Nooners are important for busy people.

I set my car in park and my heart raced.  His truck sat a few spaces away.  He had beaten me home.

I gathered my work bag bag and purse, my phone, and climbed out.  Where was he?

I wore brown boots, lacy tights, a short jersey skirt, and my trademark v-neck under a cardigan.  I imagine all I was missing was a pencil behind my ear and I could have passed for a sexy librarian.

I smiled thinking of him standing by my front door and climbed the stairs with a spring in my step.  Then I saw him, sitting on the next level of steps to the third floor.

“Well isn’t this a great thing to come home to,” I called out.

“Hey you,” he drawled.

I was at the top quickly and he followed me to the front door where I fumbled with my keys.  I was nervous and could feel him looming behind me.  We only had minutes with each other.

I opened the door and walked into the kitchen.  I had planned on leaving some condoms on the kitchen island and some by the bed, but there was no time for that.

I set my things down as he sat on the couch and I shooed away the wriggling dog between his legs.

“Hi,” I said again as I wedged myself between his open knees.  I took his face in my hands and bent down to kiss him.  He smelled like man and peppermint gum.

He grabbed my waist and without breaking our kiss stood and picked me up.  I worried my head might hit the ceiling fan.

I wrapped my legs tightly around his waist and reveled in his strength as we kissed and kissed and kissed.  His hands held my ass as my thighs held him.

He sat back down and pulled my shirt and skirt up and over my head.  I was dressed only in my tights and boots, my breasts stuffed in his mouth, the afternoon over his shoulder and a million miles away.

I climbed off and pulled him to standing.  “You’re wearing a different belt!” I said.  This one had one latch I could easily master.   I split the top of his fatigues and pushed them down to his hips.  “Wait, your boots…”  They were completely unlaced.

He smiled wickedly.  “I beat you here so had time to kill.”

He slipped out of his shoes and shed his shirt and pants, took my hand and led me to the island.  I knew exactly what he had in mind.

A couple of weeks before I’d sent him a series of photos of me bent over in my kitchen, my clothes pulled down or off.  It’d sparked a chat about the sad fact that I have only ever fucked in my bed in this apartment.  “That is a travesty,” he’d said.  “I’ll have to fix that for you.”

He pushed me roughly down on the cold counter and pulled my tights down below my bottom.  His big hand spread my lips and pet me.  Once, twice, three times.  I felt his stiff cock bob against me and wondered if he was going to push into me unprotected.  Thoughts raced.  Did I care?  Was this smart?  I hadn’t answered my own questions before he walked back to the khaki colored pile of clothes and retrieved a condom.

Seconds later he was inside, hard and hot as ever.

I pushed my purse and bag off the edge and held on as his hips slammed me against my kitchen gadget drawer.  I came and grinned and thought this was far better than eating lunch.

He wrapped his hand in my hair and pulled me up and walked me to the couch.  He struggled with my boots and gave up and settled me on my hands and knees, still boot-clad.  I felt like a mare and he was my stallion as he mounted me from behind, my hair golden reins.

He rammed into me faster and faster, a beautiful beast of man fucking his special lady friend in the bright glow of 12:23 pm.  He grunted and moans escaped as he got closer.

“Fucking do whatever you want to me,” I hissed.  “Hit me, fuck me, anything.”  He groaned loudly and shivered into me, his hands gripped my hips painfully, perfectly.

He held my ass to him for a handful of moments then carefully pulled out holding the condom to him.  I pulled my tights up and took off my boots while he washed up at the kitchen sink.

The pile of laundry I hadn’t had the chance to put away mocked me.  I plucked a plaid flannel from the top, put it on, and sat on the whole damn thing and watched The Soldier redress while a continuous string of apologies spilled out of his mouth.

“Really, it’s ok.  We’re busy people!  I’m just glad you could come.”

“Me, too.”

“One of these days we’ll have to hang out for real so we can fuck a whole lot at our leisure.”

“That’d be nice,” he replied.

He was tucked back in, his dick quiet, his face serene.

He came over and kissed me goodbye atop my pile of laundry.  He still smelled like peppermint.

Hy in flannel 2

 

A 40-something single mother who writes honestly about sex, body image, D/s, relationships, her nervous tics, and how much she loves to fucking fuck. She also likes to show you her tits.

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11 thoughts on “Nooners are important for busy people.
  1. Holy Crap!!! My lunch times are spent racing around town grabbing groceries or carting kids around. Damn, I need a change 😉

  2. Gotta love an afternoon delight! Well written and hot as usual.
    I really enjoy your blog…and the pics my god the pics…So sexy!…keep up the good work.

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