My husband is out of town again, so even though we just saw each other at the park the other day, we have the rare chance for a free afternoon alone, in a bed, with music and plenty of cannabis. We already spent the last hour or so fucking upstairs in my bed. As soon as he stepped in my house, I led him upstairs, single-mindedly focused on what he was going to do to me. He stood next to the bed as I faced him on all fours, ass in the air, and had me suck his dick as he admired my body. He rubbed and worried my nipples through my thin t-shirt, then pulled up my shirt to suck on each pink, puffy nipple, gently nibbling the edges with his teeth. I enthusiastically rode his long cock, looking in wonder as it stroked in and out of me, looking so big next to my slim hips. I grinded and wiggled against him, feeling the tip of his dick hit deep inside against my cervix and I yelped a little when he grabbed my waist and held me there, circling his hips, reaching up to play with my nipples some more. He closed his eyes in ecstasy and fucked me hard from behind. My hair was in my eyes and I grasped the headboard of my bed when he finally came deep inside me.

Making me cum; the longer, the harder, the wetter the better, is now tied up in his pleasure. He likes to take his hand, drenched in my warm juices, and rub his dick before he puts it in. Sometimes he even licks his hand, tastes my cum, tastes our cum mixed together. I wish he would make me taste it. I want him to rub it on my lips. I want to lick my wetness off of his fingers.

He had already made me spray all over myself two, almost three times. Each time he expertly reached his long fingers deep inside me and let me cum hard. Each time I am left shaking, waves of pleasure washing over me. When I tell him I want to cum, that I’m going to cum, he coaxes me to squirt harder. He keeps my legs spread wide and concentrates on my swollen, red cunt, working his fingers the fingers of his other hand rubbing my clit, my inner labia, even inside my tight asshole.

I want to be a good girl and cum so hard for him. Every time I squirt I can feel it come out a little at first, dribbling out between my ass cheeks, soaking my panties. I moan and he increases his pace, and his fingers start to make a delightful squishing sound. I want to close my legs, control the wave of orgasm about to wash over me but he always holds me knees apart. He knows what I need. ‘Go ahead, let it out’ he says so I bear down and let myself cum hard. Sometimes I spray up his right forearm past the elbow. I’ve never squirted so hard for anyone ever before. He likes it when I ‘wet myself’ as his says, and I love squirming in a puddle of my own juices and feeling like I’m in heat.

We went downstairs, ostensibly to smoke one more joint and say good bye. He stood with his bag in hand, in my front hall ready to walk out the door and I embraced him from the front, pressing my entire body against his, contorting a little to feel as much of him as I could. He wrapped his arms around me and kissed my mouth deeply, wetly. I whimpered and ran my hands up and down his back, feeling his muscles through his shirt. I softly licked and nuzzled at his neck, whispering his name, sighing, feeling a familiar, uncontrollable urge for his cock stir deep inside me. Even though he had just spent an hour taking care of me, I still wanted more. I felt like a greedy little slut.

Almost unconsciously I started to grind against him , blindly seeking his dick. I straddled his knee and bumped my already tender pussy against his leg. ‘Please’ I whispered, ‘more’. He chuckled as I pulled him to the couch and straddled his lap. Facing him I rubbed myself against him in long strokes. I pulled my shirt up and begged him to play with my tits. ‘Such a slut’ he said laughing. I couldn’t meet his eyes but he was right - I just wanted him to fuck me a little more. I pulled up his shirt, leaned over and sucked on his hard nipples, then arched my back so he could suck on my nipples too. He reached up and laid me on the couch. My shirt was hiked up so I could pinch and tease my nipples as he pulled down my pants again.

I immediately knew what he wanted and I squirmed away a little when he hungrily spread my legs. I had already come two, three times; I don’t think I could manage to cum again. He eyed my swollen clit peaking through my tender lips, and after licking his thick finger, softly, tenderly started to stroke my clitoris. I felt an urge to press my legs together, to feel some pressure on my pussy to give myself some kind of relief. He brought his fingers to his mouth, and again rubbed his dripping finger in tiny circles around the center of my pleasure. I closed my eyes and bit my lip, feeling every movement of his fingers, two now, one stroking up and down the inside of my pussy lips, almost, but not quite dipping inside my quivering hole. One finger still rubbing my fat clit, sometimes leaning over to lick and suck on it. I wanted him there, licking and playing with my clitty. Let me cum like this daddy.

But I gasp when he puts a finger inside me, all at once deep and searching. I grab his wrist, his muscular forearm to try and contain what he’s doing, but he won’t let me. He wants me to cum for him again. I moan and feel his long fingers work faster inside me.

I want to be a good girl, but I press my legs together, try to stop myself from spraying all over the couch like a bad kitty. It doesn’t work. He firmly spreads my legs and exclaims at how much I’ve cum, the upholstery under me soaking, smelling like sex. “Wow fox. Look at how much you’ve cum. Did it feel good?”