Smut & Filth. Chapter four.

"Whistle While You Work".

The frantic screeching of the kettle went unheeded.

Eventually, the little whistle that sat on the spout gave up trying and leapt onto the floor, clattering and rolling away as its raison d’etre went unfulfilled.

He leant against the counter, his eyes screwed shut and his lips parted as he tried to control his breath, breath made short by exquisite ecstasy.

Tenderly, she kissed the angry, red marks that crisscrossed his buttocks, feeling the heat of the wounds against her lips. She traced them with the tip of her tongue and he groaned a deep groan.

One of her hands cupped his heavy, tight balls, squeezing gently and rolling them between her fingers, as her other hand began to gently stroke its way up his thigh. She slid this second hand around and in front of him when she found his hip, her gentle kisses never ceasing, and found the secondary result of the thrashing she’d recently administered. A thrashing that had started by accident but that, once she’d given him four or five further lashes, had continued with relish. She’d bitten her lip and watched as he’d screamed out, staring back over his shoulder at her, a look on his face of pure rage but a look that didn’t seem the match the words he used.

“Harder, do it harder.” Her stomach filled with butterflies again as her own arousal began to mirror his. She wanted to touch herself as she administered the punishment he so plainly craved. Then, his eyes intense as he growled at her, he said the words that, for the first time in her life, made her climax without any touch.

“Touch yourself for me.”

Her knees had buckled and she’d dropped to the floor behind him, the catalyst for the tenderness with which she now tended his wounds and stroked his hard cock.

She pumped her fist along his shaft slowly and firmly, relishing the throbbing she could feel as he grew, and squeezed his balls a little harder before releasing them and pushing his legs further apart. She felt him tense up, she knew he knew what was about to happen and she paused, smiling and licking her lips as she readied herself for yet another new experience.

Slowly, tentatively, she approached. She swallowed, nervous and excited in equal measure, and licked her lips one last time before extending and stiffening her tongue, touching him there.

He tensed but made no attempt to pull away from her and so she pressed her face a little harder against him, her tongue probing him as the fingers that had previously been cupping him reached down and began to probe her own wetness. She gasped, her breath trickling beneath him and finding his tight balls, though this sensation, hidden as it was amongst so many others, was lost on him.

Her second orgasm in just a few minutes exploded within her, destroying any self control she might have been holding onto. Her fist tightened around him and her mouth worked at him, her chin suddenly against the back of his tight sack. Like a domino toppled by another from behind, so too his own control collapsed.

Twelve hours of almost continual arousal and satisfaction had left his supplies seriously diminished, but his orgasm prevailed even after he’d exhausted his supply. His cock throbbed as he shook, his arms finally giving way and causing him to drop forward. His chest coming to rest on the counter as his knees gave way, he slowly slid to the floor, turning as he did so with a look on his face of astonishment. Her orgasm, now past its explosive stage, was still in progress. He gazed at her throat and the underside of her upturned chin, drinking in the view, and waited patiently for her to finish.

She opened her eyes and they immediately met with his intense, inquisitive stare. She on her knees and he slumped back against the counter, using his arms to keep the weight off his wounds, they mirrored and mimicked each other as the corners of their lips and eyes curled into satisfied smiles. They gulped in unison and, with a shake of their respective heads, they snorted with laughter.

Finally, a look of panic spread across his face and he scrambled to his feet.

“Shit,” he exclaimed as she watched in bewilderment.

“What’s wrong?”

“The fucking kettle!” He laughed as he plucked it from the flames and inspected the burnt bottom, “Oh, and I’ve got no teabags.”

Continue to chapter five