When you move back home at 30 because of a pandemic, your sex life severely diminishes.
Or so I hear.
But I’ve never been one to let anything stand in the way of a good time.
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It was my first day of freedom after two weeks of COVID quarantine and I didn’t even make it to nightfall before I’d breached social distancing guidelines.
His name was Rob.
We’d first hooked up in 2009 on a sleazy nightclub dance floor. Three years later we briefly dated during a whirlwind trip back home in 2017.
So I wasn’t in the least bit surprised to find myself half-naked and riding Rob on the back seat of his ute just hours after we met for the first time in years.
Following fish and chips and a lingering kiss at the beach, we’d driven along the coast until we found an almost deserted and barely lit car park.
Slowly sliding onto Rob’s hard c**k felt so good, I’m wet just thinking about it.
He kissed my neck, his stubble grazing my skin. It sent tingles running through my body.
Tugging my dress down, Rob popped my boobs out and began sucking, teasing and pulling at my nipples.
Grinding against him, my clit was completely stimulated as I bounced up and down, feeling myself getting closer and closer.