Sarah´s adventures - Kitchen

The humid summer air hung thick in the kitchen, the window cracked open to let in the sounds of crickets and the occasional passing car. It was midnight, and Sarah stood at the counter, her white tank top clinging to her big curves, the fabric thin enough that the outline of her nipples pressed visibly against the cotton. She could feel Jake's eyes on her—her husband's best friend, shirtless and wearing those worn plaid pyjama pants that hung low on his hips.

Her husband Mark was just upstairs, supposedly asleep, though she'd noticed the way he'd been watching them all evening, the way he'd encouraged Jake to stay for one more drink, one more game of cards.

"You need help with that?" Jake's voice was low, rough, and closer than she'd expected. He'd moved up behind her silently, his bare chest radiating heat against her back.

Sarah didn't turn around. She kept her hands on the counter, her knuckles white. "I'm just getting some water," she breathed, though her throat felt dry for entirely different reasons.

Jake's hand found her hip, heavy and warm. "Mark told me." He murmured against her ear, his breath hot and sending shivers down her spine. "He told me you two have been talking about it. About... you not being satisfied with his penis. About not having sex for a very long time."

Sarah's breath hitched. They had talked about it, about their sexless life, late at night in whispered, desperate confessions. Her husband had admitted his shortcomings, the way he thought that Sarah should try another man with a much bigger cock. It even made him hard, made him want things he'd never admitted aloud. And Jake—Jake had been the unspoken suggestion hanging between them for months. Sarah was in tears as she told her husband she had stopped taking the pill months ago, seeing no need for protection anymore.

"He's listening," Jake said, his hand sliding up her side, thumb brushing the underside of her breast through the thin fabric. "He wants to hear."

Sarah's eyes fluttered closed as Jake's other hand joined the first, both hands now cupping her breasts, kneading them through the tank top, pinching her nipples until she gasped. She could feel his large erection pressing against her lower back, thick and hard through the plaid cotton.

"Upstairs," she managed, her voice trembling.

"No," Jake said firmly, turning her around and lifting her onto the counter in one smooth motion. "Here. I want you right now."

Effortlessly he lifted her up onto the kitchen counter, her naked butt touching the cold marble. He pulled her tank top up over her shoulders, and she helped him willingly by raising her arms upright. Her breasts were exposed to the warm kitchen air, her nipples tight and aching. He bent his head, sucking one into his mouth, his tongue swirling hot and wet, and Sarah let out a moan she couldn't suppress, her fingers tangling in his hair.

"Jake—"

He pushed her knees apart, stepping between them, and his fingers found her wet and swollen, and he groaned against her breast. "Fuck, Sarah. You're soaked."

"Please," she whimpered, not even sure what she was begging for.

He freed himself from the plaid pants, his cock thick and heavy in his hand, and Sarah's mouth watered. She'd sighed, late at night, alone in her thoughts—seeing how big his ready phallus was. He would fill her the way her husband never quite could.

The first push of him inside her made her cry out, her head falling back against the cabinet. Jake's hands gripped her hips, pulling her to the edge of the counter, and he thrust into her fully, stretching her, filling her completely. She never mentioned protection.

"Look at me," he commanded, and she did, her eyes meeting his dark, intense gaze. "You're going to come on my cock, Sarah. Right here in your kitchen. And your husband is going to hear every fucking sound."

The thought of her husband upstairs, listening to her getting fucked by his best friend, sent a spike of illicit pleasure through her. Jake began to move, slow and deep at first, then faster, harder, the sound of their bodies meeting filling the kitchen, wet and filthy and perfect.

Sarah's legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper, her heels digging into his lower back. "Harder," she begged, and he obliged, pounding into her with a force that rattled the dishes in the cabinet behind her.

"Touch yourself," he ordered, and she did, her fingers finding her clit, rubbing frantic circles as he fucked her. "That's it. Let me feel you squeeze me."

The orgasm hit her like a wave, sudden and overwhelming, her back arching, her cry loud and unrestrained. Jake kept fucking her through it, his jaw tight, his grip bruising, and then he was groaning, burying himself deep and pulsing inside her, filling her with hot, thick release.

They stayed like that for a moment, as her cunt kept milking him, making sure all his seed would be drained from his balls and safely stored in her unprotected womb. They were both panting, sweat-slicked skin pressed together. Then Jake pulled back, tucking himself away, and helped her down from the counter. He kissed her, slow and possessive, his tongue sweeping through her mouth.

"Tell him." he said against her lips. "Tell him how good I fucked you."

Sarah nodded, her legs shaky, her shorts still on the kitchen floor. She could feel him leaking out of her, marking her, claiming her in a way that made her feel both ashamed and exhilarated.

When she climbed the stairs, Jake following behind her, she found her husband sitting on the edge of their bed, his hand wrapped around his own penis, his face flushed, his eyes dark with arousal and something else—something that looked like surrender.

"Did you hear?" she asked, her voice still breathless.

Her husband nodded, his gaze dropping to her thighs, to the evidence of what she'd done. "I heard," he said, his voice rough. "Come here. Let's sleep a little so he can recover for you."

To be continued.