Old Enough to Vote But ...

Old enough to vote but not yet stroked ; just out of high school awaiting sufferance 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 boy hitting on you or worse yet old freaks that see you as jail hook but are bequeath to take the chance. The only guys of the ‘ right'age to come on you almost always turn out to be sheer jerks or the shy inexperient one too timid and indecisive to take the lead and call for you to the heights of pleasure your dead body so badly wants. That was a page from my diary a long time ago.

I was puttering around my garden on a windy afternoon as Best I could with my dense seven and a one-half calendar month pregnant belly, tending to my flower plant life while enjoying the strong air current and faint sunlight playing against my peel. My slim cotton maternity dress was being threateningly blown around my ripening body ; luckily it was not too suddenly. At age thirty eight I was preparing to bring forth my fourth baby after a tenacious break.

As I bent over to spade around the root of a plant I heard a sudden piercing whistling that left no incertitude about its nature or counseling. I truly felt as if the sound had struck me on my stuck out ass. I straightened up more out of nettle curiosity than anything else and glared at the source of my break. I looked into a leering face that was stamped with as much lechery as the gone whistle. The owner was a man who looked to be in his sixties or thereabouts. As he stared lustily and unabashedly at my pregnant trunk I felt like hurling the spade at his old ass, but that belief of hostility was fleeting for it was quickly replaced by a sweet blast of nostalgia, brought to life by the combination of strong wind, the whistle and my billowing cotton wool dress. I was also a little bit tickled by his forwardness, because I have a weak stain for much quondam men. I quickly glanced at a patch of kingcup and my mind took me back to a time long gone but yet alive in a special niche of my heart and store. I felt a pleasurable tingling ; so instead of throwing the jigaboo I threw a pleasant grinning and a little wave of handwriting at the old guy who continued on his way, shaking his foreland in a manner that suggested he was regretting his age and yearning 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 prickling in my body. Smiling inside I went to my bedchamber and headed for a window where I looked out at the falling rain and a mental imaginativeness of my past. Lost in sweet revel I brought one hand to my lower stomach and rubbed it gently as the other script crept up to my bosom, brushing against a bra-less nipple that was quickly hardening. It wasn't long before the bridge player on my stomach ventured take down and came to rest in the area of my swollen groin. I bent over to just equal my tingling genitals. My other hand pulled at a long hot pap and I hissed softly. I waddled over to my bed where I lay on my vertebral column with legs bent at the stifle and spread wide-eyed. I moved aside the leg of my underwear and gently patted my wet pussy as I thought of that day long ago.

It was a hot and blowy 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 unforesightful armless pink blouse that hugged my bare ‘ A'cup breasts and left a few inch of my smooth chocolate tummy outside. Below the blouse was a short liberal ping skirt of perch cotton wool material that blew freely in the air current. Looking up the street I saw the fellow physical body of Mr. Whyte the locality builder/repairman ; he was attending to his gleaming bleak cycle which seemed to consume slipped its chain. Mr. Whyte was a man somewhere in his forties, I believed. He was a short and wiry mortal of a light complexion and curly brown hair due to his sundry blood line : blackness, and a twain of early slipstream, maybe E American Indian, Portuguese and Amerindian or whatever. He had the reputation of being a madam man, and had recondite brown center that seemed to look right through you to your private role and sentiment. He would star strongly at me with a slender smile whenever we passed each other on the streets or he rode by our house on his bicycle with its ever present tool bag.

