She opens the notebook on her lap and takes out the pen and then shifts in her chair. Then she closes the notebook and crosses her legs and opens it, the notebook, again, and looks at him sitting in the love seat across from her.

“So,” she says, “then what happened?”

He shrugs. “What usually happens.”

“Meaning?”

“We had sex.”

“That’s it.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s what it was.”

They’re silent for several seconds. She uncrosses her legs and crosses them the other way and he looks at them then, her legs, but she doesn’t notice because she’s looking at something in her notebook.

“So you didn’t talk about what you wanted to talk with her about?”

“I tried, yeah,” he says. “I told her that I thought this was a bad idea and that maybe we should stop before we got caught and unleased an icy shitstorm from the core of Hell and obliterated everything. And she said, ‘Bend me over the desk and fuck the shit out of me, and then we can talk.’”

She clears her throat. She’s looking at him now staring at her legs. He shrugs.

“And what did you say?”

“I couldn’t say anything. Her tongue was in my mouth and she was unbuttoning my jeans and pulling out my cock. So, I yanked down her yoga pants and bent her over her desk.”

“Then what—” but her voice is hoarse so she stops and clears her throat, reaches for the water bottle on the pedestal table next to her and drinks.

“She said, ‘Are you going to fuck me? Tell me. Tell me how you’re going to fuck me and use my cunt to pump out another one of your loads.’ I said, ‘I’ll fuck you. I’ll use your whore cunt to empty my balls. Because I know you love getting this married pussy filled. You’re going to take all my fucking jizz.’ I was already inside her at this point, screwing her, slapping up against her ass, pounding her.”

She clears her throat again and writes something in her notebook. He tilts his head back and looks at the ceiling.

“And I fucked her hard, too,” he says musingly. “I mean, she was clawing and pounding the fucking desk. She’s chanting ‘fuck my cunt… fuck my whore cunt… tell me… tell me…’ I tell her, ‘I’m fucking your cunt, Felicia. Your married cunt is getting fucked with another man’s hard fucking cock. You are getting so fucked, you’re such a horny slut. Horny slut, desperate for a thick load.’ See, that’s what she likes most, in addition to the actual fucking, of course. It doesn’t need to be degrading, necessarily, though a little is okay. I mostly tell her how I’m fucking her, how I have fucked her, and how I’m going to fuck her. That’s what gets her off.”

When he looks back down at her, she’s staring at him and when his gaze meets hers her eyes get big, like she’s startled, and she quickly looks down at her notebook and jiggles the pen over it but in such a way that he doesn’t believe she is actually forming words there. Her legs aren’t crossed anymore; both feet are on the floor and her thighs are squeezed tightly together.

“She’s fucking herself back against me,” staring straight at her now, “grunting and spitting out ‘fuck’ and ‘shit’ and ‘fuck me.’ But she’s not coming yet. I can tell she’s having trouble getting there. Usually that kind of talk sets her off like a Roman fucking candle. But she can’t get there. Probably because I’m fucking her in her kitchen and her husband is going to be getting home soon, and I figure she’s thinking about that, trying to hurry it along, instead of thinking about how she’s getting drilled, about how she’s getting her pussy pounded. Also, I’m fucking her from behind, too, which she likes, but she also really gets off when I’m on top of her, pumping away, so she can look down and see my cock going in and out of her. It’s like she gets fucking hypnotized by that, seeing herself getting fucked, taking my cock. So I say, ‘You need to come on my cock. If you don’t come on my fucking cock, I’m going to pull it out and shoot my load all over your face. I’m going to fucking coat you with this hot jizz.’ Well, that did it. She starts coming, bucking and yelling. I can’t hold it anymore at that point and just start shooting, tell her that I’m pumping her full of my hot cream, my hot thick cream.”

She’s gripping the arms of her chair. The notebook slides from her lap to the floor. Her eyes are locked on his.

“You like this, don’t you?” he says. “You’re fucking getting off on this. Me telling you how I fuck my married stepsister. Telling you how I fuck her and come in her. How much of my cum she’s swallowed, probably a gallon by now, she sucks me off so much.”

