks at his observation, a guilty smile on your features. "I have no idea how you manage to look so innocent at times like this..." he says. The slow receding of the fullness from you signals the draw backwards of his hips, leaving a subtle sense of absence in its wake. "But I know better now." He pauses, his head the only part of him remaining inside of you.

You exhale, slow and ragged with the angst for him to replace himself. "Sammmm..." you whine, your hips taking advantage of the momentary release from the counter to tilt.

"Yes, Abby?" he asks calmly, fingers leaving your hair to find purchase on your waist again. "Ah, my fault, you must want," his hand pulls back on you as his hips drive forward. You inhale audibly in response, his length stretching you around him as he sheathes himself fully inside of you again. "This." You rise to your toes as he flexes his hips and grinds against you, stealing a loud moan from you.

"What was I saying? Oh. You take my cock too well to be innocent anymore." He speaks into your ear, the hand on your breast pulling your back flush against his chiseled chest. His words make you shiver, his actions make your fingers clench on the counter. "Isn't that right?" he asks you. You nod in response, teeth clamping on your lower lip. Strong fingers release, tracing over your sternum and dipping under the other side of your cardigan to capture your other breast. He rolls your nipple, sending a jolt through you and causing you to flex for a moment.

You feel the pressure of the counter against your waist release, your heels coming back to the ground as he draws back again, just as slowly as the first time. "It's good to be home." He says into your ear before thrusting forward again, the pleasant pressure of him traveling your tunnel moving deeper inside of you until his hips contact your rear. You moan again, your own hands switching on the counter so that you can cover the one currently locked around your waist.

You hear him exhale, then feel his lips press a series of kisses into the side of your neck. "Abs..." he groans, and you can hear the conflict in his voice as he fights with himself to keep things slow.

"Sam," you start, pushing off the counter to press your hips back against him, "It's time for you to fuck me." You finish, a hint of the impatience bantered about earlier coloring your tone. His eyes find yours, mirroring the overwhelming hunger, the desire, you feel so strongly in the moment. He nods, holding your gaze, his hips drawing back.

He plunges himself back into you, pushing your walls apart as he glides between the muscles of your now-prepared walls, watching the way your eyes go wide as he fills you. He smoothly cycles at the end of the stroke, drawing back without pause this time. "Oh, Sam..." you sigh, your eyes fluttering closed as the pressure returns with his subsequent thrust. "Abby..." he growls, the gravel in his voice driving your excitement even higher, his body settling into a steady rhythm as he takes you against the counter.

His hand releases your chest, allowing you to fall forward over the cool marble of the countertop, both of your hands bracing against the edge. Sam's second hand joins the first, locking like a vice on the other side of your waist. Strong hips drive up against you, rocking you against the counter. "You're so fucking tight, Abs," he groans, pulling back, then restoring the fullness and pressure you crave, "I've missed you." He brings himself through another stroke, more forceful than the last, "And I've missed being in you."

The physical envelopment of his body around yours and the fullness of him so deep inside of you bring back the familiar sense of contentment and security that follows so often from you and your husband's trysts. Your sight drifts in and out of focus, rocking with the momentum he imparts on your body each time he drives home. "Sam!" you cry out, pleasure dripping from your voice. Your hips match the cadence of his, pushing back against him, mirroring his pace with the ease imparted by years of practice and an intimate familiarity with both your husband and his motions.

You rock forward as he buries his cock inside of you, trapping your hips between him and the counter. "Get this off." He demands, one hand tugging at the fabric draped over your shoulders still. You grab it eagerly, tugging it off one shoulder then the other with a pair of shrugs. Before you can discard it, Sam tears it free from your arm, throwing it across the kitchen to land unceremoniously on the floor.

The fingers of that same hand scrape up your bared back, wrapping a fistful of your hair in his grasp as he nears your head. He tugs firmly, pulling your head back, his chin resting over your shoulder. You can feel his warm breath spilling down your chest, the spike of his stubble as it rubs lightly over your shoulder. Sam lifts his other hand from your waist, bringing his fingers to your mouth, pushing them between your lips. You open, taking them into your mouth, your tongue flicking along them as you slicken them, knowing exactly where your husband has them destined for.

He pulls his fingers away, then runs the back of his hand down your body. It slides along your jaw. Down your neck. Across your collarbone. Between your breasts. Over your abdomen. Then it slows, stops, at the top of your mound. He draws his shaft back slowly, then pushes it back inside of you with a full stroke. You feel his hand twist, slick fingers teasing over your hood and around your stretched-open slit, his touch stealing a gasp from you. Sam presses up, increasing the pressure as his digits slide over, across, and along you, the hand in your hair twisting your head back towards him as he captures your lips with his. He yanks back, lifting your head to expose your neck to his lips.

