The Kitchen Karaoke Incident - Sex Stories

The Kitchen Karaoke Incident

... savagely taken and pummeled and pounded until I lost count of my orgasms, knowing only that he had the power to reduce me to a begging, pleading, needy slut. My fingers plunged inside my eager, soaked hole, more fingers flying over my clit, until I had a leg-shaking, earth-shattering cum, soaking the already-soiled sheets. Then, I took a long, hot shower, standing under the cascading water until it grew lukewarm. A handy brush, the handle cleaned in the shower, was perfect for fucking me to another orgasm while the pulsing jets of the hand-held shower head blasted my clit to passionate heights.

In my haste to lie with my beau, I’d forgotten to pack anything for my stay. Luckily, there was a new toothbrush in the bathroom for me, still in the packaging. However, that left me without any clothing to wear. I’d thought about grabbing some clothes for the following day, but, to be honest, my plans for that weekend required that I be nude. His shirt from last night was still draped over the chair in the bedroom, so I donned that, only that, and found ways to pass the time until the man that unleashed my sexual insatiability returned.

Having the entire day to myself, I did what any woman in a new, possibly and hopefully serious relationship would do. I searched his entire house, every nook and cranny, to learn more about this mysterious man who had captured my heart and sent my libido into orbit. The fact that he was so enigmatic just made snooping taste all the sweeter.

My ...

... searches netted me no answers, only more questions and an overpowering desire to get off. I sat at his desk, wearing his T-shirt that still smelled faintly of him and his dreamy cologne, and fingered myself into oblivion. Between orgasms, I scrawled his last name next to mine, just to try it on. I’d even wrapped some black tape around my left-hand ring finger as a surrogate wedding band. To further demonstrate my immature, silly insanity, I covered the fronts and backs of a ream of paper with iterations of my hopeful, new name: “Mrs. Krystal Blackfeather,” “Krystal Blackfeather,” “Krystal Blackfeather Greene,” and “K. Greene-Blackfeather.”

It felt so joyous to finger my wet, hot slit while wearing “his wedding ring.” I spent a good part of my day watching my fingers fly over my hot cunt, that black piece of tape an embodiment of my fantasy. “Fuck your wife with that big, hard cock,” was uttered more than once. My horny arousal was off the charts, and I sought out random objects in his house, fucking or humping them. My sexual nectar soaked and stained dozens of items.

Despite not being able to cook to save my life, I decided that surprising him with a home-cooked meal would somehow ingratiate me toward him. I got back into my soiled, wrinkled clothing from the previous night, drove to the nearest town, and purchased food that I felt would make me appear to be a good life-partner choice. At least I had the foresight to get two of everything, just in case I messed it up. ...