A Filthy Morning Fuck and a Day of Dripping Desire
The other morning, I slithered into my sexiest work outfit—a glossy satin blouse that clings to my tits like a second skin, the smooth fabric teasing every curve. My satin skirt, tight and sleek, moulds to my ass and thighs, the hem just high enough to make pulses race. Sheer thigh-high Hold up stockings grip my legs, the lace tops digging into my flesh. Beneath it all, a pair of silky panties hugs my pussy
. I was about to strut out the door for work, my heels clicking when my husband’s eyes locked onto me like a predator. He was in the kitchen, sipping coffee, but the second he saw me, that mug hit the counter, and he was on me. His hands gripped my hips, rough and greedy, and before I could blink, he spun me around and bent me over the cold granite countertop. My satin skirt slid up my thighs, the slick fabric bunching as he pressed his hard cock against my ass. “Not so fast, you little slut,” , his voice dripping with lust.
His fingers yanked my panties aside, exposing my wet cunt, and I gasped as he slammed into me, his thick dick stretching me wide. He fucked me hard and fast, pounding me against the counter, my tits bouncing under the satin blouse, nipples hardening against the thin bra beneath.I gripped the edge, moaning like a bitch in heat, my pussy clenching around him as he railed me. “Fuck, yes,” I groaned, my voice raw and desperate, the pleasure building. My orgasm hit me like a freight train, my cunt pulsing as I screamed, my body shaking. He didn’t slow down, slamming into me until he exploded, shooting his hot load deep inside my pussy, filling me with his cum. I could feel it, thick and warm, coating me inside.The clock was ticking—shit, I was late. No time to clean up. I straightened, pulling my panties back over my dripping pussy, the fabric soaking up his cum as it leaked out. My satin skirt slid back into place, smooth and glossy, hugging my ass like nothing had happened. My stockings stayed on the lace tops still clamped to my thighs. I flashed him a filthy grin, grabbed my bag, and bolted out the door, his cum still oozing inside me.
At the office, I parked my ass at my desk, trying to focus on boring emails. But every time I shifted in my seat, my cum-soaked panties rubbed against my swollen clit, sending sparks through me. The satin blouse clung to my tits, and as my pussy throbbed with need, my nipples got rock-hard, poking through the thin lace of my bra and the glossy fabric. I caught a coworker’s glance linger, and it only made me hornier, knowing they could see how fucking turned on I was. My skirt, tight as sin, rode up slightly, the satin cool against my thighs but doing nothing to calm the heat between my legs. By lunch, I couldn’t take it anymore. My cunt was begging for attention, still wet with his cum and my own juices. I slipped into the ladies’ room, locked myself in a stall, and hiked up my satin skirt.
My fingers dove into my panties, slick with his load and my arousal. I rubbed my clit, imagining his cock slamming into me again, my nipples straining against the satin blouse as I worked myself into a frenzy. It didn’t take long—my pussy clenched, and I came hard, biting my lip to stifle a moan as my body shuddered with release. Back at my desk, I crossed my legs, feeling the damp panties cling to my pussy. My nipples stayed hard, visible through the satin, a dirty little secret. My stockings held firm, the lace tops a constant reminder of my morning fuck. I spent the rest of the day in a haze of lust, counting the minutes until I could get home and let him wreck me again.
All day at work, my phone buzzed with my husband’s filthy texts, each one dirtier than the last. “Your pussy’s still dripping with my cum, isn’t it, you naughty slut?” he’d write, or “I’m stroking my cock thinking about fucking you senseless tonight.” Every message made my cunt throb, my soaked panties clinging to me under my glossy satin skirt. The skirt, tight as fuck, hugged my ass and thighs, the smooth fabric sliding against my skin with every step, reminding me of the morning’s hard fuck. My satin blouse, sleek and shiny, moulded to my tits, my nipples still poking through the thin bra, betraying how goddamn horny I was.
By the time I left the office, I was a walking mess of desire, my stockings still gripping my thighs, the lace tops digging in like a promise. I barely got through the front door before he was on me. My husband, working from home all day, was waiting, his eyes dark with lust. The second I stepped inside, he grabbed me, his hands rough on my hips, the satin of my skirt slipping under his fingers. “Fuck, you look like a wet dream,”
eyeing the way my blouse clung to my tits, the glossy fabric catching the light. I smirked, kicking off my heels and hooking my fingers into my drenched panties. I slid them down, the cum-soaked fabric dropping to the floor with a soft thud, leaving my pussy bare under the satin skirt. His gaze locked on the wet spot between my legs, and I saw his cock twitch.
He didn’t waste a second. Grabbing my hand, he pulled me to the kitchen, the same damn counter from this morning calling my name. He hoisted me up, my ass hitting the cold granite, my satin skirt riding up my thighs to reveal the tops of my stockings, the sheer fabric stretched taut The satin blouse stretched tight across my chest, my hard nipples pressing against the slick material. He spread my legs, my stocking-clad thighs parting as he dropped to his knees, his face inches from my dripping cunt. “You’re fucking soaked,” he murmured, his breath hot against my pussy lips, still slick with his cum from the morning and my own juices from the bathroom orgasm.
His tongue dove in, lapping at my swollen clit like a starving man. I moaned, my hands gripping the counter, the satin skirt bunching higher as I arched into his mouth. The blouse clung to me, the glossy fabric sliding against my skin as my tits heaved with every ragged breath. He sucked my clit, his tongue flicking and circling, eating my pussy like it was his last meal. My stocking legs trembled, the lace tops digging into my thighs as I bucked against his face. “Fuck, yes, eat me,” I groaned, my voice slutty and desperate. The pleasure built fast, my cunt clenching as he tongue-fucked me, and I came hard, screaming his name, my body shaking as waves of ecstasy ripped through me, my satin blouse sticking to my sweaty skin.
He didn’t give me a chance to recover. Standing, he yanked his pants down, his cock rock-hard and dripping. He pulled me to the edge of the counter, my satin skirt now a crumpled mess around my hips, the glossy fabric catching the kitchen light. My stocking legs wrapped around his waist, the sheer material rubbing against his skin as he lined up and slammed into my pussy. “Fucking take it,” pounding me hard, his dick stretching my cum-slick cunt. My blouse strained against my tits, the satin sliding over my hard nipples with every thrust, the sensation driving me wild. I clung to him, my nails digging into his shoulders, moaning like a whore as he fucked me senseless. The counter shook under us, my stocking-clad legs pulling him deeper, my pussy gripping his cock.“Gonna fill you up again,” he grunted, and with a final thrust, he exploded, his hot cum shooting deep inside my pussy, mixing with the load from this morning. I gasped, my cunt pulsing around him, milking every drop. He stayed buried in me for a moment, both of us panting, the satin skirt still bunched around my hips, the blouse clinging to my curves, my stockings intact and hugging my thighs. As he pulled out, I felt his cum drip down my pussy, pooling on the counter beneath me. I slid off, my satin skirt falling back into place, the glossy fabric smoothing over my thighs like nothing had happened.
