Strap-On Fuck Hard and Really Wet

Aisha’s phone buzzed against the cushion between her thigh and the arm of the couch, and she didn’t even pretend she wasn’t waiting for it. The movie washed blue light over the living room of their apartment, some slow, sweaty scene neither of them was actually watching. Svetlana’s bare foot rested on Aisha’s knee. Every time the actress on screen moaned, Svetlana’s toes flexed, a small, deliberate pressure that crawled straight up Aisha’s leg and settled hot between them.

Twenty-eight, and Aisha still got wrecked by that kind of nothing-touch. She thumbed the screen open.

Svetlana, thirty-one, the woman who paid half the rent and owned every strap in the nightstand drawer: If you keep squirming like that I’m going to bend you over the coffee table before the credits.

Aisha’s cunt clenched so hard she had to shift. She typed back with one hand while the other stayed on Svetlana’s ankle, thumb dragging slow circles over the bone. Then stop teasing and do it. I’ve been wet since you texted me from the kitchen.

Another buzz, almost immediate. How wet. Tell me.

Aisha glanced sideways. Svetlana’s eyes were on the television, mouth soft, like she wasn’t the one making Aisha’s panties stick to her. The movie couple was kissing now, open-mouthed, hands under clothes. Aisha’s pulse knocked in her throat.

Soaked through, she wrote. If you put your hand in my panties right now you’d feel how bad I want that thick strap. I want it mean. I want the bed ruined.

Svetlana’s foot slid higher, calf over thigh, until her heel nudged the seam of Aisha’s shorts. “Read that one out loud,” she said, voice low, still not looking over.

Aisha’s face went hot. She did it anyway, because Svetlana liked hearing her own filth in Aisha’s mouth and Aisha liked being made to say it. “Soaked through. If you put your hand in my panties right now you’d feel how bad I want that thick strap. I want it mean. I want the bed ruined.”

Svetlana finally turned her head. Dark hair loose, mouth already a little open, eyes gone hungry. “Good girl.” She leaned in and kissed the corner of Aisha’s jaw, not her mouth, just enough to make Aisha chase it. “I’ve been thinking about fucking you stupid since dinner. That strap with the veins. The one that makes you drool on the sheets.”

Aisha’s breath hitched. She set the phone face-down and turned into the kiss that wasn’t quite a kiss, catching Svetlana’s lower lip between her teeth. Svetlana tasted like the wine they’d split and the salt of her own skin. Aisha’s hand found the hem of Svetlana’s tank and slid under, palm flat to warm stomach, feeling the muscle jump.

“You’re shaking,” Svetlana murmured against her mouth.

“You’re doing it on purpose.”

“Obviously.” Svetlana’s fingers walked up the inside of Aisha’s thigh, stopped just short of where the cotton was already dark, and stayed there while the movie kept going, some woman gasping off-screen like she was being split open. “Sit still. Watch. Let it build.”

Aisha tried. She really did. She watched hands on hips, a mouth on a throat, and every time she shifted Svetlana’s fingers pressed a warning into the soft skin high on her thigh. Heat pooled low and heavy. Her clit throbbed against the wet cling of her panties. She could smell herself, sharp and sweet, and she knew Svetlana could too, because Svetlana’s nostrils flared and her own breathing went uneven.

Another text, even though they were touching. Svetlana typed one-handed, smirking.

When I strap up I’m not going to go easy. You’re going to take every inch and you’re going to sound like a mess.

Aisha read it, cunt pulsing, and typed back with clumsy thumbs. Please. I want to hear how wet I am. I want you to fuck the noise out of me.

Svetlana set the phone down. Her hand finally cupped Aisha through the shorts, heel of her palm grinding once, firm, over the swollen seam. Aisha’s hips jerked. A wet sound, small and obscene, answered the pressure.

“There she is,” Svetlana said, pleased. “Dripping already and I haven’t even taken my pants off.”

The tension didn’t snap so much as tear. Svetlana stood, tugged Aisha up by the wrist, and walked them both down the short hall to the bedroom without turning the movie off. The strap was already out on the dresser, thick and dark, veins raised along the shaft, the harness coiled beside it like she’d planned this before the opening credits. Aisha’s stomach dropped in the best way.

Svetlana stepped into the harness with the unhurried confidence of a woman who knew exactly what her cock did to her girlfriend. She cinched the straps over her hips, adjusted the base so it sat snug against her own cunt, and wrapped her fist around the shaft. She stroked it once, slow, from the flared head down to the harness, then back up, thumb smearing nothing but air and intention.

Aisha couldn’t look away. “Fuck.”

“Eyes up here.” Svetlana stroked again, longer this time, fist tight, the silicone shining under the lamp. “You want this?”

“Yes.”

