Handy Pt. 02: More Sex

"Ahhhwwaaaaaaaaeeeeeee!" and she wailed out her orgasm, her legs scissoring and trembling, his rutting hips holding her body split, cunt splayed open like an oyster.

And she gushed. Fluid under pressure sprayed, squirted out around his cock jammed up in her, ran from her cunt, pulsing. A rapidly widening pool of sex juice, wetting her thighs, running under her belly, warm against her skin.

Too much for Michael, with a roar! he jutted a final time into her, held it, his balls working hard, his cock pumping cum into Sophia, getting washed out by her flow, pumping more through her vagina to smear her cervix.

He retained enough wit to roll off of her, not squash her, let her breathe. Lay on his back, his own legs tingling, his abused member red with clotted semen stuck to it like curd, twitching with his heartbeat.

They lay there, breathing, knowing now that sex could be that good, never suspecting.

Michael checked his watch, always meticulous, saw the time. Stood, unsteady, hunted up his clothes. Dressed, his sticky cock making a damp mess in his underwear.

Gotta get back babe! And he went down on one knee, careful of the sex-puddle, kissed her on the cheek. She didn't respond, one leg still trembling spasmodically.

She heard him quietly go out, the door lock, his feet on the steps.

The thoughts came to her, unbidden. I love him. I want him. I wanna be fucked by him, morning and noon and evenings and all day on weekends.

I wanna have his babies. So much.

Took Sophia another five minutes to sit up, then two more to stand. Slipped in the puddle, went down on one knee, Ow! and now a bruise.

More careful this time, she avoided her puddle, got on her feet, hobbled to the front closet, pulled out a pail and mop. Filled it in the tub; came back and mopped and squeezed and mopped, until the puddle was mostly just water, not girl-cum.

She was an expert at mopping up girl-cum. Her former roommates had sprayed it all over, like alley cats, just let it fly from whatever boyfriend was pounding them in the bathroom, the kitchen, the hallway. That whole apartment had shiny spots in odd corners where she'd missed their glucose messes.

Her sweatpants were soaked, her juice had wandered across the floor and soaked them, a total loss. Into the hamper.

Twice she stopped to wipe Michael's cum from her leg, leaking from her lobster-red cunt lips, oozing down her leg. How much cum did that man have, anyway? And how much fit in her cunt, it must have some sort of reservoir in there, it won't stop dripping. Truly a cum-bucket. Michael's dorky techy sperm-sucking jizz-sponge.

Should get back to work. Considered leaving a swampy wet sex-splootch on his lab stool, decided against it. Got in the shower and rinsed most of that away. Some heavy cotton underwear, that was all, she didn't have that many changes of clothes. Gonna have to wear the overalls to the grocery store tonight, he said he'd cook!

Saw her abused tit in the bathroom mirror, red as a cherry, really something, the nipple was so large, so red. Touched it, tender! Smiled. Titty-torture was awesome.

Ok back to work, laying out an analog signal sampler, optimizing for minimum path length from source through ground, optimizing capacitance. Isolate the signal ground from the A-to-D!

She had to get up once, change underwear again, still seeping Michael-sperm, if she had an egg in there right now, he had fertilized it ten times over! Probably be twins, so much sperm. Triplets.

"How about these? Juicy and sweet!" She held two cantaloupes at chest-height, right where her tits were, gave him an innocent look.

"Put those down!" Michael was not dealing well with her sexy innuendo, not her in public at the corner market. Old mister Vasquez was at the register, had greeted them coming in. Had followed them with his eyes as they pushed a cart down the aisle. Had known, Michael was sure of it, knew his girlfriend was an irresponsible sexpot.

She put them down, picked up a carrot. Held it at her crotch, did a couple hip-thrusts, her twisty orange carrot-cock threatening his manhood.

Michael grabbed it, put it in the cart, glared.

He wasn't mad, not really. He couldn't be mad, he'd come home to find her in his boxers, nothing else, topless with those tits, those nipples just staring at him, looked like an owl stenciled on her chest. On his lab stool, laying out a circuit board design on her laptop. A combination of supremely competent technician and sex-elf, he'd wanted her immediately.

She'd apologized for stealing his clothes, she'd gone through all of hers over the afternoon. Apparently, they'd gotten soaked with 'Michael-juice that kept dripping from my fuck-hole' and she'd had to change repeatedly. The laundry basket was full of slimy shiny clothing by now.

But they had groceries to buy! So she'd gotten dressed, such as it was, just overalls and sandals!

