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5-STAR POSTS!!     |
04/03/2008
I still find it hard to believe that I could find myself in the situation that I’m in. A month ago I was a happily married fifty-two-year-old mother and grandmother who doted on her husband and family and would never in a million years imagine doing anything to put their happiness at risk. Today I am an unfaithful wife who has fallen under the spell of a man young enough to be my grandson who revels in making a cuckold of my unsuspecting husband.
It all started about a month ago, when my husband, Arnold, and I had been celebrating our thirtieth wedding anniversary with a fortnight at the country hotel where we had spent our honeymoon. It was quiet and isolated with splendid views and we tended to visit every few years, so the owners, Jeff and Mary, had become our friends as well as our hosts. Sometimes they’d even drop in when they visited the city and our kids had come to regard theirs as extended family. Now, of course, they’d all left home except Jeff and Mary’s youngest son Tom, who we’d watched grow from an adventurous toddler into a strapping seventeen-year-old with a cheeky smile and a quick wit.
Tom often had us in stitches over dinner with his plays on words, and I occasionally caught him staring at me in such a way that I wondered for a moment if his double entendres were meant for me. These were fleeting thoughts, however, because Tom was always good mannered to a fault. He was respectful and called me Mrs Hill, and I never for a moment imagined such a good-looking young man would take a fancy to me. After all, I was practically his great aunt as well as being almost three times his age. Not that I’m a crone – far from it. Nature has allowed me to age gracefully so that my full body in still more buxom than matronly, but my clothing never advertises the fact. My hair is its natural silver, worn in what they used to call a pageboy style, and in some ways you could almost call me prim and proper. I’ve got generous curves in all the right places, but I’m no sultry sex siren.
Anyway, after a lovely visit, the time came for Arnold and I to say farewell, and Jeff and Mary asked if we’d mind giving young Tom a lift to the city, where he planned to buy a new car. We readily agreed and, after a bit of shuffling gear around, cleared a space for him in the back seat and we set off on the long drive home. Unlike the previous fortnight it was a miserable afternoon, and almost as soon as we pulled out of the farm gate we were hit by heavy rain. The downpour got heavier and heavier and we were barely crawling along when Arnold lost control in the wet and slid off the road into a ditch. He and Tom tried every trick they knew to get us free, but finally, soaked and muddy, they had to admit defeat and climbed back into the car. It was getting dark by now, with no sign of an end to the storm.
“Looks like we’re here for the night,” said Arnold testily. My husband is a big easy-going man of fifty-five, but the idea of spending a cramped night soaked to the skin in a fully-laden small sedan was trying his patience.
Tom, who knew the area well, came to our rescue.
“Don’t worry, Mr Hill,” he grinned, pointing into the gloom. “There’s a shepherd’s hut up just the track. I’ve never been there, but if it’s anything like the huts on our property it’ll be nice and dry, with bunks and blankets. We could stay there until sun-up, then go for help.”
Now that the teenager had pointed it out we could see the hut silhouetted against the darkness only a few hundred feet from the road. It seemed the only smart option, so we grabbed a small tarpaulin for shelter and dashed across the wet field together. To my surprise the door was unlocked, but Tom said that was normal because the huts were used by different people at different times, often as emergency shelters.
Inside the hut was indeed snug and weather tight. There was a pot-bellied woodstove in one corner and a hurricane lamp on a ledge, which Tom lit to shine its light not on bunk beds but on a huge old king-sized bed that took up almost half the floor space.
“Oh no,” he said. “Looks like I’m sleeping in the car after all.” He had to raise his voice above the sound of the rain, which was now coming down in solid sheets.
“Not at all,” said Arnold, without asking my opinion. “The bed’s big enough for three.”
“But won’t Mrs Hill mind?” asked Tom.
“It’s alright, Tom,” I told him. “Arnold can sleep in the middle, if you’re uncomfortable. Only a sadist would make you go back outside in this weather.”
