Used by my husband #3
With a final, desperate shove, he emptied himself. Sheila felt the hot, pulsing jets of his cum hitting the back of her pussy, filling her to the brim. She collapsed forward, her forehead resting on the top of the dishwasher, her body heaving with the aftershocks of her orgasm.
Luke stood there for a moment, still buried inside her, his chest heaving against her back. He reached up and clicked the button on his earpiece.
"Good work, everyone. Let’s reconvene on Monday."
He pulled out of her with a wet, heavy slap. Sheila felt the cum immediately begin to slide down her inner thighs.
Luke adjusted his pants, zipped up, and looked down at her. She was a mess with her hair tangled, face flushed, cum dripping onto the kitchen tile. He looked at the half filled dishwasher.
"You missed a spot on that plate, Sheila," he said, his voice returning to its cool, executive tone. "Clean up the floor when you're done. I have another call at noon."
He turned and walked back toward his office, leaving her trembling on the floor. Sheila reached down, touched the warm cum running down her leg, and brought her fingers to her lips. She tasted him, a slow smile spreading across her face.
She had forty five minutes until the next call. She wondered where he’d want her then.
By 5:30 PM, the corporate day was winding down, but the air inside the house remained thick with anticipation.
Sheila stood at the kitchen counter, cutting vegetables for a stir fry.
The rhythmic thump of the knife against the wooden cutting board felt like a countdown.
Underneath her short denim skirt, she was completely bare, her skin still hypersensitive and tingling from the noon hour encounter.
Every time she shifted her weight, she could feel the faint, sticky dried remnants of Luke’s cum on her inner thighs, a constant reminder of her status.
The rules of the contract were absolute. She was to remain accessible at all times, no matter what she was doing.
The heavy, authoritative sound of Luke’s footsteps echoed from the hallway.
He had finally closed his laptop, ending a long day of high pressure finance deals.
He walked into the kitchen, his tie loosened, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing his thick, tanned forearms.
He didn't look at her face; his eyes went straight to her hips, observing the way her skirt draped over her curvy ass.
"I'm starving," Luke said, his voice deep and gravelly from a day of talking on calls.
Sheila turned to face him, a tentative smile on her lips. "Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes, sweetie. I'm just finishing up the vegetables."
Luke walked over, his physical presence instantly dominating the small space between the counter and the kitchen island. He reached out and wrapped his hand around the wrist that held the kitchen knife, his grip firm and unyielding.
"I didn't say I was hungry for food," he murmured, his eyes locking onto hers with a dark, heavy intensity.
He slowly took the knife from her fingers and set it down on the counter.
Before Sheila could even gasp, he grabbed her by the waist and lifted her, hoisting her straight onto the smooth, cool surface of the kitchen table.
The sudden movement sent a salt shaker rolling off the edge, clattering onto the hardwood floor.
"Luke"
"Quiet," he commanded, his hand coming up to cup her chin, his thumb pressing hard against her bottom lip. "You know the rules, Sheila. The moment I want to fuck, everything else stops. You drop whatever you're doing and you give me your body."
"Yes, Luke," she whispered against his thumb, her knees naturally parting as she felt a familiar, burning wave of horniness slam into her lower belly. Her pussy was already leaking, a hot drop of moisture sliding down her flesh.
Luke didn't waste any time. He reached down and yanked her denim skirt up to her waist, bundling the fabric around her midsection to expose her completely. Her pale thighs, her swollen pink pussy, and her tight, puckered asshole were completely bare under the bright overhead kitchen lights.
He stood between her open legs, his hands roughly grabbing her knees and pushing them back toward her shoulders, forcing her into a completely open, vulnerable position. He looked down at her wetness, a smug, dominant grin spreading across his face.
"Look at how fucking wet you are for me," he growled, reaching down to run two long fingers right through her soaking wet pussy lips.
He brought his hand up to her face, forcing her to taste her own juices mixed with his scent.
"You’ve been standing here cooking, thinking about getting fucked, haven't you?"
"Yes," she whimpered, her face flushing bright red. "I'm so horny, Luke. Please."
"You don't ask," he hissed, his hand coming down in a loud, stinging slap right against the soft skin of her inner thigh. Crack. "You just take it."
