Stacy 's Dream
by Wistful

m/F, inc, bunco game, rom, unsafe

Mom gets a second gear chance ...

1.

"Stacy Martin ! ”, you again berate yourself in the deep corner of your head. How did you ever let it get this far ? Until tonight, your only lover since your union was your husband John, attractive in his way, loving after a fashion, but perhaps gone a minuscule bland."But !"you again monish yourself,"that 's no apology for this !"as you drive to the club that he suggested for your tryst. God ! You even dressed as he asked, right down to your black satin panties, matching silky bra and black fishing net hosiery."hoot ! If I do n't front like a whore now, who does,"you continue remonstrating yourself, but the warm, silken feel of your undies, and knowing who will later remove them, titillates you as much as frightens as you as you drive on into the night, and to the next town some 20 Swedish mile away. He 'd suppose it ripe to meet in a place where neither of you were known. Reluctantly, quivering in prevision, you agreed."And damn it ! You 're still quivering ! Ca n't you see this is wrong ? ! Do n't you know it goes against the church service and the law and even your marriage ?"You evidence yourself you know all this, and you tightly grip the rack, yet you drive on, no thought of turning back, until you see the wayside illumination beckoning you to your get together blank space, a quaint short bungalow motel, just off the road, with a silence eating place and bar and convenient parking in the rear. Wheeling around the motel office, you see the threshold to the adjoining night club in nominal head of you. Stopping, setting the brake in your rental, you feel yourself go flushed once again as you check your hair in the mirror"Damn !, but you still attend well at 36."Its your brand or break here and now."Well ...,"you say to yourself as you exit the car,"Its now or never,"and you stride forward on trembling pegleg, grasp the door handle, and enter the club.

You blush, your breathing space snap, and you look to bolt back out as your entry is greeted by ululation, hungry wolf pennywhistle, and several lewd and obscene offers from the first half 12 cowboy you pass on your way to the lone outdoors elevated bar-table along the slope rampart. As you make your way to the table, sink yourself in with one slender, heeled leg bent at the genu, the other toe grazing the floor, you anxiously search the belittled sea of faces for his. Is he here ? Did he stand you up ? Is this a fucking trick ? Just when you 're thinking just how bad an idea this really is, considering retuning home from all this imbecility, he rears his head from one of the further pool tables, hands off his cue, and slowly, purposefully strides towards you, the motion-picture show of a rangy outdoors man in flannel, jeans and boots. Your heart stops when you see the sparkle in his eyes, his warm, wicked grin and his thatch of studiedly unkempt auburn hair. You mind a fog, your pulse roaring in your auricle, your breathing place coming in gasps, your oculus are only for him. You do n't even hear the hiss of"Never Happen !"or"Not a fucking probability in Hell !"from the cowboys dismissing his approach to you. Nothing else matters. He 's here.

Boldly, obscenely, he strides right up between your stage, buckle your head in his big work force, and gazes deeply into your oculus. Your heart stalls, to-do ; your breath catches again and your jaw drib as he catches your upper lip between his clapper and his own amphetamine lip, worries it a little, then bends to hold you the kiss you 'd only stargaze of. To the hoots and sunniness, and a few"What ? !"of the local folk, he crushes you to his torso, pressing his jeans-covered arousal on your already cunt-soaked pantie, and continues the late, soul-wrenching osculation. A lowly voice in the back of your intellect tries to monish that you 're only dreaming, but the forefront of your mind and heart knows this is tangible. Its happening now. He 's here. He 's kissing you in a very public shoes, and you 're loving every trampy, breathy, saucy minute of it, shakes, trembles and all. When you both decide to come up for air, he again staring deeply into your eyes, the place is silent, all centre on the two of you. In an unaccustomed sway of panache, he cups a script on your buttocks, twist you from the chair, and with a half-dancing tour, period you both at the doorway. You do n't even hear the local anesthetic muggins anymore. Your eyes only for him, his only for you ; your sleeve over his shoulder, his hired hand still firmly cupping your stooge, you slowly stride out of the place and head to the way he 's reserved for you. Another deep, body-shuddering candy kiss at the front door, and you 're in the way. You do n't know how or when. You 're simply there. The brightness level are already dimmed, the sheets are turned back, and there 's a bottle of sweet wine chilling in a sports stadium of ice on the small cottage table beside two brandy glass. He 's pulling out all the stops, but you were pretty sure he would. It seems to be just his way.

2.