When I was about fifteen metrical foot away from Mr. Whyte the wind upped long suit and lifted the flimsy skirt up around my waist. It took a slight while for me to get it back down. I heard a low whistle that was as sexual as a whistle could be, and as I passed by him his words tantalized my footling female child mind.
"yellow, girl, yellow,"he said, referring to the semblance of my nylon underwear."Nice little buttercup, yellowed and mellow out, my favorite color and favorite peak, you are my little flower girl."
I lowered my head shyly but looked at him sideways and managed a petty trembling smile. To say I was delighted was an understatement. I'd never been talked to so sensually and directly by any male. I felt a tingling sense experience take over my entire young body ; it felt as if all my stoma were exploding. I quickened my steps against my will and rush away enjoying the ecstasy 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 doll up above my shank looking dreamy eyed and appraisingly at my xanthous step-in and my ‘ butterflower ’. I slipped out of my skirt and blouse and just stood there looking at my efflorescence body, feeling all grown up and desirable. I was a bare four pes eleven inches in height, weighing about one hundred and five lb, a considerable amount of which was settled in my ass hips and second joint. I pulled up the shank of my panty causing it to cling snugly to my Virgo the Virgin mound, accentuating its plumpness and giving it a nice minuscule camel toe look. I will admit that my mound even without hairsbreadth to pad it up in my underwear was a ample hunk, Thomas More than the pattern size of it. I knew this from comparison with other female child when we showered after games. So I can imagine why Mr. Whyte whistled when he caught mickle of my nylon covered genital organ ; it was quite a handful by any standard. I turned around and examined my rhythm, full ass, the crack of which the panties had slipped into. I was pleased with the sight of the rounded boldness and felt my little yet to be touched slit impulse as I became turned on just looking at my sexy Whitney Young dead body that glowed like shine umber. I brought one hand up and tweaked both fiddling pap pulling them outward firmly. With the panties crotch now sunk into my tight but wet little crack I rolled my pelvic arch and made lilliputian sleep together social movement against the tone down fabric.

A minute later I pulled off the step-in and stepped under the shower. As the water engulfed me I used one manus to massage and pinch my little bosom and tit while the other hand flittered over my stiffen clit. After a while I parted my crack and slipped a finger into my hot tricky tunnel and began finger fucking my piffling pussy frantically. I came speedy than I'd ever come before, moaning and whimpering as my legs give way to my blowup and I sunk to the flooring thinking about Mr. Whyte and the suggestiveness of his tin whistle and squeamish words.

That night I lay in bed for a couple of 60 minutes conjuring possible sexual scenarios as I played with myself. After a couple of vivid orgasms I dropped off to sleep and dreamed of being fucked by a number of men who resembled Mr. Whyte, and sometimes took on the contour of dogs and Equus caballus and rascal.

The adjacent fourth dimension I crossed path with Mr. Whyte he greeted me with a charming grinning and said :
"How is my little flower girl today, eh, butterflower ?"my mind immediately felt light source, like I was intoxicated, and all the stomate on my body rose to salute 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 me Bertrand."he said, behind my retreating back.

From that day onwards whenever we met he would call me buttercup, but the little girl in me could not get me to say Bertrand to his face, sometimes being seen as ‘ minuscule'can take in you think you're lilliputian, so I reserved that sumptuosity for my brain and quiet rustling when I was alone in my bedroom or can 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 next meeting. His lyric left no dubiousness about his true stake in me ; He saw me more as a fair sex and prospective intimate spouse than as a young fille he was just being nice to. And I loved it. My psyche kept telling me that I was treading dangerous pee, but my body wanted to swim, wanted to get wet, so I paid no regard to my mind and the pedagogy and monition I'd got over the years about grow men paying unbecoming pursuit in me. There were portion of Edward Young boys and men who paid me compliments and showed interestingness in me, but none of them made me feel the sort of passion Bertrand's words and attention generated in me. I wanted to take a hazard with him. I wanted him to touch me all over. I wanted to concern him all over.

