This is a continuation of the story Another Wednesday. It is also related to the story Home Early on a Wednesday. Feedback is appreciated.
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The house is darker than outside and it takes my eyes a moment to adjust. I see her standing in the dining room, beckoning me. I want her. I can never remember my cock being so hard, so ready. As I approach her she smiles and kisses me.
"I'm your little slut. I'll do whatever you tell me," she says.
I know what she wants. She has spent her life behaving nicely, speaking nicely...being nice. Right now, she doesn't want that. She wants bad, dirty, wild, unplanned, urgent sex. She wants to break some of the rules she has lived her life by. Yet she wants to be ordered to do it, told to be bad, perhaps, so that in the morning, there will be no guilt, just the pleasant afterglow of the act itself.
"Bend over the table," I instruct her. "Rest your face and tits on the table."
She complies immediately. I caress her arse for a moment with the hardness of my cock. Then I guide my cock into her pussy, with aching slowness for both of us. Inch by hard inch I enter the tightness of her, both of us feeling every slight, slow movement. Never before have I entered her this slowly in one single thrust. It is like a punishment, a torture to be endured, yet enjoyed. It takes many seconds of this one single, lingering push before I am completely inside her and my balls sway heavily against her. It simply makes me need her with a compelling urgency that I cannot control.
I fuck her. Hard. Deep. Fast. We both moan and she grips the sides of the table as I ram my cock into her. I have never fucked her like this before, so completely uncontrolled. She groans and tries to speak but her words merge together and become a single, long cry of pleasure. I know that I cannot fuck her like this for long, the sensation of it and the knowledge of it is too intense. Yet I want to prolong this event, draw it out, and I decide that I will not cum just yet. I pull out of her, breathing hard.
"No. no. Don't stop," she says. "It felt amazing. I've never been taken like that before."
"Go over to the couch," I order and she looks at me briefly, nods obediently and makes her unsteady way into the living room. I follow, slowly, allowing myself time to retreat from the brink of orgasm.
I instruct her to lean over the high, wide, padded arm of the couch, so that her face is pressed against the seat and her feet are off the floor. Best of all, her arse is raised to the perfect height. I lightly put my hands over the curve of her bottom, caressing the soft skin. I slide my hands down to her thighs and part them wide. She is thrown across the arm of the couch now, helpless and completely available to me.
I enter her once more, as slowly as I can, another single, gradual thrust that curls her toes. But once I am conpletely inside her pussy, I can no longer control my need and I fuck her hard once again. In this position my cock thrusts into her at a new angle and she moans her delight.
"Yes, I feel so bad being taken like this," she says, breathlessly.
"Does it make you feel like a slut," I ask, already knowing the answer.
"Yeah, such a bad slut," she manages weakly, drunkenly. Her face is pressed against the cushion as her body is jolted by the force of me fucking her.
"I've been thinking about fucking you in this position for a long time," I confess. It seems almost unreal but I am actually doing it, just as I fantasized, and she is enjoying it even more than my imagination had allowed.
"The first time we got this couch, she says, pausing, panting, as I ram into her again, "I imagined you doing this to me." Another pause, another hard thrust. "Why did we wait so long?"
It is a question that has no answer. But it triggers the same thought in both of us and she voices it before I have a chance.
"Show me the other ones you think about," she says. "How else do you want to take me?"
I pull out of her, my mind a fury of long-imagined fantasies. I help her back to her feet.
"Kitchen bench," I say, amd she understands immediately. We go into the kitchen and she sits on the edge of the bench, leaning back, making herself available to me. I enter her, once again slowly, but then, after that first stroke I ram myself into her hard. Her head strikes the spice rack on the wall and several bottles and jars clatter from the rack and bounce noisily on the bench beside her.
"I love the thought of having sex in the kitchen. I think about it a lot some days," she says.
I fuck her until I feel close to orgasm and it is time to move on.
"Coffee table," I say, and we move to the living room. She sits on the edge of the coffee table, legs parted, arms out to embrace me. I drop to my knees and we follow our now-familiar pattern. I enter her as slowly and deliberately as I can manage, then we do it as hard and fast as we can. In this position I feel her nipples rubbing against my chest with each thrust. Very soon, I can manage no more without losing control. She is barely in control herself and each new position seems to leave her frustratingly close to orgasm before I stop.
"Where next," she says, impatient, but wanting more places, more positions.