She perched on the edge of the new island unit, right in the middle of the unfinished kitchen, and simply opened her legs. Dress hiked up around her hips…
You were at work the day the kitchen fitters came.
Two of them. Older. Asian. Quiet men who barely spoke English beyond what the job required. She let them in wearing that loose little dress she knows hangs open when she moves. No bra. No knickers. Just soft white skin and the heavy sway of her tits under the fabric.
They worked through the morning. Measuring. Cutting. Fitting units. She made them tea, leaning further over the counter than she needed to, dress riding up the backs of her thighs. Every time she turned or stretched, the soft curve of her arse was on show. They noticed. Of course they did.
After lunch she stopped pretending.
She perched on the edge of the new island unit, right in the middle of the unfinished kitchen, and simply opened her legs. Dress hiked up around her hips. Pale thighs parted. That chubby pink cunt on full display under the bright kitchen lights—already wet, already waiting.
She didn’t say a word.
Both men stopped what they were doing.
They looked at her for a long moment, dark eyes fixed on the soft white pussy she was offering them. Then the older one stepped forward first. He freed a thick brown cock, already hard, and pushed it straight into her without ceremony. She took it with a low, satisfied breath, hands braced behind her on the counter, legs wide, watching his darker shaft sink into all that pale flesh.
He fucked her steady and deep while the second man watched. Then they switched. Then they used her together—one cock stretching her cunt, the other sliding between her heavy white tits or pushing past her lips. They held her open so they could see everything: the way her pink pussy stretched around their brown cocks, the wet shine on her soft thighs, the jolt of her belly each time they bottomed out.
She came hard on the counter. Twice. Legs shaking, cunt gripping them, that quiet broken sound spilling out of her while two older men took turns filling her. When they finished they did it inside her—one after the other—burying themselves deep and flooding that chubby white pussy until it was overflowing.
She stayed there afterward, still perched on the edge of the island, legs open, their cum leaking out of her onto the brand-new worktop. Breathing softly. Letting them look for as long as they wanted at the mess they’d made of her.
Then she closed her legs, smoothed her dress down, and quietly asked if they wanted another cup of tea.
You came home that evening to a finished kitchen and a wife who was soft, quiet, and freshly used. She didn’t tell you a thing. She didn’t need to. You could still smell sex in the air. You could still see the faint smear on the edge of the counter that hadn’t been fully wiped away.
And you knew exactly what your wife had offered them.
The same way she always does.
Keep your hand on your cock, Dan.
Tell me how hard it makes you knowing she gave herself to them like that—right there in the middle of your kitchen.
