Scintillectually Yours

I get a text at 11:35 a.m.: “horny. coming home for lunch. you know what to do.” accompanied by one of those lascivious little smileys with a hanging tongue and bulging eyes.

I have 25 minutes to prepare. I am still in my pajamas. A really quick shower and super fast clean-up shave is in immediate order. Emerging, steaming, I wrap a short black satin robe around me and head for the bedroom. Not usually the one to handle his selection of cocks, he prefers it heated and with only 20 minutes there won’t be time for him to do it himself. I decide to go for the gold and grab the really big guy. He’s all girth at 2 1/2″ wide, about 6″ in length not counting the sizable balls. I run back to the bathroom and submerge him in scalding water. My only task left is to pull the weight bench over to the door of my office and position it underneath the chin-up bar. The black velcro straps are already secured to the bar so with 5 minutes to spare, I just breathe, wait, and try to keep my wandering hands away from my own wetness, the anticipation building me to a near-frenzy even before he gets home.

His footsteps on the stairs and his grin as he sees me sitting there, facing the front door. “Get ready,” he growls. I hear him in the bathroom, his belt buckle clanking as his pants hit the floor, the snaps and clicks of the leather strap as he adjusts. I open my robe and lie back on the bench, shivering a little from both the cold and the excitement.

He is standing at the foot of the weight bench. “Slide down,” he orders. I comply. He grabs my right ankle and lifts my leg skyward, fastening my ankle tightly to the velcro strap attached to the chin-up bar. With a glint in his eye, he repeats the process with my left leg. My ass is hanging off the edge of the weight bench and, tilted at an angle due to the difference in height from the floors on either side of the door, I am at the perfect height for him. I reach behind my head and grab the sides of the bench. There isn’t much time. There will be no (and no need for) foreplay.

He grabs the bottle of lube that I had set on the floor. My stomach flip-flops with total arousal as I watch him pour the clear liquid into his hand and wrap his hand around his cock, sliding it up and down, over the head and back down the shaft. Ah, if we had all day, I would be satisfied just to watch him jerk off. But we don’t and he knows it. He is ready. I am ready. He slips that giant so easily into my pussy. I am already achingly wet. My breath catches in the back of my throat. The sense of being completely filled up is delicious. My legs quiver in their bonds. Our bodies never touch. Just his cock sliding in and out of my cunt in an increasingly frenzied rhythm. I raise my head to watch him moving in and out of me. His head is bent to the same. Both of us increasingly out of breath, sweat glistening our bodies, watching the cock. the pussy.

He knows the angle is perfect. He knows the size is just right. He knows that if he hits that certain sweet spot inside me exactly what will happen. And it does. My breathing becomes faster, shallower. My eyes close involuntarily. I am nothing but that one swollen place inside my vagina. That one rough patch behind my pubic bone that is being pounded relentlessly. My legs buck and strain against the straps—my feet climbing up the wall and raising my hips ever higher. And then it comes. Clear, hot liquid, shooting, gushing, soaking his shorts and the floor. He pushes again. I can’t hold back. I have no control. I continue to squirt that precious elixir into the air, into the void. I begin to beg him to stop but I know that he knows I don’t mean it. Eventually, though, we both know it has to stop. We have to stop.

As he withdraws, I whimper slightly from the empty place he has left behind. I know he didn’t get off this time. Not enough time. I know I owe him. He carefully releases one leg and then the other. Gently setting them down and lifting me back onto the weight bench where I lie, helpless, legless. I am utterly satiated but hate to hear the sounds of his hurried cleaning up, dressing, the clink of his belt buckle as he puts himself back together.

He leans over and kisses me. “Maybe we can skip the gym today, ” he says as he starts out the door, “looks like we may be able to get in another workout right here.”