Dirty Treats Page 4

  “Show me that gorgeous cunt,” Marcus grunted, and I wanted to. Fuck, how I wanted to.

  I turned for him as I pulled those knickers down, showing him my clenching ass as they dropped down my thighs.

  “Spread those cheeks for me,” he said, and I did. I pulled my ass cheeks apart and ran my fingers over the tight, dirty hole I knew he loved to lick and finger and pound so much.

  His hand was frantic on his dick when I turned back to face him, and his mouth dropped open as I spread my legs nice and wide and pulled my pussy lips apart, feeling so exposed under the lights in that room. Exposed but actually loving it.

  I loved my thighs that were shaking as I played with myself. I loved the belly that was wobbling with my frantic circles on my clit. I loved the bounce of my tits as I played for him.

  “Come here,” he grunted loud, his hard cock in one hand and the sprig of mistletoe in the other.

  I hovered over his lap for just a moment, the track on his phone changing again as I dropped myself right down onto that dick of his. Dropped all the way down on that rock-hard dick with my hands on his shoulders as he held the mistletoe high and mashed my hungry mouth to his.

  Fuck!

  I ripped his shirt from his chest, needing his flesh. His skin. Needing everything he had to give me.

  And then I kissed him again. I pressed my open mouth right to his and took his kiss as deeply as I took his cock as I rode him.

  It was amazing.

  He was amazing.

  He held me tight and encouraged my grinds, practically lifting me up and slamming me right back down, over and over. We enjoyed each other’s bodies just like times gone by. Me straddling his suited hips and spilling wetness over the fabric of his trousers, his cock straining so hard out of the zipper.

  “Give it to me,” I gasped as he found the perfect angle. “Fuck yes, Marcus, right there!”

  He slammed up into me like a man possessed, every breath of his a grunt as he gave it to me. I felt my climax build and couldn’t stop myself wailing. Groaning and cursing and taking it all.

  My husband gripped my hips and spurted up inside me, groaning and cursing himself as his balls unloaded hard, and we were a gasping mess, holding each other tight in the Royston’s wicker chair and loving every second of it.

  At least we hadn’t broken this one.

  “Fuck, I love you, Jen,” Marcus said, breathing hard into my ear.

  “And fuck, I love you, Mr Harrington,” I replied with a laugh. “Did I ever tell you that you’re a beast of the greatest magnificence on this planet?”

  He laughed too.

  “Yes, Jen. You did tell me that. Plenty of times, just not for a while.”

  I’d be damn sure not to leave it that long again. Not for anything.

  He plucked the sprig of mistletoe that had been squashed between us, lifted it up over our heads and gave me a happy smile that made my heart thump.

  “Merry Christmas to my beautiful wife.”

  “And Merry Christmas right back to my perfect beast of a husband.” I paused. “This is the best Christmas present I’ve ever had.”

  “Mine too,” he said and leaned closer.

  I pressed my lips to his for one more kiss before we both hugged tight. Really tight and warm and close. It felt so good that I had to urge myself to carry on with more of the evening, easing myself to my feet and stepping back from him with a sigh. I was still smiling, though. Nothing in the whole world could have taken that happiness from my face.

  He grinned as he stepped up to join me, leaving the lights on and his shirt and tie strewn there as he reached for my hand and headed back to the door.

  “Let’s finish that pasta and get onto round three,” he said.

  “Can’t wait,” I replied, and this time the nerves were all gone.

  Chapter 6

  Marcus

  Hell, I was hungry. We were back in the kitchen in a flash, the radio still blaring Christmas tunes cheerfully. My dick was still pulsing and my heart was still pounding and that pasta tasted so good with my wife sitting naked opposite me at the kitchen island.

  It had been way too long since I’d been able to admire her in her full nude glory. Her tits were delicious, her nipples still hard as she forked up her spaghetti, and the wine was flowing freely, both of us laughing and joking and recounting dirty times gone by.

  She didn’t seem nervous. Not anymore. Thank fuck for that.

