Old enough to Vote But ...

Old enough to vote but not yet stroked ; just out of high school day awaiting acceptance to university and still a virgin. It's depressing being eighteen but sept not seeing you that way or treating you that way because of your build ; having mostly fresh, mumbling early on teen son hitting on you or worse yet old junkie that see you as jailhouse hook but are willing to look at the hazard. The only guys of the ‘ rightfield'age to approach you almost always turn out to be right-down jerks or the shy inexperienced ones too diffident and indecisive to take the lead and take you to the heights of pleasure your physical structure so badly wants. That was a varlet from my journal a farsighted time ago.

I was puttering around my garden on a windy afternoon as best I could with my heavy seven and a half month pregnant belly, tending to my prime plants while enjoying the potent malarkey and faint sun playing against my skin. My thin cotton wool maternity dress was being threateningly blown around my ripening body ; luckily it was not too short. At age thirty eight I was preparing to bring onward my fourthly child after a foresightful break.

As I bent over to spade around the source of a plant I heard a sudden piercing whistle that left no doubt about its nature or direction. I truly felt as if the sound had struck me on my stuck out ass. I straightened up More out of devil curiosity than anything else and glared at the source of my break. I looked into a leering nerve that was stamped with as much lechery as the gone tin whistle. The owner was a man who looked to be in his mid-sixties or thereabouts. As he stared lustily and unabashedly at my significant body I felt like hurling the coon at his old ass, but that feeling of antagonism was fleeting for it was quickly replaced by a odorous flak of nostalgia, brought to life by the combination of strong malarky, the pennywhistle and my surge cotton dress. I was also a little bit tickled by his forwardness, because I have a weak spot for practically older men. I quickly glanced at a patch of kingcup and my mind took me back to a time long gone but yet awake in a special quoin of my heart and store. I felt a enjoyable tingling ; so instead of throwing the nigger I threw a pleasant smile and a short wave of script at the old guy who continued on his way, shaking his head in a personal manner that suggested he was regretting his age and hungriness for younger days.

I watched him disappear around the curve just as a sudden drizzle pelted down from the sky. I hurried indoors, still feeling the tingle in my body. Smiling inside I went to my sleeping room and headed for a window where I looked out at the falling rainwater and a mental vision of my past. Lost in sweet revelry I brought one hand to my lower venter and rubbed it gently as the other deal crept up to my bosom, brushing against a bra-less nipple that was quickly hardening. It wasn't long before the handwriting on my stomach ventured glower and came to rest in the orbit of my swollen mole. I bent over to better touch my tingling private parts. My other hand pulled at a retentive hot nipple and I hissed softly. I waddled over to my bed where I lay on my cover with leg knack at the knees and spread wide. I moved aside the leg of my underclothes and gently patted my wet pussy as I thought of that day long ago.

It was a hot and airy 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 suddenly armless pink blouse that hugged my bare ‘ A'cup white meat and left a few inches of my smooth deep brown tummy outside. Below the blouse was a forgetful easy pink bird of light cotton fiber material that blew freely in the fart. Looking up the street I saw the familiar figure of Mr. Whyte the neck of the woods builder/repairman ; he was attending to his gleaming black wheel which seemed to have slipped its chemical chain. Mr. Whyte was a man somewhere in his forties, I believed. He was a poor and wiry individual of a igniter skin colour and curly Brown hair due to his mixed blood line : black, and a couple of other raceway, maybe eastward Indian, Portuguese and Amerindian or whatever. He had the report of being a ladies man, and had deep brown eyes that seemed to look right through you to your private parts and thoughts. He would star strongly at me with a cold-shoulder smile whenever we passed each other on the streets or he rode by our firm on his bike with its ever stage cock bag.

When I was about fifteen ft away from Mr. Whyte the wind upped military strength and lifted the onionskin skirt up around my waist. It took a little piece 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 petty little girl mind.
"Yellow, girl, yellowish,"he said, referring to the coloration of my nylon underwear."Nice little buttercup, yellow and mellow, my favorite color and preferred prime, you are my small flower girl."
I lowered my question shyly but looked at him sideways and managed a lilliputian 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 hotshot yield over my integral young trunk ; it felt as if all my stoma were exploding. I quickened my pace against my will and hurried away enjoying the rapture I was caught up in.