Tom still looked doubtful. “If you’re both sure,” he said – and we assured him we were.
By the light of the hurricane lamp we lit the stove and I whipped up a meal of beans and coffee from the hut’s scant supplies. Then we hung our drenched clothes near the stove to dry and crawled into the huge bed – first Tom, in his T-shirt and jocks, then Arnold in his baggy underwear, and, last of all, me, wearing only my slip.
The drumming of the rain soon lulled me to sleep until I woke in the middle of the night to find Arnold, who like many men his age has a weak bladder, clambering over me to go to the small chemical toilet tucked outside under the tiny porch. When he came back he simply crawled in next to me, putting me in the middle of the bed. I was conscious of Tom lying beside me but I was too tired to be concerned about protocol, so I spooned against Arnold’s back and dropped off again.
A few minutes later I was wide awake, acutely aware of Tom’s young body spooned against my back in the same way I was spooned against Arnold. Tom’s right hand was resting on my hip and I could feel his warm breath on the back of my neck. He seemed to be asleep, so I gently removed his hand, but he replaced it in such a genuine sleepy way that I decided it was an unintentional and unconscious movement on his part and let it lie.
I awoke again to find Tom still apparently asleep but his hand now moving gently over my body outside my slip, softly stroking me from shoulder to thigh without actually touching any of my intimate places. It was all very bizarre and dreamlike and I was a loss as to what to do as the teenager’s hand caressed my body. What Tom was doing was appalling, unforgivable, but if I made a fuss the result could be much worse. Despite his affability, Arnold would not take Tom’s liberties lying down, even if I was. My husband would be shocked to the core, just like I was, and chances are he’d try to give the impudent youngster a thrashing, which at Arnold’s age could only end in him either being beaten or having some sort of seizure. I listened to Arnold’s peaceful snoring, and decided not to react in any way to Tom’s caresses. I told myself that it was no real harm in it – and he was only a boy after all. He wasn’t touching my breasts, bum or pussy, so why overreact? It was as if I was mesmerised by the youngster’s touch as I lay there in the darkened hut next to my husband being felt up by this chit of a lad. It was like some surreal dream – serene and sensual.
Then Tom’s hand moved teasingly up my body to cup my right breast, squeezing just a little but avoiding the sensitive nipple. I must have jumped slightly because Arnold stopped snoring and grumbled something under his breath. At this, Tom’s hand stopped as well and, still pretending to be asleep, I put my hand on top of it to stay its progress. But when Arnold started snoring again, the teenager was on the move once more, this time making no pretence about being asleep. I strained to control his fingers without rousing Arnold as they moved unerringly down my stomach. I also became acutely aware of Tom’s hard young cock pressed into my bottom. The hand moved ever lower, its destination now clear, and I thought: “No way, you little bastard” and slung my leg over Arnold to deny Tom access to my most intimate part. But the cocky bugger simply eased his hand behind me and approached his target from the rear. I bit my lip in horror as he stroked down my bottom, lifted my slip and cupped my pussy through my panties. This new invasion definitely made me jump and I was about to say something and finally expose Tom to Arnold when my husband suddenly swore and rolled out of bed.
“Bugger all this tossing and turning,” he grumbled. “The rain’s stopped now. I’m going to sleep in the bloody car.”
As he spoke, one of Tom’s fingers slipped under the elastic of my panties and touched me where only Arnold had touched me before. The youth’s bold arrogance took my breath away, and before I could gather my thoughts and react to my husband’s announcement, Arnold had grabbed a blanket and stomped out of the door.
Now that I was free to tell Tom what I thought of him, I didn’t hesitate. I rounded on him angrily.
