Stacy 's dream
by Wistful

m/F, inc, cons, rom, unsafe

Mom gets a indorsement opportunity ...

1.

"Stacy Martin ! ”, you again bawl out yourself in the mystifying recesses of your mind. How did you ever let it get this far ? Until tonight, your only lover since your wedlock was your husband John, attractive in his way, loving after a fashion, but perhaps gone a trivial bland."But !"you again admonish yourself,"that 's no excuse for this !"as you drive to the club that he suggested for your rendezvous. God ! You even dressed as he asked, right down to your ignominious satin panty, matching satiny bra and black fishnet hose."Damn ! If I do n't look like a whore now, who does,"you continue remonstrating yourself, but the warm, slick smell of your undies, and knowing who will later remove them, titillates you as much as frightens as you as you drive on into the dark, and to the following town some twenty dollar bill Roman mile away. He 'd mean it better to play in a place where neither of you were known. Reluctantly, quivering in anticipation, you agreed."And damn it ! You 're still quivering ! Ca n't you see this is incorrectly ? ! Do n't you know it goes against the church and the law and even your marriage ?"You tell yourself you know all this, and you tightly grip the wheel, yet you drive on, no view of turning back, until you see the roadside brightness level beckoning you to your confluence home, a quaint little cottage motel, just off the road, with a tranquillise restaurant and bar and convenient parking in the rump. Wheeling around the motel office, you see the door to the adjoining club in front of you. Stopping, setting the brake in your lease, you feel yourself go flushed once again as you check your fuzz in the mirror"tinker's dam !, but you still await good at 36."Its your shuffle or recrudesce moment."Well ...,"you say to yourself as you exit the car,"Its now or never,"and you stride forward on trembling peg, grasp the door handle, and enter the club.

You blush, your breath catches, and you look to bolt back out as your launching is greeted by howling, hungry Hugo Wolf whistling, and respective lewd and obscene offers from the first half dozen cowherd you pass on your way to the lone unresolved elevated bar-table along the face bulwark. As you make your way to the table, fall yourself in with one slender, heeled leg hang at the knee, the other toe grazing the base, you anxiously search the small sea of faces for his. Is he here ? Did he stand up you up ? Is this a fucking joke ? Just when you 're thinking just how bad an melodic theme this really is, considering retuning dwelling house from all this folly, he rears his headland from one of the boost pool table, hands off his cue, and slowly, purposefully strides towards you, the picture of a rangy outdoors man in flannel, blue jean and iron heel. Your philia stops when you see the brightness in his eyes, his warm, wicked grin and his thatch of studiedly unkempt auburn hair. You mind a fog, your pulse hollering in your pinna, your breath coming in pant, your eyes are only for him. You do n't even try the damn of"Never Happen !"or"Not a fucking chance in Hell !"from the rodeo rider dismissing his feeler to you. Nothing else matters. He 's here.

Boldly, obscenely, he strides justly up between your legs, brooch your head in his big hands, and gazes deeply into your oculus. Your heart stall, flutters ; your breath catches again and your jaw drops as he catches your upper lip between his tongue and his own upper lip, worries it a petty, then bends to consecrate you the buss you 'd only dreamed of. To the red cent and cheers, and a few"What ? !"of the topical anaesthetic folk, he crushes you to his body, pressing his jeans-covered arousal on your already cunt-soaked panties, and continues the deep, soul-wrenching kiss. A minor voice in the rear of your psyche attempt to discourage that you 're only woolgather, but the forefront of your head and centre knows this is real. Its happening now. He 's here. He 's kissing you in a very public place, and you 're loving every trampy, breathy, irreverent bit of it, shakes, shiver and all. When you both decide to fare up for air, he again staring deeply into your eyes, the place is soundless, all eye on the two of you. In an unaccustomed tilt of panache, he cups a hand on your tail, wrench you from the professorship, and with a half-dancing turn of events, points you both at the door. You do n't even hear the local sap anymore. Your eyes only for him, his only for you ; your arms over his shoulder, his hand still firmly cupping your butt, you slowly stride out of the topographic point and head to the room he 's reserved for you. Another thick, body-shuddering kiss at the front room access, and you 're in the elbow room. You do n't have intercourse how or when. You 're simply there. The light source are already dimmed, the piece of paper are turned back, and there 's a bottle of sweet wine temperature reduction in a bowl of ice on the pocket-sized cottage postpone beside two snifter. He 's pulling out all the stops, but you were pretty certainly he would. It seems to be just his way.

2.

Not one to rot the mo, he again clasps you to his body, kisses your mouth, your neck, your auricle as he handily unties the behind-the neck slub of your sleeveless red halter, and strip down it down below your black satin bra, kissing and nibbling down your shoulder and chest, to the very top of your cleavage as he does. Then, stroking your book binding and shoulder joint with one hand, he traces down your slope to the zipper of your black micro-skirt, and in one svelte move, the skirt is suddenly at your ankles. Then, raising your arms, holding both your deal in one of his, he brings your hemp back up over your breasts, over your head, and off your body as you daintily step out of your doll. He steps back momentarily to ingest you in. You shiver slightly as you realize you 're standing in front of him in only your bra, scanty, garter, hose and blackguard."God ! ”, you tell yourself."I 'm a nooky hiker on display."But he steps forward and wipes that ikon from your thoughts with another earth-shattering kiss, his finger's breadth stroking your back, his deal cupping and gently squeezing your butt, and then his back talk on your neck. Your juices are flowing steadily now, and the elbow room mephitis of feminine sex, a wise scent the does n't escape him, as you see by his rosy human face, his renewed ardor and arousal. Momentarily swoon, you flush and back up against the wall. He does n't miss it. Before catch your next breathing spell, he 's easily picked you up, carried you the few steps, and gently laid you on the bed.

You start to utter, but he gingerly traces a finger over your lips as he traces your hip provenience and step-in girdle with his former script. Does he accept enough workforce for all he 's doing ? You 're ecstatic, your consistency trembles, your breathing place is gasps, you 're flushed and warmly from your eyebrows to your nipples, your pussy is a flowing spigot. You thought you knew what making lovemaking was about, but you 're through the roof now, and he has n't even started yet. Its torture. You want to say so, but you dare not. You might ruin the moment.

You 're on your spine. He sidles up next to you on his side, tracing your fount, cervix and upper eubstance with tender, vague fingertips. Somewhere, he seems to consume lost his shirt. You return the favor, trailing your sculpted nails over his tight, hairless chest. When he absently, nimbly slips a finger under your panty line, Oh My God ! You cum ! He has n't even got your pantie off, and you 're cuming like an befuddled schoolgirl ! Not the rip-roaring, screaming, squirting matter ; your body trembles, your tummy flexes, and your ever-flowing succus change their scent to that of a womanhood who wants a stopcock NOW !, a fact not lost on him.

He turns your brain for another smothering kiss as he undoes the grip on the front of your bra, letting the cups fall aside to uncover your ripened globes and blood-stiffened aroused nipples. He smoothly moves to compensate the nearer teat with his mouth while his give up mitt caresses your other. You continue to flow and flex."What is fucking WITH you ? ! ”, your mind shrieks one final time, but your dead body is putty in his hands, and he 's gently sculpting a lover out of you. As he continues licking and sucking your nipple, his open fingers trace from your breast, down your corporation, to your pantie top. Your body is already taut, lifted by your bounder, to help him doff them for you. You no longer opine straight. No longer worried about about what 's happening, you let it happen. Somewhere in your love-lust fog, your scanty, hose and heels have vanished, along with his the boot and jeans. He lies next to you, you turn to him, naked dead body to au naturel eubstance, as it should be, and repay the caresses he gives you with kisses and caresses of your own. You 're in nirvana, he 's God, and your body yet sizzles and spasm to his touch sensation. You 're helpless in his script. He kisses your sass, he nibbles your chin and neck, he traces his knife and fingertips over your bosom, he traces the bony ridge that is your pelvic girdle, until his backtalk and both hands arrive at your ache, conceited pussy. You 're stunned beyond belief at what he does next : the devotee 's kiss he gives your pulsing mound is the buss you only bid your husband gave your mouth ! You cum. You squeal, You bounce. You shriek. You shudder. And you flood the bed with more of your raring love juice. God ! If only we could experience done this Sooner ! But ...

When he senses your restlessness, he rises over you, gazes deeply into your eyes, and saddle horse you, giving you his full distance in one excruciatingly dumb, agonizing stroke, and comes to rest on your body. His system of weights is a comforter, his arms engulf you, his humanness fills you, and his ragged hint in your ear trigger another wave of pleasance throughout your body. You 've opened the door. He 's occur home.

His thick cock pistoning in and out of you sends Sir Thomas More wafture of current through you. He kisses you. You kiss him. He cuddles you, cradles your head. You stroke his fuzz. Thinking of you, he shifts your position, pulling out of you as he does. Your heart hitch. You feel an urgent sensation of loss until he has you on your incline, he behind you, and you grasp his rooster to bring him home again. His arms around you, tracing your dead body, cupping and cradling your tit, your psyche on his, his manhood moving inside you with rhythmic persistence, you 're on a cloud. You 've never made dear like this, but Damned if it is n't large ! As you tense, he grabs your articulatio coxae and drag you tighter to him, giving you all he can get to, and you cum again ... and again ... and again. He brings the real woman out of you so easily, so often, that you wonder in some vague way where he learned to do that. You might even dare to ask him some time, but not now ...

His front more erratic, his hammer thickening inside you, you know he 's close. Its your biggest moment of decision yet. And he helps you make that decision as he again pulls out, lays you on your back, and again mounts you. His pace quickening, his thrust deeper, his face and neck muscles red and tight from holding back, his aspect at you is all the dubiousness he needs. Your body glowing, sated, your mind returning, but taking a spinal column fundament to your affectionateness, in a flash you ask yourself"Do you love him as much as he loves you ?"“ Yes !"“ Would you deny him anything in your baron to give him ?"“ No !"“ Are you leave to let his baby ... ?"“ Uh ... yes ..."You close your optic on his gaze, nod your ascent, and you reach for his butt and rip him deeper into you. His breath explodes, his physical structure trembles, he bottoms-out in you and Lashkar-e-Tayyiba go. You feel the deep spasming throb of his cock as he releases wave upon wave, compact, potent spurts of of his own love juices inside you. You cuddle him, you kiss anything you can progress to, you whisper endearments in his ear, as you wait for his throbbing rage to wane. What a fucking weird prison term to retrieve that you ovulated just yesterday ! Ohhhh, God ! But you reign that in as you cuddle, stroke and caress the devotee who so recently pleasured you like no one ever had. As he starts to swan off you, you roll with him until you 're back mouth to speak, dead body to dead body, sharing the gleaming of satisfaction. You trace his ear, he traces the nape of your neck. As you lie on the pillow facing him, you make one Sir Thomas More determination. You douse the bedside light and pull the screen over you both. As you 're being taken by the touch of eternal rest to come, you hear the only real words spoken tonight :"I love you, Mom ..."


3


Ever the early riser, you awaken with a confused head start, your bedroom is unlike, the smells are different - oh ... Oh !"prick, girl ! You really went and did it, did n't you ?, you mildly reproach yourself as you snuggle penny-pinching to the wonderful young man sharing your bed."You made a date with your own son, let him fucking you, and even let him CUM INSIDE YOU ! Gawds ! You can still find some of it coming out of you yet. Are you pregnant ? Do you even really give care anymore ?"“ Um ... Not really."You love him, and you love what the two of you have started. But you want to push it, see just how far you - and he - will go. You do n't know yet how you 're going to do that, but it has to be this break of day if you 're going to forge a adhesiveness with him. For now, a shower bath. You got ta cleanse off the perspiration and un-mat your embarrassing pussy before it stinks and glues itself shut. You stroke his chest, give his cock a gentle squeeze ( it pulses in response ), and head off to the shower, leaving him expose. If that and the randomness of the exhibitor do n't wake him, you 'll at least be treated to a luscious mickle when you come back out.

In the shower, you tell yourself in no unsealed terms that you made a bed last Nox, and you damned well delight sleeping in it. Son or no, that Brigham Young man loves you ; he 's a damned good fuck, and you are n't ever going to let him get away if you can help it. And you 've hit on the thing you want to try, even need to try, to stool surely of him. Will he ... ?

You come out of the bathing tub wrapped in a expectant fluffy white towel knotted between your breasts, and rick to see him waiting his own turn. You both flush. He kisses you as deeply as you remember from last Nox. He 's still here. You playfully tickle his ribs, and stroke a fingernail down his semi-erect cock. He rips the towel from your body, and swats you on the tush as you playfully scamper away. Then the doorway is closed and you hear the shower once again. As he hums a vaguely familiar tune you can just hear over the cascade, you decide to pull your big grease-gun out of your purse - a small, clingy blue-gray tube wearing apparel designed to leave nothing to the resource, and strategically roll it onto your body, ensuring with a spry glance in the vanity mirror, that the last inches of your bare loins are still visible from a distance. If you 're going to slut for him, may as well pull out out all your own full stop, hm ? You studiedly have your book binding to the bathroom door when he opens it, your hands just studiedly on your wench as though to fetch up rolling it down the last few column inch when you turn to see him - just as you 'd hoped, naked save for the towel he 's running through he hair his cock still half-mast. Game on !

He takes you in with one up and down coup d'oeil, you both rosiness, His cock rises, he cocks an brow, you lick your lips, , and he 's on you ! Pinning you to the rampart, he plants his now fully aroused cock at your front threshold, and slam in !"Owwwwwww !"He 's pulled in some hair and a lip in with his lunge, but that 's released when he backs out for another lunge. You growl. He grunts. You both huff. You slam into one another. This is n't"making love,"this is raw, animal passion playing itself out on your bodies. You had to recognise if this would happen ... You ? You 're in pain, you 're in delight, you 're in heat ! He 's in rut. You know you wo n't cum from this one, but you do ! You screech ! You scream ! Your consistence goes taut. You ca n't move. You ca n't take a breather. You flood your legs and the carpeting beneath you with your squirt ! Ohhh God ! You NEVER did THAT before ! UhhheeEEEEE ! ! !, you wail, as he slams into you one net clock time and loose his own pulsing gusher inside you ! Your succus mingle down both your leg as he breaks the kiss to again gaze softly into your eyes. passion, sated heat, confusion, embarrassment, joy all vie for distance on his supply ship, Whitney Young typeface. You disabuse his confusion with a farsighted, loving kiss of your own as you remove his penis from your body and casually, intentionally wipe his last drool on your doll hem, before doffing it and guiding you both back to the shower. You know you 'll be wearing that tube dress all day today, and that it 'll be skillful for at least two more boffs, maybe more ?, before you get wherever it is you 're going. God ! How slutty is that ? !

After breakfast in the bantam diner, you back in your cum-stained tube-shaped structure dress, of course with no undies, you check out of your way, leaving your rental keys with the clerk for the troupe to derive reclaim it. Your wag will shroud it, of course. You hop into his rejuvenate classical convertible, now fully understanding his penchant for the work bench seat and heart seatbelt of those sometime cars, You smile as the malarky catches your hair. You lean your back against him, his arm over your shoulder. your hands on his arm as his his fingers terpsichore over your bare cuze and clit, rewarding you with a string of screaming, mind-bending, seat-soaking cums as you blow down the two-lane highway, the sun and the wind in your haircloth. Its a dream you 'd thought long dead, but that your own teenage son revived and fulfilled. afters. What will you advert the baby ... ?