“Threads We Weave”

Friday rolled in thick, the Costco meat room grinding—blades whining, blood streaking my apron, hands slicing on autopilot. Last night stuck to me—soft, warm, her in my arms, bedroom floor gritty with dirt, that rare ember catching where I didn’t expect. It wasn’t Kate, wasn’t the basement’s burn, but it was something, humming low under my ribs as I worked, clock dragging toward break. Kate’s text from yesterday—“Cybrus got too close”—still rattled in my skull, and I needed more, needed her pulse, even if it was just words on a screen.

Noon hit, and I slipped out back, propped against the loading dock—air biting with diesel and cold. Phone was already out, thumb jabbing her name—“You good? What happened with Cybrus?”—and I waited, sipping break-room sludge, steam curling as her reply snapped back: “Yeah, I’m okay.

She cornered me after shift—noticed I’ve been ‘off,’ skipping drinks with the crew. Point-blank asked if I’m seeing someone—knows I’m married, so it’s her saying I’m cheating.” I smirked—imagined Kate, scrubs wrinkled, eyes cutting, staring down her work buddy’s jab. “What’d you say?” I fired off, and her next text spilled in: “Told her I’ve been hitting the gym, stressed from work—half-true, she knows I lift. Took her for coffee, rambled about a fake trainer ‘til she backed off. Think she bought it—close call tho.”

I leaned back—coffee sour on my tongue—relieved but antsy. Cybrus—too damn keen, tossing that kind of shot, knowing Kate’s got a ring. Kate was slick, though, spinning lies like I did, threading us through the cracks. Gym? Sharp move. I tapped: “Nice save—kept her off us. She’s keen, your bestie.” Her reply zipped back: “Too keen—had me sweating. How’d your night go? Fill those hours?” I stopped, her—my wife—flashing soft: her laugh, her hands, that ember. No hiding with Kate—this thing ran on truth between us, both hitched, both cleaved in two.

“Yeah,” I typed, slow, letting it bleed out. “Got home early—surprised her. Started digging for the backyard thing, but… she came out, gave me this look—fuck, hadn’t seen that spark in her eyes in years. Carried her upstairs—dirt tracked in, boots and all, didn’t care. Wasn’t like us down there, no edge, just slow—her pulling me in, moving like old times. Felt good, real, but not your heat.” I hit send, waited—the dock’s rumble fading as her dots blinked, then: “Wow—sounds sweet. Glad you got that. Miss you tho—sucks Cybrus fucked our night.” I grinned—the ache for her cut deep but clean—no jealousy, just this weird balance. “Miss you too,” I tapped. “Wasn’t the same—no fire like you, but it’s her, you know? Next time—basement’s waiting.”

She shot back: “Yeah, I get it—she’s your home. Next time, promise—Cybrus won’t stop us again.” I nodded to myself—coffee cold now—picturing her dodging Cybrus while I’d been digging dirt, then shedding it upstairs. Home, yeah—she is. Last night’s glow, soft and solid, wasn’t Kate’s blaze—no leash, no bite, just us, real and tender. But Kate—she was the other half, the yank I couldn’t dodge, and this chat, this lifeline, kept us stitched, miles be damned.

I typed: “How’d Cybrus get wise? Just the drinks?” Her reply stretched out, heavy: “Not just that—she’s been on me. Caught me texting you Tuesday, mid-shift—I fumbled, shoved it away, said my sister, but she gave me this look—‘bullshit.’ Last week, I ditched her—said I was beat, but she saw my car peel out late, knew I wasn’t with him. Thursday, she hit me—‘You’re off, Kate, seeing someone?’—hard on the ‘someone,’ knowing I’m hitched. Laughed it off, said gym, work stress—half-true, she’s seen me lift. Took her for coffee, spun a trainer tale—ex-Marine, gruff bastard, ‘kicking my ass’—tossed in protein shakes, sore legs, a fake deadlift rant ‘til she laughed and dropped it. She’s still watching, but I think I shook her.”

I smirked—Kate, smooth as hell, turning a jab into a sidestep. Cybrus—damn, knows she’s married and still dug in. I tapped: “Fuck, she’s got a nose—texting mid-shift? Marine bit’s gold—protein shakes sealed it. You’re good—keep her laughing, we’re tight.” She pinged a thumbs-up, and I pocketed the phone—break done, meat room calling.