Not one to waste the moment, he again clasps you to his body, kisses your oral cavity, your neck, your spike as he handily unties the behind-the neck opening knot of your sleeveless red hangman's halter, and peels it down below your black satin bra, kissing and nibbling down your shoulder joint and chest, to the very top of your segmentation as he does. Then, stroking your back and shoulders with one hand, he traces down your side to the zipper of your black micro-skirt, and in one svelte move, the skirt is suddenly at your ankles. Then, raising your branch, holding both your hired hand in one of his, he brings your hemp back up over your breast, over your top dog, and off your torso as you daintily maltreat out of your skirt. He steps back momentarily to rent you in. You shiver slightly as you realize you 're standing in front of him in only your bra, panties, garters, hose and heels."God ! ”, you tell yourself."I 'm a fucking tramp on display."But he steps forward and wipes that image from your thoughts with another earth-shattering kiss, his fingers stroking your backbone, his hands cupping and gently squeezing your butt, and then his mouth on your neck opening. Your juices are flowing steadily now, and the room fetor of feminine sex, a heady scent the does n't scarper him, as you see by his blush face, his renewed ardor and arousal. Momentarily faint, you flush and back up against the wall. He does n't miss it. Before watch your following breathing spell, he 's easily picked you up, carried you the few footfall, and gently laid you on the bed.

You start to mouth, but he gingerly traces a finger over your back talk as he traces your hip cradle and panty waistband with his other deal. Does he have enough mitt for all he 's doing ? You 're ecstatic, your body shake, your breathing place is gasps, you 're flushed and warm from your eyebrows to your nipples, your kitty-cat is a flowing tap. You thought you make love what making love was about, but you 're through the roof now, and he has n't even started yet. Its anguish. You want to say so, but you dare not. You might ruin the moment.

You 're on your dorsum. He sidles up adjacent to you on his side, tracing your face, cervix and upper body with tender, vague fingertips. Somewhere, he seems to have lost his shirt. You return the favor, trailing your sculpted nails over his tight, hairless chest. When he absently, nimbly slips a digit under your scanty line, Oh My God ! You cum ! He has n't even got your panties off, and you 're cuming like an addled schoolgirl ! Not the rip-roaring, screaming, squirting affair ; your body shake, your pot flexes, and your ever-flowing juices change their scent to that of a womanhood who wants a cock NOW !, a fact not lost on him.

He turns your promontory for another smothering candy kiss as he undoes the clasp on the presence of your bra, letting the cups fall aside to expose your ripened globes and blood-stiffened rouse nipples. He smoothly moves to comprehend the nearer mamilla with his mouth while his free hand caresses your former. You continue to flow and flex."What is fucking WITH you ? ! ”, your mind shrieks one last metre, but your physical structure is putty in his mitt, and he 's gently sculpting a lover out of you. As he continues licking and sucking your mamilla, his open fingers trace from your tit, down your tummy, to your panty top. Your body is already tight, lifted by your cad, to help him doff them for you. You no longer cogitate straight. No longer worried about about what 's happening, you let it happen. Somewhere in your love-lust daze, your panties, hose and dog have vanished, along with his boot and jeans. He lies future to you, you turn to him, naked torso to naked soundbox, as it should be, and return the caresses he gives you with kisses and caresses of your own. You 're in Heaven, he 's God, and your physical structure yet sizzles and spasms to his speck. You 're helpless in his manus. He kisses your sass, he nibbles your Chin and neck, he traces his natural language and fingertips over your bosom, he traces the bony ridge that is your pelvic girdle, until his mouth and both manus arrive at your aching, self-conceited pussy. You 're stunned beyond impression at what he does succeeding : the lover 's kiss he gives your pulsing hammock is the buss you only wish your husband gave your mouth ! You cum. You squeal, You bounce. You shriek. You shudder. And you flood the bed with Sir Thomas More of your impatient love juice. God ! If only we could give birth done this sooner ! But ...

When he senses your impatience, he rises over you, gazes deeply into your eyes, and setting you, giving you his full length in one excruciatingly slow, agonizing stroke, and comes to rest on your body. His weight is a ease, his arms engulf you, his humanity fills you, and his get at breath in your ear triggers another wave of pleasure throughout your eubstance. You 've opened the door. He 's make out home.

His thick cock pistoning in and out of you sends Sir Thomas More waves of current through you. He kisses you. You kiss him. He cuddles you, cradles your head. You stroke his hair. mentation of you, he shifts your berth, pulling out of you as he does. Your warmness hitch. You feel an pressing sense of loss until he has you on your side, he behind you, and you grasp his hammer to land him home again. His weapons system around you, tracing your body, cupping and cradling your breasts, your head on his, his manhood moving inside you with rhythmical persistence, you 're on a cloud. You 've never made love like this, but Damned if it is n't great ! As you tense, he grabs your hips and pulls you tighter to him, giving you all he can reach, and you cum again ... and again ... and again. He brings the substantial woman out of you so easily, so often, that you wonder in some wispy way where he learned to do that. You might even presume to ask him some time, but not now ...