When I got plate 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 can and standing before the mirror, quickly lifted my annulus up above my waist looking languorous eyed and appraisingly at my yellowness panties and my ‘ buttercup ’. I slipped out of my skirt and blouse and just stood there looking at my blossoming consistence, feeling all grown up and desirable. I was a mere four feet eleven column inch in superlative, weighing about one hundred and five punt, a considerable amount of which was settled in my ass hips and thigh. I pulled up the waist of my panty causing it to cling snugly to my virgin mound, accentuating its plumpness and giving it a dainty trivial camel toe spirit. I will accept that my pitcher's mound even without hair to pad it up in my underwear was a sizable oaf, more than the normal size. I knew this from compare with other girls when we showered after biz. So I can think why Mr. Whyte whistled when he caught sight of my nylon covered private parts ; it was quite a smattering by any criterion. I turned around and examined my daily round, full ass, the crevice of which the panties had slipped into. I was proud of with the mickle of the rounded nerve and felt my small yet to be touched pussy pulsing as I became turned on just looking at my aphrodisiac young consistency that glowed like polished chocolate. I brought one mitt up and tweaked both little mamilla pulling them outward firmly. With the panties crotch now sunk into my tight but wet niggling crevice I rolled my hips and made lilliputian humping motility against the dull fabric.

A bit later I pulled off the step-in and stepped under the shower. As the piss engulfed me I used one handwriting to massage and crimp my little chest and teat while the early hand flittered over my stiffened clit. After a patch I parted my crack and slipped a finger into my hot slick tunnel and began finger fucking my little pussycat frantically. I came prompt than I'd ever come before, moaning and whimpering as my legs give way to my explosion and I sunk to the floor thinking about Mr. Whyte and the suggestiveness of his tin whistle and nice words.

That Nox I lay in bed for a couple of hr conjuring possible sexual scenarios as I played with myself. After a couple of intense orgasms I dropped off to slumber and daydream of being fucked by a routine of men who resembled Mr. Whyte, and sometimes took on the shape of dog and horses and rapscallion.

The next time I crossed paths with Mr. Whyte he greeted me with a charming smiling and said :
"How is my minuscule bloom girl today, eh, buttercup ?"my head immediately felt light, like I was intoxicated, and all the stomate on my body rose to salute him. I smiled and without daring to count into those piercing eyes told him :
"Fine thank you Mr. Whyte."And started hurrying away, not knowing what else to do.
"shout me Bertrand."he said, behind my retreating back.

From that day onwards whenever we met he would call me kingcup, but the little girl in me could not get me to say Bertrand to his brass, sometimes being seen as ‘ little'can make you recollect you're little, so I reserved that luxury for my creative thinker and quiesce whisperings when I was alone in my bedroom or bathroom pleasuring myself. He showered me with flattery and suggestive talk which I absorbed hungrily, and after each encounter began looking forward to the next encounter. His words left no incertitude about his true interestingness in me ; He saw me more as a fair sex and prospective intimate married person than as a young girl he was just being skillful to. And I loved it. My mind kept telling me that I was treading unsafe Ethel Waters, but my body wanted to float, wanted to get wet, so I paid no heed to my mind and the precept and warnings I'd got over the year about maturate men paying uncomely interest in me. There were lot of Whitney Moore Young Jr. boy and men who paid me compliments and showed interest in me, but none of them made me feel the kind of hotness Bertrand's words and aid generated in me. I wanted to take a chance with him. I wanted him to touch me all over. I wanted to relate him all over.