One evening about a month after our low gear encounter I was returning home from a terpsichore grade a few streets away from where I lived. It had just gotten dark and I was walking briskly to get place ; mugging was quickly becoming a nuisance in our neighborhood. Just as I was about to reach my recess I heard the sound of and approaching bicycle and the screeching sound of tyres brought to a sudden halt by applied brakes.
"So my little flush is out at night to brighten up the darkness."I heard the familiar vocalisation say. I smiled at the compliment and felt pilomotor reflex on my limb.
"I'd better walk my flower home before someone picks it,"the articulation continued
I didn't response, I was truly lost for word of honor, but I was excited to say the least. My heart pounded in my piffling chest and my body quickly heated up, especially around my ears and neck opening and between my peg. I felt a bridge player on my articulatio humeri as I was about to reverse 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 listeners to our conversation. I knew that there was a little playground in Brewster Street that I had heard things about.
"I know, but it will give us some fourth dimension to talk, we never get a chance to talk and I want to utter to you little kingcup ; don't you want to talk to me ?"I nodded and followed him. He guided me with his script to the inside of the street and he took the exterior, 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 trivial playground, he took my mitt in his and led me off the route. My heart was pumping wildly and my palm grew weaken. I began to have second thoughts as admonition I'd got as to what to do and not do as a young girl came back to me. I was confused ; though I trusted him and had been longing over the preceding calendar month to be alone with him, I was feeling a little scared.
He must have sensed my thoughts,"Don't be afraid, I won't damage you"he said, raising his hired man to pat my heated boldness. He parked his bike against the fencing, and placed himself in a one-half sitting place on the cross bar. I felt my legs involuntarily step forward and take me close to him. He reached out and putting his helping hand around my waistline gently pulled me against him. The bag that I was carrying slipped from my finger's breadth like an escaping razz. My slightly trembling physical structure leaned into his between his bed covering legs and I felt something sizable and intemperately down there pressure against my corporation. He lifted my chin and brought his brim down to mine, poking his tongue between them. I instinctually I opened my mouth and let him into mine. It was my for the first time ever kiss and I didn't know for for sure what to do. Following his atomic number 82 I stuck my knife out and he latched onto it and began sucking on it gently. I was in Shangri-la. His hand gripped my ass face and pulled me in closer against his laborious pulsing dick. He brought one hand up and began caressing my petty white meat, one then the other through my sweater as we kissed. After a minuscule while he lowered his hand and brought it up under the sweater and cupped a bare breast, twirling the tighten pap between his thumb and forefinger. I wasn't wearing a bra. He moved one of his spread legs in and brought it to rest between my thigh, pressing against my long pussy. He started humping his articulatio genus against my pussy, driving me wild with delight. Then I felt him tip downward a bit and suddenly his hand was covering my damp slight Virgin genitalia. I felt him move the panty leg aside, and I gasped as his finger slipped between my plump labia lips and started to insert my pristine tunnel. consternation bells went off in my head and I pulled back quickly causing his finger to slip out.
"No, don't do that,"I whispered, even as my pussy was yearning for him to continue.
He put his fingerbreadth back to my entering and started to press it into my slight hole, 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 little buttercup,"he leaned over and kissed me on the os frontale then the nose and then he brought his brim to mine and slipped his knife into my mouth briefly.

He took keep of his bike and we left the playground.
"It's okay,"he said"I won't bang you, there will be former times."He made me sit on the cross bar of his motorcycle and he pedaled away quickly. He put me off a petty before we got to my street corner and I walked home briskly feeling a mixture of delight and confusion. I went to my room and lying on the bed I began to sob into my pillow softly. I was tempestuous with myself for not having the courage to let him do more overnice matter to me with his hands. And I didn't even get to experience his cock 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 times and I began to feel better and to go over in my mind the angelic things we had done.

Two twenty-four hour period later, late in the good afternoon, at the phone of voices I looked out the window and saw him talking to my mom. My nitty-gritty skipped a beat. What was going on ? My mom had a touch look on her facial expression. Then she started to smile and he looked toward the windowpane and seeing me he smiled and waved his hand. My mom came in and told me that he had brought to her tending the broken down commonwealth of the fence in our backyard and the loose plank and roof on the little reposition hutch also at the back. 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 waiting until she could pay him, adding that he hadn't any job lined up for the following day anyway, so it was best he do it then.

The next morning he arrived at around eight and came into the yard with his tool bag hanging from his bicycle handle. Mom was at home, it being Sabbatum. I gazed from my bedroom windowpane 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, exhilaration coursing through my torso as I reflected on our last group meeting ; the feel of his jolty finger entering my tight pussy, his soft wet lingua in my mouth, his fingers tweaking my pap. I wanted badly to touch myself and increase the tingling feeling that was playing with my body. I got up and went to the bath.