Her words hung—“She’s your home”—and yeah, she was, last night showed it, but Kate was the heat, the basement’s thrum, and I’d hack out room for both. Cybrus’s prod, my dirt-smeared night—threads of a life split sharp, and I’d hold ‘em ‘til the next buzz, the next shot. Then her text popped up, solo: “Oh—meant to say, he’s got plans tonight. Taking me to that new steak spot he’s been yapping about, says it’s ‘our night’—dinner, wine, then hinting at fun after, blindfold and all. Guess we’re both keeping it alive, huh?”

I stared—a grin tugging—steak, wine, blindfold? Spicy son of a bitch. Her husband stepping up, same night as mine, tossing some kink in—not our dungeon grade, but ballsy for him. I tapped back: “Damn—steak and a blindfold? He’s got moves. Yeah, we’re both juggling—keep that home glow going. Next time’s ours.” She hit quick: “Yup—next time’s you and me, basement rules.” I chuckled, shoved the phone away—meat room’s drone dragging me back. Her night echoed mine—home embers, a spicy twist, but nothing like us. Thursday slipped, but the thread held, and I’d wait for her fire.

“Whispers Through the Cut” 

Saturday dropped like always—Costco buzzing, meat room cold, my hands buried in cuts, the grind as baked-in as breathing. No slipping out early today—just the usual slog, apron crusted with blood, blade hum keeping my head level. Friday’s chat with Kate stuck around—her dodging Cybrus, my dirt-streaked night with the wife, her husband’s steak-and-blindfold move—and it pulsed quiet under the day’s drone, last night’s embers still warm in my chest.

Break hit mid-shift, and I ducked out back—same spot, loading dock, diesel bite in the air, coffee harsh but hot this time. Phone out, I tapped her name—“Hey—how’d your night go?”—and leaned on the rail, waiting, Saturday’s racket fading as her reply pinged: “Hey! Good—steak spot was killer, juicy cuts, you’d have liked the meat. Wine was great too, crisp red, forgot how much I miss it sometimes.” I smirked, sipping my sludge—no booze for me, never got the taste, wine’s sour kick always a pass, but she knew that, and I didn’t mind her sip. “Glad you had fun,” I typed back. “Steak sounds solid—wine’s your thing, tho. Rest of it?”

Her next text rolled in fast, loose: “Oh yeah—dinner was a hit, he was all proud picking the place. Then the spicy dessert—he blindfolded me after, had this little vibe thing going, teasing, you know? Kinky for him, caught me off guard—good, satisfying, but not us-level exciting. Still smiling tho.” I grinned—saw it clear: her husband stepping up, blindfold on, vibe humming, a solid swing for his game, but miles from our heat. Satisfying, not searing—fair enough. I tapped: “Sounds like he gave it a shot—blindfold and vibe’s spicy for him, huh? Good you got that—steak and a smile’s better than zilch. Us—we’re still the fire, next time’s ours.”

She hit back quick: “Yup—he’s no slouch, just not you. Next time’s ours—basement’s calling.” I nodded to myself—coffee cooling in my grip—her night landing firm: steak and wine setting the stage, that kinky twist a topper. I didn’t touch liquor, didn’t crave the buzz—she knew it—but her liking it didn’t jab me, same way she took my night with the wife, soft and steady, no match for our burn. She’s got her shine, I’ve got mine—ours just cuts deeper. Their night—hers and his—stood on its own, decent in its slot, and ours stayed tight, no need to outdo it.

“How’d he pull it off?” I typed, itch to know more, and she let it spill: “Steak was melt-in-your-mouth, place had this dark vibe—candles, leather seats. Wine paired perfect, got me loose. Then home—he dimmed the lights, tied the blindfold slow, had that vibe ready—kept it playful, not too heavy. Solid effort—got me off, just not like you do.” I smirked—playful, not heavy, solid but not us. I shot back: “Damn—steak and leather, slick setup. Blindfold’s a play—glad it hit, even if it’s not our blaze. Next time, you’re mine—full heat.” She pinged a flame emoji, and I pocketed the phone—break over, meat room tugging me back.

Her night hummed in my head—prime steak, sharp wine, a spicy nudge that landed right, just not like us. I didn’t need the booze to feel her fire, didn’t miss it—my kick was her, our edge, steady as hell. Saturday ground on, routine as shit, but her words strung a line—next time, we’d blaze, and that kept me anchored ‘til then.

