“Can I watch?”

She looked at me with the same resigned look I’d grown accustomed to. Resigned, but with a loving smile behind it.

“Babe…no.”

I watched her slide off the couch, take the ten steps across the hardwood floor, then head into the hallway. I counted her steps—one, two, three…a hesitant four, then five—until I heard the bathroom door open, then click closed behind her. 

Finally, the flick of the lock.

I held my breath, hoping to catch the trickle, but all I heard was the pulse thumping in my ears. Not long after came the flush, then the hiss as she turned the faucet on.

Turned on.

I pulled my cock out. It stood rigid, proud, and a little too eager.

She turned the water off. I counted the seconds while she dried her hands and carefully hung the towel. I knew she checked herself in the mirror.

I stroked myself at the thought of her lips.

I heard her unlock the door, and almost before she opened it, she started talking.

“So, I was thinking we could head up to the lake this weekend? It’d be a nice—babe!”

She stood frozen in the archway to the living room.

“You got that hard…from…you filthy pig.”

“Yours, though,” I said with a smile.

“Fuck.”

“No, babe. A blowjob will suffice.”

---

She stretched lazily across my lap as the end credits to something Netflix had urged us to watch flickered across the screen.

“I’m going to bed, babe,” she yawned. “You coming too?”

“In a while,” I answered. “You go ahead.”

She stood and stretched again. Took her ten steps before my voice stalled her.

“Babe? Can I watch?”

She turned a little quicker than she had meant to.

“Babe! Fuck!”

“I’d lick you clean, you know that, right?”

“Oh, my God!”

Her gasp was definitely louder than she had anticipated.

I think she forgot to lock the bathroom door.

She fucked me like she meant it that night. 

---

It had been a long day. She finished her wine in a long, greedy gulp. 

“Doesn’t wine give you a headache, babe?” I asked.

She grinned across the table.

“Yeah. It also makes me horny as fuck, babe.”

Her foot found my leg under the table, her toes danced up the length of me, then settled between my thighs like an invitation.

She stirs throb and anticipation in me. She always has.

“I’m turning in,” she said with a yawn. “And I expect you to bring that gorgeous cock to me when I do. I just need to piss first.”

There was something in her grin as she stood, a slyness behind her eyes I recognized as want. Desire.

It didn’t hit me until she disappeared down the hallway, the wording she had used.

I need to piss.

Not that she was ever prudish about language. “Let me pee really quickly,” or “Yeah, I need to use the washroom, babe.” There had been something husky beneath her voice, too. And she hadn’t bothered closing the door behind her.

I swallowed. Was it an invitation?

There was the almost mechanical sound of a zipper undone. It seemed to echo through the house in the still of the evening. A rustle of fabric followed, and then the unmistakable sound of her exhale.

My pulse throbbed in my throat.

The pause seemed impossibly stretched.

Finally, the faint trickle into the bowl. Her day expelled and offered to the porcelain gods as proof and confession. She hummed like she does when silence lingers a little too long. The trickle intensified, a gush that ricocheted off the tiled walls, then snuck down the hallway and entered the living room like a hissed tease.

Feral.

Animal.

But underneath that, she moaned. 

The trickle subsided, then died. She sighed, but the pause before the toilet flushed was longer than usual.

Don’t ask me how I know this.

The faucet came to life, almost with the same disappointment as my alarm in the morning. The mundanity of the sound of her brushing her teeth was torturous. 

But the water stilled.

The sound of her bare feet on the hardwood reached me almost like a whisper. When she appeared in the archway, bare-cunted and teasing, I was already mentally there.

“You coming?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“Fuck, yes.”

---

It was finally Friday. The end of the week once promised adventure and release, but at fifty-three, domesticity and falling into slumber were more tempting. I’d once worried about that, seeing as she’s so much younger. I’d never want to take that youth from her. But she assured me, more than once.

Close the curtains, babe. Or not. I just want to be naked, snuggled up against you.

And she’d always offer the same half-smile, half-snarl.

Besides. You know I hate people.

I looked at my reflection in the mirror. Fridays always seemed to add another few years to my face. I laughed a little. My face smelled like cunt, because of course it did. I glanced down. My cock dangled a little tired, absolutely satisfied, definitely still coated with us. I probably should have showered, but reached for my toothbrush instead. 