So now he was shopping with his girlfriend, in public, her tits clearly visible from the side, through the straps in those overalls. The bibs hanging slack, she'd loosened the straps way too far, the denim chafed her nipples she said! He could see how that would be a problem. Wear a shirt! he'd suggested but she just wrinkled her nose, handed him his car keys and headed for the door.

He bought potatoes next, which she juggled, a revelation to him, she could do that! Her arms flashing, potatoes leaping into the air, those bibs flapping, it was both obscene and intensely provoking.

She put the potatoes away, took that carrot from the cart. Wriggled one arm inside her bibs, took the carrot in that hand, disappeared down inside. She staggered a bit, widening her stance, grimaced and then aaah! and her arm came back out, no carrot.

"Jesus!" That was going too far! "Take that vegetable out of your cooch!" he hissed.

She nodded, wrinkled up her face, took a careful step and it fell from the leg of her overalls, rolled on the floor. Shiny, halfway. She picked it up, tossed it back in the bin.

Huff. At his wits end, half infuriated, half intensely horny, he turned back to his shopping list with an effort.

Bok choy, she smiled at that, good stuff! Nothing depraved she could think of to do with that. Fresh tarragon from the spice section. Off to dry goods - flour, sugar, salt, baking powder. Sophia found a turkey baster hanging on a rack; Michael took it from her, hung it back up.

When he had finished his list, they pushed the cart to the checkout. Sophia shouldered her way in front, started unloading onto the belt. Bending over to reach into the bottom of the cart. Way over, taking her time, rooting around, exposing her tits to Mr. Vasquez who recognized cute when he saw it.

He rang them up with a small smile, something to take home to Mrs. Vasquez tonight, she'd enjoy the story. And probably take him to bed early!

"We forgot beer!" Michael was a wine guy, but Sophia had to have her beer. She squeezed past him, trotted back to the rear of the store where the cooler was.

"Sorry!" and Michael followed, no problem, they were the only ones in the place at the moment.

He found her inside, considering.

"A porter, a stout or a Dunkel?" She was serious.

"I don't know; I've never dunked!" A lame joke, but she was already in a mood, she laughed.

"No time like the present!" and she knelt in front of him, unzipped his pants. He tried to fend her off, but not seriously, he wasn't going to manhandle his soul mate, he wasn't that kind of guy. Well, her tits, sometimes, but that was different.

She reeled him out, balls included, he was already hardening, and she slurped a third inside her mouth. Used one hand on his balls, the other holding him at the root.

He looked down at her, the top of her head moving rhythmically, her bibs slack and showing him her tits, those monumental nipples grazing the cloth, reddened, they really were chafing in there!

"Huh. Huh. Hurry. Somebody might..." and he lost the will to speak, his head back, one hand behind him, bracing against a stack of Guinness cases.

Sophia bobbed and stroked, fondled and rolled his balls. They were getting tight, from her stimulation or from the cold? Time to find out.

She scooted back, craned her neck forward, straightening her neck like a baby bird and sliiid! onto his cock as far as her gullet would allow. Got more than half inside before she gagged, pulled back, her abdomen convulsing as she suppressed the gag. Tried it again, got further!

"Soph...so...s..." and she felt his balls clench, his meat ripple in her mouth and then felt his semen warm in her throat. Held on, far as she could go, let him empty his jizz into her stomach in spurts, felt it going down.

When he relaxed, she pulled carefully off, unthreading him, letting his soft cock slip out of her face, slimy jizzy spit ropes splotting across her chin.

Stood and let him sort himself out, decided "Porter!" and picked up a case, left him in the cooler, heat coming off him in waves, his wet cock rapidly shrinking in the cold.

He caught up at the checkout, found Sophia paying with cash. Thanking Mr. Vasquez with a glassy-eyed smile. Mr. Vasquez said Thank You! Come Again! and followed them with his eyes as they wheeled into the parking lot.

Michael got a look at her as they unloaded into the back of the station wagon. Her chin and neck were clearly smeared in snotty cum. She grinned, wiped some off with a finger, flicked it onto the pavement.

"What am I going to do with you?" Exasperated.

"Me? That was all you! All your yummy cum! Painted my face! Filled my throat! Face-fucked me!" Not really, she'd done all the stroking, but it was fun to tease.

She got a funny look, Buurrped! and giggled.

"Appetizer! Now it's time for dinner!"

They got home and Michael insisted she strip out of the overalls, let him work some of his skin cream into her nipples. They were sore, and it was nice to have a boyfriend stroking her breasts, warm and slippery.

