Adultery My Fiancee's Happiness

[Lucifer8797]

He was in. They held still. Sweat ran into the silk. A candle threw heat on one of her breasts. He looked at her on the table the way he looked at a picture. Her nails wanted his back. Her walls fluttered around the thick length of him. She could feel him in her belly, too much, then full, then good.

He moved in short strokes. Each small push rubbed the ridge of his head inside her, a thick drag just past the opening. She made another sound, higher. He waited, then gave her longer ones. He drew back until the fat head tugged her pussy lips from inside, then slid home to the root. Sweat ran on both of them. Her bush went wet against his stomach. Silk stuck to her back. Her hips learned the count and started to meet him, clumsy at first, then finding his rhythm.

She opened her eyes and looked down. His cock was shining, thick, going into her and coming out wet. The sight made her clench. He felt it and groaned. He put his thumb back on her clit and fucked her to that rhythm, shaft and thumb together, until her thighs shook. She came on that, a breaking wave that left her even wetter, and he stayed in her through it, still moving.



Her inner walls stretched around his girth. They opened for that thickness and kept opening, wet, gripping, then yielding, until they wrapped him all the way around. Her cunt had taken a new size. It was his.

He felt her raw, skin on skin, her wet heat on the bare head of his cock and down the shaft. He had fucked so many girls. He had always used a condom. This was a different sex, intense, as if he were discovering it again. Behind the monitor sat the pack he had carried since Amboli. She had offered her body, naked in the candlelight, waiting, and the animal in him took over. While that pleasure ran through him, the sane part of him shouted to put a condom on. The animal was still in charge. It held onto this new pleasure. He told himself he would pull out at the end. He kept going.

Her walls clutched his cock like a boa swallowing prey. They shivered around him, wet and tight, pulling when he drew back. He was trying to hold back for this delicate girl and failing because she was open now and meeting every stroke.

“Fuck. Take it.”

He put speed into it. His hips slapped her. Her breasts jumped on her chest.



She heard the wet sound of her cunt taking him. Each thrust stretched her around the fat head all over again, then the shaft filled the rest. She came again, a harder wave than the first, her hands pawing his shoulders and sliding off. He kept fucking her through it, through the shake and the little cries, until the wave broke and she was only wet and open under him.

Then he dropped the pace. He went almost still, buried, only a grind, deep. His breath went ragged against her cheek. She thought that was the end. She felt relief and hunger together. Her body went loose. She waited for him to leave her.

He stayed. He hooked her knee and folded it toward her chest. The angle changed. He found a new place in her and drove. Momentum came back all at once. She cried out, surprised, and her eyes flew open.



He was still in her, thicker at this angle, hitting a spot that made her hips chase him on their own. “Kunal,” she said, and it came out broken. He gave her that angle again and again, faster, then easier, then faster, until she came on it too, messy, her mouth open against his shoulder.

He kept her knee there. Sweat ran off his jaw onto her breasts. The silk stuck to her hip. Blood and juice made it dark between them. She held his cock with her cunt on every stroke, naive and greedy. He looked down at where they joined, at her stretched pussy taking him, and he kept looking while he fucked.

A cramp climbed the thigh he was standing on. He hissed through his teeth, stayed inside her, and lifted her by the waist. He slid her to the centre of the table, the cloth bunching under her back, and climbed up after her. He settled between her thighs, full missionary, his weight pinning her to the cloth, and pushed to the root.



She took all of him. Her legs came around his waist and slipped off the sweat. He caught one thigh and held it open. His chest mashed her breasts. His cock reached farther this way, heavy, grinding her clit on every drive. He kissed her mouth. He kissed her breast. He fucked her in long strokes that rocked the table. Candlelight moved on her throat.



The table rocked hard. The candles went out. Only the monitor still glowed, a mild light on his back and on her breasts. The rest was dark. He kept fucking her.



She looked at his face above her. In that faint light she saw the strain and the hunger. She lifted her hips and met him. His weight made every inch feel thicker. She felt the wet run between them. She heard her own moans.



He slowed. He stayed deep and rolled his hips, small, grinding her clit until she came again, shaking under him, clumsy still, real. He groaned into her hair and kept the rhythm through it, fucking her while she was still coming, then while she was trying to catch her breath.



He built again, deeper. Her sounds went small and continuous. He pulled almost out, the fat head stretching her lips, and she thought he was leaving. She grabbed at his back. He slammed home. The table knocked.



He put her other leg over his arm and gained the momentum, pounding now, her cunt clutching him in wet pulls. Sweat from his chest ran onto her. Her nipples dragged his skin. She came again with her nails dragging down his back, a last clumsy wave that left her shaking. She locked her legs around his hips.