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Sounds of sloshing water echoed throughout the silent house. Your knees and palms pressed against the smoothness of the tiled floor, dominant hand dampened with the constant wetting of the scrub brush as you dipped it back into the bucket in a repetitive manner—washing away the muck the moment the floor showed traces of it.
It was a typical routine, one you found yourself taking part of every other week on this exact day. A routine that was always interrupted by the towering figure who loomed behind you: your loving husband, Clark Kent.
At first, his admiration of your bent figure would always be from afar—too anxious to disrupt your routine, too frightened of his own desires to be near you—but as time grew, so did his confidence.
It had begun simple, gentle touches as he passed by, a lingering gaze followed by a comment of how pretty you were, or even the kiss on the top of your head once he carefully knelt down to your level—normally followed by insisting that you take a break. And just like the sourdough starter on the counter, his actions continued to grow the more you fed them.
Every soft smile, every giggle that left your lips at his actions fueled him. It was a wordless confirmation that you adored him as much as he adored you—though you doubted that would be remotely possible.
His actions became bolder, more primal in a sense. His hands went from a gentle hold on your hips as he passed you, to a more sturdy grasp that lingered—the heat of his body radiating on to you, the warmth of his breath tickling the nape of your neck causing hairs to stand up each time it rained down upon you.
The once tender gaze darkened with a familiar hue—his eyes seeming almost glassy each time you'd look over your shoulder while bent scrubbing the floor, the heat of his gaze almost burning holes into the plumpness of your arse as he watched it sway with every movement.
And his kisses, they drifted lower. It was a gradual act: from the top of your head to your forehead, then your cheeks and nose, and then with time his lips met yours. The dance the plush flesh held started slow, a usual drawn out 'I love you' without being spoken, yet something deeper began to linger—a familiar taste on his tongue that you had only known for the darkest nights where your bedframe almost gave in.
And today, his boldness reached a new peak.
As you begun your cleaning routine, you came to realize all of your clothes were filthy, even your panties. The sniff test had failed you, and the only clothes that seemed decent was a fit and flare dress that you had found a few years back at a garage sale.
It was a pretty little number, appearing something out of a retro movie in your favorite color down to the very hue. And though you had never found the time or place to wear it, you never could bring yourself to part from it.
The dress itself had caught Clark's eye on many of occasions, one he frequently asked you to model for him and yet, you always declined under the guise of the material being too sheer. It was not an outright lie: the material was a light cotton many decades old. It required not only your undergarments but a slip—and perhaps another under dress beneath it for safety—to ensure that a single beam of light wouldn't expose your panties to any passerby.
Though, you didn't need to worry much about if anyone would see your panties as you scrubbed the floors. Especially not since you had removed the set you were wearing to ensure that all of your undergarments were clean—an act you swore up and down was entirely innocent, but Clark would adamantly disagree with.
With the shedding of your panties, and the soft hum of the washing machine in the distance, you found yourself on the tiled floor of the kitchen: hands pressed firmly against the smooth, cold ground as you begun to scrub away at the grime and gunk that had piled up upon it.
It was an almost meditative act. As if the moment you set your sight on a particularly dirty spot, you became entranced; the hum of the washing machine fading away, the cold tiles becoming like air to you, the movement of your limbs acting on their own accord, the soft vibration of feet nearing going all but missed to you.
In your world of tranquility, you had not heard the soft click of the front door opening and Clark calling out to you that you were home. Nor had you noticed the manner of which your dress' skirt had flipped upwards on a particularly fast movement, not noticing how the weight of the fabric rested on your waist and upper back—exposing your bare cunt to the world.
And you especially hadn't heard the deep lustful growl that rumbled through Clark's chest as he entered the kitchen; hungry eyes burning into your figure as he watched you lean further into your scrubbing—glistening cunt greeting him up in the air, like a bitch in heat.
The moment you finally processed his presence was not when he approached you, nor was it the click of his belt buckle opening or the swish of his jeans falling to the floor. It wasn't the soft rustling of him stepping out of his jeans, or the creak the floor gave as he sunk to his knees behind you.
It wasn't the warmth of his body radiating near your bare ass, nor was it the way his large, calloused hands encased your hips and nudged you closer to it. But it was the familiar sensation of his swollen tip tapping against your entrance—droplets of precum leaking out as the faint weight tapped against the glistening, welcoming hole.
The size of your eyes widened as your motions halted, your head turning to gaze past your shoulder only to be greeted with the dark, hungry gaze of your beloved husband. Your plush lips opened to speak, barely uttering the first few letters of his name before you felt that delicious stretch of his cockhead slipping in you.
There was little resistance given by your cunt. It was a surprise, but not an unwelcomed one as after a beat your cunt happily swallowed down his large, fattened length.
A groan of pleasure rumbled throughout Clark's chest as he savored the gummy, warm embrace of your inner walls for a moment. Allowing the weight of his body to press into your figure slightly, furthering the deep stretch of his cock within the welcoming warmth of your walls.
The air warmed with lust as silence washed over you two. Your weight falling onto your forearms, causing your thinly clothed chest to graze against the dampened floor as your cheek with a hair away from resting on the murky water. An act that not only enhanced the curvature of which your back arched, but further pressed your cunt in the air—and by extension, pressed your cunt further back against Clark.