One eve about a calendar month after our firstly encounter I was returning home from a dance course of instruction 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 region. Just as I was about to reach my corner I heard the sound of and approaching bicycle and the screeching sound of tyres brought to a sudden stay by hold brakes.
"So my little flower is out at Nox to lighten up up the darkness."I heard the familiar voice say. I smiled at the compliment and felt goosebumps on my arms.
"I'd better walk my flower base before someone picks it,"the phonation continued
I didn't reply, I was truly lost for words, but I was excited to say the least. My gist pounded in my little dresser and my dead body quickly heated up, especially around my capitulum and neck and between my legs. 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 long away around,"I managed to whisper, as if there were listeners to our conversation. I knew that there was a piffling playground in Brewster Street that I had heard things about.
"I know, but it will give us some clip to let the cat out of the bag, we never get a chance to verbalize and I want to talk to you trivial buttercup ; don't you want to talk to me ?"I nodded and followed him. He guided me with his hand to the inside of the street and he took the outside, pushing his bicycle along. I liked the feeling that had come over me, and wondered if this is the feeling one got when on a date.

When we came to the little playground, he took my hand in his and led me off the route. My centre was pumping wildly and my thenar grew damp. I began to have got secondment thoughts 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 past month to be alone with him, I was feeling a piddling scared.
He must have sensed my opinion,"Don't be afraid, I won't hurt you"he said, raising his hired man to pat my heated nerve. He parked his bike against the fence, and placed himself in a half sitting position on the cross bar. I felt my legs involuntarily step forward and take me close to him. He reached out and putting his manus around my waist gently pulled me against him. The bag that I was carrying slipped from my fingerbreadth like an escaping shuttlecock. My slightly trembling soundbox leaned into his between his paste ramification and I felt something sizable and hard down there crush against my corporation. He lifted my chin and brought his sassing down to mine, poking his glossa between them. I instinctually I opened my sass and let him into mine. It was my first ever kiss and I didn't know for sure enough what to do. Following his hint I stuck my natural language out and he latched onto it and began sucking on it gently. I was in heaven. His hired man gripped my ass cheek and pulled me in closer against his hard pulsing dick. He brought one hand up and began caressing my petty knocker, one then the former through my jumper as we kissed. After a niggling while he lowered his paw and brought it up under the perspirer and cupped a bare breast, twirling the tighten nipple between his thumb and forefinger. I wasn't wearing a bra. He moved one of his spread legs in and brought it to remain between my thighs, pressing against my pine twat. He started humping his knee against my pussy, driving me unwarranted with pleasance. Then I felt him tip downward a bit and suddenly his manus was covering my damp picayune virgin privates. I felt him move the panty leg aside, and I gasped as his finger's breadth slipped between my plump labia lips and started to enter my pristine tunnel. warning signal Vanessa Stephen went off in my promontory and I pulled back quickly causing his digit to slip out.
"No, don't do that,"I whispered, even as my twat was yearning for him to continue.
He put his finger back to my entranceway and started to press it into my little trap, 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 forehead then the olfactory organ and then he brought his lips to mine and slipped his glossa into my lip briefly.

He took hold of his bike and we left the playground.
"It's okay,"he said"I won't spate you, there will be other times."He made me sit on the cross bar of his motorcycle and he pedaled away quickly. He put me off a niggling before we got to my street recession and I walked house 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 angry with myself for not having the courage to let him do more nice things to me with his paw. And I didn't even get to feel his rooster in mine. Oh what a saphead 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 former fourth dimension and I began to find better and to go over in my mind the sweet things we had done.

Two days later, late in the afternoon, at the sound of voices I looked out the window and saw him talking to my mom. My center skipped a beat. What was going on ? My mom had a concerned look on her face. Then she started to smile and he looked toward the window and seeing me he smiled and waved his bridge player. My mom came in and told me that he had brought to her tending the broken down state of the fence in our backyard and the unleash panel and ceiling on the slight warehousing hovel also at the backbone. 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 succeeding day anyway, so it was best he do it then.

The next morning he arrived at around eight and came into the pace with his putz bag hanging from his cycle handle. Mom was at home, it being Saturday. I gazed from my bedroom window which overlooked the back yard as he began his piece of 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, excitement coursing through my physical structure as I reflected on our last meeting ; the flavour of his rough digit entering my plastered kitty, his cushy wet tongue in my mouth, his fingers tweaking my nipples. I wanted badly to advert myself and increase the tingling feeling that was playing with my body. I got up and went to the bathroom.

