Solo Showtime: Coconut Oil Surprise

The rain hammered against the kitchen window, a relentless rhythm against the quiet hum of the refrigerator. My PJ pants felt ridiculously inadequate, clinging damply to my legs as I stared at the card on the table. Lucy's handwriting, sharp and playful, mocked my anticipation. A vibrator, miniature and pink, nestled beside a bottle of coconut oil, accompanied by the chillingly direct message: “Showtime @ 21.00 tonight – I booked a front-row seat just for you. This is a Solo performance.” My cock immediately responded, a hard, insistent throb against my thighs. It was impossible to ignore the primal urge, the insistent call of pleasure. I glanced over at Lucy, who was feigning disinterest, a subtle smirk playing on her lips. She knew exactly what this meant, and the knowledge sent a fresh wave of heat through me.

The day unfolded in a haze of nervous energy. Every glance, every text message from Lucy, ratcheted up the tension, amplifying the erection that had taken root within me. Each time I checked the clock, the anticipation grew, turning my stomach into a knot of desperate longing. Then came the photo, a close-up shot of Lucy’s pussy, swollen and glistening with moisture. The sheer audacity of the image, combined with the undeniable evidence of her arousal, was almost too much to bear. My wife was giving me a private show, a brutal and delicious assault on my senses. It solidified my resolve, sharpening my focus on the impending event.

As I pulled up to the curb, a familiar scent drifted from the open window – lavender and something subtly spicy. Lucy was in the kitchen, transforming the space into a scene of explicit invitation. She wore a tiny, white, see-through apron, clinging to her curves like a second skin, and high heels that threatened to send her sprawling. The contrast between her casual attire and the blatant display of her nakedness was both shocking and exhilarating. When she turned, showcasing her ample breasts, I couldn't resist the urge to move towards her, but she swiftly intercepted my advance with a firm, decisive gesture.

“You’re only welcome here if you’re completely naked,” she stated, her voice laced with playful dominance. “Drop your clothes where you are standing and go have a shower, giving special attention to that hard cock, then join me for dinner.” There was no room for argument. I stripped off my clothes, the sudden exposure intensifying my arousal, and rushed to the bathroom. The cool water washed away the day’s tension, leaving my skin tingling and my senses heightened. As I lathered myself in soap, the urge to lose control became overwhelming. I caught myself repeatedly running my hand over my erect member, fighting a losing battle against the pleasure building within me.

When I returned to the kitchen, Lucy was already preparing dinner, radiating an intoxicating blend of confidence and invitation. The scene was surreal, a twisted inversion of our usual evening routine. The only deviation from normalcy was her blatant nudity. As I approached, she turned, revealing her naked assets with a knowing smile. The air crackled with unspoken desire, a potent cocktail of lust and anticipation. I took a seat, my heart pounding against my ribs, and waited for her to begin.

It didn’t take long for her to initiate the game. She began fingering her pussy, a slow, deliberate movement that sent shivers down my spine. As she opened her legs wider, giving me a full view of her swollen clit, I couldn't help but feel a surge of primal satisfaction. “Are you ready for your supper?” she asked, her voice husky and low. "Take a seat and close your eyes!”

I complied, bracing myself for the experience ahead. The clatter of dishes filled the air as Lucy served me a steaming plate of pasta, but my attention was entirely focused on her. She stepped onto the table where my plate should have been, her bare feet extending over the edge. With a mischievous grin, she pulled my mouth open and fell back onto the table, her pussy lips facing me directly. “Dinner is served,” she whispered, her voice a seductive invitation.

Her clit was swollen and protruding, a vibrant pink beacon in the dim light. It was impossible to ignore the insistent pull, the overwhelming desire to respond. I plunged my tongue into her pussy, then began circling her clit, savoring the exquisite sensation. “Pinch my nipples,” she demanded, her voice a breathless plea. “Oh, yes. Harder!” She pushed my hands away, grabbing my nipples and squeezing them relentlessly, a shocking and exhilarating assault on my senses. The pain quickly morphed into pleasure, fueling my desire even further.

As I sucked, licked, and bit her clit, she continued to cum, her body shaking with each wave of pleasure. My face became slick with her juices, my cock dripping down my leg. She hooked her legs behind my shoulders, giving me access to her ass, the opening surprisingly easy to navigate. Her screams intensified, a wild, untamed expression of pure ecstasy. I couldn’t hold back any longer. I stood up and plunged my cock into her pussy. She was so wet that I slid in without resistance, my muscles tensing with the anticipation of release. Within moments, I emptied my load into her, a torrent of pleasure and desire.

My legs buckled beneath me, sending me crashing back into the chair. Her pussy was right in front of my face, swollen and dripping, an irresistible invitation. It was an automatic response, a primal urge that overrode all reason. I leaned forward and began cleaning her pussy, sucking her clit into my mouth with desperate abandon. Her moans escalated into a symphony of pleasure, a testament to the intensity of her arousal.

She whimpered like a puppy, her body convulsing with each orgasm. I continued to stimulate her, relishing in her intense pleasure. My hands gripped her wrists, pulling her closer to my face, right where I wanted her. Then, I attacked her clit with ferocious intensity, a relentless assault on her sensitive flesh. She could not pull away, trapped in a spiral of escalating pleasure. Her screams echoed through the kitchen, a primal roar of unbridled desire.

But she was becoming sensitive to the point of irritation, and I knew I had to ease up. I released her hands, and she lay there, breathing deeply, her hand gently caressing her nipple while the other explored her arousal. Her eyes fluttered closed, lost in the bliss of the moment.

“Tonight’s solo performance has been postponed for 24 hours due to the main actress suffering severe Pussy-Fatigue,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. It was a blatant admission of her own arousal, a playful challenge to my endurance. My mind raced, already anticipating the next round. As I looked at her, I knew this was just the beginning. The rain continued to fall outside, a rhythmic accompaniment to our shared pleasure. The show, it seemed, would continue soon.

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