Dirty Dishes

Leaning over the table, collecting glasses and trays
She senses the presence of his concentrated gaze.
The others have left - this festive gathering of friends;
She hadn’t expected, he’d stick it out til the end.

“Allow me to help,” he generously offers,
He gathers the tea cups with their matching saucers.
The preparation of these functions, can be a day of demands
And it’s a welcome surprise to have an extra pair of hands.

He mildly brushes past her, on his way to the sink
Is it suggestive in nature, or did she just overthink?
He’s running the water –that quick twist of the tap
Balancing the dish load, his touch guides her back.

The basin grows sudsy, she lowers them in
“Perhaps I used a bit much,” he says with a grin.
She takes the position to start with a scrub
She feels him behind her - pinned in, close and snug.

Hands smooth down her arms joining hers in the water
Against the curve of her bottom, she can feel him grow harder
The press of his lips meets the bare of her neck
“If you keep that up, Mister, you will have me soaking wet.”

The pull of her blouse, slides down slow past her shoulders
And the heft of her breasts, in his hands, full exposure.
Her nipples grow taut, touched and tugged by his fingers;
Add the heat of his mouth - and the feel of it lingers.

He turns her around, heaves her up on the ledge
Her dress rising up, he parts her leg with the edge
That active hand, slides the cotton at center
His trousers unbuckled, shows he’s ready to enter

His point of excitement goes right in her hand
And she drags it slow forward, encouraged to stand
Inching it closer, she just can’t resist
To place at the entry, complete with a kiss

That tip greets her open, he waits for the word,
He knows just one statement will fire every nerve
One thrust deep inside, fully nestled at home
It inspires a rhythm, and the response of her moan

Frantic and heated, their mouths just can't stop
She holds him within her, to draw every shot
The spill of sensations, coursing through every pore
Caressing and clutching, to encourage much more

He grunts, she howls, bodies both at the brink,
his blast shoots inside her, their pleasure in synch
Her legs wrap behind him, keeping him tight and in place
Her convulsions run manic, his cool palms on her face.

Feeling him soften, she receives every drop
His appreciative kisses, never slowing to stop,
Catching their breaths, she returns to her feet
And there are those dishes, still piled up in a heap

“I said I would help, I can wash or can dry”
And she smiles at the prospect, of one other try
He grabs a free towel, and she washes a plate
“Maybe next time”, she kids, “you’ll take me out on a date.”

“I’m sure that could happen, but I might seem a bore,
But keep me in mind, should you have other chores.”
“It’s not out of the question,” she replies with a thought
“But let me throw in some laundry, and then we can talk.”