“Whistle in the Quiet“

Sunday dragged lazy and soft, the kind of day that doesn’t ask much of you. Sunlight slanted through the blinds, coffee gurgled in the pot, and the house hummed with a warm, easy quiet. I was flopped on the couch, boots off, flipping through a car magazine I’d already worn thin, while the wife messed around in the kitchen, half-singing some tune the radio was butchering. Kate was out there somewhere—probably kicked back with her husband, sweats on, scrolling her phone, him lounging nearby. Both of us just coasting ‘til Monday came knocking. Saturday’s talk still lingered—her steak-and-vibe night, my slow grind—and it felt solid, that thread between us holding steady even in the downtime.

The phone cut through the haze, shrill and sudden, and I glanced over as the wife grabbed it, her voice perking up. “Hey—yeah? No kidding, that’s sweet.” She laughed, leaning on the counter, nodding like they could see her. “Now? Sure, I’m good—tell ‘em Auntie’s on her way.” She hung up, grinning my way. “Brother’s kids—niece and nephew want me at their kindergarten music thing. Two o’clock, little stage deal.”

I snorted, tossing the magazine aside. “Love those brats, but those plays? Screechy songs and sweaty seats—hard pass.” She chuckled, swatting my leg as she breezed by, snagging her purse.

“Figured you’d rather eat dirt. I’ll roll solo, back by dinner—try not to trash the place.” Quick kiss on my forehead, warm and gone, then the door clicked shut, her car rumbling down the drive. Loved her, loved the kids—niece’s goofy grin, nephew’s wild streak—but those events? Pure hell, and she got it.

House went dead quiet after that. Half an hour limped by—coffee turned cold, magazine lost its pull. I grabbed my phone, shot Kate a lazy text—“Hey—Sunday’s dragging. You?”—and chucked it on the couch, figuring she’d take her time. It buzzed back fast: “Same—chilling, he’s here. You?” I tapped out, “Wife’s gone—niece and nephew snagged her for that play. Solo ‘til dinner.” Her reply came quick: “Oh—nice. He’s flipping channels.” We traded scraps—weather’s gray, her coffee’s black, my ass’s denting the couch—nothing deep, just filler.

Then I tossed out, easy-like: “Her brother called—kids wanted their auntie. She’s out ‘til late.” Nothing. No typing dots, no buzz—Kate went silent, and I stared at the screen, mug stalled halfway to my lips. A minute dragged, then her text slammed in: “Wait—he just left. Boys grabbed him for a baseball game, next town over. Gone ‘til tonight. Meet me—NOW.”

Mug hit the table, coffee sloshing, the quiet splitting wide open—her words like a fist through the screen, my heart kicking hard. Now? Shit—now. Her husband gone, my wife out, both houses empty—Sunday flipping from slow to electric in a snap. I fired back: “Where—ours?” Meaning the basement house, our spot, and her reply hit like a gunshot: “Yes—30 min. Hurry.” Boots on, keys in hand, I was up—pulse hammering not from boredom anymore, but her, that pull, the day cracking open and us diving through.

“Rubber on the Asphalt“

The truck growled down the road, Sunday sun blasting off the hood, my knuckles white on the wheel as I hauled ass toward the house—our house, that basement calling. Did I miss something? Her text still seared my brain—“NOW… 30 min. Hurry”—and I’d peeled out, boots jammed on, keys grabbed, no looking back. Locked the door, right? Yeah. Phone on silent? Done. Wife’s back by dinner—hours yet, no sweat. A twitch gnawed at me—what if she calls? Checks in?—but I buried it. She’s stuck at that play, kids hollering, won’t even blink my way. Still… something nagged. Flowers—shit, grab some later, say I hit the garden store for her planters. Genius. Dirt on my boots’d back it up if she squints.

Tires screamed around the turn, rubber biting asphalt, and my head raced—today, what? That swing? Been picturing her legs draped over it, rocking hard. Or the bed—spread her out, maybe ropes, slow and rough. Pulse hammered—swing’s fresh, bed’s a lock—screw it, doesn’t matter, it’s her, us, now. Sunday’s hush blown to hell, and I didn’t give a damn—trouble later? Could be. Now? Her. The house rose up ahead, and I slammed the gas, dirt flying, fuck the mess.

