Free cuckold community
Sign up now!
Wednesday Evening The garage door rumbles down behind her. Carrie steps into the mudroom, drops her keys in the bowl, and the smell of Rick’s lasagna hits her like a hug.
Rick’s voice drifts in from the kitchen.“Care, that you?”
She kicks off her heels, pads barefoot across the hardwood, and finds him at the island in jeans and a faded sweater, sleeves pushed up, hair still damp from his own shower after his day at work.
He looks up, knife pausing mid-basil-chop, and his grin goes from zero to stupid in half a second.
“Damn. You’re glowing like you just got properly fucked glowing.”
Carrie laughs, cheeks hot. “Maybe.”
He wipes his hands on a towel, rounds the island, and meets her halfway. The kiss starts hello and turns hungry in two heartbeats. His palms slide straight under her skirt, cupping her bare ass, discovering immediately that she’s still panty-less. “Jesus,” he mutters against her mouth.
“You’ve been like this since what, two o’clock?”
“Since about 1:47,” she corrects, breathless. “He kept them.”
Rick groans, presses her easily into the kitchen island, and steps between her thighs that part for him like they’ve been waiting all day. “Tell me,” he says, voice rough, already unbuttoning her blouse with one hand while the other pushes her skirt higher.
Carrie starts talking, low and filthy, between kisses: how Jason locked the door, how he bent her over the desk, how he came across her stomach and then cleaned her with tissues like she was something precious, how she’s been walking around campus empty and aching and thinking about both of them ever since.
Rick’s pupils are blown wide. He drops to his knees right there on the kitchen floor, spreads her with his thumbs, and groans at the sight of her swollen, slick, still faintly glistening from another man. “Fuck, baby. You’re dripping.” He licks her in one long, slow stripe from entrance to clit, tasting her and Jason together.
Carrie’s head falls back, fingers threading through his hair. He eats her out like he’s starving, two fingers sliding in alongside his tongue, curling, pumping, until her thighs are shaking against his shoulders and she’s coming hard with a choked gasp of his name.
Rick stands, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and kisses her so she can taste everything. “My turn,” he says.
He spins her around, bends her forward over the island, skirt flipped up, and frees himself with impatient hands. One smooth thrust and he’s buried deep, groaning at how wet and open she still is. “Feel that?” he rasps, pulling almost all the way out and slamming back in. “That’s me sliding through him. Taking you back.”
Carrie can only whimper, palms scrabbling for grip on the cool island top as Rick’s hands clamp onto her hips like he’s afraid she’ll vanish if he lets go. He sets a slow, deliberate rhythm at first, long strokes that drag the head of his cock over every sensitive spot Jason already woke up, letting her feel the slick proof of both of them with every thrust.
The wet sound of it is obscene in the quiet kitchen. Each time he bottoms out he grinds forward, hips rolling, making sure she takes every inch while the remnants of Jason’s release coat him and ease the way in and out of her. “God, you’re so fucking wet,” he growls, voice ragged with wonder and raw arousal. “I can feel him on me, Care.”
He leans over her, chest to her back, one hand sliding up to cup her throat, not squeezing, just resting there, a warm, possessive weight that makes her pulse race harder. “Tell me again,” he whispers against her ear, hips never stopping their slow, claiming grind. “Tell me how he bent you over your own desk.”
Carrie’s voice comes out broken, breathy. “He… he pushed my skirt up… pulled down my panties….put them in his pocket…like a gift… then just took me.” Rick groans like the words are a physical stroke. His pace picks up, still deep, still controlled, but harder now, the slap of skin on skin echoing off the cabinets.
“Like this?” he asks, snapping his hips forward so hard the island creaks.
“Yes…God, yes!” Another thrust, another wet glide through the mess Jason left inside her.
“He came on your stomach,” Rick says, almost reverent. “Cleaned you up like a good boy… and you still walked around campus bare for the rest of the day, thinking about both of us.”
