Erotica / short / short stories / shorts

The Kitchen 

“I’ll never look at my kitchen counter the same way again”, she thought, as a smile creeped across her lips, her hands immersed in hot soapy water in the sink.

She scrubbed and dried the evenings dishes letting her mind wander to the night before.

He had come over late, a meeting tying him up well past dinner time. He was tired and a little crabby from the events of the day. He had gone to their bedroom and changed, throwing his suit in a crumpled heap on the floor, putting on his favored grey cotton sweatpants and soft and ratty tshirt from his college days.

She had greeted him with a kiss as always, after 15 years of marriage, they had formed a routine. Letting him settle in on their deep mahogany leather sofa, she’d padded into their kitchen on bare feet.

She opened the bottle of wine that had been chilling, pouring them each a glass. His plate, served hours ago and put away in the fridge went straight into the microwave to warm.

She had gone back to him, hands overflowing with a now hot plate and a cool glass of vino, ready to sit on the sofa and hear about his day. They sat, as they always did in the evenings, side-by-side, watching their shows and enjoying the comfort that being with each other could bring. 

After he had eaten, she stood once more ready to take his plate and clean the kitchen before settling in for the night. She kissed him softly on the mouth, hoping that perhaps, tonight might be the night.

 She was humming a tune under her breath as she waited for the sink to fill, when she suddenly felt his breath, hot and wet as his lips touched the back of her neck. “Was this really happening?” She thought. “Had he really followed her in here?”
Goosebumps rose to her flesh, her body immediately responded. It had been weeks and there where data she thought she might literally explode from want. He was such a busy man and he often came home tired. She had resigned herself that after so long a time together, this was simply the way it was.

She dropped the plate into the sink and turned to face him, her lips meeting his as sparks ran up and down her toes. “Fuck.” she thought, before she lost rational thought. Her kisses took on an urgency she had not felt in some time and as she gave in to her passion, he gave in, in kind. 

Before she could process what was happening, he was on his knees in front of her, his hands greedily pawing at her panties, pushing them aside. His mouth buried between her legs as he sucked her clit, her hands grasping onto the counter for support.

He stood, grabbing her by the waste and turning her around, lifting her dress up and  within moments thrusting himself inside. Their height difference made for a bit of awkwardness at first. His 6’2 to her 5’3. She stood on her tiptoes to allow him easier access, her stomach pressed into their shiny, marble counter top as he fucked her like a dog in heat. 

He spun her around once more, lifting her onto the island where they took their morning coffee and read the paper, her legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. 

Her head tilted back as she began to scream out, her hair falling down her shoulders and back. Her grabbed her legs and held them in the air, pounding into her over and over again till she was satiated and weak. She was trying to wrap her mind around what was happening but as her orgasm hit, she decided she didn’t care. All she could focus on was the waves of sensations that threatened to drown her with their intensity.

He came inside her in a shuddering, heaving thrust. His heart beating like a humming birds wings. He kissed her forehead and then her mouth, before helping her off the counter, and smoothing her dress down around her quivering thighs.

“Thanks for waiting up and saving dinner for me” he told her with a smile on his face and a mischievous smack on her ass. “I needed desert too” he said with a laugh. He sauntered back into the living room leaving her standing with a goofy grin on her face. 

She washed her last spoon and turned off the water, her head coming back to the present and she decided it was time for bed. He was asleep on the sofa, looking more little boy than the man who had ravaged her in the kitchen last night. She covered him in a soft blanket and headed towards their room. As she looked back on him once more, her heart kept into her chest. 15 years later and he was still full of surprises. What more could you ask for when sharing your life? 

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