Nightly Ritual
With Hilary Duff
Written by TheLW
Codes: MF, Blowjob
Disclaimer: This FICTIONAL story was written for entertainment purposes only.
(https://thumbs2.imgbox.com/52/a8/A4Hrbwj7_t.jpg) (https://imgbox.com/A4Hrbwj7)
(Story Inspired by Pix)
I pushed open the front door after another long day, the familiar sound of the latch cutting through the quiet house. My shoulders were tight from hours hunched over spreadsheets, but that tension evaporated the second I stepped inside. There she was, Hilary, exactly where she always was at this hour, kneeling on the hardwood in the entryway. Nothing on but those sheer black stockings, the wide lace tops gripping her thighs just below the curve of her ass. Her knees were parted slightly, back arched, blonde hair spilling forward over one shoulder. Her eyes were closed at first, lips parted, breathing slow and deliberate. She’d clearly been waiting like that for a while.
My cock stirred instantly. This wasn’t fantasy anymore, this was every evening for the past six months. We’d started it as a one-time game after too much wine and dirty talk, and it had become the anchor of our days. No preamble, no small talk. I dropped my keys on the console table, shrugged off my jacket, and stood there letting the sight of her sink in. Her nipples were already hard from the cool air in the foyer. Between her spread thighs her pussy was visibly wet, lips slightly parted and glistening. She’d been thinking about this, about me, while she waited.
I stepped closer. Hilary opened her eyes, looked up at me with that quiet, hungry obedience she saved only for these moments. Her hands moved to my belt without a word. She unbuckled it, unzipped me, tugged my pants and boxers down to mid-thigh in one practiced motion. My cock sprang free, already thick and heavy. A clear bead of precum sat at the tip.
She wrapped her fingers around the base, gave me one slow stroke, then leaned in. Her tongue flicked out first, warm, wet, circling the head like she was tasting wine. Then her lips closed over me and she took me in deep, slow, until the head nudged the back of her throat. The heat, the suction, the way her tongue pressed flat along the underside, it was devastating in the best way. She hollowed her cheeks and started bobbing, steady and deliberate, spit slicking her chin after only a few passes. Every time she pushed forward she swallowed around me, throat muscles fluttering, pulling me deeper. I groaned low, hand sliding into her hair.
She looked up at me, eyes watering just enough to make them shine. The wet sounds of her mouth filled the entryway, slurping, soft gagging when she took me all the way, little hums of satisfaction vibrating straight into my balls. I started rocking my hips, shallow thrusts that she met eagerly. Spit dripped onto her breasts, ran in thin trails down her stomach. She never broke rhythm, never pulled back when I pushed deeper. She just took it, and let me use her mouth like it belonged to me.
After several minutes my control was fraying. I could have finished there, come down her throat like I had on rougher nights, but I wanted the rest of it tonight. I tightened my grip in her hair, wrapping the long strands around my fist like a handle. She moaned around my cock at the pull, the sound ripping through me. I drew her off slowly, shaft sliding free with a wet pop, strings of saliva stretching then snapping between her lips and the head.
“Hands and knees,” I said, voice low and rough.
Hilary dropped forward immediately, palms flat on the floor, ass lifted high. The stockings stretched tight over her thighs as she settled into position. I kept my fist in her hair, using it to guide her. We moved together, me walking slowly, her crawling ahead on all fours through the hallway and into the living room. Her hips swayed with each step, pussy peeking between her legs, slick and swollen. The black lace bands dug slightly into her skin from the tension. Every few feet I gave her hair a small tug, just enough to remind her who was leading.
The couch sat against the far wall. I steered her right up to it. “Over the arm.”
She climbed up without hesitation, draping her torso across the wide armrest, breasts mashed into the cushion, arms stretched forward. Her knees stayed on the floor, ass presented perfectly, round cheeks parted slightly, pussy dripping, the tight ring of her asshole visible above it. I kicked my pants off completely and stepped behind her.
I gripped her hips, thumbs brushing the lace tops of the stockings. My cock slid along her slit, coating itself in her wetness, nudging her neatly trimmed pussy until she whimpered and pushed back. “Please,” she begged, the same soft plea she always gave right before I gave it to her.
I lined up and sank in with one long, steady thrust. She was so wet I bottomed out easily, her walls clamping down around me like a fist. We both groaned. I held still for a second, feeling her around me, then started moving, pulling out almost to the tip before driving back in, watching her ass ripple with each impact. The stockings made everything look obscene, smooth skin above dark lace, her thighs trembling slightly.
I kept one hand wrapped around her hair, pulling her head back to arch her spine more, the other clamped on her hip. Skin slapped against skin, wet and loud. Her moans turned into sharp gasps as I fucked her harder, angling to hit that spot that always made her shake. I reached around and found her love mound, rubbing firm circles while I pounded into her.
“You’ve been wet since you knelt down, haven’t you?” I growled.
“Yes,” she gasped. “All afternoon.”
I sped up my pace. Her pussy got louder, wetter, juices coating my balls and dripping onto her stockings. The lace was darkening with it. I yanked her hair tighter, using it like reins, slamming in deep. Her whole body started to quiver. I felt her clench rhythmically, her breathing turning ragged. I didn’t let up, rubbed her clit faster until she came hard, inner walls spasming, a broken cry tearing out of her as she gushed around me.
I kept thrusting through it, drawing the orgasm out until she was whimpering from the intensity. Then I pulled out, cock slick and shining. I flipped her onto her back on the couch cushions, stockings still on, legs spread wide. Her hair fanned out, face flushed, eyes glassy with orgasmic pleasure. I climbed between her thighs and thrust back in deep. This angle let me watch her, tits bouncing, mouth open with moans, as I drove into her again and again. I hooked her legs over my shoulders, the stockings brushing my skin, and fucked her relentlessly.
Her nails dug into my arms. She came a second time, back arching off the cushions, crying out my name. That pushed me over. I buried myself to the hilt and came hard, as thick and hot amounts of cum poured inside her, filling her until it leaked out around my cock and onto the couch.
After a minute I eased out slowly, watching my cum drip from her swollen pussy. I leaned down and kissed her, tasting myself on her tongue from earlier. She smiled against my mouth, completely satisfied.
“Welcome home,” she whispered, the same thing she said every night.
Tomorrow I’d leave for work, and when I came back through that door she’d be there again, kneeling, bare except for fresh stockings, waiting to start it all over.
It’s been like this every evening since we made it our thing. The door opens, she’s on her knees. Mouth first, slow, deep, devoted. Then the crawl, hair in my fist like a leash. Then bent over the couch, taking every inch until we both came. No games, no role-play pretense anymore. It just happens. It’s what we do. And I wouldn’t change a single second of it.
The End