“Fuse and Flare“

The truck lurched to a stop a block off, tucked behind the old office’s gravel lot—not out front, keeping it low, out of sight. I cut the engine, boots hitting dirt fast, her “NOW” still a jolt in my skull from the drive. She was at the door when I crossed the yard—sweats, hair down, eyes cutting through me—her car already there, beat me by a hair. No words, just a quick nod, her stepping back as I jammed the key in, boots thudding inside. Out there, we played it cool—no touches, no kisses, nothing to flag a stray look—crossing that line smooth, door snapping shut, air heavy, wound tight.

I swung toward the stairs—basement pulling me, swing or bed, didn’t care—but her hand snagged my arm, yanked me back, breath catching sharp. Shit—she’s not waiting. She slammed me against the wall, eyes locked, blazing—no move yet, just her heat holding me there. Fuck the stairs—she’s right here, now.

Then she dropped—knees hitting hard, hands tearing at my belt, ripping my jeans open like she owned me. Mouth dove in, wet and rough, lips clamping tight around me, sucking deep, tongue flicking fast—sloppy, no shame. She’s taking it, rare as hell. I groaned, head banging the wall—she’s got me, wants me like this—throat humming, spit slicking me, eyes flashing up, daring me to crack. Too good, too filthy. I let her run it, her lead burning me up—won’t last long, basement’s still down there. Fingers twitched near her hair—not yet, let her eat me alive—me caught in her grip, right here.

She’s a fucking animal—sucking hard, tongue swirling, lips a wet vise, pulling me deep ‘til I’m pulsing, teetering—shit, not yet. Can’t blow now, not with more waiting. I growled, hands gripping her shoulders, shoving her off—her lips popped free, glistening, eyes wild as I flipped her fast, ass smacking the floor. I tore her sweats down, peeling them off—mine now—and dropped, mouth on her calves, kissing slow, dirty, teeth scraping up to her thighs—biting light, licking her salt, spreading her wide. Then in—face buried in her, tongue diving deep, lapping her wet, clit stiff under my lips—fuck, she’s soaked. I sucked her slow, nasty, teasing her folds, rumbling into her—take it, baby—heat spiking wild.

Too damn hot—sweat plastered my shirt, sticking bad. I pulled back, yanked it off, chucked it—her eyes hit me, raw hunger, raking me like I’m hers to devour. Shit—that’s it—she needs it now. She lunged, hands shoving me down, floor jarring my back—wants it hard—and I grinned, letting her take it, heat flattening me. Rough—give it to her.

She climbed on fast—sweats gone, bare and feral—sinking down, taking me deep, riding me like she owns it, hips grinding, tight and slick, owning every thrust. Fuck—she’s fierce, in charge. I groaned, hands on her thighs, letting her—run it, take it—but her eyes glazed, moans slipping, control fraying fast. There—slipping. I bucked up, harder, fingers digging in, pulling her down—mine creeping in, hers fading, this dance flipping quick. Wild shift—who’s got it when it snaps?

Her grip softened—now—and I shoved, flipping her flat, belly on the floor, ass up—mine. I mounted her, hard, slamming in deep, fast—fuck, she’s tight—no holding back, driving into her, claiming it all. She’s mine—keeping it that way. She squirmed—legs kicking, hands clawing, fighting to flip it—but I pinned her hips, fucked her harder—deep, rough, relentless—‘til she’s gasping, shaking, breaking under me, her cry tearing out. Got her. I let go—fuck, yes—spilling into her, crashing down with her, power locked tight.

We sprawled there, wrecked—sweat-slick, panting hard, air thick with us. I rolled close, voice low, warm—“Fuck, baby, you’re wild”—fingers brushing her jaw, grinning soft. Where’d that come from? “That fire—rare as hell, damn good—where’d you dig it up today?” She smirked, breath steadying, eyes glinting—“Hospital’s been hell—long shifts, Cybrus riding me, lives I can’t fix. Needed to own something—own you—felt like mine to take today.” Shit—entitled, huh? I grinned wider, loving that bite—work screwed her, so she screwed me, staking it.

My grin twisted, dark and sharp—entitled? Gotta pay for that. I stood, looming over her, hand snapping to her throat—not soft now—choking just enough, hauling her kicking and growling down the stairs, her half-laugh bouncing as we hit the basement. One more in me—can’t let that slide. She’s sprawled there, eyes wide—my game now—and I’m hard again, ready to break her, raw and kinky, power flipped hard.