Carrie’s answer is a desperate moan. Rick’s hand slips between her legs, fingers finding her clit, rubbing tight, perfect circles.The dual sensation, him filling her, stroking her, owning every inch of the space Jason used. His strokes sending her mind spiraling.
“That’s so hot and sexy. Come for me, Care,” he says, voice low and wrecked. “Come while I’m sliding through what he left behind. Let me feel you choose me.”
Two more deep thrusts and she’s gone, mind focusing on the taboo day, her back arching, thighs shaking, pussy clenching hard around him in long, milking pulses.Rick follows a heartbeat later, burying himself to the hilt with a loud groan, hips jerking as he spills hot and deep, adding himself to the mix.
They stay locked together, breathing hard, sweat cooling between their bodies.He presses soft kisses along her shoulder, her neck, the faint mark Jason left earlier. Slowly he straightens, pulls out with a wet sound that makes them both shiver, and grabs the kitchen towel. He cleans her gently, tender swipes between her thighs, along her lower belly, then fixes her skirt, turns her around, and kisses her slow and sweet.
“Hi,” he whispers against her lips, smiling like a man who just won the lottery.
“Hi,” she whispers back, legs still jelly. Rick lifts her down from the island, steadies her, and smacks her ass lightly. “Lasagna’s probably slightly crispy now. Sit. I’ll bring you a plate.” Rick smiles as she stands and walks softly. Carrie slides onto a barstool, skirt riding high, cheeks flushed, heart full. Rick plates two generous squares, slides one in front of her, and leans across the island to steal a bite from her fork. Between mouthfuls of cheesy, slightly over-baked perfection, he reaches over and laces their fingers.
“Best welcome-home ever?” he asks quietly.
Carrie squeezes his hand, glowing. “Every day feels like the first day we fell in love,” she answers.
Rick grins, eyes soft and wicked at the same time.
————————
The conference room smells like burnt coffee and dry-erase markers. Chairs scrape, laptops slam shut, the department chair is still talking about “learning outcomes” to no one in particular. Carrie gathers her notebook slowly, letting the crowd thin, hyper-aware of Jason moving along the back wall refilling water glasses that no one asked for.
Every time he passes behind her chair his fingertips graze the nape of her neck, almost teasing her and making her shiver. She hopes no one noticed. By the fourth pass her pulse is hammering so hard she’s sure the associate professor next to her can hear it due to the anticipation of what’s to come from yesterday’s remarks.
When the last professor finally trails out, the room is suddenly, blessedly empty except for the low hum of the projector cooling down. Jason doesn’t speak.
He simply walks to the coffee station, pours two fresh cups from the good urn (the one they hide in the back), adds exactly the right amount of vanilla syrup to hers, and turns. Their eyes lock across the long oak table.
He lifts an eyebrow, a motion carrying a connotation of “Ready?”
Carrie’s answer is to stand, smooth her skirt, and walk toward him without a word. He hands her the cup, his fingers deliberately brushing her, as she smiles back at him, then tips his head toward the door. They walk the corridor side by side, three respectful feet apart, chatting about nothing particularly important, but the air between them is electric. Every accidental brush of knuckles, every shared glance in the elevator, felt like foreplay.
At her office door she fumbles the key once. Jason takes it from her fingers, unlocks the door himself, and ushers her inside with a palm low on her back, a warm, steady, and almost possessive action. Click. Lock. The second the deadbolt slides home he’s on her.
He backs her against the door, coffee forgotten on the side table inside the door, his hands already sliding up her thighs, pushing her skirt higher in one smooth, practiced motion.
“Been hard since nine-fifteen,” he murmurs against her mouth, letting her feel the truth of it pressed against her belly. “Every time you crossed your legs in that meeting I remembered how you taste when you’re trying to be quiet.”
Carrie’s breath catches; her hands fist in his sweater. Jason pulls back just enough to look at he. “Sit on the desk for me.” It’s not a question, but it’s gentle enough that her knees still go weak.
