I woke up already wet, the kind of slick that makes your thighs stick together. My laptop was still open on the nightstand from the night before, the last line of my latest smut story glowing on the screen: "He shoved his cock so deep she felt it in her throat." Typical me. I rolled out of bed naked, tits heavy, nipples tight from the cool air, and padded into the kitchen to make breakfast.
The eggs were in the carton on the counter. I cracked three into a bowl, the yolks bright and obscene, and started whisking. My fingers were still sticky from touching myself in my sleep. I didn't bother with clothes. Why would I? It was just me and the fridge and the dirty words still bouncing around my head.
He came in while I was pouring the eggs into the hot pan. No hello, just his hands on my hips from behind, his morning wood pressing against my ass crack. "Writing that filthy shit again?" he growled, voice low and rough. I felt his cock twitch against me.
"Always," I said, pushing back so his dick slid between my cheeks. The eggs sizzled. I stirred them with one hand while he reached around and grabbed my tit, squeezing hard enough to make me gasp. "You want some breakfast or you want to fuck me over this stove?"
"Both." He kicked my feet apart and shoved two fingers straight into my cunt. No warm-up, just knuckle-deep and curling. I moaned and kept stirring the eggs, the fork clinking against the pan while he finger-fucked me fast and nasty. My juice ran down his hand.
I reached back, grabbed his cock, and lined it up. He didn't wait. One thrust and he was buried in me, balls slapping my clit. The eggs were starting to scramble now, yellow and messy just like the way he was pounding me. Every slam of his hips made my body jolt forward, tits swinging over the pan.
"Fuck, your pussy's gripping me like it wants to keep me," he grunted, pulling my hair so my head tilted back. "Keep cooking, slut. Don't you dare stop."
I tried. The eggs were getting done, but so was I. His cock was thick and relentless, stretching me open, hitting that spot that made my vision blur. I came once with a sharp cry, cunt pulsing around him, but he didn't stop.
He just laughed, low and dirty, and kept slamming in.
When the eggs were finished I turned off the burner, bent over the counter, and spread my legs wider. "Come on then. Fill me up while they're still hot." He pulled out, spun me around, and lifted me onto the counter. My ass hit the cool tile and then he was back inside, fucking me upright, my legs wrapped around him. The eggs sat steaming in the pan next to us, forgotten for a minute while he railed me.
He came with a snarl, pumping thick ropes deep in my pussy. I felt every spurt. When he pulled out, his cum leaked out of me and dripped onto the floor. I slid off the counter, scooped some of the eggs onto a plate with my fingers, and licked them clean while I looked him in the eye. "Your turn to eat."
He dropped to his knees right there, tongue diving into my messy cunt, licking his own load out of me while I fed him bites of egg from the plate. It was filthy and perfect. The kind of morning that belonged in one of my stories.
We didn't talk much after that. Just ate the eggs cold, straight from the pan, his cum still drying on my thighs. Later I went back to the laptop and wrote the whole thing down, word for word, because that's what I do. I turn real life into smut, and sometimes the smut turns right back into real life, right there on the kitchen counter with eggs on the stove and a cock in my cunt.
By the time I finished typing the new scene my pussy was throbbing again. I called his name down the hall. He knew what that meant. The eggs were gone, but we weren't done yet.