“Say it dirty.”

Aisha’s voice came out rough. “I want you to fuck me with that cock until I’m sloppy. I want it hard. I want to hear it.”

Svetlana’s grin went sharp. She kept stroking, hips rolling into her own hand like she could feel it, and the eye contact was worse than the touch. Aisha’s knees went weak. She yanked her own tank over her head, bra with it, tits bouncing free, nipples already tight. Svetlana’s gaze dropped, hungry, and she stroked faster, the wet sound of her palm on silicone filling the quiet.

“Pants,” Svetlana said. “Off. Now.”

Aisha shoved shorts and panties down together. The panties peeled away from her cunt with a soft, sticky sound that made both of them swear. She was swollen, glistening, a string of slick catching the light between her thighs before it broke. Svetlana crossed the room in two steps, still stroking, and kissed her hard enough to bruise, free hand grabbing a handful of ass and hauling her in so the thick head of the strap dragged through Aisha’s wetness.

Aisha moaned into her mouth. “God, you’re—fuck, you’re already making a mess of me.”

“Good.” Svetlana bit her lip, then her throat. “Rip mine off. I want your hands on me.”

Aisha did. She dragged Svetlana’s tank up and off, mouthed at a nipple until Svetlana hissed, then shoved the loose pants down Svetlana’s thighs. The harness framed her hips, the cock jutting heavy and veined between them. Aisha dropped to her knees without being asked and licked a stripe up the underside, tasting clean silicone and the faint salt of Svetlana’s skin at the base. Svetlana’s hand fisted in her hair.

“Not yet,” Svetlana said, voice wrecked. “Bed. On your knees. I want that ass up and that cunt open.”

Aisha climbed onto the mattress, sheets already rumpled from the afternoon nap they’d never quite finished, and dropped to her elbows. She spread her knees. Cool air hit her soaked folds and she shivered, pushing her ass higher, offering everything. Behind her, Svetlana knelt on the bed. The mattress dipped. A broad palm smoothed over Aisha’s lower back, then gripped her hip hard enough to leave marks.

“You ready?”

“Yes. Fuck me. Please, Svet, fuck me hard.”

The head nudged her entrance, thick, blunt, catching on the slick rim. Svetlana didn’t tease long. She pushed in, slow for the first two inches so Aisha could feel the stretch, the veins dragging, and then she drove the rest of the way home in one mean thrust.

Aisha’s mouth fell open on a broken sound. Full. Stuffed. The base slapped her ass and the wet squelch of it was immediate, loud in the small room, her cunt gulping the cock like it had been waiting all night. Svetlana held there, buried, breathing hard through her teeth.

“Listen to you,” she said. “So fucking wet I can hear it.”

She pulled back and slammed in again. The sound was filthy—squelch, slap, the wet clap of hips meeting ass—and Aisha’s arms shook. Svetlana set a pace that wasn’t careful. Deep. Fast. Each thrust punched a gasp out of Aisha and shoved her forward on the sheets, which were already darkening under her knees where slick ran down her thighs and dripped.

“Harder,” Aisha begged, voice cracking. “Don’t—don’t be nice. Fuck me like you mean it.”

Svetlana laughed, breathless, and did. She grabbed Aisha’s hips with both hands and pounded, the strap driving in to the hilt every time, the harness grinding against her own clit so her rhythm went ragged and hungry. The noises got worse. Louder. A wet, sucking squelch on every withdrawal, a sharp slap when she bottomed out, Aisha’s cunt fluttering and leaking around the thick shaft until strings of it swung and broke against Svetlana’s thighs.

“Fuck, baby, you’re soaking the sheets,” Svetlana groaned. “Hear that? That’s your messy cunt taking my cock. Say it.”

“I’m—ah—I’m dripping all over your cock,” Aisha managed, face pressed to the mattress, drool at the corner of her mouth. “So sloppy. So wet you can hear every thrust. Don’t stop. Don’t you fucking stop.”

Svetlana didn’t. She fucked her through the first orgasm without warning, Aisha’s whole body locking, cunt clamping down so hard the squelch turned into a desperate, rhythmic suck. Aisha cried out, high and raw, and came in pulses that spilled down the shaft and onto the bed in hot little rushes. Svetlana kept pounding, riding the clench, talking through it.

“That’s it. Come on my cock. Make a bigger mess. I want this bed ruined. I want the neighbors to hear how wet you are.”

Aisha was still shaking when Svetlana pulled out halfway, the sudden emptiness obscene, a thick string of slick connecting the head to her hole before Svetlana shoved back in and started again. The second climb was faster. Aisha pushed back to meet her, ass slapping, the wet sounds echoing off the walls, both of them swearing, moaning, the movie still faintly audible from the living room like a joke neither of them cared about.

