Just catching up

It’s getting harder to keep a straight face by the second.

Every time you glance at Sandra she’s looking at you with that open, fuck-drunk expression—lips still a little swollen, eyes dark and glassy, thighs pressing together under her skirt like she’s trying to hold your cum inside. She looks so soft and used and ready for anything that your self-control is hanging by a thread. The only thing stopping you from dragging her upstairs and finishing what you started is the sound of her parents still moving around in the kitchen.

You finally stand and start making the usual noises about it being late and needing to head home.

Sandra is on her feet almost before you finish the sentence.
“I’ll walk you halfway,”

she says quickly, already moving toward the hallway. There’s a clear edge of urgency in her voice. She’s trying to sound casual for her parents’ benefit, but she’s nearly vibrating with impatience. When you reach for your shoes she actually beats you to them, picking them up and holding them out like she’s ready to put them on your feet herself if it means getting you out the door faster.

Her mother calls from the kitchen, amused.
“Walking him halfway again? You two are still joined at the hip.”

Sandra forces a light laugh that sounds a little too tight.
“Just catching up. Be back soon.”

She’s already opening the front door, barefoot under the short skirt, oversized hoodie hanging off one shoulder. The second the cool night air hits her she shivers, but it’s not from the temperature. She’s still leaking your cum down her thighs and every step makes her more aware of how empty and frustrated you left her.

She doesn’t wait for you to set a normal pace. The moment the door closes behind you she grabs your wrist and starts walking faster, nearly pulling you along the quiet residential street, clearly counting the seconds until you’re far enough from the house that she can finally stop pretending.

You only make it a few metres down the street before the last of your restraint snaps.

You grab her wrist, yank her sideways, and shove her into the narrow alley between two houses. It’s barely more than a gap—brick walls on either side, a single overflowing dumpster, and only about two metres of shadow separating you from the well-lit main street where anyone walking past could look in.

Sandra doesn’t care.

The second her back hits the wall she’s already moving. She lifts the front of her short skirt with both hands, spreads her legs wide, and plants her feet, presenting herself completely. Her bare, swollen pussy is on full display—puffy, shiny, still leaking a slow trickle of your earlier loads down her inner thighs. She doesn’t say a word. She just looks at you with those big, glassy eyes, chest rising and falling fast under the oversized hoodie, silently begging.

All the teasing, all the smug little smirks from dinner and the movie, are gone. What’s left is pure, focused surrender. She’s offering herself like a girl who knows exactly how hard she’s earned the punishment and wants every bit of it.

You step in, free your cock, and sink into her in one rough thrust.

She’s so wet and open that you bottom out instantly, the head of your cock shoving against her still-soft core. A sharp, grateful moan punches out of her; she immediately bites it back into a stifled whimper, eyes rolling from the sudden fullness. Her hands stay holding the skirt up, keeping herself spread and visible even while you start fucking her in hard, deep strokes that make her tits bounce under the hoodie and force wet, filthy sounds from between her legs.

Anyone walking by on the main street could hear it if they slowed down. Neither of you cares.

Sandra just keeps her legs spread and her eyes locked on yours, taking every thrust like it’s the only thing she needs, the earlier frustration melting into raw, submissive need to be used right here in the alley.