As the cold-blooded cascade hit my hot skin I lowered my script and began to rub down my pussy roughly, almost angrily. I spread my legs and braced against the wall and began a savage humping, imagining that it was Bertrand's soundbox. I took the bar of easy lay and slipping it halfway into my slit I began rolling my pelvic arch. One manus slick with max reached behind and an aegir centre finger found my ruck up hole and forced its way in. In to a lesser extent than five bit my body exploded and I sunk to the floor gasping and groaning. Wrapping a towel around me I went to my bedroom. A sudden daring overtook me and I decided to put on a little show for Bertrand. I stood beside my bed looking at him and as I saw him arouse his mind to look my way I loosened the towel and strode pass the windowpane pretending not to suffer seen him. I stopped at a touch where I knew he could still see me, and began drying my skin with my backbone to him. I then turned around and facing him full frontage raised the towel to my wet hair. I rubbed vigorously at my wet hair, knowing that the move was causing my tiny breasts with their stiff mamilla to recoil a minuscule. After about three mo I suddenly dropped the towel to the trading floor and looked in his counseling. He was staring at me with his handwriting inside his bloomers pocket. Pretending to be startled I opened my centre wide of the mark and quickly brought my script up to my breasts, covering them. Walking backward I retreated to the other end of the elbow room, smiling inside at my sudden dare, as my coffee eubstance glowed red with excitement.

I searched through my undergarments and found the yellow pair of panties that I had been wearing on that eventful impractical day. I slipped them on and then put on the same pink blouse and dame. I went into the living elbow room where mom was enjoying her favourite Saturday morning show. Ten minutes later when the show came to an end she informed me that she was going to make a ready run to the supermarket and that she would be back in sixty to ninety minutes. She cautioned me to keep the doors shut while she was gone and not to venture 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 cubes and a glass. She left the house quietly through the front door.
After she left I waited for about five instant just in case she had forgotten her money or something and returned. I then went to my bedchamber window where seconds later Bertrand looked up and our middle met. We held each former's regard for a hanker fourth dimension then I saw him point his chin in the direction of the shed before downing his power hammer and walk towards it. About five minutes later I slipped out the back door and went to the shed. I stepped inside and the low affair he asked me was where my mom was and what she was doing. I told him the true statement. He went to the door of the slough and pulled it in. he then cleared a little dapple between some junk and told me that should my mom suddenly appear to get behind there and pelt. He was a voguish one, I thought.
"What is my little goldcup wearing under that skirt ?"he asked"yellow-bellied ?"I nodded
"upgrade the skirt and let me see,"he said.
My fingers trembled slightly as I did as he commanded. I saw him puff and his optic 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 pussycat and massaged it gently. Then suddenly we were kissing passionately, our bodies tightly locked together, his thigh between mine tormenting my secreting cumulation. I felt his hand between our bodies brushing against my upper groin as he fumbled down there. Then suddenly he took my script and placed it on something hard yet soft and hot and pulsing. I gripped the lurching item, and for the first prison term in my biography held a man's cock, a unvoiced erect tool. I heard myself groan and without thinking I drew tightlipped and pressed the hard appendage against my contracting vulva. He pressed forward and I returned the movement, and soon we were grinding madly against each early. He held me besotted, sucking on my unforced tongue as we did our little terpsichore of lust.

He dropped to his knee joint and lifting my skirt eminent, began sniffing at my crotch before smashing his nose into the wet heat. I never knew such thing really happened, although I'd heard some talk about it. I thought it was a bit gross and tried to pull back, feeling embarrassed, but he held me mean around the spine of my thighs, and pushing his face back down there managed to take my pussy, panty crotch and all into his hot mouth and began sucking and gently biting the quivering figure, causing such pleasure that I quit trying to pull away as I threw back my head and growled deeply. I felt him pull my scanty leg aside and felt his tongue pierce my almost bald mound. Then my engorged clitoris was between his rim being teased by his flickering spit. He kept at it for about five minutes, giving me a sweetness that I never dreamed of. Luckily he was holding me tightly, because my branch suddenly became lifeless as a soar up eruption took over my body and my head swung dizzily. My consistence shook crazily and he allowed me to slew slowly to the ground.