“Now look here, you young ….” was all I got out before his mouth fixed on mine in a kiss far more refined and skilful than I expected from one so young. At the same time, before I knew what was happening, he deftly moved above me, and in one smooth motion opened my legs with his knee and slipped his hard young cock into my pussy. There was no fumbling, no hesitation. Tom made me into an unfaithful wife almost before I was aware of it. For the first time I realised how wet I had become during his clandestine caresses, but nevertheless I pushed at his chest and moaned a protest into his mouth, as he began moving his cock in and out of me - slowly at first, then faster and deeper – never giving me a chance to voice my objections. And with every deep stroke I was less inclined to object.
He was gentle yet firm, touching me teasingly as he probed my married pussy until my body remembered it was female first and foremost and started, despite myself, to respond to him. As if observing from a distance I watched my hands stop pushing at his smooth chest to slide up his neck and tangle their fingers in his curly hair. I felt my legs rise from the bed and wrap themselves around his powerful young thighs as he let loose his teenage potency and pummelled into me. I heard my voice mewing, purring, gurgling in ecstasy and whispering sweet nothings as I shuddered to my first orgasm. Now there was no turning back. I felt guilty and dirty yet wonderful all at the same time as my teenage lover drove me to orgasm after orgasm in the early morning light.
Finally came the sound of Arnold returning and Tom quickly bounded out of bed, dragged on his damp clothes and greeted the man he had just made a cuckold with a cheery offer of a cup of coffee. My pussy soaked and sore, I faked sleep while my lover passed the time of day with my oblivious husband. Tom’s audacity was stunning. He even rubbed his crutch and winked at me when he caught me watching through lowered eyelids. I blushed with shame, telling myself that it was only circumstances that had led to my unfaithfulness and that it was now over once and for all. I could hardly contain my relief when the tow truck got us back on the road and we dropped Tom off at his hotel.
“That’s a good lad, that is,” said my husband as we watched Tom walk away. “Jeff says he’s got a bit of a reputation with the girls – but I reckon its bull. He’s too well mannered. That’s all thanks to being brought up by two maiden aunts, I expect.”
I suspected Tom’s aunts had been far from maidens, which would explain his skills as a lover at such an early age, but I didn’t bother to answer Arnold, determined to put Tom and the events in the shepherd’s hut far behind me.
Which is what I did until one morning a few weeks later. I had just washed up the breakfast dishes and was in the hallway dressed in my housecoat and talking to Arnold on the phone when the doorbell rang. I opened the door to find Tom on the stoop wearing a big smile.
“Who is it?” asked my husband as Tom pushed me against the hallway wall and clamped his mouth on mine, slipping his hands under my housecoat as he did. Somehow I pulled away from the kiss.
“It’s young Tom,” I replied breathlessly, trying to fight the randy teenager off with one hand and talk into the phone at the same time. Tom had moved behind me, bringing his hands up to massage my heavy breasts and kissing my neck. With my husband listening to every sound I was once again in a position where to cause a fuss would court disaster.
“I expect he wants a bit of home comfort,” my husband said as the teenager let his hands wander over my body. I fought not to cry out in outrage and surprise. “It must be hard on him in the big city.”
Tom, his tongue in my other ear, heard this and took the phone from my shock-numbed grasp. “It sure is hard, Mr Hill,” he told Arnold in his innocent farm boy voice, taking my unresisting hand and placing it on the rigid ridge in his jeans. “I just needed somewhere to come for a bit of solace.”
“Well you make yourself right at home,” I heard my husband say as, under Tom’s guiding hand I began to stroke the young man’s hard on. “Ask Mrs Hill if there’s anything you need.”
“Don’t worry, I will,” grinned Tom, sliding my housecoat off my shoulders so that I stood naked in front of him. “Your wife is the kind of wife I’d like to have some day, Mr Hill.”
“A nice lad like you will find a good wife sooner than you think,” Arnold said, as Tom’s fingers played with my erect nipples and I fumbled with his fly.
“I think you might be right, Mr Hill,” he said. “In fact I’ve got my eye on a wife right now.”
I heard my husband laugh down the line. “Then you’d better strike while the iron’s hot, lad, or someone else will beat you to it. Can you put my wife back on?”