“I—”

“It’s okay, I don’t care,” he says. “Go for it, Doctor. Touch yourself. You’re probably as wet as fuck right now. Put your hand between your legs and rub your pussy.”

“No, that’s not… No, I—”

“Yes; it’s yes. You want to make yourself come. You’re thinking about me fucking my crazy fucking stepsister and you can’t wait to finger yourself, rub one out. I know that’s why you prompt me and prompt me, make me go into fucking detail, pretending you’re making notes when you’re just writing down shit that you’re going to read and jerk off to. Do it. Finger yourself right now. I want to see it.”

Her hand is already up her skirt, between her legs.

“Finger yourself. Rub that pussy. Fuck it. Fuck yourself in front of me. Do you want cock? Do you want my fucking cock? Because it’s hard as fuck right now, watching you finger yourself. Watching my therapist fucking herself and thinking about taking my cock and my cum.”

But her eyes are closed now, hard shut: her legs stretched out straight as she’s slouched down in the chair, her skirt hiked, her hand in her panties, working her sex. He gets up from the love seat and stands in front of her.

“I’m going to jack off into your mouth,” he says. “That’ll help you. That’ll make you fucking come, won’t it? If I feed you jizz? I know you’ve been fucking fantasizing about it since I’ve been coming here.”

“No, don’t… do not…” she gasps as he’s unzipping his pants and pulling out his half-hard cock.

“You like the words, too. Maybe more than the real thing. I get it.” He’s jacking his cock in front of her face and she’s staring at it.

“Tell me…” she says. “Tell me…”

“About how you’re going to eat my cum? Because you’re going to. I’m going to shoot it in your mouth. Or, if you don’t open your mouth, I’ll just come on your face. Or shoot it down the front of this nice silk blouse of yours. When’s the last time you took a big load on your tits?”

“Fuck…” she exhales. Then, again, “Fuck…”

“Open,” he says, pumping his hard cock, reaching out and gripping the back of her head.

She opens her mouth just as he spurts his first jet of cum, and she keeps it open for all of them, five shots in all.

*

She’s slumping in the chair, trying to catch her breath, as he zips up his pants and then returns to the love seat. He waits as she recovers, taking deep breaths, finger-brushing her disheveled hair.

“How’s your mom?” he says finally.

“Good. She’s good. Actually, she’s much better than I can ever remember. She doesn’t belittle me anymore or do much of that passive-aggressive shit she is so famous for. She asks about you.”

A mechanical rumbling begins beneath them. Garage door.

“Fuck, Gabe’s home,” she says, standing up and adjusting her skirt, smoothing her blouse, running her fingers around her mouth. “Any on me?”

“You’re good,” he says.

Gabe walks into the living room, unshouldering a computer bag.

“Hey, Danny! Good to see you!”

“Gabe,” he says. “How are things?”

“No complaints,” he says, then turns to his wife. “Yeah?”

“No,” she says. “No complaints.”

Gabe looks at his wife.

“Did you go into the office today?”

“Well, yes,” she said, then passed a hand over her skirted lap. “Something came up with a client, they asked if I could come in. It was only for a couple of hours.”

Danny says, “I need to get home. Just swung by to say 'hey'.”

 *

She has his upper arm in her hand and squeezes it hard as they reach the front door.

“That was so fucking hot,” she whispers. “I came so hard again. Sometimes I think there’s something seriously wrong with me.”

“Just sometimes?”

“Fuck you.”

“My therapist thinks there’s something wrong with you,” he says.

“It’s your fault if there is.”

“If?” he says. “I don’t really think that’s debatable.”

“Do you really tell her all that? Your therapist? I mean, like, all the blow by blow? The gory details?”

“Go suck off your husband,” he says. “If he’s going to smell cum on your breath, it better be his.”

“I hate you,” she said, reaching up between his legs and getting a handful of cock and balls through the trouser fabric. “You disgust me.”

“I try,” he said, grabbing her in kind.