Artist’s rendition of the author in question.

Steven leaned naked against the frame of the open bathroom door, his gleaming member dangling like the tail of a dog that knew it’d done something wrong. She stared at him, eyes taking in his every contour, trying her best to avert her gaze from his no-no region.

“Do you like what you see?” he asked, pushing himself off the door slightly and walking toward her. His man-wiener slapped against his leg as he walked, the sound not unlike that of a single audience member applauding an otherwise unenjoyable performance. She did like what she saw. In fact, she quite enjoyed it. Yet she knew she couldn’t tell him, knew she had to keep her lust at bay. A lady was nothing if not for her frigidity.

“I don’t think we should do this,” she said, turning to face the wall opposite him. She closed her eyes, his glistening willy wiggling in her mind like an elephant’s trunk conducting an orchestra. “It doesn’t feel right.” She felt a hand fall gently on her shoulder.

“It feels pretty right to me,” Steven said. His voice was slow, deliberate; she felt comfortable when he spoke, almost believing she could trust a man—even if just for the short seconds before reality set back in. Steven ran his hand along her back, slowly moving around to her belly.

“Steven,” she said, his hand slowly crawling up to her throbbing teats. She stared down at them, watching as his hand clasped them like a beach volleyball player preparing to serve the ball. He squeezed, a sinful pleasure spreading through her body.

“Shh,” Steven said, hand fondling her exposed bosom. She closed her eyes again, his throbbing member dancing and waving in the darkness of her imagination like one of those wacky, plastic, wiggling air-men they have outside used car dealerships. She knew she shouldn’t do this—couldn’t do this. Yet every part of her screamed to let it happen, to relax and enjoy something outside of work just this once. Her eyes opened wide as she felt his hand slowly head southward on her womanly curves, an unintentional sigh escaping her lips as he explored lower toward her hoo-ha. She could feel his wiener against the small of her back, the sensation not unlike that of a hug from someone who accidentally left a ripened cucumber in their front pocket.

“Wait, Steven,” she said, opening her eyes and turning to face him, “I—”she paused, eyes exploring his naked figure, finally allowing herself to gaze upon his exalted manhood. Her eyes meandered upwards to his. He stared back at her, their eyes now locked together. “I want this.”

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Writing Prompt: Write me the best (family friendly) trashy smut you possibly can. And by ‘best’, I mean ‘more awful than a dimestore novel’.