  I loved that smile on her face. That glint in her eyes. That buzz of want between us.

  Her eyes ate me up as she sucked up a long string of spaghetti, sweeping over my naked chest like she was desperate to climb over that counter and get a taste.

  Yes. Fucking. Please. That taste would be very welcome. Only not right yet. Not right now.

  I finished up my plateful of pasta, and she finished up hers, and the first bottle of wine was replaced by the second and we kept drinking, kept sizzling.

  “I really can’t believe we’ve missed this for so long,” she said. “Please, we can’t ever go back to how flat we’ve been together in bed at night.”

  “I’ve got no intention of it,” I replied. “Believe me, Jen, I have no intention of it whatsoever. I’ve missed you for so long.”

  “I’ve missed you, too.”

  I believed her. We were both reeling. Both in awe of how much we wanted each other.

  It was with that that I nudged the jar across the counter top to her.

  “Your turn next,” I said and she gave me a smirk.

  “Exciting,” she announced, and shook it up nice and hard.

  Her gasp was amazing as she pulled that next little slip out. She cleared her throat and I knew this was one of my scrawls as soon as she started it.

  “Spread those gorgeous butt cheeks for me and give me your asshole. I want it deep and hard and all the way in.”

  My dick was jumping to attention in a flash. Holy shit, it had been quite some time since she’d truly given me that gorgeous little hole of hers.

  “Where?” she prompted, sliding down from her stool. “Where are we doing this?”

  I was on the plates in a heartbeat, stacking them and shunting them to the side, then tapping the granite top on my side for her to come closer. She did. Slowly she came around to me, facing me close enough that I kissed her nice and deep with a smile on my face before spinning her around and bending her forward over the counter.

  That ass was a delight. Truly, it was a fucking delight. I couldn’t resist giving it a slap.

  Couldn’t resist giving it another when she shrieked and giggled.

  It took just seconds before I was down on my knees with those cheeks spread wide in my hands. Her sweet little hole was clenching, winking at me like a mischievous little mouth knowing what was coming its way.

  She moaned loud as I mashed my face to that ass crack of hers and ran my tongue wet and flat through that crevice. I squirmed it into that tight little hole and she tensed up, squirming back against me as I growled for more.

  “My God, Marcus,” she sighed. “Oh God, that feels so good.”

  She wasn’t wrong. It was a two way street. I was adoring it. Adoring her. The taste of her. The depth of her. The dirtiness of her, and me, and what I wanted so fucking bad.

  I spat on two of my fingers and eased them inside, one by one. Fuck, she was tight. I was consumed by the beauty of that ass of hers letting me in, making the most of the movements back and forth. She was whimpering, straining as I stretched her, and it was bliss.

  From out of the blue the radio jolted us from our trance. Another stupid jingle that had me feeling Christmas all over again. Believe me, I was feeling Christmas right there and then with my fingers in my wife’s tight little asshole.

  “It feels so tight,” she said over the Christmas song, her head back over her shoulder to meet my eyes. “Please loosen me up nice and ready before you fuck me.”

  I didn’t need that kind of instruction. I knew her ass well enough to
know what it needed. Unfortunately, I hadn’t placed the lube anywhere in reach, and couldn’t face breaking the contact enough to go find some.

  So, I didn’t.

  I skirted my eyes around that kitchen until they landed on a white ceramic butter dish by the hob.

  Oh yes.

  The Roystons had done me proud with that placement.

  “What are you doing?” Jen asked as I got to my feet long enough to grab that little number. I put it on the counter next to her and took the lid off, scooping up a nice chunk of butter in my fingers before smearing it right into her ass crack.

  Fuck, she how she groaned.

  “That’s their butter,” she said, like it needed vocalising.

  “They’ve already forfeited their stool with our house sitting, they can give us their butter too.”

  She seemed to accept that, rubbing back against my fingers as I coaxed that butter to melt and loosen. I took another chunk and smeared that too, and it was so horny to watch as it made her so fucking slippery.

