rpbooks Chapter 365: Get Yourself Cleaned.
Chapter 365: Get Yourself Cleaned.
Kyle sat there on the edge of the bed, his cock still twitching and slick from the unexpected release, hanging heavy between his thighs as the last drops of cum beaded at the tip. His chest heaving while he stared at Aiysha’s cum-streaked face, brain scrambling for words that wouldn’t make this worse. Awkward silence stretched, broken only by their ragged breaths. He shifted, pulling the sheet up half-heartedly to cover his lap, but it did nothing to hide the flush creeping up his neck or the way his hands clenched the fabric like a lifeline.
Aiysha, still straddling his legs from the fall, felt the hot length trapped between her massive breasts, the veiny shaft pulsing against the soft, sweat-damp skin of her underboob. Her top had ridden up completely, the neckline stretched wide, her heavy tits spilling out and cradling his cock like a warm vice. She could feel every ridge, the thick girth wedged tight in the deep cleavage, the head smeared against her collarbone. Heart pounding, she leaned back carefully, hands pressing into the mattress for leverage. As she lifted her torso, his cock dragged slowly free, sliding up through the valley of her tits with a slick pop, leaving a trail of cum and pre-cum glistening on her skin. The sensation made her nipples harden against the cool air, a shiver running down her spine as the shaft finally flopped back onto his stomach, semi-erect and shiny.
She scrambled off him, kneeling on the floor now, wiping frantically at her face with the back of her hand, but the thick ropes of semen clung stubbornly—drying on her cheeks, dripping from her chin in sticky strands. Kyle’s load had been copious, painting her features in white streaks that caught the lamplight. She knew he hadn’t meant it, that the accident had triggered his orgasm without warning, but from his wide-eyed perspective, it must look like she’d ambushed him for a titfuck in the dead of night. Guilt twisted in her gut; she couldn’t just bolt without clearing the air.
"I slipped," she blurted, voice shaky but firm, meeting his gaze. "I know it sounds weird, but I came to check on you before leaving—then I slipped!" Her hands gestured wildly at the rug’s edge, as if that proved it. The words tumbled out, desperate to erase the misunderstanding.
Kyle blinked, the tension in his shoulders easing as the absurdity sank in. He’d seen enough wild shit in life to know when something was too ridiculous to fabricate—this topped the list. A relieved chuckle escaped him, breaking the ice.
"Phew! I was fearing the worst," he said casually, rubbing the back of his neck, his voice that easy drawl that always diffused bombs. It lightened the room instantly, turning the chaos from mortifying to almost comical.
"I would have told you to be more careful next time," he added with a wry grin, "but what are the chances of this ever happening again?" He waved it off quickly, the joke landing soft, before his expression sobered. The mess on her face gnawed at him—his cum on her like that, unintended as it was.
"I am sorry for the mess..."
Aiysha shook her head, forcing a small smile through the stickiness. "No, you have nothing to apologize for. This was all my fault." She stood, tugging her top back into place, though it did little to hide the smears on her chest. Leaving like this? Impossible. The building buzzed with tenants now, night owls stirring, and the last thing she needed was eyes on her cum-splattered face in the hallway.
"Get yourself cleaned up in the toilet," Kyle suggested, nodding toward the en-suite bathroom door. He kept his tone neutral, grabbing a fresh shirt from the chair to toss over his lap, giving her space.
She nodded gratefully and slipped into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind her. The space was compact but lived-in: white tiles, a wide mirror fogged slightly from earlier steam, and—her stomach dropped—shelves lined with female products. A half-used bottle of floral body wash, a pink razor. One of the other women orbiting Kyle’s life no doubt.
Aiysha twisted the shower knob, hot water fell from the wide head in a soothing rush. She stripped quickly, peeling off her top and skirt, the fabric heavy with the night’s sweat and now his drying cum. Stepping under the spray, she let it pound her shoulders, rivulets tracing down her curves. The semen on her face dissolved first—she cupped water in her palms, splashing it over her cheeks, rubbing gently until the stickiness flaked away, leaving her skin pink and clean. But in her mouth, the salty tang lingered, a glob of his thick cum coating her tongue from that final spurt.
She should spit it out, rinse vigorously. Instead, something primal overrode her—throat working as she swallowed it down, the warm, viscous load sliding into her belly.
"What the hell has gotten into me?" she muttered under her breath, voice lost in the water’s roar. Glancing down, she saw the evidence: her pussy lips swollen and slick, arousal mixing with the shower stream, thighs glistening not just from water. Who could blame her? The body reacted on its own—nipples pebbled tight, clit throbbing faintly from the adrenaline crash. It had nothing to do with her moral compass, nothing to do with betraying Jones . Just biology, the same way her clients got erections without necessarily wanting it.
Her legs parted instinctively, one foot lifting to the shower bench as her hand drifted south. Fingers brushed her folds, slick with need, but she caught herself, slamming her palm against the tile instead. No. Not here, not like this. Still, the sexual pull toward Kyle ratcheted higher, it was undeniable now.
Turning to her body, she grabbed the loofah and a bar of soap, lathering it into frothy suds. Starting at her neck, she scrubbed in firm circles, working down over her collarbone where his cum had dripped. The skin there tingled with memory—the hot splash landing, cooling sticky. Lower, her hands cupped her massive breasts, heavy and full, soap bubbling between them. She recalled the exact feel of his cock wedged there: thick with veins pulsing against the tender inner curves, the flared head nudging her chin like it belonged. As she rubbed soap around her cleavage, fingers kneading the soft flesh, she mimicked the pressure unconsciously—pressing her tits together, imagining the drag of his shaft sliding through, the friction that had made him erupt.