He stood up and dropped his knickers to the dry land. I looked up at the jerk fleshy tool bouncing against my brass. It seemed huge to me, but was maybe only about seven column inch, shaped like a smooth and shiny brown sausage balloon with big veins. I marveled at the tempting treat and without being asked, grabbed it and took it into my inexperienced oral fissure. I heard his intake of breath and was please that I had touched him deeply. I sucked the bulbous chief like a lollipop, swirling my tongue around it. I opened my mouth broad and let it slip down my pharynx till I couldn't take any more and began to gag. I came up gasping and strangulation and after a few arcsecond went at it again, finding a strange satisfaction in the touch of being of being suffocated. Kept it up for a awhile, letting the foresighted appendage go all the way down till I gagged and choked then coming up for air and endorsement after repeating the unknown use. He took my hand and put it to his balls. I'd heard enough talk about men being hit in their clump and the pain it brought to sleep with that formal were tender things to be handled with care. I caressed and rubbed it with tender loving care as I sucked on his cock. Then I lowered my head and licked them. I went back to the cock which was more fun, and began biting and licking the shaft and pumping it. Trying to recall and put into gambol all the fiddling sex selective information I'd picked up here and there from overheard conversations. He suddenly pulled away and I tried to seize at his turncock not wanting it to end. But he evaded me and reached into a street corner for a couple of old mats that he spread on the dry land and made me lie on.

I lay still in slightly dread but excited expectation. I'd heard that the outset time could be dreadful. I raised my pelvic girdle and let him root for my panty off. He put it to his nose and sniffed it then licked at the damp crotch. He opened my blouse exposing my little tits that were glad and hotter than ever ; it showed in the way their pap were reaching for the sky. Lying between my ramification he began sucking on my breasts as he rubbed his long cock against my kitty-cat. Every time it moved across my clit I shivered. He grasped his cock and positioned it at the ingress of my cakehole and started to rub it against the entrance. He told me to spread out my branch. I obey, holding them wide and bending my knees a minuscule. I felt him circulate my virgin sass and with his prick fitted between them began pushing gently. It hurt a petty and I winced he pushed again and it hurt even more. He bore down on me operose and I felt a piece of him enter me. The sudden hurting made me dig my cad into the floor and try to push away from the trespasser but he grabbed my shoulder joint and followed my retreating pussy 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 mouth with his hand as he continued to drive his way in. suddenly I felt like something had snapped, followed by burning pain. He stopped pushing and remained still, buried mysterious inside of me as I bit into the heavy pad at the side of meat of his hand over my mouth, while trying to have the unusual pain.

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 proceedings until I'd grown accustomed to the rhythm and the pain in the neck, before increasing the tempo of his rosehip to a more rapid and rich plunging into my young profoundness. I felt my pussycat welcoming the increased speed and I bit my lip and closed my centre and took his firm throb like a title-holder, riposte punching with thrust of my own as my mind swam with a strange ecstasy. He bent over and sucked on my bantam breasts as he rode me. He licked my neck and my nozzle 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 physical structure stiffen then begin to rock as if he was experiencing fitful muscle spasm. He tried to pull out of me but using all my strength I held his ass down between my legs as he exploded interior of me giving me my kickoff ever cum douche bag. I opened my eyes and saw him grimacing as he shook uncontrollably. After he was spent he collapsed on top of me and I stroked the back of his oral sex when I heard him say :
"Buttercup, thanks for letting me clean your flower."

I lay on the ground and watched as he cleaned up the traces of blood line and seeped cum from the mat with a rag from his pouch. He crept over on his knees and putting his face between my thighs kissed my aching kitty. He told me to take a warm exhibitor before my mom returned and to fall apart a sanitary pad. He also told me to check the music storage locker and take a couple of pain pills if there was any. I did everything he said, and was lying in my bed fresh and glow, cuddled up with a Scripture by the metre mom returned. That was only the beginning of a large routine of sexual face-off with Bertrand over the next three year. He and his married woman divorced and he went away leaving her and his kids, two of them onetime than me, in the family house. He wrote for a while but then the varsity letter stopped coming.

I got up from the bed where I had been lying rubbing my gestation swollen vulva as I reminisced on my first sexual experience. I waddled over to the window of my old bedroom which had now been converted into a master bedchamber for me and my husband. I had never moved away, and was joined by my hubby in the planetary house the day we got married. Mom had died a duo of years ago leaving me the theater which had been expanded over the years. I looked out at the computer storage shack which had also been spruced up and enlarged.

A week later I saw my hubby go to the 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 while before my husband came in and informed me that he was going to hand the old guy a couple of mean solar day work sprucing up the railyard. As I mentioned at the beginning of the story, I had a affair for a lot older guys, and by now you know why. What I have to add to that though is that since being married and in spite of being very much in dear and sexually satisfied with my married man was only a couple of twelvemonth older than me, I'd had a few one or two time sexual encounter with a lot honest-to-god men. Bertrand had filled me with that longing. The conclusion encounter was about five yr 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 vacillation. So when I heard of my married man's arrangement I became excited at the aspect of flirting with the old guy or maybe a little more than flirting. Maybe I could dart him a lilliputian, or let him cop a feel ; that would be fun. I felt my twat twinge at the wicked thoughts.

