“Why can’t you just tell me what it is?”
“Because you wouldn’t understand.”
Darren and Pen were arguing again. The bed creaked as Pen wrestled off her jeans.
“But how do you know that?” Darren replied as he tore off his shirt, standing in his socks and briefs.
“Why do you need to know? Why can’t I just have some mental privacy?”
Pen scooched out of her boyleg underwear and threw them towards the washing basket. She missed.
“Why can’t you just trust me?”
Darren stepped out of his socks and hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his briefs.
“That’s a bullshit argument and you know it!”
Pen unhooked her bra and tossed it to the floor.
“But I promise I won’t laugh.”
Darren stepped towards Pen, and she tugged down the front of his white cottons, releasing his erection.
“There are some things that you just don’t get to know.”
“Super duper pinky swear?”
Darren tumbled onto the bed beside Pen with theatrical petulance.
“Fine,” he huffed. “You keep your mental privacy all to yourself then.” Pen giggled as he tickled his hands up her thighs.
Pen wrapped her legs around Darren as he lay on top of her.
“Let’s do this then.”
“Don’t sound too enthusiastic, it’ll turn me on.”
Pen laughed and tightened her legs around Darren’s waist, drawing him into her.
Darren rocked his hips gently, increasing his pace the way that Pen loved. She moaned, her cheeks flushing. She looked up at Darren, who looked down at her.
“You really wanna know?”
“You remember the Incident at the History Museum?”
“That. But with whipped cream.”
If you enjoyed this story, please consider donating to the Smutathon cause!Donate!