The Turf King

"Are you sure it's him?" he asks. "Have you been doing your wifely duties?"

"Trust me," I chuckle. "I'm not the problem there."

I sigh realizing the type of information I'm giving out to a stranger. Information I haven't even disclosed to my closest friends.

"Ah," he exclaims, his eyebrows perking up. "So this is a desperate housewife situation?"

My face falls in my hands in embarrassment.

"My ex had a lot... and I do mean a lot, of complaints about me, but that was never one of them."

I bet is what I think I'm thinking, but when my tongue smacks the roof of my mouth on the last syllable, I dig my face even deeper into my palms.

The chair screeches as he slides it back. I hear his heavy boot walk over next to me and pull my head out of my hands.

All six-feet something of him towers over me again. He wraps a big hand around my jaw and guides me out of the chair as far as the Lord allows my limbs to stretch. Slowly, he hunches down until his face is aligned with mines, the oil of his nose, rubbing against mines.

Finally, he goes in, his lips a lot different from any that touched mine before. The taste of my lie of a lemonade still lingering on them. He puckers smoothly, slowly forcing an opening enough to slip his tongue in.

I struggle to get into a groove. There's a lot of lips to explore and I'm lost, anxiously trying to navigate. When I feel his tongue tickling mine, I begin to dart at his, the way I've learned to with Rog. He pulls back and gives a slight chuckle.

Now I'm the sloppy kisser.

He goes back in, slower, guiding me. I follow his lead until we're both singing the same harmony. No question there's a visible wet spot on the crotch of my pants at this point.

Trent moves down towards my neck and maneuvers his hands towards the zipper of my jacket. My breasts fall out of them and he makes his way towards my areolas. Squeezing them with both hands and sucking at the same time.

Then his hands appear under my hamstrings, picking me up and setting me down on the table. The water bottle on the tray falls over and rolls off the table, thudding on the ground, which sends Amber running into the other room.

He pushes me on my back and pulls at the elastic drawstring on my pants, pulling them down over my New Balances. His fingers move to unsnap his work shirt, revealing a sturdy linebacker build, solid, with a little padding.

"This definitely isn't the same lotion my ex used to wear," he says, pushing his nose into my strawberry-scented slit.

My legs begin to vibrate as he writes a constitutions worth of words on my clit. A lot of slurping and smacking rings off from between my thighs and I finally get the appeal of those mukbang videos Kayleigh enjoys so much.

Trent rises up and pulls my shoes and pants off. They fall to the floor as one garment. He unzips his pants and I await in Anglo-Saxon anticipation. We hear the rumors. Our fathers, brothers, boyfriends, and husbands joke about it when they think we're out of earshot. A close family friend had been degraded and disowned for marrying into one. We knew it was a threat. An atomic bomb. A weapon of mass destruction.

He reaches into his open fly and hauls out his cut slab, veins damn near busting with blood. My honest assessment was that it was an entire footlong. Accounting for starry-eyed wonder, lack of ruler, and the fact that most of the blood in my body was no longer in my head, I'll concede to a solid 10.

I ached in anticipation. His eyes held his arrogance. There was no power struggle here. No equality. He wanted this, but I needed it.

A string of spit flies from his lower lip and he rubs it around in preparation. My head thumps on the table, but I pick it back up, straining my neck. I wanting to see it go in.

He nods and begins to push. It begins to slide in easily, as I was already doing prep work when he rang my doorbell, but at a certain point, he presses further than Little Miss Purple has ever been able to reach. He feels the resistance and backs off, slowly working the lengths that he can reach. Slowly, forcing himself a little deeper until I yelp and he pulls back again.

My phone buzzes somewhere on the ground.

My body connects to a rhythm and squirms. There's no reason to stay still like I had to with Rog. Trent's cock wasn't going to slip out. He had complete control.

His excitement is showcased across all thirty-two of his pearly whites. My eyes oscillate between them and his cock as he pushes it deeper and deeper into uncharted territories, until he forces them into the back of my head.

His quads begin to make contact. Trent is all the way in at this point, and I feel every atom of it. The sound of our skin smacking becomes louder, along with the table squeaking. In the midst of the ecstasy, I wonder if the table will collapse under me, but at this point, I've mastered not fucking up the groove, and this definitely wasn't the one to fuck up.

Amber begins barking from another room in the house.

Trent laughs and begins to pull out. Breathing has become labored and it's definitely hard to get a hold of what's going on in my body right now. I shiver on the table.

After a while, he grabs my hands to pull me up. His cock is glistening and dripping with juices. When I get up, I can see that we pushed the table so far back that a light scratch has formed on the hardwood floor.

I begin to formulate a lie in my head as Trent leads me over to the sofa and bends me over so I can get floor seats of the mess we just made. My clothes are splayed across the ground, which was soaking up a puddle of iced tea. A chair had been knocked over, the others pushed back with the table.

My phone buzzes again.

Amber and I begin competing, my yelps matching hers. Trent lost his pants somewhere in the mix, and now has a leg up on the sofa next to me, I'm guessing to get more leverage as he continues pounding me doggystyle. I paw at it.

When I look back at Trent, his smile is gone. His eyes are squeezed shut and his pace is slowed. I can tell he's trying to will his excitement back into the organs that house it, but something feral in me wants it. I clamp my vaginal walls as tight as my pregnancy allows and I can feel him momentarily go weak. He opens his eyes and smirks at me, understanding my motives.

"Where do you want it?" He grunts. "Do you want to swallow or wear it?"

"Cum inside of me," I manage to moan out in between moans.

"Inside you?"

He stops.

"Yes. Fuck. Keep going."

"Are you on the pill?"

"Cum inside of me," I repeat.

"Are you barren?"

"CUM INSIDE OF ME!"

Amber howls

He picks up the pace, pushing me so deep into the sofa that he has to lift his other leg up and is standing over me, positioning his cock into a different angle which sends me roaring until I feel that tingle that purple used to give me when we first got aquatinted. My teeth clasp into the sofa as I feel the juices running down the side of my legs.

I concentrate on clasping my walls tighter. His grunts become heavier which sends strands of my hair billowing in the lemon-scented wind.

He doesn't announce it but I feel it. His deep grunts turning into satisfied moans give him away. A few hard spasms fly straight towards my ovaries. His pace slows into a sudden halt. He steps over me and collapses on the sofa, trying to catch his breath.

I fall to the other side. Even with my legs closed, I can feel a huge gap where desperation lived for a long time. I don't feel bad. I'm not consumed with guilt. My brain begins working on excuses I can tell myself.

"Are your tubes tied?" Trent questions, when he can finally form words.

Thank God our dumbass government hasn't been able to pass the legislation that I fully support.

"I'll go get a Plan B when you leave."

A sigh.

"My mom would kill me if I brought a baby home like this."

I chuckle.

"My husband would literally kill me, you, the baby, possibly Kayleigh, before turning the glock on himself."

My phone buzzes again.

"Your husband?"

I sigh.

"I should get back to work," he says, rising off of the couch, grabbing his clothes from wherever they landed. "I appreciated the hydration."

The door shuts silently. The gap in between my legs makes me waddle as I get up to begin collecting my own threads. I find my phone face down under my track jacket.

Rog: what the hell is taking him so long back there?

Rog:???

Rog: is everything ok?

I'm fine. I text him back. I just had to make sure we got our money's worth and he fertilized every goddamn last square inch of the yard.

I go to the window and pull up a slat. He now has the hose and is spraying all over the zoysia. My phone buzzes again.

Rog: atta girl.