KITCHEN JOB

He saw her, standing in the kitchen,
At the chopping board with no stitch on.
She was like a naked Nigella,
It really turned on the fella.

It was something that he respected;
Her catering "as God intended"
He had known about since their first date,
Part of the bond he had with his mate.

In the room next door he quickly stripped,
Then barefoot into the kitchen slipped,
Intending to get her from behind,
Seduce her into a bump and grind.

He caught her forearm, said "Drop that knife!
I've come to spice up the married life!"
As he caught onto the other arm
So she would not hit him in alarm.

She relaxed after the initial start,
Giggled at her bum's feel of his part,
Realising he was naked too,
She joked "What can I serve to please you?"

"I want YOU!" he said, "But not in bed.
Let ME serve you right here instead!"
Against her backside he rubbed his wood.
It felt on her skin naughty, yet good.

He released her arms, embraced her waist
As he gave her nape and shoulders taste.
She settled her back against his chest
As with his hands he pleasured each breast.

At these her nipples came erected,
And she got ache to be connected.
He brushed a hand across her pussy,
Then with some fingerings got busy.

He drew forth the wetness from those lips
Before he kneaded her ample hips.
Then he stroked her up inside her thighs,
Bringing forth deep and desperate sighs.

He bumped and ground against her backside,
Blatantly ready to get inside.
She asked to be let on the table,
The yearned for doggy to enable.

She climbed, best leg forward, on the top,
Her breasts towards the wood she did drop
As her backside she gave upended,
On all fours, tempting sight presented.

He followed her, between her legs knelt,
Prised apart her thighs - how firm they felt -
Then picked up her hips so her front end
Was facing his tip with hairs wettened.

So, with just her responding murmur,
From back into front he entered her
With gradually speeded up thrusts
Reciprocated, working off lusts.

He held her up like a wheelbarrow
As her core contracted, felt narrow
And broad at alternate intervals,
In a rhythm that played to his balls.

The chopped vegetables got forgotten
As he declared "I love you rotten!"
Before the height of their primal deed
Brought on the explosion of his seed.