He grunts behind my ear how tight I am, how dirty I am, what a good girl I am milking his cock. He tells me how his balls ache, how I make him ache. Tells me what how good I make him feel.
My hands slide down the mirror, my knees buckle with pressure and hit the cabinet. The water is fogging up the bathroom. He lifts my leg over the counter, I juggle to hold myself up right, his hands grip my breasts and tug my nipples. I am barely standing, the weight of my orgasm has me toppling. He’s so deep within me I swear his balls are filling me as well.
I look at his reflection, and I cum again, the way he looks at me is something of a unyielding volcano of desire. The crook of his mouth, the pools of his eyes, the enticing strength of his neck, him, I fall into him, cumming fast.
He slaps my ass, lifting the cheeks and forcing them down upon him, thrusting faster, harder, pushing his soul through me. I can barely take anymore, I beg for him to cum, to cum in me, on me, allover me, to drench me as I have drenched him.
He pulls out, spreading his love for me like a shower of appreciation.
He holds me, standing in warmth of the shower as our bodies soak up the heat. Kisses my forehead, washes my hair, tells me I’m beautiful, soaps up our mess, cleans me, and reminds me the deeper meaning of his love for me. I bite his neck, and embrace my home.
softly-transcending 