“Switch,” Aisha gasped. “I want to ride. I want to bounce on it. I want you to watch how much I leak.”

Svetlana pulled out with a loud, wet pop that made Aisha whimper. She sat back against the headboard, cock shining, streaked white-clear with Aisha’s come, harness damp. “Get on. Reverse. I want that ass in my hands while you fuck yourself stupid.”

Aisha turned, straddled her, back to Svetlana’s chest, and reached down to line the head up. She sank down in one long, greedy drop. The stretch hit different from this angle, deeper, the head nudging something that made her vision spark. She didn’t ease into it. She planted her hands on Svetlana’s thighs and started bouncing, hard, ass slapping down onto Svetlana’s lap, the cock plunging in and out with obscene, echoing squelches that filled the room louder than their moans.

“Holy fuck,” Svetlana breathed, both hands spreading Aisha’s ass so she could watch the shaft disappear. “Look at that. Look how you swallow it. You’re gushing, Aisha. Every time you drop I can hear it. Sloppiest cunt I’ve ever fucked.”

“Then fuck up into me,” Aisha panted, grinding down, circling her hips so the veins dragged her walls. “Don’t just sit there. Pound me. I want it louder.”

Svetlana braced her feet and thrust up, meeting every bounce. The collision was brutal and perfect. Wet slaps. Squelching sucks. The bedframe knocking the wall in a steady, shameless rhythm. Aisha’s tits bounced, her head tipped back onto Svetlana’s shoulder, mouth open, sounds pouring out of her that weren’t words until Svetlana reached around and rubbed her clit in tight, mean circles.

“Talk,” Svetlana ordered, voice shredded. “Tell me how drenched you are. Tell me what this cock is doing to you.”

“It’s—fuck—it’s splitting me open and I’m still dripping down your balls, down the harness, onto the sheets,” Aisha babbled, bouncing harder, chasing the pressure. “I’m so wet it’s embarrassing. You can hear how sloppy I am. Every thrust sounds like you’re fucking a soaked mess and I love it, I love how loud we are, I want to come again, I’m going to come all over this cock—”

She did. The orgasm hit mid-bounce and she slammed down and stayed there, grinding, cunt spasming in visible pulses around the base while fresh slick flooded out around the seal of the strap and ran over Svetlana’s fingers, her thighs, the already-dark sheets. Aisha sobbed through it, hips jerking, and Svetlana fucked up into the clench, ruthless, dragging a third, smaller shock out of her before Aisha collapsed back against her chest, trembling, still stuffed full.

Svetlana wasn’t done. She rolled them, put Aisha on her back this time only long enough to hook her knees up, and drove in from above, chasing her own edge against the base. The angle made the wet sounds even filthier, a constant, juicy chorus—squelch, slap, gasp, squelch—while Aisha clawed at her shoulders and came again, weaker but sharp, crying Svetlana’s name into the sweaty dark between them. Svetlana ground down hard, hips stuttering, and groaned through her own orgasm, the harness doing its work, her cunt pulsing against the base while she stayed buried to the hilt in the wreck she’d made of Aisha.

They stayed like that, panting, the room thick with the smell of sex and the faint tick of the cooling lamp. The sheets under Aisha’s ass were a cold, soaked patch. Her thighs shone. The strap, still inside her, was glazed from base to tip.

Svetlana kissed her, deep and messy, tasting sweat and the salt of Aisha’s upper lip, both of them still shaking. She pulled out slowly, inch by inch, and the suction sound was loud and lewd, a long wet pop followed by a spill of come that pattered onto the ruined sheet. Aisha whimpered at the emptiness. Svetlana looked down at the mess—cock dripping, thighs smeared, bed dark and shining—and laughed, breathless, forehead dropping to Aisha’s.

“We are so fucking loud,” she said. “And this bed is a crime scene.”

Aisha laughed too, hoarse, pulling her in anyway, legs still open, still leaking. “Worth it. Every disgusting sound.”

They curled together in the wet spot without pretending it wasn’t there, Svetlana’s hand lazy on Aisha’s hip, both of them giggling when another trickle slid free and made a fresh, quiet splat. Svetlana nosed at her temple. “Next time I’m putting a towel down.”

“Liar,” Aisha said. “You like the mess.”

“I like you like this.” Svetlana’s fingers slid back down, through the slick still coating Aisha’s cunt, and pushed two in without warning, curling, drawing out a fresh, obscene squelch that made Aisha jolt and moan. “Still dripping. Still hungry. I’m not done hearing how wet this hole gets when I fuck it.”

Aisha spread wider, grinning against her mouth, already rocking onto those fingers. “Then shut up and make me scream again. I want the neighbors to know exactly how sloppy your cock leaves me.”