A Blond Buffet

I have a blond buffet. It was one of my first "grown-up" furniture pieces that was handed down to me after graduating from the blue plastic milk crates of college. It has a lovely grain and is worn in some places. I've no idea who in my family owned it first. It's about waist high on me, with three rows of deep drawers, split into columns. The top measures about two feet wide and it's more than six feet long. It has tarnished metal pulls that clang whenever the piece gets bumped, most usually by my hips as I'd walk between it and my dining table on my way to the kitchen of my old apartment.

Currently, I have it in storage, but I'll bring it to my new home soon. I've barely been here a year and I've worked so much that I haven't had time to decorate or set up house beyond the basics. With the pandemic, no one wise is doing dinner parties, so why would I need my buffet full of various candle sticks, table runners, and cookbooks? I wouldn't.

But this morning, I had a thought as soon as I woke. It was more of a vivid mental image. I pictured the furniture piece settled in the spot I have planned for it. The windows on either side had the curtains drawn back with only the sheer over the blinds. It all came to me at once.

I had been up before you to start breakfast. You'd come up behind me and spun me around to face you in all your naked glory, fresh from sleep. You kissed me so hard that my knees weakened. I arched and leaned back on my elbows against the buffet, spreading my arms to hold the ledge with both hands behind me.

You released me from your kiss and looked at me so fiercely that I felt as if I were about to go up in flames. You didn't take your gaze away from me as you tucked your thumbs between my skin and the band of my panties, jerking them down before I quickly stepped out. Further still, you kept your heated gaze on me as you ran your middle and ring fingers repeatedly along the strip of my pubic hair, feeling it dampen more with every stroke. My lids were half closed, my breath shallow as you made me mewl and shudder with your touch. I could see the glisten of precum on the tip of your aroused cock and my mouth watered. You teased me then eased up right before climax, time and time again.

I was about to lose my hold when you finally removed your fingers, only to use the back of your hand to sharply swat my thighs apart, slick as they were with my juices. Then you brought your fingers to my face and rubbed them on my lips, pressing into my mouth without asking and I hungrily lapped them clean. You pulled them from my swollen lips then and glided your touch up my cheek then down to my neck, taking a firm, entirely pleasant and welcome hold. Your face showed complete power and ownership as you guided yourself to my entrance and without a word, jerked harshly up into me fully. It hurt in the most splendid way and I cried out, just as you did it again. I needed you at that moment more than my lungs needed oxygen and you gave me every ounce of energy you had.

You fucked me possessively, ravagely, and I begged you for more. I whisper-prayed your name and willed my womanly body to withstand the onslaught of our shared passion. You hit my clit more times than a church bell in a storm and I gushed forth my ecstasy all over your shaft. I pleaded. I bargained. I never wanted to stop. And you nailed me into that wood like I was made of copper.

Finally, when I was just about to pass out from our raw exertions, you heaved into my core once more, leaning your head on my shoulder and gave a strangled cry of release. Oh, I could feel your liquid heat stream into me, bolt after pulsing bolt in my womb. My heart purred with joy, prideful and bold, and ragged heap of pleasure that I was, I still held you as you caught your breath, caressing you in my arms. I told you that I loved you and that you are utterly amazing. You eased gently from between my legs and tenderly kissed my lips, almost chaste in its innocence and purity. My core ached and you splayed your hand fully over it and pressed, easing the hollow throb. Then you grinned, gave me your signature ornery wink and swatted my backside, nevermind it being sore from being ground into the front trim of the wood.

You kissed me again, quickly this time, and asked me what kind of pancakes I wanted. I laughed and turned around, getting my favorite cookbook from its drawer and following you into the kitchen. It was a very good morning!