The teenager shrugged and handed the phone to me, leaving both his hands free to play with me while I struggled to keep my breathing even.
“Yes?” I asked my husband querulously, watching Tom fall to his knees and take one of my hard nipples into his mouth.
“I could be home late tonight, so don’t expect me for dinner,” Arnold said as Tom kissed my belly and started licking even lower. “But make sure you feed Tom well. He’s a growing lad so he’s bound to have a big appetite.”
You’ve no idea, I thought as I hung up and Tom’s tongue began lapping at my tingling clitoris. Nobody, not even Arnold, had done this to me before and, stupefied by Tom’s blatant display of wanton lust, I lay back on the hallway mat and opened myself to the horny young man, moaning and writhing on the floor as he gobbled my pussy. When he’d finished he pulled me to my feet and upstairs to the main bedroom where he bent me over the bottom of the bed and took me from behind as I gazed with lust-dazed eyes at wedding photos of Arnold and I, howling my joy as I was impaled on the boy’s big tool.
Tom stayed with me all day and I never got to stand up again, let alone put my housecoat back on. In those long ecstatic hours being shafted in my marital bed of thirty years I forgot Arnold and our children and the fact that my lover was young enough to be my grandson. I was exhausted and totally satisfied by the time he was ready to leave, but before he left he made one more call to Arnold, who was working alone after hours at his office.
“Hi, Mr Hill, I just phoned to say sorry that I missed you and I hope to see you next time I drop in,” my teenage lover told my husband. “If not, I’ll just have to make do with Mrs Hill’s company again.”
“Anytime, Tom,” said my cuckold husband jovially. “Just pop in and my wife will be only too pleased to help out.”
“Don’t worry, I will,” Tom told my husband – and he has, every day for the past fortnight. Almost as soon as Arnold’s out of the front door Tom is in the back and into my pussy. I happily obey his orders to chat to Arnold on the phone while he feels me up or worse. It feels so naughty, so risky, so exciting.
I’m not a fool. I know that a young stud like Tom will soon move on to greener and younger pastures. But until that day I’ll gladly play his middle-aged whore for as long as he wants me to.
FUCK MY WIFE!
CLICK BELOW TO FIND A BULL
It all started about a month ago, when my husband, Arnold, and I had been celebrating our thirtieth wedding anniversary with a fortnight at the country hotel where we had spent our honeymoon. It was quiet and isolated with splendid views and we tended to visit every few years, so the owners, Jeff and Mary, had become our friends as well as our hosts. Sometimes they’d even drop in when they visited the city and our kids had come to regard theirs as extended family. Now, of course, they’d all left home except Jeff and Mary’s youngest son Tom, who we’d watched grow from an adventurous toddler into a strapping seventeen-year-old with a cheeky smile and a quick wit.
Tom often had us in stitches over dinner with his plays on words, and I occasionally caught him staring at me in such a way that I wondered for a moment if his double entendres were meant for me. These were fleeting thoughts, however, because Tom was always good mannered to a fault. He was respectful and called me Mrs Hill, and I never for a moment imagined such a good-looking young man would take a fancy to me. After all, I was practically his great aunt as well as being almost three times his age. Not that I’m a crone – far from it. Nature has allowed me to age gracefully so that my full body in still more buxom than matronly, but my clothing never advertises the fact. My hair is its natural silver, worn in what they used to call a pageboy style, and in some ways you could almost call me prim and proper. I’ve got generous curves in all the right places, but I’m no sultry sex siren.
Anyway, after a lovely visit, the time came for Arnold and I to say farewell, and Jeff and Mary asked if we’d mind giving young Tom a lift to the city, where he planned to buy a new car. We readily agreed and, after a bit of shuffling gear around, cleared a space for him in the back seat and we set off on the long drive home. Unlike the previous fortnight it was a miserable afternoon, and almost as soon as we pulled out of the farm gate we were hit by heavy rain. The downpour got heavier and heavier and we were barely crawling along when Arnold lost control in the wet and slid off the road into a ditch. He and Tom tried every trick they knew to get us free, but finally, soaked and muddy, they had to admit defeat and climbed back into the car. It was getting dark by now, with no sign of an end to the storm.