Post-nut logic.

Her entrance was silent, just a whisper of feet against the tile. 

“Wait,” she said.

She closed the distance in three slow steps, then kissed me with hunger.

“I love the taste of me on your lips.”

I watched her in the mirror. How she wrung herself out of her T-shirt and let it fall carelessly to the floor. How she positioned herself in front of the bowl and hooked her thumbs inside the elastic of her panties. How she met my eyes in the mirror and grinned before pulling them down to her knees.

I watched her sit, legs pressed a little tight, face a little flushed. 

“Come here,” she whispered, huskily, horny spilling over her lips.

I dropped my toothbrush in the sink, maybe on the floor. My feet moved before my mind caught up. 

“Kiss me,” she said.

I bent down and met her lips as her hand found my cock. To my surprise, she found me hard for her. 

“I’m gonna suck our filth from your cock,” she whispered into my mouth. “If you promise to clean me.”

Fuck.

I throbbed against her palm, and she looked up at me with a grin. 

“You smell like sin, babe.”

She flicked her tongue at the head, just a slight taste of the mess we’d made earlier. 

“And sin is my favorite flavor.”

She parted her lips and offered another greedy lick.

“But babe? You need to promise. Lick me good and clean.”

I nodded.

“Babe? Promise me like you mean it.”

I could have cum on her face right then.

“Babe,” I choked. “You know I will.”

She smiled her sly smile and licked her lips.

“You know, babe. That doesn’t sound like a promise, but a declaration.”

I felt need grab hold of my spine, and desire take claim of my sanity.

“I promise, babe. I promise to lick every inch of you clean. To devour every filth you offer me. To lick you so deep you can’t separate my tongue from your cunt.”

She sucked the head of my cock between her lips, but pulled back almost instantly. I knew there was more to come. I knew it from the look in her eyes, the curl of her lip.

“And babe?”

“Yeah?” I answered, far too eagerly.

“You can’t cum. Not in my mouth. Not while licking me. Not until you fuck me and make me cum on your cock.”

She didn’t wait for my answer; she just guided me between her legs and slipped my cock into her mouth. I think a moan escaped her as she tasted our filth on the flat of her tongue. She slurped around the shape of me and almost let me slip out of her, but her hand caught me so she could trace her tongue around the ridge of my pulse.

“Jesus,” I muttered.

“You can’t cum,” she reminded me through a mouthful of cock.

It was as if her own words fueled her, and every bob of her head turned into a challenge. The wet sounds as she took me in, the slick moans as she pulled back, the way her eyes locked onto mine—they worked to suck the last frail threads of sanity from the darkness of my mind, through the need coiled around my spine.

And the bitch had the nerve to whimper through all of it.

She shifted slightly below me, pressed forward, taking my cock as deep as her throat would allow.

And then I heard it, the slow tinkling against porcelain, the whispered trickle of wet meeting wet below us.

Her hunger became greed as she tried to swallow all of me, forcing her throat open to the shape of me. She spat me out with a moan, drool clinging from the head of my cock to her lips before snapping and coating her chest.

“Fuck,” she exhaled before devouring me again.

Don’t fucking cum.

Don’t fucking cum.

It didn’t help. It just became a chorus matching the rhythm of her.

The trickle turned into a wet splash. She tried to moan, but the shape of me filled every possible escape her sounds had. 

She pissed violently.

And her throat surrendered. 

Her eyes bulged as if the shape of me down her throat forced them out of her skull. Tears pooled in her eyes before pulling her eyeliner down her cheeks in streaks of devotion.

I exploded.

I think she took great pleasure in my broken vow. The trickle steadied, shifting from violent release to something softer again. Soft, but still steady.

She pulled off me in a desperate gasp for air.

“You came,” she muttered as drool dripped from her chin. 

“Sorry,” I whispered.

Silence. A drip from her cunt into the bowl.

“I almost came,” she murmured.

Her eyes met mine.

“You have a problem, sir,” she said. “You still have work to do. I still need to cum on your cock. Can your dino-cock handle that, babe? Might be a long night for you.”

There’s always a teasing tenderness in her voice before she tightens the vice. 

“Clean me.”