  “That’s really filthy,” she whispered. “Look at their butter dish. You’ve made it such a mess.”

  I don’t know what the hell possessed me with her words. Maybe it was the Roystons with their prim grins at how amazing their place was every time they saw anyone. Their gloating and seeming perfection in their own suave household.

  “Fuck their butter dish,” I told my wife and her eyes widened like saucers as I dropped my pants down and stepped out of them, leaving me stark naked with my cock standing prouder than the Roystons could ever look this century.

  “Marcus! Holy crap!” she exclaimed, but I was already doing it, shunting my cock back and forth across that butter block.

  Yes. I lubed up my dick nice and slick with the Roystons’ butter dish and a big, bold smile on my face.

  “Fuck the Roystons,” I grunted, loving the flash of Jen’s wide eyes between mine and my dick in its thrusting.

  And then she surprised me.

  She reached out her hand and held my shaft tight to the butter block, urging me on for more.

  “Look how slick you’re getting…” she whispered, and she was smiling too. “Just imagine if Betty could see us now. She’d think we were so filthy…”

  “We are so filthy,” I told my wife. “We’ve always been this filthy. We’d just forgotten what it felt like.”

  The groove in the butter was such a mess. The chunk of yellow smearing all over my shaft and the head of me. My balls were slamming into the side of that block, smearing all over my dark nest of hair and the skin around it, and making one hell of a spectacle of both me and the counter.

  “Fuck me, husband,” Jen said. “Use that buttery dick of yours and fuck my ass nice and deep.”

  “My pleasure, wife,” I grunted back, and shunted her in position.

  I pressed her firm over that counter, and slammed her asshole with my fingers a few decent times before positioning my swollen head against that clenching little beauty and easing myself inside.

  She cried out, struggling to take it, but I was slow and steady. Steady and firm in just the right combination.

  “Ow!” she moaned, but it didn’t stop that raw dirty instinct of hers taking over. She was pushing back against me in a flash, taking it all. That glorious rump of hers slapping back against my greasy stomach in no time.

  “Good girl,” I said to my wife, and she loved that. She let out some low whimpers and kept on giving, reaching back to coax me harder.

  “I forgot how good this was,” she said, but I hadn’t.

  I’d never once forgotten how delightful and giving my wife’s tight little hole was around my cock.

  I pressed her harder into the counter, my weight firm against hers and my hips circling. Stretching her wider and wider.

  The whimpers in her voice became louder. Desperate. She wanted more. She wanted deeper. She wanted to feel me harder and harder.

  And I gave it to her. I kept my dick firm and my hips slamming hard, giving her everything.

  Her ass was bliss. Tight and hot and every bit as willing as I remembered.

  She shot me looks over her shoulder that spoke a thousand words. My dirty minx of a wife was lost to everything but taking me.

  “We’ll need to get the Roystons some fresh butter now, you gorgeous little slut,” I told her, with a growl.

  “I couldn’t give a shit about the Roystons!” she cried, and I tipped my head back, savouring the tension of that perfect hole around my dick.

  Yes.

  We were feeling it.

  Fuck, we were feeling it.

  “I’m going to come,” she whispered. “Don’t you dare stop, Marcus. I’m going to come.”

  I had no intention of stopping. None in the slightest.

  “Come for me, you dirty little minx,” I told her. “Tell me how good my cock feels in that hot little hole of yours.”

  She’d always loved filthy words aiming her way. She clenched and moaned again, her whole body shivering and her hands reaching back and gripping my wrists as I took hold of her hips and slammed even harder.

  “Don’t stop…” she whispered again, but it wasn’t needed.

  I felt her unravel around me, her breaths quickening with a rush of hissed curses, her head flinging back.

  “I fucking love you, Jen,” I whispered back. “Nothing will ever bring me as much joy as being balls deep inside you.”

  She was horny perfection as she came around my dick. The way she gripped me in that filthy chute of hers was mind blowing, a talent of an ass that couldn’t ever be surpassed. It took everything I had not to blow my second load so early, but I couldn’t. Not with so much of that jar still beckoning. The night was still so fucking young.