“Looks like we’re here for the night,” said Arnold testily. My husband is a big easy-going man of fifty-five, but the idea of spending a cramped night soaked to the skin in a fully-laden small sedan was trying his patience.
Tom, who knew the area well, came to our rescue.
“Don’t worry, Mr Hill,” he grinned, pointing into the gloom. “There’s a shepherd’s hut up just the track. I’ve never been there, but if it’s anything like the huts on our property it’ll be nice and dry, with bunks and blankets. We could stay there until sun-up, then go for help.”
Now that the teenager had pointed it out we could see the hut silhouetted against the darkness only a few hundred feet from the road. It seemed the only smart option, so we grabbed a small tarpaulin for shelter and dashed across the wet field together. To my surprise the door was unlocked, but Tom said that was normal because the huts were used by different people at different times, often as emergency shelters.
Inside the hut was indeed snug and weather tight. There was a pot-bellied woodstove in one corner and a hurricane lamp on a ledge, which Tom lit to shine its light not on bunk beds but on a huge old king-sized bed that took up almost half the floor space.
“Oh no,” he said. “Looks like I’m sleeping in the car after all.” He had to raise his voice above the sound of the rain, which was now coming down in solid sheets.
“Not at all,” said Arnold, without asking my opinion. “The bed’s big enough for three.”
“But won’t Mrs Hill mind?” asked Tom.
“It’s alright, Tom,” I told him. “Arnold can sleep in the middle, if you’re uncomfortable. Only a sadist would make you go back outside in this weather.”
Tom still looked doubtful. “If you’re both sure,” he said – and we assured him we were.
By the light of the hurricane lamp we lit the stove and I whipped up a meal of beans and coffee from the hut’s scant supplies. Then we hung our drenched clothes near the stove to dry and crawled into the huge bed – first Tom, in his T-shirt and jocks, then Arnold in his baggy underwear, and, last of all, me, wearing only my slip.
The drumming of the rain soon lulled me to sleep until I woke in the middle of the night to find Arnold, who like many men his age has a weak bladder, clambering over me to go to the small chemical toilet tucked outside under the tiny porch. When he came back he simply crawled in next to me, putting me in the middle of the bed. I was conscious of Tom lying beside me but I was too tired to be concerned about protocol, so I spooned against Arnold’s back and dropped off again.
A few minutes later I was wide awake, acutely aware of Tom’s young body spooned against my back in the same way I was spooned against Arnold. Tom’s right hand was resting on my hip and I could feel his warm breath on the back of my neck. He seemed to be asleep, so I gently removed his hand, but he replaced it in such a genuine sleepy way that I decided it was an unintentional and unconscious movement on his part and let it lie.
I awoke again to find Tom still apparently asleep but his hand now moving gently over my body outside my slip, softly stroking me from shoulder to thigh without actually touching any of my intimate places. It was all very bizarre and dreamlike and I was a loss as to what to do as the teenager’s hand caressed my body. What Tom was doing was appalling, unforgivable, but if I made a fuss the result could be much worse. Despite his affability, Arnold would not take Tom’s liberties lying down, even if I was. My husband would be shocked to the core, just like I was, and chances are he’d try to give the impudent youngster a thrashing, which at Arnold’s age could only end in him either being beaten or having some sort of seizure. I listened to Arnold’s peaceful snoring, and decided not to react in any way to Tom’s caresses. I told myself that it was no real harm in it – and he was only a boy after all. He wasn’t touching my breasts, bum or pussy, so why overreact? It was as if I was mesmerised by the youngster’s touch as I lay there in the darkened hut next to my husband being felt up by this chit of a lad. It was like some surreal dream – serene and sensual.