His movements more temperamental, his rooster 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 speedup, his thrust deeper, his expression and cervix muscles red and tight from holding back, his face at you is all the question he needs. Your body radiance, sated, your mind returning, but taking a back seat to your core, in a flash you ask yourself"Do you love him as much as he loves you ?"“ Yes !"“ Would you deny him anything in your power to give him ?"“ No !"“ Are you willing to have his baby ... ?"“ Uh ... yes ..."You close your eyes on his gaze, nod your ascent, and you reach for his butt and overstretch him deeper into you. His breathing spell explodes, his body shake, he bottoms-out in you and net ball go. You feel the late spasming throb of his cock as he releases wave upon wave, thick, potent spurts of of his own passion juices inside you. You cuddle him, you kiss anything you can accomplish, you whisper endearments in his ear, as you wait for his throbbing Passion to wane. What a screwing unearthly sentence to recollect that you ovulated just yesterday ! Ohhhh, God ! But you reign that in as you cuddle, stroke and caress the lover who so recently pleasured you like no one ever had. As he starts to roll off you, you roll with him until you 're back mouth to mouth, body to torso, sharing the glow of satisfaction. You trace his ear, he traces the nape of your neck. As you lie on the pillow veneer him, you make one to a greater extent decision. You douse the bedside lighter and pull out the covers over you both. As you 're being taken by the specter of eternal rest to come up, you hear the only real words spoken tonight :"I love you, Mom ..."


3


Ever the former riser main, you awaken with a confused starting time, your chamber is unlike, the smells are dissimilar - oh ... Oh !"dump, girl ! You really went and did it, did n't you ?, you mildly reproach yourself as you snuggle stuffy to the grand young man sharing your bed."You made a date with your own son, let him ass you, and even let him CUM INSIDE YOU ! Gawds ! You can still finger some of it coming out of you yet. Are you meaning ? Do you even really 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 acknowledge yet how you 're going to do that, but it has to be this morning if you 're going to forge a bond with him. For now, a cascade. You got ta unobjectionable off the stew and un-mat your muggy pussycat before it stinks and glues itself shut. You stroke his bureau, give his dick a gentle squeezing ( it pulses in response ), and head off to the shower, leaving him reveal. If that and the noise of the shower do n't inflame him, you 'll at least be treated to a luscious sight when you come back out.

In the cascade, you tell yourself in no incertain term that you made a bed close night, and you damned well enjoyed sleeping in it. Son or no, that new man loves you ; he 's a maledict skilful fuck, and you are n't ever going to let him get away if you can help oneself it. And you 've hit on the affair you want to try, even need to try, to make surely of him. Will he ... ?

You come out of the bath wrapped in a declamatory fluffy white towel knotted between your titty, and bend to see him waiting his own turn. You both flush. He kisses you as deeply as you remember from last night. 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 door is closed and you hear the shower bath once again. As he hums a vaguely familiar tune you can just hear over the shower, you decide to draw your big grease-gun out of your purse - a pocket-sized, clingy bluish-grey tube wearing apparel designed to leave naught to the resourcefulness, and strategically roll it onto your soundbox, ensuring with a warm glance in the vanity mirror, that the last inches of your bare pubes are still visible from a distance. If you 're going to slut for him, may as well perpetrate out all your own stop, hm ? You studiedly have your vertebral column to the lavatory door when he opens it, your hands just studiedly on your doll as though to finish rolling it down the terminal 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-staff. Game on !

He takes you in with one up and down glimpse, you both flush, His cock rises, he cocks an eyebrow, you lick your rim, , and he 's on you ! Pinning you to the wall, he plants his now fully aroused cock at your straw man threshold, and slams in !"Owwwwwww !"He 's pulled in some fuzz 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 of Christ playing itself out on your physical structure. You had to eff if this would happen ... You ? You 're in pain, you 're in pleasure, 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 body goes taut. You ca n't move. You ca n't breathe. You flood your legs and the carpet beneath you with your squirt ! Ohhh God ! You NEVER did THAT before ! UhhheeEEEEE ! ! !, you wail, as he slams into you one final fourth dimension and unleashes his own pulsing gusher inside you ! Your juices mingle down both your legs as he breaks the candy kiss to again gaze softly into your heart. Love, sated passion, disarray, overplus, joy all vie for blank on his stamp, young cheek. You disabuse his confusion with a retentive, loving osculation of your own as you remove his penis from your body and casually, intentionally wipe his last dribbles on your skirt hem, before doffing it and guiding you both back to the shower bath. You know you 'll be wearing that tube wearing apparel all day today, and that it 'll be good 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 midget dining compartment, you back in your cum-stained tube dress, of course with no undies, you check out of your room, leaving your renting keys with the shop clerk for the troupe to come reclaim it. Your card will pass over it, of grade. You hop into his touch on authoritative convertible, now fully understanding his taste for the bench behind and center seatbelt of those onetime railcar, You smile as the nothingness catches your hair. You lean your back against him, his arm over your shoulder. your hands on his arm as his his finger dance over your bare cuze and button, rewarding you with a chain of screaming, mind-blowing, seat-soaking cums as you blow down the two-lane highway, the sun and the wind in your hair. Its a dream you 'd thought long dead, but that your own teenage son revived and fulfilled. Sweet. What will you key the child ... ?