As the cold shower 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 tempestuous humping, imagining that it was Bertrand's body. I took the bar of soap and slipping it halfway into my scratch I began rolling my hips. One paw slick with soap reached behind and an eager middle finger found my ruck gob and forced its way in. In less than five minute of arc 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 promote his fountainhead to look my way I loosened the towel and strode pass the windowpane pretending not to stimulate seen him. I stopped at a post where I knew he could still see me, and began drying my skin with my back to him. I then turned around and facing him broad frontal raised the towel to my wet pilus. I rubbed vigorously at my wet hair, knowing that the movement was causing my diminutive breasts with their stiff nipple to recoil a little. After about three transactions I suddenly dropped the towel to the floor and looked in his direction. He was staring at me with his script inside his pants pocket. Pretending to be startled I opened my center wide and quickly brought my hands up to my breasts, covering them. Walking backward I retreated to the early end of the room, smiling inside at my sudden daring, as my chocolate body glowed red with excitement.

I searched through my unmentionable and found the yellowed pair of panties that I had been wearing on that eventful visionary day. I slipped them on and then put on the same pink blouse and skirt. I went into the keep elbow 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 quickly 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 waitress until she returned. She had already provided him with a hurler of water with ice cubes and a glass. She left the house quietly through the front door.
After she left I waited for about five bit just in 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 eyes met. We held each other's gaze for a yearn clock time then I saw him point his mentum in the direction of the shed before downing his power hammer and walking towards it. About five minutes later I slipped out the back up 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 truth. He went to the threshold of the moult and pulled it in. he then cleared a piddling bit 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 petty butter-flower wearing under that skirt ?"he asked"yellow ?"I nodded
"Raise the skirt and let me see,"he said.
My fingers trembled slightly as I did as he commanded. I saw him gasp and his optic widened as he took in the sight of my fat fork covered by the besotted yellow, nylon undies. He stepped forward and reaching out, cupped my puss and massaged it gently. Then suddenly we were kissing passionately, our bodies tightly locked together, his thighs between mine tormenting my secreting mound. I felt his hand between our bodies brushing against my pep pill groin as he fumbled down there. Then suddenly he took my hand and placed it on something hard yet diffuse and hot and pulsing. I gripped the lurching item, and for the outset sentence in my lifetime held a man's shaft, a severely erect hammer. I heard myself moan and without thinking I drew closer and pressed the intemperately outgrowth against my contracting vulva. He pressed forward and I returned the crusade, and soon we were grinding madly against each other. He held me pie-eyed, sucking on my willing tongue as we did our petty dance of lust.

He dropped to his knees and lifting my doll high, began sniffing at my crotch before smashing his nose into the wet heating system. I never knew such matter really happened, although I'd heard some talk about it. I thought it was a bit gross and tried to draw back, feeling embarrassed, but he held me tight around the back of my thighs, and pushing his facial expression back down there managed to get hold of my pussy, scanty crotch and all into his hot mouth and began sucking and gently biting the quivering flesh, causing such delight that I quit trying to displume away as I threw back my pass and growled deeply. I felt him pull up my panty leg aside and felt his spit pierce my almost bald mound. Then my engorged clitoris was between his lips being teased by his flickering knife. He kept at it for about five minutes, giving me a sugariness that I never dreamed of. Luckily he was holding me tightly, because my legs suddenly became exanimate as a tide eruption took over my body and my head swung dizzily. My body shook crazily and he allowed me to slip slowly to the ground.

