27 Seconds

Every morning his routine is the same. After he eats his breakfast and drains his coffee cup, he brushes his teeth, pops in his contact lenses and finds the watch that he discarded moments before falling asleep the night before. The plain black leather strap is secured around his wrist, and acts as a comfort for the rest of the day, being absentmindedly played with during meetings. Without it he feels lost.

Today was not one of those days, as he returned from work and scanned his kitchen- berating himself for not washing up the breakfast dishes this morning but simultaneously smiling at the reminder that he did not eat alone, and his thoughts drifted to the night before. He could still smell her on his pillows in the morning, and the euphoric sense of discovering something new and the excitement of returning to it washed over him as he began to clear up.

However, try as he might, he couldn’t get her out of his head. Her vibrance, the way she walked on her toes as she kicked off her shoes and wandered to the sofa. The kissing on the sofa, her skirt riding up further than it should which was an invitation for his hand to slide up her thigh. An invitation warmly received as she moaned into his lips as he placed pressure on her clit, the moans which made him hard, and harder still as she buried her head into his neck, gently biting through the pleasure.

He remembered how she reacted when he traced his fingers up the back of her neck and tangled them in her hair- how her eyes widened as he tightened his grip and pulled her back to look at him. He wanted her over the sofa, pushing her head down, and rubbing his cock between her thighs.

He fucked her hard and urgently. His fingers gripped her hips, and he watched as he entered her over and over again- perfectly framed by the slight rosey tinge to her arse cheeks. She seemed rather receptive to a few spanks, and he would have enjoyed to go further except this time he was desperate to know what it would be like to be inside of her cunt.

And, fuck, it was good. She was good. Better than good, she was spectacular. Her smell, the noises she made, her fingers pressing into his cushions. He hoped those patterns would stay there until the morning at least, as with the impressions his fingers were making on her skin.

He remembered her trying to get the words out as he fucked her into the sofa. At first he didn’t hear, but when they registered he was absolutely delighted.

Please may I come?

The quiver in her voice led him to believe it wouldn’t be much longer before she did, whether he answered her question or not- so he knew he had to be quick with what he was about to do. Unfastening in his watch, he lay it on the top of the sofa.

Count down from thirty for me. You can come when the hand reaches the bottom.

She looked back at him, and he kept his cool. He wanted to fuck her so hard that she couldn’t see the watch, let alone the second hand. But he kept his cool, and listened as she counted down, rewarding each second with a rough thrust inside her.

She reached ten and her voice was almost unrecognisable. Perhaps thirty was too ambitious, maybe he should have tried with less. But she got to five, four, three and then gave out the most frustrated groan. She looked back at him and he laughed, drowning her protests as the watch stopped ticking and she was unable to count down the last few seconds. He started fucking her harder, and pushed her neck down so her noise was swallowed by the sofa. It wasn’t long before she succumbed, she didn’t really have a choice, and it was only a matter of moments before he did too.

As he looked at the sofa after the long day at work, his cushions were strewn across the upholstery and the fistfuls of cushion she grasped as she came were still present. He felt his cock throb and got out his phone.

I need to punish you for not waiting until the second hand reached the bottom

And he hit send.

 


 

 Written as part of Smutathon 2018– a fundraiser for Abortion Support Network. Donate below, enter the raffle and follow the conversation on Twitter under the hashtags #Smutathon2018 and #SmutForChoice.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *