Old enough to Vote But ...

Old enough to vote but not yet stroked ; just out of gamy school day awaiting acceptance to university and still a virgin. It's depressing being eighteen but folks not seeing you that way or treating you that way because of your build ; having mostly fresh, mumbling early teen boys hitting on you or worse yet old freaks that see you as jail bait but are willing to aim the chance. The only guys of the ‘ right'age to approach you almost always turn out to be sheer jerks or the shy inexperienced ones too timid and indecisive to need the lead and make you to the heights of pleasure your body so badly wants. That was a page from my journal a long sentence ago.

I was puttering around my garden on a impractical afternoon as best I could with my toilsome seven and a half months meaning belly, tending to my flower industrial plant while enjoying the warm malarky and weak sun performing against my skin. My thin cotton maternity wearing apparel was being threateningly blown around my ripening consistence ; luckily it was not too light. At age thirty eight I was preparing to bring away my fourthly child after a long break.

As I bent over to spade around the root of a plant life I heard a sudden piercing whistle that left no doubt about its nature or direction. I truly felt as if the speech sound had struck me on my stuck out ass. I straightened up More out of nettle curiosity than anything else and glared at the author of my interruption. I looked into a leering look that was stamped with as a great deal lechery as the gone whistle. The owner was a man who looked to be in his mid-sixties or thereabouts. As he stared lustily and unabashedly at my pregnant soundbox I felt like hurling the spade at his old ass, but that feel of hostility was fleeting for it was quickly replaced by a sweet blast of nostalgia, brought to life sentence by the combination of strong wind, the whistle and my billowing cotton clothes. I was also a short bit tickled by his forwardness, because I have a fallible billet for much older men. I quickly glanced at a temporary hookup of buttercups and my thinker took me back to a sentence hanker gone but yet alive in a special recess of my heart and computer memory. I felt a pleasurable tingling ; so instead of throwing the coon I threw a pleasant smile and a little wave of hand at the old guy who continued on his way, shaking his head in a manner that suggested he was regretting his age and longing for younger days.

I watched him disappear around the bend just as a sudden drizzle pelted down from the sky. I hurried indoors, still feeling the tingling in my soundbox. Smiling inside I went to my chamber and headed for a windowpane where I looked out at the falling rain and a genial vision of my past. Lost in sweetened revelry I brought one hand to my lower stomach and rubbed it gently as the early hired man crept up to my bosom, brushing against a bra-less mammilla that was quickly hardening. It wasn't long before the hand on my abdomen ventured lower and came to rest in the area of my self-conceited breakwater. I bent over to better touch my tingling crotch. My other hand pulled at a long hot nipple and I hissed softly. I waddled over to my bed where I lay on my spine with legs knack at the genu and spread wide. I moved aside the leg of my underwear and gently patted my wet cunt as I thought of that day long ago.

It was a hot and visionary day and I was hurrying along the street thinking with watering mouth about the ice cream I was on my way to purchase. I was dressed in a unawares armless pink blouse that hugged my bare ‘ A'cup chest and left a few inches of my legato chocolate tummy outside. Below the blouse was a short light pink wench of light cotton wool textile that blew freely in the wind. Looking up the street I saw the familiar figure of Mr. Whyte the locality builder/repairman ; he was attending to his gleaming sinister bicycle which seemed to have slipped its chain. Mr. Whyte was a man somewhere in his forties, I believed. He was a short and stringy soul of a low-cal skin color and curly brown hair due to his mix in ancestry : black, and a couple of early race, maybe East Indian, Portuguese and Native American or whatever. He had the reputation of being a ladies man, and had deep John Brown eyes that seemed to appear right through you to your private parts and view. He would gaze strongly at me with a svelte grin whenever we passed each early on the streets or he rode by our family on his bicycle with its ever award instrument bag.

When I was about 15 foot away from Mr. Whyte the wind upped strength and lifted the flimsy skirt up around my waist. It took a short piece for me to get it back down. I heard a low tin whistle that was as sexual as a tin whistle could be, and as I passed by him his words tantalized my piffling girl mind.
"yellow, girl, icteric,"he said, referring to the colour of my nylon underclothing."Nice little goldcup, yellow and mellow, my best-loved semblance and preferred flower, you are my little blossom girl."
I lowered my head shyly but looked at him sideways and managed a little trembling smile. To say I was delighted was an understatement. I'd never been talked to so sensually and directly by any male person. I felt a tingling sensory faculty take over my entire young body ; it felt as if all my pores were exploding. I quickened my stair against my will and rush away enjoying the transport I was caught up in.

When I got home I quickly deposited the ice cream in the refrigerator, telling my mother that I would eat it later after I'd bathed. I headed for the bathroom and standing before the mirror, quickly lifted my skirt up above my waist looking dreamy eyed and appraisingly at my yellow step-in and my ‘ crowfoot ’. I slipped out of my skirt and blouse and just stood there looking at my blossoming soundbox, feeling all grown up and worthy. I was a bare four feet eleven column inch in height, weighing about one hundred and five pounds, a considerable amount of which was settled in my ass hips and second joint. I pulled up the waist of my step-in causing it to cling snugly to my virgin mound, accentuating its plumpness and giving it a courteous little camel toe look. I will admit that my mound even without hair to pad it up in my underwear was a respectable hunk, more than the normal size of it. I knew this from equivalence with other young lady when we showered after biz. So I can guess why Mr. Whyte whistled when he caught vision of my nylon covered fork ; it was quite a fistful by any standards. I turned around and examined my rung, full ass, the crack of which the panties had slipped into. I was pleased with the good deal of the flesh out cheeks and felt my little yet to be touched pussy pulsation as I became turned on just looking at my aphrodisiacal Whitney Young consistency that glowed like polished chocolate. I brought one deal up and tweaked both little teat pulling them outward firmly. With the panties crotch now sunk into my pissed but wet little crack I rolled my hips and made footling humping front against the dull fabric.

A second later I pulled off the scanty and stepped under the shower. As the weewee engulfed me I used one hand to massage and pinch my lilliputian breasts and pap while the other helping hand flittered over my tighten up clit. After a while I parted my wisecrack and slipped a finger into my hot sly tunnel and began finger fucking my little snatch frantically. I came warm than I'd ever come before, moaning and whimpering as my legs ease up way to my explosion and I sunk to the story thinking about Mr. Whyte and the suggestiveness of his whistle and nice words.

That night I lay in bed for a couplet of 60 minutes conjuring possible sexual scenarios as I played with myself. After a couple of intense sexual climax I dropped off to sleep and dreamed of being fucked by a number of men who resembled Mr. Whyte, and sometimes took on the shape of dogs and horses and monkeys.

The future time I crossed route with Mr. Whyte he greeted me with a charming smile and said :
"How is my little flower girl today, eh, buttercup ?"my point immediately felt clear, like I was intoxicated, and all the pores on my body rose to pledge him. I smiled and without daring to look into those piercing eyes told him :
"Fine thank you Mr. Whyte."And started hurrying away, not knowing what else to do.
"call option me Bertrand."he said, behind my retreating back.

From that day onwards whenever we met he would call me buttercup, but the slight girl in me could not get me to say Bertrand to his expression, sometimes being seen as ‘ footling'can shit you mean you're footling, so I reserved that luxury for my mind and unruffled whispering when I was alone in my sleeping room or toilet pleasuring myself. He showered me with flattery and suggestive talk of the town which I absorbed hungrily, and after each encounter began looking forward to the following coming together. His intelligence left no doubtfulness about his rightful interest in me ; He saw me more as a adult female and prospective sexual collaborator than as a young missy he was just being squeamish to. And I loved it. My intellect kept telling me that I was treading grave waters, but my torso wanted to drown, wanted to get wet, so I paid no paying attention to my brain and the education and warning I'd got over the years about uprise men paying unbecoming interest in me. There were lots of Loretta Young son and men who paid me compliments and showed interest in me, but none of them made me finger the kind of heating plant Bertrand's Bible and attention generated in me. I wanted to take a luck with him. I wanted him to touch me all over. I wanted to touch him all over.

One even about a month after our first clash I was returning home from a dance class a few streets away from where I lived. It had just gotten dark and I was walking briskly to get home ; mugging was quickly becoming a nuisance in our neck of the woods. Just as I was about to reach my box I heard the sound of and approaching bicycle and the screeching sound of tyres brought to a sudden arrest by applied brakes.
"So my little heyday is out at night to brighten up the darkness."I heard the familiar representative say. I smiled at the compliment and felt goosebump on my weapon.
"I'd better walk my heyday domicile before someone picks it,"the voice continued
I didn't answer, I was truly lost for run-in, but I was excited to say the to the lowest degree. My heart pounded in my little chest and my torso quickly heated up, especially around my ear and neck opening and between my ramification. I felt a hand on my articulatio humeri as I was about to turn into the street.
"Let's go along Brewster St. and then come around crane avenue back to your street,"he said.
"But that's the longsighted away around,"I managed to whisper, as if there were hearer to our conversation. I knew that there was a petty resort area in Brewster Street that I had heard things about.
"I know, but it will kick in us some clock time to verbalize, we never get a chance to verbalize and I want to talk to you fiddling kingcup ; don't you want to mouth to me ?"I nodded and followed him. He guided me with his script to the inside of the street and he took the outside, pushing his bicycle along. I liked the tactile sensation that had come over me, and wondered if this is the feeling one got when on a date.

When we came to the minuscule playground, he took my hand in his and led me off the road. My heart was pumping wildly and my palm grew damp. I began to have second mentation as warnings I'd got as to what to do and not do as a offspring girl came back to me. I was confused ; though I trusted him and had been longing over the retiring month to be alone with him, I was feeling a little scared.
He must have sensed my sentiment,"Don't be afraid, I won't hurt you"he said, raising his handwriting to pat my wake cheek. He parked his bike against the fence, and placed himself in a half sitting office on the crossbreed bar. I felt my legs involuntarily step forward and contract me close to him. He reached out and putting his hands around my waist gently pulled me against him. The bag that I was carrying slipped from my finger like an escaping bird. My slightly trembling body leaned into his between his spread ramification and I felt something goodly and unvoiced down there crush against my breadbasket. He lifted my mentum and brought his lips down to mine, poking his natural language between them. I instinctually I opened my sass and let him into mine. It was my first off ever kiss and I didn't know for sure what to do. Following his lead I stuck my tongue out and he latched onto it and began sucking on it gently. I was in heaven. His helping hand gripped my ass buttock and pulled me in closer against his hard pulsing shaft. He brought one helping hand up and began caressing my little knocker, one then the other through my sweater as we kissed. After a little while he lowered his script and brought it up under the perspirer and cupped a bare breast, twirling the constrain tit between his ovolo and index. I wasn't wearing a bra. He moved one of his counterpane legs in and brought it to rest between my thighs, pressing against my yearning snatch. He started humping his knee against my pussy, driving me groundless with pleasure. Then I felt him lean downward a bit and suddenly his hand was covering my damp footling virgin crotch. I felt him impress the pantie leg aside, and I gasped as his finger slipped between my plump labia back talk and started to inscribe my pristine tunnel. Alarm bells went off in my head and I pulled back quickly causing his fingerbreadth to slue out.
"No, don't do that,"I whispered, even as my kitty was yearning for him to continue.
He put his digit back to my entrance and started to bid it into my little maw, but I wrenched away.
"No, please, don't do that, we can't, I have to go now,"I cried out.
"Ok"he said,"if that's what you want, my niggling kingcup,"he leaned over and kissed me on the forehead then the nose and then he brought his lips to mine and slipped his natural language into my mouth briefly.

He took wait of his bicycle and we left the playground.
"It's okay,"he said"I won't rush you, there will be other times."He made me sit on the cross bar of his wheel and he pedaled away quickly. He put me off a little before we got to my street street corner and I walked home briskly feeling a intermixture of delight and confusion. I went to my room and lying on the bed I began to sob into my pillow softly. I was furious with myself for not having the courage to let him do more nice affair to me with his workforce. And I didn't even get to feel his turncock in mine. Oh what a fool I was. What if he never took me back there again, never talked to me again, I wondered. But then I remembered him saying something about there being other metre and I began to feel better and to go over in my mind the Henry Sweet thing we had done.

Two days later, late in the good afternoon, at the sound of voices I looked out the window and saw him talking to my mom. My affectionateness skipped a heartbeat. What was going on ? My mom had a have-to doe with look on her brass. Then she started to smile and he looked toward the window and seeing me he smiled and waved his script. My mom came in and told me that he had brought to her tending the broken down state of the fencing in our backyard and the lax boards and cap on the lilliputian storage shack also at the spinal column. He'd asked if she wanted them fixed and after she told him that she hadn't money to do it now he'd said that he could do the job and wait until she could pay him, adding that he hadn't any job lined up for the next day anyway, so it was best he do it then.

The future break of day he arrived at around eight and came into the yard with his shaft bag hanging from his wheel handle. Mom was at home, it being Sabbatum. I gazed from my bedroom window which overlooked the back yard as he began his work, whistling softly. He started to look around and I quickly pulled away from the window, but I think he saw me. I sat on my bed, upheaval coursing through my body as I reflected on our live on merging ; the flavour of his rough out finger's breadth entering my tight pussy, his soft wet tongue in my backtalk, his fingers tweaking my nipple. I wanted badly to tint myself and increase the tingling feeling that was playing with my physical structure. I got up and went to the bathroom.

As the dusty shower bath hit my hot skin I lowered my hand and began to massage my pussy roughly, almost angrily. I spread my legs and braced against the wall and began a furious humping, imagining that it was Bertrand's body. I took the bar of scoop and slipping it halfway into my slit I began rolling my hips. One hand slickness with soap reached behind and an aegir eye finger found my puckered hole and forced its way in. In less than five proceedings my torso exploded and I sunk to the floor gasping and groaning. Wrapping a towel around me I went to my sleeping room. A sudden daring overtook me and I decided to put on a piddling show for Bertrand. I stood beside my bed looking at him and as I saw him raise his question to wait my way I loosened the towel and strode pass the window pretending not to induce seen him. I stopped at a maculation where I knew he could still see me, and began drying my hide with my spinal column to him. I then turned around and facing him full frontal raised the towel to my wet hair. I rubbed vigorously at my wet hair, knowing that the movement was causing my bantam boob with their stiff nipples to bounce a piddling. After about three minute I suddenly dropped the towel to the story and looked in his focal point. He was staring at me with his hand inside his pants pouch. Pretending to be startled I opened my eyes wide and quickly brought my hands up to my breasts, covering them. Walking backward I retreated to the other end of the room, smiling interior at my sudden daring, as my chocolate consistency glowed red with upheaval.

I searched through my undergarments and found the yellow pair of panty that I had been wearing on that eventful long-winded day. I slipped them on and then put on the Saami pink blouse and skirt. I went into the life room where mom was enjoying her favorite Saturday morning show. Ten minutes later when the display came to an end she informed me that she was going to make a quick run to the supermarket and that she would be back in 60 to ninety bit. She cautioned me to save the doorway shut while she was gone and not to speculation outside. She said if Mr. Whyte called out for anything ; ask him to wait until she returned. She had already provided him with a pitcher of water system with ice square block and a looking glass. She left the house quietly through the front door.
After she left I waited for about five minutes just in grammatical case she had forgotten her money or something and returned. I then went to my bedroom windowpane where seconds later Bertrand looked up and our optic met. We held each other's gaze for a long time then I saw him point his Chin in the direction of the shed before downing his hammer and walking towards it. About five mo later I slipped out the back door and went to the shed. I stepped inside and the first thing he asked me was where my mom was and what she was doing. I told him the the true. He went to the door of the slough and pulled it in. he then cleared a little spot between some junk and told me that should my mom suddenly appear to get behind there and hide. He was a smart one, I thought.
"What is my picayune crowfoot wearing under that dame ?"he asked"yellow ?"I nodded
"hike the skirt and let me see,"he said.
My fingers trembled slightly as I did as he commanded. I saw him puff and his eyes widened as he took in the sight of my fat crotch covered by the tight yellow, nylon undies. He stepped forward and reaching out, cupped my pussy and massaged it gently. Then suddenly we were kissing passionately, our trunk tightly locked together, his thighs between mine tormenting my secreting mound. I felt his bridge player between our physical structure brushing against my upper groin as he fumbled down there. Then suddenly he took my hand and placed it on something hard yet soft and hot and pulsing. I gripped the stagger particular, and for the first sentence in my lifespan held a man's peter, a hard erect cock. I heard myself groan and without thinking I drew confining and pressed the knockout appendage against my catching vulva. He pressed forward and I returned the movement, and soon we were grinding madly against each other. He held me blotto, sucking on my willing lingua as we did our little terpsichore of lust.

He dropped to his knees and lifting my dame high up, began sniffing at my genitals before smashing his olfactory organ into the wet heating. I never knew such affair really happened, although I'd heard some talk about it. I thought it was a bit gross and tried to perpetrate back, feeling embarrassed, but he held me cockeyed around the back of my thigh, and pushing his fount back down there managed to ask my pussy, panty privates and all into his hot backtalk and began sucking and gently biting the quivering flesh, causing such pleasure that I quit trying to pull away as I threw back my head and growled deeply. I felt him pull my panty leg aside and felt his lingua Franklin Pierce my almost bald mound. Then my engorged button was between his lip being teased by his flickering tongue. He kept at it for about five minutes, giving me a redolence that I never dreamed of. Luckily he was holding me tightly, because my legs suddenly became lifeless as a heave eruption took over my eubstance and my head swung dizzily. My body shook crazily and he allowed me to steal slowly to the ground.

He stood up and dropped his drawers to the solid ground. I looked up at the saccade fleshy puppet bouncing against my facial expression. It seemed huge to me, but was maybe only about seven column inch, shaped like a placid and glazed dark-brown blimp with prominent vein. I marveled at the tempting kickshaw and without being asked, grabbed it and took it into my inexperient mouth. I heard his intake of breath and was delight that I had touched him deeply. I sucked the bulbous head like a lollipop, swirling my tongue around it. I opened my mouth wide and let it slue down my throat till I couldn't take any more and began to gag. I came up gasping and choking and after a few endorsement went at it again, finding a foreign satisfaction in the feeling of being of being suffocated. keep on it up for a awhile, letting the long extremity go all the way down till I gagged and choked then coming up for air and seconds after repeating the strange exercise. He took my bridge player and put it to his balls. I'd heard enough talk of the town about men being hit in their testis and the pain it brought to know that balls were lovesome matter to be handled with care. I caressed and rubbed it with tender loving care as I sucked on his turncock. Then I lowered my head and licked them. I went back to the tool which was more fun, and began biting and licking the prick and pumping it. Trying to recall and put into play all the picayune sex information I'd picked up here and there from overheard conversations. He suddenly pulled away and I tried to take hold of at his cock not wanting it to end. But he evaded me and reached into a corner for a couple of old mats that he spread on the priming and made me lie on.

I lay still in slightly frightening but excited first moment. I'd heard that the first sentence could be painful. I raised my hip and let him pull up my panty off. He put it to his nose and sniffed it then licked at the dampen crotch. He opened my blouse exposing my niggling teat that were felicitous and hotter than ever ; it showed in the way their teat were reaching for the sky. Lying between my branch he began sucking on my breasts as he rubbed his yearn cock against my pussy. Every time it moved across my button I shivered. He grasped his cock and positioned it at the entry of my hole and started to rub it against the entrance. He told me to spread my legs. I obey, holding them spacious and bending my stifle a little. I felt him spread my virgin sassing and with his cock fitted between them began pushing gently. It hurt a little and I winced he pushed again and it hurt even more. He bore down on me severely and I felt a small-arm of him enter me. The sudden annoyance made me dig my cad into the floor and try to promote away from the intruder but he grabbed my shoulder and followed my retreating cunt with his vibrant cock. He pushed harder and I felt like I was being torn apart as more of him entered me. I started to scream and he covered my rima oris with his mitt as he continued to thrust his way in. suddenly I felt like something had snapped, followed by burning pain. He stopped pushing and remained still, buried inscrutable inside of me as I bit into the fleshy pad at the side of his script over my mouth, while trying to have the unusual bother.

After a while the pain subsided a bit and I felt him moving gently inside of me, and though some of the pain still lingered I found myself gradually liking it. He kept moving slowly in and out of me for about five minutes until I'd grown accustomed to the rhythm and the nuisance, before increasing the tempo of his pelvic arch to a more rapid and deeper plunging into my young depths. I felt my pussy welcoming the increased swiftness and I bit my lip and closed my eye and took his steady throbbing like a champ, counter punching with thrusts of my own as my head teacher swam with a strange ecstasy. He bent over and sucked on my bantam breasts as he rode me. He licked my cervix and my nose and my cheeks and I felt not only well fucked but loved. I felt him began moving in a way that suggested that something big was about to happen and I clung to him tightly. I felt his body stiffen then begin to rock as if he was experiencing spasmodic spasms. He tried to draw in out of me but using all my potency I held his ass down between my legs as he exploded inside of me giving me my first ever cum douche. I opened my eye and saw him grimacing as he shook uncontrollably. After he was spent he collapsed on top of me and I stroked the cover of his school principal when I heard him say :
"butter-flower, thanks for letting me beak your flower."

I lay on the earth and watched as he cleaned up the traces of blood and seeped cum from the mat with a rag from his sac. He crept over on his genu and putting his human face between my thighs kissed my aching snatch. He told me to take a quick cascade before my mom returned and to hold out a sanitary pad. He also told me to insure the music cabinet and consider a couple of infliction pills if there was any. I did everything he said, and was lying in my bed fresh and radiance, cuddled up with a book by the time mom returned. That was only the beginning of a boastfully number of intimate confrontation with Bertrand over the next three class. He and his wife divorced and he went away leaving her and his nipper, two of them older than me, in the family theatre. He wrote for a while but then the letters stopped coming.

I got up from the bed where I had been lying rubbing my maternity swollen vulva as I reminisced on my commencement sexual experience. I waddled over to the window of my old bedroom which had now been converted into a master sleeping room for me and my husband. I had never moved away, and was joined by my husband in the business firm the day we got married. Mom had died a couple of long time ago leaving me the theatre which had been expanded over the years. I looked out at the depot shack which had also been spruced up and enlarged.

A week later I saw my husband go to the logic gate and got into conversation with the old man that had passed by and whistled at me. They stood there going over something or the other for a piece before my husband came in and informed me that he was going to contribute the old guy a yoke of days work sprucing up the yard. As I mentioned at the beginning of the floor, I had a thing for a lot honest-to-god Guy, and by now you know why. What I have to add to that though is that since being married and in bitchiness of being very much in love and sexually satisfied with my husband was only a couple of long time older than me, I'd had a few one or two time sexual encounters with a lot older men. Bertrand had filled me with that yearning. The last encounter was about five years back, and since then I'd only been involved in harmless flirting every now and then, but lately I'd been feeling the itch and thinking about having a final swing. So when I heard of my married man's arrangement I became excited at the chance of flirting with the old guy or maybe a little to a greater extent than flirting. Maybe I could dash him a slight, or let him cop a tone ; that would be fun. I felt my slit twinge at the wicked thoughts.

The next morning not long after my husband and kids had left I took a shower and put on a light, short, almost sheer flannel gestation dress that had release from the neck down to the hem. I loosened a couplet of buttons at both extremes. I was not wearing bra nor panties, and my swollen breasts with their farsighted nipples poked against the front of the dress. I sat down with a coffee and waited for my intended ‘ victim ’, primed for fun. While waiting for the old guy to change state up I felt the need to ease my bladder ; I peed frequently when pregnant. I got up and headed for the bathroom that was close to the endorse door. When I got there I heard some strange sounds. Looking out I saw the old guy with boards in his hands heading for the shack ; he had obviously stared working and I hadn't even heard him come into the pace. He hadn't announced his comer. I decided to go out right away and have a talk with him. The door of the shack was unfastened and he was backing me as he was rummaging through a tool around kit. He turned around and looking up at me with a grinning on his case said :
"Hi buttercup, how ya doin. Ya look as good as ever peak girl ?"
I almost jumped out of my pelt as those Holy Scripture registered in my capitulum and the identity element of the old man became evident. I was overtaken by a surge of emotions and I cupped my go belly as if trying to go along it from falling to the priming coat as my body shook uncontrollably. I was crying and laughing at the Saame time as he came forward and took me in his implements of war. I felt a maven in my pussy and hot liquidity running down my legs. Looking down I saw the puddle of pee. I had been so startled by the uncovering that the old man was really Bertrand my retentive lost lover that I peed myself. I was deeply embarrassed. His eyes followed mine to the primer and at the spate of the pee he smiled.
"My buttercup is overflowing, let me strip you up,"he said and sank to his knees.
He started licking at the liquid running down my legs. Raising my attire his mouth travelled up my swollen thigh. I stood there like a statue as his knife and sassing played against my cutis. I couldn't stop him if I wanted to ; I didn't have the forcefulness. I eased myself down to the floor and lay on my, legs bedspread, looking at him silently as his mouth teased my twat with its neatly trimmed opprobrious bush. My pussy was contracting like mad as his tongue searched around inside. He unbuttoned my dress all the way down and queer my engorged tit. He took a hanker unbendable teat between his sass and sucked on it tenderly as his fingerbreadth twirled the hair and brushed the clit of my suddenly hungry cunt. He got up and took off his jean and shorts and I looked amazed at the associate long, smooth browned pussy digger. I watched as he squeezed and pumped it gently until it was slopped with excited stemma. I turned on my side and bending my articulatio genus raised the leg up. He lay beside me, positioned hi hammer at my opening and swiftly plunged it all the way into me. Aided by my flow juice he got in easily. He began slamming into me furiously, making me cry out.
"Yes Bertrand, yes, fuck my hungry twat. It's been so long darling, its hungry for you feed it with your cock, fuck me !"
He gripped one of my breasts squeezing it roughly, and bit into my articulatio humeri as he pounded my pussy from the back. I raised my leg high in the air to commit him easy entree. I hissed and groaned and grunted loudly, unashamedly, urging him on with words as well as organic structure movement as he slammed into me with ready short jabs like a crazed dog pounding his bitch in heat energy. I got on my genu and he spread my ass cheeks and ground his jetty against them as he sunk his cock to the floor in me. I could feel his pubic hair tickling me as he pressed into me with a circular grind. How I loved the feel of that stopcock in my dripping pussy. He brought both manus between my cattle farm thighs, palm upwards and gripped my swollen belly from underneath as he leaned his head back ; pelvic girdle pushed forward and pumped me furiously. I snarled like a bitch with joy as I felt him stiffen before shooting into me in quick spurts, flooding me with his ancient slick cum. I cried out loudly as my own orgasm broke its dam, causing my center to roll up and my undefendable mouth to slaver. When we were both spent and lying on our binding I turned and looked at his satisfied cheek and I felt good and also satisfied. I was truly in heaven ; a happily married and sexually fulfilled woman with a young rivet and an old rivet to fuck me whenever I wanted ; the best of both earthly concern. What more could a girl want .