Girls' night in - part II.

Sandra and I skipped the party our friends were hitting and stayed home. The couch felt better than some crowded bar. She flipped through channels while I sipped my drink. Nothing worth watching. So we got undressed. Fast. The strap-on caught the lamplight. She pushed me onto my back first, worked the slick head between my lips, then slipped it in with one clean thrust. I hissed at the stretch, grabbed her hips and held on. My clit throbbed under her thumb. We switched before the sofa could warm us up. I buckled the harness tight around my waist, leaned her over the armrest. Her slick pussy took the first few strokes easy; I rocked in deeper, ground against the base. She bit a cushion. Wet sounds filled the quiet room. Then the warning: she arched, pressed her ass back. I squeezed lube over the shaft, ran my finger around her rim, opened her slow. First the tip. A pause. Then the rest, inch by careful inch, until my hips met the round curve of her cheeks. She moaned like something broke loose inside her. Every slide after that came easier, faster, slick and smooth. I reached under to work her clit while I drove. Heat poured off her skin. Her breath stuttered. The couch legs scraped the floor with each thrust. We stayed like that until my thighs shook and her moans turned wordless. Nothing left on the television anyway.