It was then that I saw him. He was watching me from the kitchen. I’d been so lost in my story I hadn’t realised all the noise I’d been making. He was still kneeling on the floor but now he was facing me, his mouth open. I was too far gone to feel shame, or embarrassment, I turned my chair to face him, and opened my legs in invitation, allowing him to watch me as I rubbed my clit, dipping a finger inside myself every few seconds, groaning with pleasure.
He stood and walked towards me, and my eyes never left his. “Need a hand love?” He asked, his voice raspy. He stopped directly in front of me, my eyes in line with the crutch of his cargo trousers, the bulge there clear evidence of his willingness to help.
“Oh I need way more than a hand,” I answered, and unzipped him, delighted to discover he was going commando. His hard cock sprang out, ready for action and he groaned as I took it in my free hand and began stroking, continuing to play with myself at the same time. I tasted his head with my tongue as I stroked him up and down, his deep moan setting off new fires of want deep inside me. I stood and kissed him, and he kissed me back, hard. Our tongues clashing, our lips smashing up against each other in a frenzy. I couldn’t wait, I needed him. I pushed my body to his, and then he spun me around and put a hand on my back, bending me over my desk. The robe was so short he could see my frilly purple thong now, and no doubt my pink pussy throbbing with juices too. He kept a hand on my back, pushing me down, as he pulled the material of the knickers to one side, and thrust hard inside me with no warning.
“Oh yes!” I screamed out. This was what I’d wanted. This was what I’d needed. This was what I fucking deserved! He started pumping into me, his cock long, thick, and hard, filling me perfectly but sliding easily in my wetness, The desk was cold against my bare stomach, my breasts squashed against the hard wood. I slipped a hand between my legs and rubbed my pulsing clit as he pumped harder and harder, deeper and deeper, his balls slapping against me. I pushed back against him with each stroke, needing him even deeper still, my whole body alive with an electric pulse of ecstasy. I turned my head to one side and there was my laptop, still open on the story I’d just finished. As I felt my body begin to build towards climax, I read the last line, my characters at it in the pool, her breasts bouncing up and down as she rode him. I finally let go and allowed the waves of orgasm to claim me, screaming out as this stranger fucked me. My boiler man grunted and growled an animal growl, his hands gripping my hips and pulling me even harder onto him, pumping harder and harder, banging me against him, the skin of my butt slapping into him, until eventually he released himself, crying out spurting his fluid inside me.
And that was the day I learned that the best way to make poached eggs is in silicone cups made for muffins, floated in boiling water.