Then Tom’s hand moved teasingly up my body to cup my right breast, squeezing just a little but avoiding the sensitive nipple. I must have jumped slightly because Arnold stopped snoring and grumbled something under his breath. At this, Tom’s hand stopped as well and, still pretending to be asleep, I put my hand on top of it to stay its progress. But when Arnold started snoring again, the teenager was on the move once more, this time making no pretence about being asleep. I strained to control his fingers without rousing Arnold as they moved unerringly down my stomach. I also became acutely aware of Tom’s hard young cock pressed into my bottom. The hand moved ever lower, its destination now clear, and I thought: “No way, you little bastard” and slung my leg over Arnold to deny Tom access to my most intimate part. But the cocky bugger simply eased his hand behind me and approached his target from the rear. I bit my lip in horror as he stroked down my bottom, lifted my slip and cupped my pussy through my panties. This new invasion definitely made me jump and I was about to say something and finally expose Tom to Arnold when my husband suddenly swore and rolled out of bed.
“Bugger all this tossing and turning,” he grumbled. “The rain’s stopped now. I’m going to sleep in the bloody car.”
As he spoke, one of Tom’s fingers slipped under the elastic of my panties and touched me where only Arnold had touched me before. The youth’s bold arrogance took my breath away, and before I could gather my thoughts and react to my husband’s announcement, Arnold had grabbed a blanket and stomped out of the door.
Now that I was free to tell Tom what I thought of him, I didn’t hesitate. I rounded on him angrily.
“Now look here, you young ….” was all I got out before his mouth fixed on mine in a kiss far more refined and skilful than I expected from one so young. At the same time, before I knew what was happening, he deftly moved above me, and in one smooth motion opened my legs with his knee and slipped his hard young cock into my pussy. There was no fumbling, no hesitation. Tom made me into an unfaithful wife almost before I was aware of it. For the first time I realised how wet I had become during his clandestine caresses, but nevertheless I pushed at his chest and moaned a protest into his mouth, as he began moving his cock in and out of me - slowly at first, then faster and deeper – never giving me a chance to voice my objections. And with every deep stroke I was less inclined to object.
He was gentle yet firm, touching me teasingly as he probed my married pussy until my body remembered it was female first and foremost and started, despite myself, to respond to him. As if observing from a distance I watched my hands stop pushing at his smooth chest to slide up his neck and tangle their fingers in his curly hair. I felt my legs rise from the bed and wrap themselves around his powerful young thighs as he let loose his teenage potency and pummelled into me. I heard my voice mewing, purring, gurgling in ecstasy and whispering sweet nothings as I shuddered to my first orgasm. Now there was no turning back. I felt guilty and dirty yet wonderful all at the same time as my teenage lover drove me to orgasm after orgasm in the early morning light.
Finally came the sound of Arnold returning and Tom quickly bounded out of bed, dragged on his damp clothes and greeted the man he had just made a cuckold with a cheery offer of a cup of coffee. My pussy soaked and sore, I faked sleep while my lover passed the time of day with my oblivious husband. Tom’s audacity was stunning. He even rubbed his crutch and winked at me when he caught me watching through lowered eyelids. I blushed with shame, telling myself that it was only circumstances that had led to my unfaithfulness and that it was now over once and for all. I could hardly contain my relief when the tow truck got us back on the road and we dropped Tom off at his hotel.
“That’s a good lad, that is,” said my husband as we watched Tom walk away. “Jeff says he’s got a bit of a reputation with the girls – but I reckon its bull. He’s too well mannered. That’s all thanks to being brought up by two maiden aunts, I expect.”
I suspected Tom’s aunts had been far from maidens, which would explain his skills as a lover at such an early age, but I didn’t bother to answer Arnold, determined to put Tom and the events in the shepherd’s hut far behind me.
Which is what I did until one morning a few weeks later. I had just washed up the breakfast dishes and was in the hallway dressed in my housecoat and talking to Arnold on the phone when the doorbell rang. I opened the door to find Tom on the stoop wearing a big smile.
“Who is it?” asked my husband as Tom pushed me against the hallway wall and clamped his mouth on mine, slipping his hands under my housecoat as he did. Somehow I pulled away from the kiss.
“It’s young Tom,” I replied breathlessly, trying to fight the randy teenager off with one hand and talk into the phone at the same time. Tom had moved behind me, bringing his hands up to massage my heavy breasts and kissing my neck. With my husband listening to every sound I was once again in a position where to cause a fuss would court disaster.
“I expect he wants a bit of home comfort,” my husband said as the teenager let his hands wander over my body. I fought not to cry out in outrage and surprise. “It must be hard on him in the big city.”
Tom, his tongue in my other ear, heard this and took the phone from my shock-numbed grasp. “It sure is hard, Mr Hill,” he told Arnold in his innocent farm boy voice, taking my unresisting hand and placing it on the rigid ridge in his jeans. “I just needed somewhere to come for a bit of solace.”
“Well you make yourself right at home,” I heard my husband say as, under Tom’s guiding hand I began to stroke the young man’s hard on. “Ask Mrs Hill if there’s anything you need.”
“Don’t worry, I will,” grinned Tom, sliding my housecoat off my shoulders so that I stood naked in front of him. “Your wife is the kind of wife I’d like to have some day, Mr Hill.”
“A nice lad like you will find a good wife sooner than you think,” Arnold said, as Tom’s fingers played with my erect nipples and I fumbled with his fly.
“I think you might be right, Mr Hill,” he said. “In fact I’ve got my eye on a wife right now.”
I heard my husband laugh down the line. “Then you’d better strike while the iron’s hot, lad, or someone else will beat you to it. Can you put my wife back on?”
The teenager shrugged and handed the phone to me, leaving both his hands free to play with me while I struggled to keep my breathing even.
“Yes?” I asked my husband querulously, watching Tom fall to his knees and take one of my hard nipples into his mouth.
“I could be home late tonight, so don’t expect me for dinner,” Arnold said as Tom kissed my belly and started licking even lower. “But make sure you feed Tom well. He’s a growing lad so he’s bound to have a big appetite.”
You’ve no idea, I thought as I hung up and Tom’s tongue began lapping at my tingling clitoris. Nobody, not even Arnold, had done this to me before and, stupefied by Tom’s blatant display of wanton lust, I lay back on the hallway mat and opened myself to the horny young man, moaning and writhing on the floor as he gobbled my pussy. When he’d finished he pulled me to my feet and upstairs to the main bedroom where he bent me over the bottom of the bed and took me from behind as I gazed with lust-dazed eyes at wedding photos of Arnold and I, howling my joy as I was impaled on the boy’s big tool.
Tom stayed with me all day and I never got to stand up again, let alone put my housecoat back on. In those long ecstatic hours being shafted in my marital bed of thirty years I forgot Arnold and our children and the fact that my lover was young enough to be my grandson. I was exhausted and totally satisfied by the time he was ready to leave, but before he left he made one more call to Arnold, who was working alone after hours at his office.
“Hi, Mr Hill, I just phoned to say sorry that I missed you and I hope to see you next time I drop in,” my teenage lover told my husband. “If not, I’ll just have to make do with Mrs Hill’s company again.”
“Anytime, Tom,” said my cuckold husband jovially. “Just pop in and my wife will be only too pleased to help out.”
“Don’t worry, I will,” Tom told my husband – and he has, every day for the past fortnight. Almost as soon as Arnold’s out of the front door Tom is in the back and into my pussy. I happily obey his orders to chat to Arnold on the phone while he feels me up or worse. It feels so naughty, so risky, so exciting.
I’m not a fool. I know that a young stud like Tom will soon move on to greener and younger pastures. But until that day I’ll gladly play his middle-aged whore for as long as he wants me to.
 TAKE MY WIFE |
 FUCK ME |
Poster:
Dare2doit