“Carrots and Sticks“

The truck growled to a stop a street off, stashed behind the busted office’s gravel lot—not out front, keeping it quiet, under wraps. I killed the engine, silence hitting thick, my pulse already pounding from her text—“NOW… 30 min. Hurry”—a filthy spark frying my brain. Boots crunched dirt as I stepped out, quick, sharp—her words cracking like a whip in my head, pushing me. The yard stretched ahead, shadows flickering in the lazy afternoon sun, and there she was—leaning on the door, loose sweats, hair a wild tangle, eyes slicing through me like blades. Shit—look at her, waiting. My dick twitched, half-hard already—her car parked bold out front, beat me by a minute. No words, just that smirk tugging her lips, a quiet “get in here” as she stepped aside. I jammed the key in—click—boots thumping loud as I crossed in, her scent slamming me—sweat, want, trouble. Out there, we kept it locked down—no sloppy grabs, no kisses, nothing for some nosy bastard to catch—just strode in steady, her right behind, door banging shut, frame rattling. Air inside was heavy—thick with need, wound tight, ready to blow.

I swung for the stairs—basement pulling hard, swing or bed, didn’t care—but her hand snagged my arm, nails digging in, yanking me back, breath hot on my neck. Fuck—she’s not waiting. She slammed me against the wall, rough, no bullshit—eyes locked, blazing, like she’d eat me alive right there. Screw the stairs—she’s here, now. My cock strained, trapped in denim—her heat close, not touching yet, just hovering, a tease that had me growling—she’s got me pinned, shit. Her grin spread—she knows—and I let it burn, fingers itching at her hips—not yet—the air snapping, her hunger a live wire between us, ready to strike.

Then she dropped—knees smacking the floor, hands clawing my belt loose, ripping my jeans open like a wild thing—mouth diving in, wet and dirty, lips locking tight around me, sucking hard like she’d drain me dry. She’s taking it—rare as fuck. I groaned, raw, head cracking the wall—shit, she’s got me, wants me wrecked—tongue flicking fast, swirling, spit dripping down, throat humming as she choked herself deep, eyes flashing up, daring me to break. Too good, too nasty. She’s a beast—sucking sloppy, lips a wet choke, nails raking my thighs ‘til they burn—mark me, he won’t see—and I’m hers, her lead torching me—she’s running it—won’t last, basement’s still there. Hands twitched at her hair—not yet, let her feast—me drowning in her filth, right here.

She’s relentless—sucking deep, tongue lashing, lips a dripping vise, pulling me in ‘til I’m throbbing, too damn close—fuck, no, not yet. Can’t blow now—not with more to wreck. I snarled, hands clamping her shoulders, shoving her off—lips popped free, wet and slick, eyes wild as I flipped her hard—ass hitting the floor, a grunt tearing out. I ripped her sweats down, peeling them off her kicking legs—mine now—and dropped, mouth on her calves, kissing slow, dirty—teeth scraping, tongue licking sweat, up to her thighs—biting light, sucking ‘til she twitched—then in, face buried in her, tongue spearing deep, lapping her soaked—shit, she’s drenched. I sucked her slow, filthy—teasing her folds, slurping her clit, growling into her—taste it, baby—her thighs locking my head.

Too hot—sweat soaked me, shirt clinging like shit—done with it. I pulled back, tore it off, tossed it—her eyes hit me, pure starvation, raking me like I’m hers to rip apart. Fuck—that’s it—she wants it now. She lunged, hands slamming me down—floor jarred my back—needs it rough—and I grinned, letting her flatten me, heat crashing in. Hard—give it to her. She straddled me fast—sweats gone, bare and wild—sinking down slow, taking me deep, tight and wet, riding me like she’s the damn boss—hips grinding, sharp, owning every thrust. Shit—she’s fierce, in control. I groaned, hands clawing her thighs—take it, run it—but her eyes glazed, moans slipping—slipping, huh? I bucked up, hard, fingers sinking in, pulling her down—mine clawing in, hers fading, this flipping fast—who’s breaking who?

Her grip softened—now—and I shoved, flipping her flat, belly smacking the floor, ass up—mine. I mounted her, hard—slamming in deep, fast—shit, she’s tight—no holding back, driving in, owning every inch—all me. She squirmed—crawling, clawing, trying to flip it—legs kicking, hands scraping—no chance, not now. I pinned her hips, fucked her harder—deep, rough, relentless—‘til she’s gasping, shaking, cumming hard under me—her cry ripping out—got her. I let go—fuck yes—spilling into her, hot and thick, crashing with her, power locked down.