He unbuckled his leather belt and unzipped his slacks, his massive, dark cock springing free. It was fully erect, veiny, and pulsing with blood, the head already glistening with pre cum. He didn't bother with lube this time; her body was producing more than enough moisture to accommodate him.
He grabbed her by the hips, his large hands digging into her flesh, and lined the head of his shaft up with her aching pussy. With one heavy, animalistic lunge, he buried himself inside her to the absolute hilt.
The sudden, total fullness made Sheila arch her back off the wooden table, a loud, ragged scream tearing from her throat. Her internal muscles clamped down on him like a vice, trying to handle the thick, heavy intrusion.
"God, you're tight," Luke groaned, his eyes closing for a fraction of a second as her heat enveloped him. He opened them, looking down at where they were joined, watching his dark skin slide in and out of her pale, stretched pussy.
He began to hammer into her, using the edge of the kitchen table for leverage. Each thrust was deep and punishing, forcing her body to slide back against the wood with a rhythmic shuck, shuck sound. The plates and glasses on the nearby counter rattled with the ferocity of his movements.
Sheila was entirely helpless. With her legs pinned back and her body splayed across the table under the bright kitchen lights, she felt completely objectified, like a piece of meat he had claimed.
He wasn't kissing her; he wasn't whispering sweet notes.
He was using her pussy to dump his stress, treating her like his personal, living sex toy.
"You like being used on the table, don't you, you little slut?" Luke panted, his pace accelerating into a frantic, brutal rhythm. He reached down, his thumb finding her swollen clit and grinding against it with a harsh, relentless friction while his cock continued to slam deep into her walls.
The dual stimulation was overwhelming. The raw friction of his thick shaft hitting her cervix combined with the intense pressure on her clit pushed Sheila over the edge within minutes.
Her vision blurred, her fingers clawing helplessly at the smooth wood of the table as a violent, foot-curling orgasm ripped through her.
Her pussy contracted wildly around him, milking his cock with desperate, involuntary spasms.
"Yeah, take it all, clench it for me," Luke roared, her climax driving him past his own point of no return.
He delivered three more devastating, heavy thrusts, his pelvis crashing hard against her backside, before he buried himself as deep as possible.
He let out a guttural, primal shout as his body went rigid.
Sheila felt the burning, thick torrents of his hot cum erupting inside her, jetting against her back walls over and over, filling her pussy until it was overflowing.
He stayed heavy between her legs for a long minute, his chest heaving against her knees, his sweat dripping onto her bare stomach. The dominance was absolute.
Slowly, he pulled out of her, a heavy string of cum and juices stretching between them before snapping. Luke adjusted his pants, zipped his fly, and buckled his belt, instantly transforming back into the composed, hardworking finance professional.
He looked down at her. Sheila was lying limp on the table, her skirt pushed up, her pussy gaping slightly as a thick river of white cum began to ooze out of her and pool on the dark wood.
"Get off the table and clean up the mess," Luke said, his voice entirely calm and authoritative as he walked toward the living room. "And make sure my dinner is ready soon. I'll be watching TV."
Sheila lay there for a moment, her body trembling in the afterglow, staring up at the kitchen ceiling with a sense of pure, submissive bliss. She rolled off the table, her legs shaking, and reached for a paper towel, ready to clean up her owner's mess before finishing her duties.
The glowing red numbers of the digital clock on the nightstand read 1:14 AM.
The bedroom was dark and completely silent, except for the soft rustle of the curtains catching a faint breeze from the open window.
Sheila was fast asleep, buried under the heavy duvet.
True to the contract, she had positioned herself before drifting off just lying on her stomach, her legs slightly parted, and her nightgown gathered up around her waist, leaving her bare ass and pussy exposed to the dark room.
She was a waiting vessel, totally surrendered to whatever time her husband made it back from the city.
Downstairs, the heavy front door clicked open and shut.
Luke was finally home. It had been a brutal evening at the firm due to late night market closings, furious overseas client calls, and a mountain of stress that left his jaw tight and his blood pumping with a restless, aggressive energy.
He didn't want to unwind with a drink or a hot shower.
He needed to dump his frustration into the only place that guaranteed him total peace.
He walked into the bedroom, his movements deliberate. He didn't turn on the lights. He didn't need to. The faint silver moonlight filtering through the window illuminated the pale, soft curves of his wife's backside waiting for him on the mattress. She was deeply asleep, her breathing slow and even.