He stood up and dropped his drawers to the earth. I looked up at the jerking sarcoid tool bouncing against my face. It seemed immense to me, but was maybe only about seven column inch, shaped like a polish and shiny brown sausage with outstanding veins. I marveled at the tempting goody and without being asked, grabbed it and took it into my inexperienced rima oris. I heard his inlet of breathing place and was pleased that I had touched him deeply. I sucked the bulbous head like a ice lolly, swirling my tongue around it. I opened my mouth spacious and let it slip down my pharynx boulder clay I couldn't take any more than and began to gag. I came up gasping and strangling and after a few seconds went at it again, finding a strange satisfaction in the flavor of being of being suffocated. Kept it up for a awhile, letting the retentive appendage go all the way down trough I gagged and choked then coming up for air and seconds after repeating the strange exercise. He took my deal and put it to his balls. I'd heard sufficiency talk about men being hit in their balls and the infliction it brought to know that balls were warm things to be handled with care. I caressed and rubbed it with tender loving caution as I sucked on his cock. Then I lowered my head and licked them. I went back to the dick which was more fun, and began biting and licking the shaft and pumping it. Trying to recall and put into frolic all the little sex entropy I'd picked up here and there from overhear conversations. He suddenly pulled away and I tried to grab at his cock not wanting it to end. But he evaded me and reached into a turning point for a couple of old mats that he spread on the priming coat and made me lie on.

I lay still in slightly fearful but shake anticipation. I'd heard that the first time could be awful. I raised my rose hip and let him perpetrate my pantie off. He put it to his nose and sniffed it then licked at the damp crotch. He opened my blouse exposing my trivial teat that were happier and hotter than ever ; it showed in the way their nipples were reaching for the sky. Lying between my legs he began sucking on my bosom as he rubbed his long turncock against my slit. Every time it moved across my clit I shivered. He grasped his cock and positioned it at the incoming of my trap and started to rub it against the entryway. He told me to spread out my stage. I obey, holding them wide and bending my stifle a piffling. I felt him circularise my virgin sass and with his cock fitted between them began pushing gently. It hurt a footling and I winced he pushed again and it hurt even more. He bore down on me harder and I felt a piece of him infix me. The sudden painful sensation made me dig my heels into the floor and try to push away from the trespasser but he grabbed my articulatio humeri and followed my retreating cunt with his vibrant cock. He pushed harder and I felt like I was being shoot down apart as to a greater extent of him entered me. I started to scream and he covered my mouth with his hand as he continued to hale his way in. suddenly I felt like something had snapped, followed by burning pain. He stopped pushing and remained still, buried thick inside of me as I bit into the fleshy pad at the position of his hired hand over my rima oris, while trying to accept the unusual pain in the ass.

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 minute of arc until I'd grown accustomed to the rhythm and the painfulness, before increasing the pace of his coxa to a more speedy and deeper plunging into my young depths. I felt my slit welcoming the increased speed and I bit my lip and closed my center and took his steady pounding like a title-holder, counter punching with thrusts of my own as my head swam with a strange ecstasy. He bent over and sucked on my tiny breasts as he rode me. He licked my neck and my nose and my cheek 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 trunk stiffen then start to shake as if he was experiencing fitful muscle spasm. He tried to pull out out of me but using all my strength I held his ass down between my legs as he exploded inside of me giving me my initiative ever cum douche. I opened my optic 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 head when I heard him say :
"goldcup, thanks for letting me pick your flower."

I lay on the background and watched as he cleaned up the suggestion of rip and seeped cum from the mat with a rag from his pocket. He crept over on his knees and putting his face between my thighs kissed my aching pussy. He told me to take a quick exhibitor before my mom returned and to get into a healthful pad. He also told me to check the medication cabinet and bring a couple of pain lozenge if there was any. I did everything he said, and was lying in my bed fresh and glowing, cuddled up with a record by the time mom returned. That was only the beginning of a heavy identification number of sexual encounters with Bertrand over the succeeding three years. He and his married woman divorced and he went away leaving her and his kids, two of them older than me, in the family household. He wrote for a spell but then the missive 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 windowpane of my old bedroom which had now been converted into a master sleeping room for me and my married man. I had never moved away, and was joined by my hubby in the firm the day we got married. Mom had died a couple 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 husband 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 kick in the old guy a couple of days work sprucing up the yard. As I mentioned at the kickoff of the report, I had a matter for much onetime 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 love and sexually satisfied with my husband was only a couple of years older than me, I'd had a few one or two metre sexual encounter with a great deal older men. Bertrand had filled me with that yearning. The finish 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 scabies and thinking about having a final swing. So when I heard of my husband's arranging I became excited at the prospect of flirting with the old guy or maybe a little more than flirting. Maybe I could flash him a picayune, or let him cop a feel ; that would be fun. I felt my slit twinge at the wicked thought process.