We sprawled there, wrecked—sweat-slick, panting like dogs, air stinking of us. I rolled close, voice low, warm—“Fuck, baby, you’re a wild little shit”—fingers brushing her jaw, grinning lazy—where’d that come from? “That fire—rare as hell, damn hot—where’d you dig it up today?” She smirked, breath ragged, eyes glinting—“Hospital’s hell—long shifts, Cybrus on my ass, lives I can’t fix. Needed to own something—own you—felt like mine today.” Entitled, huh? My grin widened—work fucked her, so she fucked me—love that edge.

My grin twisted, dark and sharp—entitled? Gonna pay for that. I stood, looming—hand snapping to her throat—no soft shit—choking just enough, dragging her kicking and growling down the stairs, her half-laugh echoing as we hit the basement. One more in me—can’t let that slide. She sprawled there, eyes wide—my game now—and I’m hard again, ready to break her, raw and nasty.

I hauled her to the swing—no breather—lifting her in, legs slipping into the straps, slick with sweat and mess—ass sinking heavy. She smirked, dazed but cocky—thinks she’s got this. I grabbed the rope—up you go—pulling it tight, hoisting her high, swaying—spread wide, helpless. Fuck—hanging like prey. Her hands dangled—I snatched the cuffs—snap, snap—wrists locked tight behind her—caught you. Her eyes flared—didn’t see that coming—and my grin’s pure dirt, power flipped—all mine.

She’s cuffed—time to punish that entitled ass. I stepped back—mine to fuck up—and grabbed the flogger—leather cool, strands whispering in my hand, handle thick—oh, this’ll work. Heat her up—light, no marks, he’s not blind. I flicked it slow—soft lashes brushing her thighs, teasing her ass—just a sting, skin clean—feel that, greedy bitch? She squirmed—stuck—and I flipped it, dragging the handle—hard, slick—slow over her clit, circling, dipping shallow—fuck, she’s wet—no mercy, no thrust—beg for it. Her hips jerked—“Fuck, please…”—voice cracking—good, squirm—and I grinned, cock throbbing—not yet, no breaking ‘til I say.

I tossed the flogger—thud—and stalked to the rack—ball gag, red and shiny—gonna choke those begs. I shoved it in, strapped it tight—her muffled groan hummed, drool spilling—shit, that’s hot. Nipple clamps next—metal, heavy—snap them on—her tits jolted, weights pulling—she choked a yelp through the gag—take it, baby. Dug deeper—worst yet—a feather, soft and cruel—brushing her ribs slow, tickling her pits, her sides—no marks, pure torture—her body twisted, jerking, muffled screams begging—all me.

She’s thrashing—watch her—feather teasing up her ribs, dusting her pits—losing it, gag choking her gasps, swing bucking—fight it. Moans pitched high—edge teetering—then a flinch, a shudder—fun’s souring. Enough sticks—done. I flicked the feather off—fuck it—and leaned in, ripping the gag free—drool poured, her breath a mess—free, but not yet. Time for sweet—my prize’s up. I grinned, sly—bite this.

I grabbed her legs—all mine—hoisting them over my shoulders—wide open—dick sliding slow against her—shit, she’s soaked—teasing her slit ‘til she’s trembling—gonna burn. I thrust in—deep, hard—grabbing the clamp chain—yank—nipples stretching raw—her tits bounced wild with every slam—feel me. I owned it—pace brutal, depth vicious—her gasps jagged—mine, all mine—kissing her hard between thrusts—stealing her breath, tongue fucking her mouth—even that’s mine. Hot as hell—all me.

We’re close—shit, she’s clenching—moans spiking, my edge screaming—not yet—and I pulled out—denied—heat pulsing raw. Grabbed her chin—look at me—eyes locked, panting—hers wild, mine burning—“Anal?” She nodded fast—fuck yes—snatched the lube—slathered it thick over me, her—ready, bitch. Pushed in slow—tight as shit—then deep—all in—fucking her ass hard—relentless—clamps swinging, chain rattling—take it. She’s gasping—choking—I’m growling—all me—‘til she cums—hard—shaking, breaking—my turn—fuck yes—blasting into her, crashing together—wrecked, done.