Kneeling to her has always been easy, and now I found her as my Queen on her throne. Horny stirred in her like jolts of electricity, shocking every nerve ending. Her nipples stood as stiff tin soldiers guarding their spit-soaked hills. Her follicles stood erect on her smooth-shaven skin, as if she were ready to wave for surrender. I felt her pulse in the hollow of her knees as I hooked my arms under them and pulled her forward.

“You can’t cum,” I whispered to her thigh. “Not before I fuck you.”

Her protest only escaped in the air passing through her teeth.

The droplets inside her thigh clung like morning dew to her skin. My eyes caught one that had streaked almost into nothingness at the curve where her butt began. Feral instinct commanded me, and I extended my tongue—not desperate, but a soft, flat caress. I collected her, let her coat the surface of me, before sucking her skin in as if I needed to treasure the first taste of her.

Salt, a hint of smoke, and something faintly woody mixed with the unmistakable taste of iron.

She groaned.

My cock jolted.

Then I licked the entire inside of her thigh.

“God…so filthy,” she moaned.

I didn’t really register it. The taste of her had made me blind to sound, deaf to touch. Numb to sight.

Animal.

Pure animal need filled me. It was no longer devotion, but instinct and impulse. The collapse of intent. I could have licked her raw, peeled the skin from her thighs, but her cunt summoned me. Glistening. Wet. Inviting.

I sucked her clit between my teeth.

“Fuck!” she hissed, then softer, “Don’t…”

So I sucked her harder.

Her thighs jolted, and her pulse flashed like lightning inside my mouth. I could have easily made her cum, but I’m not cruel like her.

Her cunt was still piss-soaked, and I hadn’t even gotten to watch. 

There is such tender trust in the act. She loves it when I watch her masturbate, when I tell her what a good girl she is, and how beautiful she is when she cums. This was the last frail end of privacy between us, and she had just trusted me with the ultimate truth of the human body.

I let my tongue drag down every crease and fold of her. My cock hung heavily between my legs, growling for attention, aching to drive into her and fuck her over every possible edge. Lust filled me with every drop I drank from her. Salt. Filth. Sex.

“Jesus Fuck! Fuck! You’re such a pervert! God fuck me!” she hissed.

“Mhmm,” I murmured as I sucked her soft flesh between my lips. “And whose filthy perv am I?”

“Mine. So fucking mine, babe.”

“And that makes you what?”

“Filthy,” she moaned.

I don’t know how I managed the patient drag of my tongue through the center of her need. Her filth filled me, all of me, but something else had intruded on that foulness.

Pure want. 

Salt and smoke were watered down with the sweetness of her own need. Her cunt throbbed on edge with itself, and when I pressed my tongue against her entrance, it was pure permission, frictionless give, and complete surrender to sensation.

Her nails dug into my scalp, and she pressed me into herself with such violent force, I wondered if she tried to fit all of me inside her.

“Cumming…” she groaned.

I pulled from her grip and broke free of her. Air funneled down my throat as if oxygen were new to me, and I took her in. 

She was a mess of herself, clinging on to porcelain with one hand, leg pressed up against the wall, and her other hand strangling the tin soldier of her left nipple into surrender.

“Why?” she gasped. “Why…”

I pushed into her in one violent thrust. The glide was impossible, even with how hard she clenched.

She held on to whatever she could find. The side of the seat gave her nothing; her hand slipped, and her weight shifted onto me. The wall tiles offered no grip but the rough edges of grout. When the tiles refused to give, she flailed for whatever the room had to offer. The toilet roll tore free and rolled wildly across the floor, leaving a tangled trail of paper in its wake. The bath towel ripped from its loop, and the shower curtain surrendered with a messy rip.

Only one thing proved strong enough to keep her from collapse.

She grabbed onto my arms and pulled me down until her fingers found solid grip in the flesh behind my shoulders.

Her cunt clenched violently. Her teeth threatened to rip my jugular from my throat.

I came with her.

Blindly.

She still throbbed around the shape of me, but her nails no longer threatened to puncture my skin; she no longer tried to suck my pulse out of my throat.

“How?” she asked later, when we were brushing our teeth.

Her eyes met mine in the mirror. Her question was genuine.

I smiled.

“How am I supposed to piss without cumming?”

***

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