I swear, I can’t stop thinking about it. Just last night, this totally ordinary stool in my kitchen—the one with four cheap wooden legs and a scuffed-up fake wood top—turned into the hottest fuck of my life. Picture it: I’m 27, horny as hell after a long day, wearing nothing but an oversized tee and panties that are already damp. The stool’s right there by the counter, kinda wobbly, smelling faintly of coffee spills and that plasticky cleaner I use.
I’m grabbing a glass of wine when my neighbor Jake knocks. He’s this tall, rugged guy, 30-ish, with stubble that scratches just right and hands that look like they could pin me down. We’d flirted before in the hallway, but never acted. « Hey, you got sugar? » he grins, eyes dropping to my thighs. I smirk, « Sugar? Come in, I’ll give you something sweeter. »
We end up laughing over drinks at the counter. His knee brushes mine, heat building. « You smell good, » he murmurs, leaning in, his breath hot with whiskey. I feel that tingle low in my belly. Our lips crash—messy, urgent. Tongues sliding, tasting salt and wine. His hands grip my ass, pulling me onto his lap right there on that stupid stool.
It creaks under us. « Fuck, you’re wet already, » he groans, fingers slipping under my panties, circling my clit slow at first, then faster. I gasp, grinding down. The wood digs into my thighs, rough and real. « Yeah, touch me like that, » I whisper, nipping his ear. My tee hikes up, nipples hard against his chest through his shirt. He yanks it off, mouth latching onto one, sucking hard—wet pops and my moans filling the kitchen. Smells like his cologne mixed with my arousal, musky and thick.
I slide off, dropping to my knees. The tile’s cold on my skin. His jeans unzip—thwack—cock springs out, thick, veiny, pre-cum glistening. I lick the tip, salty, then swallow him deep. Gagging a little, slurping sounds echoing. « Shit, your mouth… so fucking good, » he grunts, fingers tangled in my hair, guiding me. I hum around him, vibrations making him buck.
He pulls me up. « Bend over. » Heart racing, I do—ass up on that stool, legs spread. It wobbles, but holds. Panties ripped aside, he rubs his cock along my slit, teasing. « Please, Jake, fuck me, » I beg, voice shaky. He thrusts in—deep, stretching me full. Ahh, that burn, then pure slick pleasure. Wet smacks as he pounds, balls slapping my clit. « So tight… goddamn, » he growls. I grip the edges, knuckles white, stool rocking with each slam.
Sweat drips, our skin slapping loud. I reach back, spreading myself wider. « Harder—yes! » He grabs my hips, bruising grip, railing me. My pussy clenches, juices dripping down my thighs, pooling on the seat. That raw friction builds—oh fuck, I’m close. He flips me around, stool groaning. Now facing him, legs over his shoulders. He dives back in, missionary-style on this tiny thing. My back arches off the top, tits bouncing. His thumb on my clit, rubbing circles. « Cum for me, baby, » he pants.
I shatter—waves crashing, squirting a little, soaking us both. « Fuck… yes! » I cry, nails raking his arms. He follows, pulling out, hot spurts across my stomach, thick and sticky. We collapse, panting, the stool miraculously intact. His cum cools on my skin, smelling sex and satisfaction.
We laughed after, wiping up with paper towels. « Who knew a stool could handle that? » he said, kissing my neck. I grinned, still buzzing. God, I want round two tonight.