  My wife was a beautifully collapsed shuddering mess as she recovered from that heady crescendo.

  I leaned in and swept her hair aside as she caught her breath under me. A fresh jingle started up, one of the most cringey ones going, and my mouth was a smile as I planted a kiss on the back of her neck.

  She cursed a sweet little curse as I pulled my dick out of her nice and slowly. She twisted back, checking out the crack I’d left behind and running her fingers over the dripping smear of butter that had well and truly greased up her thighs.

  “Mine too,” I said and stepped to the side to show her.

  My belly was glistening and my thighs were too, my cock slick with the Roystons’ butter.

  I loved the tightness of her hand when she reached out to investigate. The naughtiness in her gaze had my balls tingling all over again. Her breaths were still shallow as her ass clenched and bubbled.

  That filthy little minx was my everything.

  “Time to check out Betty Royston’s incredible shower claims,” she said with a giggle. “We’d better freshen up a little before we dive in for round four.”

  I smirked and covered that butter back over with its lid, placing it back by the hob and ditching our pasta plates in the sink along with the pans I’d used earlier.

  “Very domesticated,” she announced, tipping her head to the side.

  I tipped mine to the side to mirror her. “I try my best, sweetheart. Not quite so domesticated when we’re playing this game though.”

  She approached me, and ran her hands down my chest with another of my favourite smiles.

  “Let’s get up to that shower then, you filthy beast.”

  Chapter 7

  Jen

  I couldn’t believe it. My thighs were slurping with melted butter, my ass feeling thoroughly battered as we dashed upstairs to the Roystons’ main bathroom.

  It truly was a spectacle of brilliance. A huge walk in shower with loads of different attachments. A whole host of sophistication with a huge mirror over their sink, outlined with pretty glowing lightbulbs. Their towels were all folded neatly on the rack, a whole range of deluxe things in a glorious ivory brightness. Another tick box of interior awesomeness.

  Marcus stepped straight inside the
cubicle and worked out those shower settings, getting the flow nice and steaming before coaxing me to join him.

  I was grinning like crazy as I made my way in. I pressed my skin straight up to his and rubbed right up tight against his greasy crotch. It was naughty. We were naughty. I felt like we were teenagers again, knowing full well we’d been misbehaving. It was a world away from the mature adults we’d been striving to be for so many years.

  He took hold of me by the shoulders and eased me away to take a decent look with those glorious hazel brown eyes of his, and there was that growl in him, a sound I knew so well and loved so much. His cock was still hard, still slick with butter. The water rushed down his chest and his stomach, hot and fast, but made no difference to the mess that was waiting there. No. The grease was still slick and firmly in position.

  Luckily Betty Royston had every bit as deluxe an array of goodies in her bathroom as she had filled out the rest of the place with.

  “Peony and violet,” I announced as I pulled a fine looking body wash from her bottle rack.

  “Sounds like the perfect antidote for butter,” Marcus laughed, and thrust his hips out for the squirt.

  I foamed him up, loving the feeling of fresh slickness under my fingers. He ground into my grip, but only for a few thrusts before he took the bottle from my hands and squelched half of it straight onto my tits. The attention was turned onto me in a heartbeat. Hell, how he foamed me up, squeezing and stroking and lathering me so well before he worked his palms down lower. I spread my legs and moved to his touch, knowing full well which other parts of me he would be washing just as thoroughly.

  I wasn’t wrong.

  “My God, this can’t be happening…” I managed as he found that perfect groove again around my clit. “Surely it can’t be happening again so soon.”

  My body was still a shuddering mess from coming over and over, but he was just too good for my pussy to resist. It really was happening again so soon. I gripped him nice and tight, my head under the full force of the water and my hair soaking flat to my scalp as I moved to his touch.

  He was faultless, taking my weight from my bandy legs nice and easily as I wrapped my arms around his shoulders. He worked his fingers with crazy instinct, knowing just where and how and when. Holy shit, he had the groove and I was falling into it.