My Dirty Secret

Brett posts the pic and waits. Her nipples are already tight against the thin tank she never wears outside. The comments pile up fast. She scrolls until her fingers stop on one name. She answers. He writes back the same night. Two days later she’s standing barefoot in her kitchen when the knock comes. He steps inside and shuts the door. She drops to her knees before he can say hello. Her mouth opens wide around his cock, and the first slow suck makes her throat flutter. She holds there until spit slides down his length and drips onto her breasts. She stands, turns, bends over the counter. He pushes in without a pause. Her ass grips him tight, slick from her own spit. He fucks her in steady strokes, pulling almost all the way out so the head pops against her rim each time. When he slips free she drops again, sucks him straight from her ass to her mouth, lips stretched, tongue flat. The taste of both of them makes her moan around him. He lifts her onto the island. Her big tits bounce with every thrust. She spreads her knees wider, heels hooked on the edge. He slams back in, hips slapping her ass. She reaches down to rub her clit in quick circles, breath catching. He pulls out again and she leans forward, takes him deep until her nose brushes his stomach. Strings of spit and lube stretch between her lips and his shaft when she lets him go. Back on her feet she braces against the cabinets. He drives into her from behind, hands holding her hips hard enough to leave prints. She pushes back to meet every stroke until her legs shake. He holds still, buried to the root, and she squeezes around him until he starts to pulse. She slides off, spins, and takes him in her mouth again, swallowing every drop while her tongue keeps working.