Leaving her sitting on the bed warm and soft, chafing soothed and nipples stiff, he abandoned her for the kitchen.

"Gotta get dinner started!"

She let him get to it, she was useless in there. Redressed. Stripped the bed, took that and the laundry basket full of jizz-laundry to the front door.

"Gonna start a load of laundry!" she called and headed out, down the stairs, found the laundry room in the alley back by the parking spaces. She dumped the basket in, put the sheets in another machine, bought some soap from a vending machine, started them both.

Thought about it; stripped out of her overalls and stuffed them in too.

Naked now, except for Michael's boxers, she retraced her steps, across the courtyard, feeling the cool of the evening on her skin, her lotion-damp breasts. Clambered up their stairs, knocked on their door. She'd not brought her key. Where would she keep it?

"Just a minute!" he called, probably elbow deep in some cooking stuff. So she relaxed, turned, surveyed the evening from her third-floor vantage point. Some teenagers kicking a ball around on the grass opposite the apartment building, across the main road in a park.

A couple across the way, curtains not drawn, sitting on their couch watching TV, she could see the reflected light playing over them. Hands in each other's laps, inside their clothes, rubbing one out. Watching porn?! Cool.

Their door opened, Michael saw her standing bare-naked on the doorstep, took her hand and pulled her into their apartment, closed the door.

"I leave you alone for like a minute. And you're getting into trouble!"

"Not yet! Far as I know!"

Jesus.

"What can I do?" She was being helpful.

"Just stay still! Don't do anything! Put on some clothes!"

Nope. "All my clothes in the washer." It was true, overalls and sweatpants and she'd shot her wad.

Consternation. "Set the table?"

She could do that! Got two plates, flatware, two cups, set them out neatly. Noticed Michael's cloth napkins in a holder, so she set them out too. She was a folded-paper-towel girl herself.

Something was smelling awesome. Asian-y but also Italian? What was going on in there!

"What's in the pot?" She was lifting the lid, watching little white wads dance around as the water boiled.

He gently put his hand on hers, closed the lid. "Gnocchi! Italian potato dumplings! And I'm making a tarragon sauce!"

In a tiny pot he had put butter and flour, was working it with a wooden spoon, it became playdough, then started getting brown as he mashed it around. At the critical moment he dumps cream in, lots of cream. Stirred until his playdough was dissolved and the mixture became glossy, then started to thicken.

"When's the tarragon make an appearance?"

He smiled, rinsed some limp weeds under the faucet, shook them off, handed them to her.

"Now! Strip the leaves, just dump them in there!"

She did, careful to not get the woody stalks in, just the long narrow leaves. Started to smell luxurious almost immediately.

She used his wooden spoon to stir it around, push all the leaves under so they could release their tarragon goodness. He smiled; she said she wasn't a cook! She could make this, now.

He had a hot skillet, was trimming the baby bok choy, just heaping the defenceless white-and-green stalky-leafy things into the oil. They started to wilt immediately.

Doused them in brown sauce, drizzled some oil, put the lid on.

"Ready in five minute! Wash up?"

She had other ideas.

"No! Bad girl! No sex for Sophia! Not while there are pots on the stove!"

Michael was fending her off, dodging and protesting. Not gonna let his supper burn, which would happen once she fastened onto him.

She relented, went to wash. Nothing to change into, she peed, debated, pulled the boxers back up. Re-tied the waistband, they were ludicrously too large, enough extra she could tie a knot in it! But her cooch showed through the leg-holes pretty readily, any time she moved or walked or sat down. So, all the time.

Washed and padded into the kitchen. Michael was dishing up, had the plates there, two piles of goodness: the dumplings, fat and covered in tarragon-cream, and the bok choy, all limp-like, similar to boiled spinach. She suspected she was going to hate it.

"Sit! Let me get you a beer!" He rummaged in the fridge, found a bottle of her porter.

"It's not cold yet?" He was pouring some red wine for himself, into a fancy glass. She grabbed the bottle from him.

"They drink it warm every place but the US." She'd been in seven countries, growing up. Warm beer was normal for her.

They sat, he looked at her expectantly. Ok she could do this! Potatoes, wilted weeds, how awful could it be?

Placing one drippy aromatic dumpling in her mouth, she tried it with her teeth. Rubbery, a little give, and that cream! Oh my god! Inhaling, she felt she might swoon.

A hard swallow and "Oh Michael! If I wasn't already fucking you, this would make me want to for sure!"