A burning trail of kisses follows the contour of your shoulder up your neck, coming to a stop at your ear. "Did you think that you could send those pictures and those texts and there wouldn't be consequences?" he asks, chuckling. You bite down on your lip, fighting, failing to keep from moaning as his fingers press and push, rotating in a steady circle, passing over the bundled nerves of your clit at the top of each pass. You manage to nod, the motion restrained by his grip on your hair, but enough to get the point across and make him laugh softly. "Of course you did..." he says, pausing the movements of his hand as he draws back, thrusting into you again a second later.

"I'm innocent!" you choke out, eyes closing again when his fingers resume their ministrations.

"Of course you are, love." Sam murmurs, amusement evident. He pushes more firmly against you with his fingers, adjusting his passes in response to the stream of sounds leaving your lips. "Not that I mind you writing checks that that poor little pussy of yours has to cash..."

"Oh fuck! Sam!" You cry out, your back pushing against his chest as you seek every inch of contact possible with his body. You can feel the tension building, the pressure at your mental walls as he touches you.

"That's a good girl, Abby. Cum for me while I'm buried in you, sweetheart." Your husband whispers in your ear, knowing full well the effect his words have on you. You start to rock with the limited motion you can manage between your husband, the counter, and his hand, pushing against his fingers as they circle and stimulate you.

"Just like that!" You hear a woman say with your voice, his fingers pressing just a little harder, passing over you once, twice, and third time before you give in and let the tension break. Your fingers clench, knuckles going white as you grab at the stone in front of you. Legs tense and release as waves of pleasure pass down your spine, radiating out to the rest of your body. You collapse completely forward as Sam releases your hair, your torso writhing on the counter.

"Good girl, Abby, good girl." You hear the detached voice of your husband praising you, encouraging you through your throes. The frequency of the waves slows, dying down as your high passes. An aftershock rolls through you, causing the muscles of your body to spasm as you try to suck down a breath.

"I'll never get over how incredible that view is." Sam's voice sounds again, bringing you back to yourself, albeit in a bit of a haze. His fingers comb through your hair gently, his torso pressing down against your back just enough to provide a comforting sensation of closeness. He shifts his weight, moving him slightly inside of you as he does. You shiver, every sensation amplified, his touch, his pressure, his fullness taking control of your attention. "Ready?" he asks, his voice gentler. You take a deep breath, then nod. You turn your head to look back at him, smiling deeply, your face glowing with a warm flush.

"Mhm." You answer him verbally, sighing as he slides himself mostly from you. His movements restart slowly, his cock inching inside of you until his hips press against your rear.

Sam exhales slowly, his cadence increasing with each cycle as he fills you and then withdraws. A strong hand reaches under you, grasping your breast, lifting you up off the counter. He pulls you tight to his chest, kissing your lips as you turn your head towards him. "Oh fuck, Abby..." he groans, his thrusts becoming forceful enough to send a rhythmic clap through the kitchen each time his hips collide with you. Your body rocks, the steadying effect of his hand clutching you the only thing keeping you from falling back onto the countertop as he shifts from making love to you to fucking you over the counter.

"God, Sam!" You moan encouragingly, your legs flexing and driving you back against him.

"Abby, I'm about to fill your pussy up." Sam grunts, the pleasure obvious in his eyes as he takes you.

"That had better be a promise, babe." You throw back, half-breathless, moaning as he drives into you over and over and over.

"Fuck." He grunts, fingers clenching your breast, locking on your waist and pulling back hard. He pushes you to your toes with the depth of his thrust, a gasp escaping you as you feel him tense and twitch inside of you.

"Yes, Sam, yes!" you sigh, closing your eyes to revel in the satisfaction of your husband finishing. You clutch his hands with yours, squeezing him each time he slams up into you, the press of your walls around him dragging moan after moan from his lips. His thrusts slow, still deep, but losing their earlier rhythm. A final long, deep, stroke signals the end, a subtle sense of warmth marking the evidence of your reunion.

Your hand slips up, finding his cheek, caressing him. You turn, smiling softly at your husband as he fights to catch his own breath. "Welcome home, my love."

Sam exhales, his hands dropping to brace on the counter now. His forehead rests on your shoulder, his chest rising and falling with each breath. "Did that go how you had planned, love?" He asks.

You nod, giggling. Your fingers trace back and forth over his scalp, nails scraping lightly. "Exactly the way I'd hoped you'd cash that check." You murmur teasingly. Strong arms lift, wrapping around your waist as he hugs you to him, your own more slender arms covering his with a satisfied hum.

"Oh sweetheart, that was just your first payment." He murmurs, kissing your neck, then your cheek. He grinds against you one last time, then pulls himself out. "Just wait until bed tonight."

You laugh, hugging his arms more tightly, twisting to catch his lips with yours in a soft, sweet, quick series of pecks. "I love you." You say as you separate, catching the warmth and affection in his eyes as he looks at you.

"I love you too." He pauses, grinning, "Care to join me in the shower?"