Playful Banter

The room was a wreck.

Pillows askew. A trail of cum stains across the couch and floor. The wineglass was empty, tilted on its side, a pale white film lining the bottom.

And Sandra?

Sandra lay across the couch like a painting someone had cum on out of spite.

Her hair was stuck to her cheek, makeup halfway melted, and a sticky line of something delicious glistened from collarbone to navel. The choker still hugged her throat proudly: CUMSLUT, slightly crooked.

She was radiant.

Wrecked.

And very, very satisfied.

Andy returned with a towel.

“You planning to just marinate in that or…?”

She flicked her tongue across her lower lip.

“Are you complaining about your own masterpiece?”

He grinned, dropped the towel beside her.

“Not complaining. Just wondering if the couch is now a biohazard.”

“Please,” she snorted. “This couch has seen things.”

He dabbed at her breasts — the towel made a faint wet noise.

“You’re lucky I’m obsessed with you.”

“You’re lucky I swallow and I like it,” she fired back licking her lips.

Andy stood above her, remote in hand, grinning.

“Let’s do a before and after.”

Sandra blinked, then laughed weakly.

“What?”

Sandra flopped back on the couch, a glossy mess — legs still sticky, tits glazed with dried streaks, her choker askew like a medal of honor. Her breathing was slowing, but that look in her eyes hadn’t faded.

Andy clicked through some old clips on the TV — found one from a family function last year. Sandra, in a modest saree, gold earrings, polite smile. Straight hair. Blouse buttoned up to her throat.

“Remember her?” he said.

Sandra blinked, tilted her head.

“Oh… her.”

She laughed.

“She was sweet. She used to get wet from forehead kisses.”

Tongue out.

“And here we have Exhibit B,” Andy said.

“Same woman. One has a PhD. The other’s got cum in her ears.”

Sandra burst out laughing, curling tighter into the couch.

“They both swallow,” she whispered.

Andy sat beside her, still watching the screen.

“You used to lecture on molars. Now you lecture my cock with your throat.”

“Character development,” she said with a wink.

Andy smirked.

“She thought cum was ‘unsanitary.’”

“She also thought foreplay meant a backrub.”

Sandra reached down lazily and scooped a line of drying cum from under her breast — licked it off with a soft hum.

“Now look at her…”

“Wearing your load like a face mask and gargling her dinner.”

Andy leaned over, kissed her jaw.

“You miss her?”

Sandra smirked.

“Not even a little.”

“That girl used to say ‘Oh god’ when we kissed in public.”

She crawled into his lap, rubbing herself against his cock again, already teasing him back to life.

“Now I say it when I’m being throat-fucked with your load dripping off my tits.”

“You ruined me, baby.”

“So thoroughly.”

She ran her tongue up his neck, whispered:

“And I’m never going back.”

“You hear me?”

“All that’s left is your cum-hungry, dick-drunk house whore.”

Andy groaned — hard again.

Sandra kissed the corner of his mouth.

“You should be proud.”

“You trained me better than I train my graduate students.”

They lay there together, both naked, both still leaking.

The TV kept looping between old clips of Sandra being proper and tonight’s footage — her on her knees, face drenched, tits shiny, tongue out, wineglass in hand like she was attending a tasting.

Andy picked up the remote and paused it on a perfect frame: Sandra looking up at him, cum strung between her lips and tongue, her eyes wide and glowing.

“Look at this.”

“You used to be scared to even touch yourself with the lights on.”

Sandra smirked, rubbing a spot of drying mess off her collarbone.

“You used to cum once a week and fall asleep immediately after.”

“Now?” Andy raised an eyebrow.

“Now you edge me like a lab rat.”

She sat up slightly, stretched like a cat, her breasts still sticky, glistening.

“You used to say ‘babe, let’s keep it simple tonight.’”

“Now you say ‘babe, hold the wineglass while I jerk off on your face.’”

Andy grinned.

“You used to wear pearls.”

Sandra nodded.

“Now I wear protein.”

They both broke into laughter — exhausted and breathless.

He kissed her shoulder, licked a line of sweat from her neck.

“You used to hide your tits.”

“Now they’re serving as napkins.”

“You used to say ‘excuse me.’”

“Now I say ‘aim here.’”

“You used to be shy.”

“Now I’m planning a gangbang over brunch.”

Andy laughed, louder this time, and cupped her cheek with one hand.

“You’re fucking perfect, you know that?”

“I know,” she whispered, brushing her lips against his.

“You corrupted me like a gentleman.”

Sandra sat back against the couch, legs still parted, cum dried along the inside of her thighs like faint shimmer.. She dragged one finger down her cleavage, collecting a faint streak of cum, then traced it across her lower lip, lazily licking it clean.

“You used to buy me roses.”

Andy smirked from beside her.

“Now I spray you down and call it aromatherapy.”

She laughed, warm and raw.

“You used to take me to dinner.”

“Now I swallow your protein straight from the tap.”

He chuckled and leaned back, watching her fingers wander lower.

“You used to blush when I looked at your cleavage.”

“Now I beg you to cum on it.”

She flicked her tongue across her fingertip.

“You used to say ‘I’m not into porn.’”

“Now I have a favorites list and an edging timer.”

“You used to kiss me goodnight,” she added with a grin.

“Now you say, ‘Let me paint your tits one more time before bed.’”

They both laughed again, lazy and breathless.

Andy leaned over, kissed her temple.

“I love this version of you.”

“Good,” she whispered, licking one last streak from her wrist.

“Because I’m not going back.”

She reached down, gathered a fresh slick of dried cum from her inner thigh — thick, pearly, still warm at the center.

She raised it slowly to her lips, looked him in the eye, and murmured:

“I want to taste it every day.”

Then licked her fingers clean — one slow drag of her tongue over each digit — before she closed her eyes and let out a soft, satisfied moan.

They both lost it — a tangled heap of laughter and sweat and half-dried lust.

“You’re lucky I love you,” she whispered.

“No,” Andy said, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“I’m lucky you love this.”

Andy stood and stretched. His cock hung lazily between his legs — half-hard, twitching.

Sandra rolled onto her stomach, cum drying along her back like some obscene signature.

“You know what this place needs?”

“Industrial disinfectant?”

“Another round,” she grinned.

He tossed her the towel.

She wiped her chin halfheartedly.

“This towel’s done more work tonight than half your team.”

“This towel’s going to Valhalla.”

They walked toward the bathroom, Sandra still sticky, still swaying.

Just before she disappeared down the hall, she turned over her shoulder.

“Start edging.”

“I want the next glass overflowing.”