Wet and Wild on Granite

I have an older sister, Lauren, who’s 41, six years my senior. She’s been married for 13 years to a guy named Nathan, 43, strikingly good-looking, broad-shouldered, and quick with a grin that could charm anyone. They live in a quiet coastal town in Oregon with their three kids. Lauren and I have always been tight, the kind of sisters who share every secret, including the spicy details about our husbands.

Nathan, according to Lauren, is insatiable in bed. After their third kid, she got a tubal ligation because his constant need for sex made it impossible to keep up without risking another pregnancy. Lately, she’s admitted she can’t match his stamina, and she’s pretty sure he’s been seeking satisfaction elsewhere. “That’s just men,” she says with a shrug. She’s also bragged about his equipment – over 8 inches, thick, circumcised, and always ready for action.

Nathan works for a tech firm with its headquarters in Seattle, and every month or so, he travels there for meetings. Last week, Lauren called to say he’d be in the city for a couple of days and would crash at my apartment. I’ve always liked Nathan; he’s fun and easygoing. My husband, on the other hand, finds him arrogant and avoids him whenever possible.

With me, Nathan’s always been flirty in a playful, almost sibling-like way. He’ll sling an arm around me, tease me with a wink, or give my butt a light smack as he walks by, tossing out lines like, “Damn, girl, that body’s wasted on your uptight husband.”

On Monday, Nathan texted from the airport, saying he’d land in time for lunch but had to bolt for a meeting right after. He rolled in around noon, greeted me with a warm hug and his signature butt pat, smirking, “You’re making it real hard to focus on work looking like that.” I laughed it off. I’d set the table already, so we dove into lunch since he was pressed for time.

We bantered through the meal, trading jokes. He mentioned Lauren’s been “less adventurous” in the bedroom, his eyes lingering on my figure. I was wearing a fitted crop top that showed off my midriff and clung to my full breasts, my nipples faintly visible through the thin fabric. My high-waisted yoga pants hugged my curves, accentuating my toned thighs and the subtle outline of my pussy. Every time I stood to grab something, I caught him eyeing me, his gaze tracing my ass and legs.

After lunch, I started clearing the dishes while he finished a glass of bourbon. I was rinsing plates at the sink when he brought over the last of the tableware, set it down, and stepped close behind me. Before I could react, he grabbed my wrists gently but firmly, pinning them to the counter, and pressed his body against mine. I felt the hard, unmistakable bulge of his erection grinding into my ass. “What the hell, Nathan?” I stammered, my heart racing. “Just doing what we’ve both been thinking about,” he murmured, his voice low and rough.

His lips found my neck, planting slow, wet kisses that sent shivers down my spine. His cock, still trapped in his pants, rubbed against my ass cheeks, the friction making my yoga pants slide slightly. I squirmed, trying to pull away, but his grip tightened, and my resistance only seemed to fuel him. “Nathan, stop,” I protested, but my voice wavered. He spun me around, still holding my wrists, and leaned in to kiss me. I turned my head, dodging his lips, but he didn’t relent, trailing kisses along my jaw and down to my collarbone. He wedged his thigh between my legs, spreading them, and pressed his bulge right against my pussy. The pressure sent a jolt through me, and I felt a rush of wetness soak my panties.

He tugged my crop top up, exposing my bare breasts – I hadn’t bothered with a bra. His mouth latched onto one nipple, sucking hard, his tongue flicking the sensitive bud. My nipples are my kryptonite; the slightest attention there melts me. I gasped, my knees buckling as he teased one with his mouth and pinched the other between his fingers. “Fuck,” I whispered, my resolve crumbling. I’d hooked up with guys before who got me this way, but Nathan was different – I’d always found him hot, and now he was unraveling me.

I stopped fighting. He kissed me, his tongue plunging into my mouth, hungry and commanding. I kissed him back, tasting the bourbon on his breath, my hands clutching his shoulders. In one swift move, he hooked his fingers into my yoga pants and yanked them down, panties and all, leaving them tangled around my ankles. He lifted me effortlessly, setting me on the kitchen island, and peeled the clothes off my feet. Spreading my thighs, he dove in, his tongue lapping at my soaked pussy. He sucked my clit, swirling his tongue in tight circles, then plunged it deep inside me, fucking me with it. My juices coated his chin as he devoured me, and I came hard, my hips bucking, a loud moan escaping as waves of pleasure crashed over me. He stood, kissing me again, and I licked my own taste off his lips, savoring the tanginess.

He flipped me over, bending me over the island, my breasts pressed against the cold granite. I heard his zipper, then felt the thick, warm head of his cock nudge my entrance. My pussy was dripping, aching for him. He teased me, sliding his tip along my slick folds, then gripped my hips and thrust in deep. I cried out, the stretch of his thick cock filling me completely, every inch pressing against my walls. He fucked me with slow, deliberate strokes at first, each one dragging a moan from my throat. “God, you’re so tight,” he growled, picking up speed. His hands squeezed my ass, spreading my cheeks as he pounded into me, the wet slap of our bodies echoing in the kitchen. I felt every ridge of his cock, the way it curved slightly, hitting spots that made my vision blur. When he came, his hot cum flooded me, triggering my own orgasm. My pussy clenched around him, milking every drop, and I trembled, gasping, as my body shook with aftershocks.