She hops up, skirt riding to mid-thigh, stockings whispering as her legs part instinctively. Jason steps between them, cups her jaw, and kisses her like he’s been starving for it. His tongue slides against hers, tasting vanilla syrup from her coffee. One thumb strokes her cheekbone while the other hand slips under her blouse, tracing the lace edge of her bra, teasing but never quite giving her what she’s secretly aching for. When they break apart they’re both breathing hard.
He rests his forehead against hers. A low, pleased sound rumbles in his chest. His hands drop to her knees, easing them wider. Cool air kisses the damp lace between her legs; she’s been wet since the first “accidental” touch in the conference room. Jason sinks slowly to his knees, never breaking eye contact.
“Hands on the desk behind you,” he says quietly. “Lean back. Don’t move unless I tell you.” Carrie obeys, palms flat on the blotter, back arching slightly as he pushes her skirt to her waist.
He hooks his fingers in the waistband of her black lace thong that matched her bra and drags it down her legs with deliberate slowness, letting the elastic snap lightly against her skin before it drops to the floor. He exhales, reverent. “Look at you,” he whispers. “Already soaked for me before I’ve even touched you.”
Then his mouth is on her again, just one long, slow lick from entrance to clit that makes her hips jerk. His hands clamp gently on her thighs, holding her open and still. “Stay,” he reminds, voice muffled against her.
And he feasts. Long, flat strokes of his tongue, soft suction on her clit, two fingers sliding deep and curling exactly where she needs them. Every time she starts to rock against his face he stills completely, waits until she relaxes again, then resumes, controlling her pleasure with maddening patience.
The room fills with the soft, wet sounds of his mouth and her stifled gasps. When she’s trembling on the edge, thighs shaking against his shoulders, he pulls back just enough to speak. “Come on my tongue,” he says, calm and certain. “Right now.” Two more perfect strokes and she does exactly that; a silent moan escaping as the pleasure crashes and makes her back bow off the desk.
Jason doesn’t stop until the last aftershock fades, then he stands, wipes his chin with the back of his hand, and kisses her slow and deep so she can taste exactly how much she wanted this.
Against her lips he murmurs, “We’re not done. Turn around.” Carrie’s legs are jelly, but she obeys, sliding off the desk, turning, and bracing her hands on the edge.
Jason steps in close behind her, palms gliding up her thighs, flipping her skirt fully to her waist. He leans over her, chest to her back, lips at her ear. “Hold very still, Professor.” She adjusts and holds still. “Good. Just how I want you today”
Carrie’s breath hitches as Jason’s hands settle on her hips, his fingers pressing firmly into the soft fabric of her skirt. He doesn’t rush, even though the air between them is thick with anticipation, the kind that makes her skin tingle and her core ache. The office door is locked, the blinds drawn. The room smells like old books, vanilla from her lotion and coffee, and the faint cedar of his cologne.
He steps closer, his body heat radiating against her back as he bends her forward a little further over the desk. Her palms splay flat on the cool wood, fingers brushing a stray pen that rolls away. The position arches her back slightly, pushing her ass up toward him, and she can feel the way her skirt rides higher, exposing the lace tops of her stockings and the curve where thigh meets cheek. Jason’s breath is warm on the nape of her neck as he leans over her, his chest brushing her shoulder blades, one hand sliding up to tangle loosely in her hair.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady, laced with that quiet confidence she’s starting to crave. She’s already drenched and she knows he feels and sees it.
Jason’s palm glides over her ass, squeezing lightly, appreciatively, a reminder that she’s not in control here, not fully. His hand leave her hips to unbuckle his belt; the sound is sharp in the quiet room, the clink of metal, the rasp of his zipper lowering. Carrie’s heart pounds in her ears as she hears him free himself, the soft rustle of fabric. She doesn’t look back; she doesn’t need to. She can feel the heat of him behind her, the blunt tip of his cock brushing against her inner thigh, already hard and slick with pre-cum.
“Tell me you want this, Professor,” he says, his voice a low rumble, the head of his cock nudging her entrance, sliding through her wetness but not entering yet. It’s a tease, a promise, the pressure building as he rocks forward just enough to part her folds.
