Tied With the Kitchen Towel

You walk into the kitchen and see me covered in flour, a strand of hair falling down around my ear. You’re surprised to feel your cheeks warm. You’re taken back to the moment our eyes first met. It feels like only yesterday that you were all at once blissfully enraptured by a woman you had never met, but instantly needed. I look up at you from across the counter and return your warm gaze.

You glide across the hard wood to lay your body against mine. I close my eyes and, without putting the dough in my hands down, lean back against your sturdy chest. You wrap your arms around me, lean in—your breath warm on my ear—kiss my neck gently, and suddenly we’re the only people in this corner of the world.

You take my hands from the dough and move them behind my back. You kiss the other side of my neck, just below my ear, more furiously now, your wide open mouth grasping at the heat beneath my skin.

My full chest heaves and I let out a heavy sigh as you take my lobe into your mouth with a bite and a tug. Completely in control, you lead me by my wrists to stand in front of the oven.

You whisper in a commanding tone I don’t recognize, “Bend over and hold onto the stove.”

I do so without a moment of thought. Your fingers find their way under my cotton skirt, trailing along my soft skin, and you slowly slide it up and over my behind. You lower yourself to your knees, wrap your fingers through my panties, and pull them down slowly. You press your mouth to the place where my thighs meet and my womanhood has bloomed in anticipation. You plunge your tongue deep and longing between my lips, lapping at my pleasure crux. I widen my stance for you and you grip the backs of my thighs. Somehow the placement of your thumbs where all my sweet curves come together is like a lock and I feel as if I couldn’t make my own movements even if I wanted to. You rise from the floor and reach past my shoulder for a kitchen towel, whipping it from its place.

“Stand up, hands behind you.” I do so eagerly, dough still clinging to my fingertips.

You bind my wrists with the towel, brace me at my elbows, and press me against the counter top. I hear the clang of your belt buckle and the metal tick of your zipper. Your cock is warm and thick in my hands.

“Squeeze it. Tight,” I wrap all ten of my fingers tightly around you. “Do you want it?” You ask.

“Yes,” I say, unable to hide the gentle desperation in my voice.

You kick my feet wide and ease yourself into my tight entry. You pump your hips slowly as my pussy adjusts to your size. I can feel you, rock hard as you thrust your sex within mine relentlessly. I submit wholly to your desire.

The fingers of your free hand find my mouth and I suck on them eagerly, taking you into any orifice. You take them away and pull down my shirt, exposing my breast, pinching my nipple hard. I let out a scream and throw my head back at the exhilarating rush of pain. My pussy clenches tightly around around you and we both groan loudly. Your nimble digits continue down past my navel to persuade my ecstatic release. I lean back and kiss you, our tongues caressing, our breath coming together, as with the rest of us.