A pleased groan echoed throughout the kitchen, the lids of Clark's eyes growing heavy for a moment as his grasp tightened around the flesh of your hips. The soft pinch of his nails dug into your flesh as he held you firmly against him, the roundness of your rear pressed against his toned lower abdomen as he savored the way your walls fluttered and pulsated against him.
Though you did not verbally welcome him home that day—something he would pout about later—your cunt was sure to make up for where your words fell flat. The squelching click of your cunt soon filled the air as he pulled out slightly before returning home in your walls: walls that clenched around him like a vice, as if ensuring every ounce of his cock was wrapped around the warm, sticky embrace.
Each roll of his hips was more pleasurable than the last, a steady pace held within them as he carved his length deep into your core. Furthering the inscriptions in the walls of your womb, ensuring that every curve, ridge, and vein was memorized by your sensitive, sacred flesh so that no man—no human—would ever come close to pleasuring you as he was.
The swollen, leaking tip of his sizable cock continued to pound away within the depths of your walls—kissing your cervix upon every bottoming thrust—as the world began to fade away. This state, almost equally as meditative, was a strange one: the weight of your body felt so heavy, yet so light. A sheen of sweat draped on your skin like a layer of silk, yet you didn't feel sticky—not yet at least.
It was as if you could feel, taste, and hear everything—yet nothing at the same time.
That was the only reasoning behind why you could not hear the way you were practically howling his name as a familiar knot and tingle wove itself within the pit of your belly.
A knot that wove itself deeper within your core as one of his large, calloused hands slid down from your hip and reached around to the sensitive nerves of your front. His thick, calloused finger tips rubbed against the hooded bundle of nerves in quickened circular motions—dampened by either his spit or your own essence, which you did not know nor did you care—as the familiar tingle of release neared.
The squelching click of your cunt grew louder, sloppier as you neared your release. Your essence not only coating his cock—and hand—but also rolling down his heavied sack in steady trails as your peak grew closer and closer.
The sound of your howls of pleasure grew higher in pitch, the weight of your body seeming like stone as you found yourself pressed against the dirtied floor on your own will as the flesh of your ass bounced against him. Your hands grasped at anything and yet nothing at the same time; occasionally clenching around the scrub brush or an edge of a cabinet but never hanging on for long as the towering man pushed not just air out of your lungs but grasp within your hands upon each thrust.
It felt as if you were helpless, yet so helped at the same time.
With a quick, sharp smack against your twitching bundle of nerves—you broke. A strained sob of pleasure roared from your parted lips as the static heat of pleasure roamed rampant throughout your body.
The bouncing of your ass not ceasing upon every impact of his hips as he continued to rock into you, heightening the tides within the sea of pleasure as he desperately chased after his own.
Wave after wave roamed through you as the walls of your core clenched and fluttered around him—desperate to milk him for all he had, whilst also desperate to extend your own relief.
If you had felt an ounce of reality in those moments, you would have felt the change of his steady thrusts growing sloppier. How they grew harsher upon each snap against your ass, and how he put more weight into each motion. Though whiteness of pleasure still danced through your vision, stars of ecstasy still swaying on the blankness in your view, the lids of his eyes snapped shut as his brows knitted heavily together in focus.
The pressure upon your clit grew harsher, mashing into the bundle of nerves as if desperate to abuse another orgasm out of you as his own neared at rapid pace. The grasp he held upon your hip tightened as well, so harsh you could not wiggle out of it even if you had desired to—you did not—surely leaving a bruise in its wake.
It was near impossible for your beloved husband to escape the grasp of pleasure: the deliciously erotic way your gummy walls continued to clench and release around him, the warming pulsation of your core echoing upon his sensitive length, and the pretty manner your puffy, sticky lower lips devoured him, the sensitive ring of flesh stretched to its limits upon exit before engulfing him whole was all too much for him.
A low groan of pleasure rumbled throughout his chest as he nearly collapsed upon you, the weight of his body securing his cock in depths you did not know possible as he released his heavy load within you.
The walls of your womb drowning in the thick white paint of his seed, desperately swallowing down what felt like gallon after gallon as his tightened balls continued to spurt rope after rope deep within you. And yet, your cunt drank it down happily.
Clark would've later claimed that your pretty pussy was purring around him—in pulsations—as he drowned it with his seed. But in that moment, all you could do was sob upon his cock as his powerful release pushed you further into pleasure's sharp embrace.
Every ounce of you tingle, almost burnt as if you were a breath away from being lit ablaze. The muscles within your body trembled desperately, shaking as if you had run marathon after marathon with no break—yet your ass somehow managed to remain firmly pressed upwards despite your husband's weight upon you.
It felt like an eternity before his heavy sack was drained. Pins and needles pricked against your skin as the warmth of ecstasy slipped away from your pleasure, reminding you of the cold, grimy floor you had laid upon as the ring of life returned to your ears—the faint hum of the faint beep of the washer finishing its cycle reminding you of the chores you have yet to fulfill.
The warmth of his body remained upon yours, his sturdy weight keeping you against the ground for a few moments longer before he slowly slid upon from his forearms that once encased both sides of you and inched back to where he once kneeled.
The length of his cock remained within your walls, softened yet twitching with life as he allowed you a few moments to recover from his surprise assault of your womb before removal. The squelching slurp of exit echoed throughout the kitchen, a departure as erotic as entry as soon the floodgates opened—glob after glob of cum racing out of your aching entrance, dripping down onto the once freshly cleaned tiles beneath you.