Stairs

Hers
It's bedtime, I've had a few glasses of wine, and we missed last night because we don't have enough bedros for guests. I sure would like a guest room. Tonight again I wonder if I will reach over to hold your hand chastely again or if we will be driven to the basement for a little play.

By the time our house is our own again next week we will have built up a lot of steam. I hope that back in our bedroom you will lock the door and pull my clothes off and have me on my knees in front of you immediately. I can't wait to have my mouth around your cock again.

I love the mirror on the back of our door. Half embarrassed, half shameless, I know you will watch me swallow you deep, hold you still against the back of my throat.

I feel like I only really got good at giving head in the past few years. You have gotten more demanding, more instructive. I know just how you like it.

His
Guests make sex tricky. There are limited rooms with doors that lock. Even worse are whole floors where the gross pets threaten to get up in our biz-ness.

Tonight maybe we can sneak downstairs for a covert romp or some heavy making out in the living room, at least. I've been thinking about your new perfectly fitting jeans all evening. Your amazing ass is never far from my thoughts, in fact. I remember our first date when you wore a denim skirt that hugged your beautiful posterior so perfectly. When you were a server, you joked, customers would remark admiringly you're a "white girl with a black girl's ass!"

How right they were to drool over you, like I do. I'm hard just thinking about you and how much I'd like to get into your panties tonight. Maybe a quicky on the stairs. You usually let me have my way with you when I demand it and I feel demanding.