I walked into the bathroom, ready to start the shower. I stopped and looked into the mirror, admiring the curve of my own ass. He stepped up behind me, his hand caressing the same curve I was checking out in the mirror. His touch always feels so good. I closed my eyes in sheer bliss.
He turned my shoulders and the rest of me followed. My back was to him, but his hands didn’t stop. Goosebumps raced across my body, delightful shivers followed.
I could sense when he began to stroke his cock. He pushed against my back a little, and I leaned forward. His feet nudged at mine, silently commanding me to spread my legs. I gasped when I felt him stroke himself against my pussy.
There was no doubt where this was going. At nearly the same height, he and I were almost perfectly aligned. Almost. I looked around for some sort of assistance. No choice for it. I bent over and closed the lid of the toilet, bracing myself against the top.
Thank God I keep this bathroom clean. That was the last coherent thought I had for a while.
Skin slapping against skin. The in and out, push and pull of cock and pussy colliding. His fingers digging into my hips. The burning of muscles from an arched back and tippy toes. The feeling of being used and of use. The feeling of fucking and being fucked. Unf.
His fingers in my hair, tugging and pulling. The sharp sting in my scalp.
His hands on my shoulders, pulling me back, bracing himself against his own thrusts.
My head pulled back, almost as effective as a squeezing hand. My airway obstructed slightly by the angle. Gasping breaths, slow and steady but still erotic.
THWAP-THWAP-THWAP. The sounds of our fucking fill the small room.
One leg aches. The other twitches. Tired but not done.
I feel exposed to him. He takes what he wants, alternating between ferocious fucking and steady, calm strokes. I am his toy.
And the bathroom is becoming our special place.