Food fun

Jo leans back against the kitchen table, legs parted. Her slick spills onto the wood in a warm drip. She nudges the thick cucumber into her cunt until it catches. I straddle her and ease the other blunt end inside my own dripping hole. The two lengths lock together, pushing, flexing, filling us both. We grind slow at first, hips rolling in a sticky, wet rhythm. Cucumber in, cucumber out, a clumsy seesaw that squelches louder each stroke. Juice trickles down our thighs. Her nipples pucker. Mine tighten. We keep driving the green shaft deeper until neither of us remembers the teachers’ old rules.