“I want it,” she whispers, her voice trembling with need. “Please, Jason… take me.” He doesn’t make her wait. With one hand on her hip for leverage, he pushes forward, slow at first, the thick head breaching her entrance, stretching her inch by inch. She’s still sensitive from earlier, her walls fluttering around him as he sinks deeper, the glide eased by her arousal. He’s not as thick as Rick, but longer, filling her in a way that makes her toes curl inside her heels, every ridge and vein dragging against her inner walls. When he’s fully inserted, hips flush against her ass, he pauses, letting them both feel it, the perfect fit, the heat of him throbbing inside her.
“God, Professor,” he groans softly, his breath hot on her neck. “You feel incredible. So tight… so wet for me.”
He starts to move then, pulling back almost to the tip, letting her feel the loss, before thrusting back in with a controlled force that rocks her forward on the desk. The angle is perfect, his cock dragging over that sensitive spot inside her with every stroke, building a fire low in her belly. His hands grip her hips now, fingers digging in just enough to guide her back to meet him, setting a rhythm that’s steady and deep. Each thrust claiming her as the room is filled with the soft, wet sounds of their bodies connecting.
Carrie’s breaths come in shallow gasps, her fingers curling against the desk as the pleasure builds. Jason leans over her more, one hand sliding up her back to tangle in her hair again, arching her neck just enough to expose her throat. He kisses the spot there softly before letting his teeth graze her skin, sending a jolt straight to her core. His other hand slips around her front, fingers finding her clit through the bunched fabric, rubbing in tight circles that match his thrusts.
“You’re mine right now,” he whispers against her skin, voice rough with restraint. “Every inch of you. Your body giving itself to me”
The words send a shiver through her; she clenches around him involuntarily, drawing a low groan from his throat. His pace quickens slightly, harder now, hips snapping forward with more force, the desk creaking under the pressure. Each thrust pushes her closer to the edge, the friction of his fingers on her clit relentless, the stretch of him inside her overwhelming.
When she starts to tremble, her walls fluttering around him, Jason’s hand tightens in her hair, not pulling, but holding her steady.
“Come for me again,” he says, his voice a quiet command, breath hot against her ear. “Let me feel you cum around my cock.” It’s all she needs. The orgasm crashes over her like a wave, hard and unrelenting, her body tensing as pleasure radiates out from her core, walls pulsing around him as they squeeze. She bites her lip to muffle her cry, but a soft moan escapes anyway, her thighs shaking against his.
Jason follows moments later, his thrusts stuttering as he buries himself deep one final time. He comes with a low, shuddering groan, hips grinding forward as he spills inside her. His,l long cock pulses as it fills her completely, mixing with her own release. His body tenses against hers, fingers digging into her hip, holding her close as he rides out the waves.
They stay like that for a long moment with Jason draped over her back, both breathing hard, the room filled with the quiet afterglow and the faint tick of the wall clock. Eventually, he presses a soft kiss to her shoulder, then straightens, pulling out slowly with a wet sound that makes her shiver. He grabs tissues from the box on the desk drawer, cleans her gently with tender swipes between her thighs and along her folds. He tosses the tissue in the trash before he helps her stand, smoothing her skirt down with careful hands.
He turns her to face him, cups her face, and kisses her, slow, deep and grateful. “You’re incredible,” he says against her lips. “Thank you for letting me have you like that. So happy that Rick is allowing me to have you at work”
Carrie smiles, still dazed, lips swollen. “Anytime you want to take me like that… I’m very, very available.”
Jason’s grin is soft, a little proud, and full of promise. He steals one final kiss, then steps back, straightening his tie as if nothing happened.
“See you tomorrow?” he asks, voice back to that boyish sweetness.
Carrie nods, thighs pressed together to hold in the warm trickle of him. “You better come see me tomorrow,” she echoes.
He unlocks the door, slips out, and the office feels suddenly empty. Carrie sits at her desk, thighs slightly sticky, heart racing, already counting the hours until tomorrow.
Leave a Reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.