The next break of the day not long after my husband and kids had left I took a shower and put on a light, brusk, almost sheer white maternity attire that had clit from the neck opening down to the hem. I loosened a couple of buttons at both extremum. I was not wearing bra nor pantie, and my swollen breasts with their long teat poked against the nominal head 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 plow up I felt the need to ease my bladder ; I peed frequently when pregnant. I got up and headed for the john that was close to the back door. When I got there I heard some strange speech sound. Looking out I saw the old guy with plug-in in his hands heading for the shanty ; he had obviously stared working and I hadn't even heard him come into the yard. He hadn't announced his arrival. I decided to go out right away and have a talk with him. The threshold of the hut was afford and he was backing me as he was rummaging through a tool kit. He turned around and looking up at me with a smile on his grimace said :
"Hi buttercup, how ya doin. Ya look as well as ever flower girl ?"
I almost jumped out of my skin as those word of honor registered in my head and the identity of the old man became evident. I was overtaken by a rush of emotions and I cupped my lengthy belly as if trying to stay fresh it from falling to the ground as my body shook uncontrollably. I was crying and laughing at the same metre as he came forward and took me in his arms. I felt a sensation in my pussy and hot liquid running down my leg. Looking down I saw the puddle of pee. I had been so startled by the discovery that the old man was really Bertrand my hanker lost lover that I peed myself. I was deeply embarrassed. His eyes followed mine to the ground and at the sight of the pee he smiled.
"My crowfoot is overflowing, let me clean you up,"he said and sank to his knees.
He started licking at the liquid running down my pegleg. Raising my dress his mouth travelled up my swollen second joint. I stood there like a statue as his glossa and lips played against my hide. I couldn't stop him if I wanted to ; I didn't have the specialty. I eased myself down to the floor and lay on my, legs bed covering, looking at him silently as his lip teased my twat with its neatly trimmed black bush. My pussycat was contracting like mad as his knife searched around inside. He unbuttoned my dress all the way down and discover my engorged breast. He took a foresighted stiff nipple between his backtalk and sucked on it tenderly as his fingers twirled the hair and brushed the clit of my all of a sudden hungry cunt. He got up and took off his blue jean and underdrawers and I looked amazed at the familiar long, smooth browned slit digger. I watched as he squeezed and pumped it gently until it was plastered with wind up lineage. I turned on my side and bending my knee raised the leg up. He lay beside me, positioned hi cock at my opening and swiftly plunged it all the way into me. Aided by my flowing succus he got in easily. He began slamming into me furiously, making me cry out.
"Yes Bertrand, yes, fuck my hungry puss. It's been so long darling, its hungry for you feed it with your peter, fuck me !"
He gripped one of my bosom squeezing it roughly, and bit into my shoulder as he pounded my slit from the vertebral column. I raised my leg gamy in the air to return him easy access. I hissed and groaned and grunted loudly, unashamedly, urging him on with words as well as trunk trend as he slammed into me with immediate curt jabs like a crazed dog pounding his bitch in heat. I got on my stifle and he spread my ass cheeks and soil his groyne against them as he sunk his cock to the radical in me. I could feel his pubic tomentum tickling me as he pressed into me with a circular pulverisation. How I loved the tone of that stopcock in my dripping snatch. He brought both hands between my spread thighs, palm upwards and gripped my conceited belly from underneath as he leaned his head back ; hips pushed forward and pumped me furiously. I snarled like a gripe with pleasure as I felt him stiffen before shooting into me in ready spurt, flooding me with his ancient glossy cum. I cried out loudly as my own orgasm broke its dam, causing my optic to roll up and my open mouth to drivel. When we were both spent and lying on our spinal column I turned and looked at his slaked face and I felt skilful and also satisfied. I was truly in Heaven ; a happily married and sexually fulfilled woman with a untested stud and an old scantling to fuck me whenever I wanted ; the best of both human beings. What more could a girlfriend want .