The next first light not long after my hubby and Kyd had left I took a shower and put on a light, shortly, almost filmy ashen motherliness dress that had clit from the neck down to the hem. I loosened a couple of buttons at both extremes. I was not wearing bra nor panties, and my swollen breasts with their long pap poked against the front of the apparel. I sat down with a deep brown and waited for my intended ‘ victim ’, primed for fun. While waiting for the old guy to turn up I felt the motive to ease my vesica ; I peed frequently when pregnant. I got up and headed for the bathroom that was close to the back door. When I got there I heard some foreign audio. Looking out I saw the old guy with display board in his hands heading for the shack ; he had obviously stared workings 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 hut was receptive 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 aspect said :
"Hi buttercup, how ya doin. Ya face as good as ever flower girl ?"
I almost jumped out of my peel as those words registered in my forefront and the individuality of the old man became evident. I was overtaken by a surge of emotions and I cupped my extended belly as if trying to keep it from falling to the reason as my eubstance shook uncontrollably. I was crying and laughing at the same clock time as he came forward and took me in his implements of war. I felt a champion in my puss and hot liquid running down my legs. Looking down I saw the pool of pee. I had been so startled by the discovery that the old man was really Bertrand my long lost devotee that I peed myself. I was deeply embarrassed. His center followed mine to the ground and at the sight of the pee he smiled.
"My buttercup is overflowing, let me clean you up,"he said and sank to his knees.
He started licking at the liquidity running down my legs. Raising my dress his rima oris travelled up my well up thighs. I stood there like a statue as his spit and lips played against my tegument. I couldn't stop him if I wanted to ; I didn't have the strength. I eased myself down to the floor and lay on my, legs spread head, looking at him silently as his lip teased my pussy with its neatly trimmed lightlessness President George W. Bush. My pussy was contracting like mad as his tongue searched around inside. He unbuttoned my dress all the way down and exposed my engorged breast. He took a long stiff tit between his lips and sucked on it tenderly as his finger twirled the haircloth and brushed the button of my suddenly hungry cunt. He got up and took off his jeans and trunks and I looked amazed at the comrade long, politic embrown slit shovel. I watched as he squeezed and pumped it gently until it was tight with rouse blood. I turned on my side and bending my knee raised the leg up. He lay beside me, positioned hi hammer at my first step 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 athirst pussy. It's been so long darling, its hungry for you feed it with your putz, fuck me !"
He gripped one of my breasts squeezing it roughly, and bit into my articulatio humeri as he pounded my kitty-cat from the back. I raised my leg high up in the air to pass him easy access. I hissed and groaned and grunted loudly, unashamedly, urging him on with lyric as well as body movements as he slammed into me with agile short jab like a crazed dog pounding his bitch in heat. I got on my knees and he spread my ass nerve and ground his inguen against them as he sunk his tool to the base in me. I could feel his pubic tomentum tickling me as he pressed into me with a broadside grind. How I loved the feel of that cock in my dripping cunt. He brought both hands between my ranch thighs, thenar upwards and gripped my swollen belly from underneath as he leaned his head back ; rose hip pushed forward and pumped me furiously. I snarled like a beef with pleasance as I felt him stiffen before shooting into me in prompt squirt, flooding me with his ancient slick cum. I cried out loudly as my own orgasm broke its dam, causing my eye to roll up and my surface mouth to drivel. When we were both exhausted and lying on our book binding I turned and looked at his satisfied aspect and I felt full and also satisfied. I was truly in heaven ; a happily married and sexually fulfilled woman with a untried macho-man and an old stud to fuck me whenever I wanted ; the best of both worlds. What more could a girl wishing .