He grinned, already sure his cooking would meet with her approval. He began eating, alternating with sips of wine, his eyes closing with each bite. Likes his food!

She twisted the top off her beer with her calloused beer-bottle-opening hand, slugged some down. Parched!

"The bok choy is braised in oyster sauce with sesame oil."

It smelled weird. Not sure their relationship would survive this test. Took one weedy limp rag on her fork, closed her eyes and stuffed it in, expecting to gag.

It was... something else. Savory, not soggy or slimy, still some resistance. The greens were tasty, not bitter, didn't taste like iron filings. And that oil! Something toasty and awesome. Sesame? She'd only encountered that on a Big Mac bun before.

He laughed at her surprise, glad he could show her some of the things he loved.

The beer and the supper went down quickly, a long day of work and athletic coupling had left them with low blood sugar. Cream and potato did their valiant work, replenishing their strength.

"I'll wash up! You cooked!" She gathered the plates, licking hers on the way to the sink. He was aghast and pleased; she really liked it!

"There's dessert! Dishes in the fridge!" He called to her in the kitchen. She felt a stab of what? fear? and anticipation! Michael was making her feel so many things, a decade of experiences in a few days. It was heady stuff, she'd felt envy and lust and dizziness, shame and boldness. Had sex seven ways, which was seven more than in her whole life before Michael.

There were two stemmed glass dishes, wide, filled with some brown goo. Sniff! Chocolate! This was going to be easy. She carried them out, went back for spoons. Arranged one in front of him, the spoon aligned neatly, this dessert seemed to deserve that little grace note.

"So cute! How did you get it in there without smearing the glass?"

He smiled. "Piped it! Put the mousse in a plastic bag, cut off the corner, squeezed it gently in!"

A lot of fuss for chocolate pudding. Whatever floats his boat! Anyway, she sat, holding her glass, raised it to him! and took a small spoonful.

Silky, smooth, buttery. Intensely chocolate! And something else, whatever it was, made it double-delicious. Chocolate pudding on steroids!

"My god Michael! This is incredible! I could kiss you!"

He was tasting his, smiling. "I have another idea, if you really want to thank me."

She grinned, stood, bent over the table on her elbows, not surrendering her pudding, tasting it in tiny spoonful's, it was so rich you didn't have to do more than nibble to get the full effect. Her privates were lewdly obvious through those boxers, and not a little wet. She'd wanted him all evening.

He left his pudding, scooted his chair back, came to stand behind her. That had worked so good at lunchtime! The best fuck yet, doggy-style, rough and fast.

"Fuck me, you culinary genius! Garnish me with your cream sauce! Put your pudding in my cup! Show me the secrets of your meat probe!"

He giggled, which was quite a thing coming from a man of his considerable frame. Dropped his shorts and put his paws on her, clamping her body in his huge hands, holding her steady.

"My cock is a cunt gourmet! Gonna taste your soft tenderloin, garnish your velvet meat with my savory sauce!"

That was pretty good, she was going to compliment him, but he chose that moment to slide his length into her. The slick warm mating thrilled her to her core, feeling his cock thread into her body gently, come to rest fully socketed in her hips. She bent her head, took a breath, feeling him feeling her.

She breathed, took a bit of mousse, sucked it off the spoon as he started moving. Sex and dessert! A perfect combination. Feeling deliciously satisfied from both ends! Treats for tongue and cunt!

"Stir my sweetmeat so you don't leave lumps! Whisk my gravy! Put some pepper into it!"

He picked up the pace, pulling further, stroking faster and ending with a little bump! which jiggled her clit. She soon had a little stiffy, her clitty-cock engorged and sensitive. She took another bit of mousse, licked it off of her spoon. Closed her eyes and imagined it was his cum, chocolaty and sweet.

He was going faster, getting a little irregular, nearing his limit of sweet slippery Sophia-slut fucking already. He'd been a virgin the evening before, was not yet able to pace himself more than a minute or two.

"I'm... I'm... gonna nut in your... sweet body. Spray inside your pussy, pound my semen... into your womb. Knock you up... my amazing beautiful... sexy Sophia! Fuck your twat! Fucking! Gonna! Cum!"

Sophia had a mouthful of pudding, her saliva started flowing, she was drooling brown spit onto the table, cursing under her breath.

"Cock suck fuck my womb cumming shit fucker pound! Pound me! Knocked up. Cock fuck cunt! Gugggh!"

She buried her face in her napkin, grunting out her orgasm as she felt his stiff cock filling her, spilling more warm semen into her vagina that could hold so much, so much Michael love!