This one is one I am sure a few married ladies must come across now and again. The thing with my marriage is, it' not like other marriages. I get to fuck other men. It's a peculiar setup, I know, but it's the kind of thing that keeps the flame burning, keeps the juices flowing.
Today, I'm in the hotel room of some young buck, a man named Tom. Twenty-four, tall, dark hair, the kind of body that makes you want to run your hands over the muscles. He's got a kink, though. He's into women's underwear, not just seeing it, but wearing it. Now, I've seen a thing or two in my time, but this was a new one for me in someone that young. I've agreed to this rendezvous with an open mind and a wet pussy.
The room is dimly lit and I strip down, watching him as he does the same, his eyes glued to my aging but still firm tits, my stomach that's seen better days, and my cunt is hairy and bushy.
"You like?" I ask, tossing my hair over my shoulder, giving him a look that says I know I'm still got it.
"Fuck, yes," he says, his voice thick with desire.
He steps closer, and I can feel the heat from his body, his cock standing at attention like it's got a mind of its own. I reach out and stroke it, feeling it pulse in my hand like a living thing. He gasps, his eyes rolling back in his head.
"You want to wear these?" I ask, holding up the panties.
He nods, a boyish grin spreading across his face. "More than anything."
I chuckle, a deep, throaty sound that's gotten more smoky with age. "Alright, let's get you dressed then."
I help him into the panties, watching as he adjusts himself, his cock straining against the fabric. He looks like a kid in a candy store, his eyes wide with excitement. I can't help but feel a little thrill at the sight of him, so eager and vulnerable.
"Now, lay down," I say, my voice low and commanding.
He does as he's told, and I straddle him, my cunt hovering just above his face. I can feel his breath, hot and wet, against my pussy, and it makes me shiver. I lower myself down, letting him taste me, and he groans, his tongue darting out to lick at my clit. It's like a little spark has been lit in my core, and I can feel the fire spreading.
I start to ride his face, my hips moving in a rhythm that's as old as time. His tongue is masterful, teasing and probing, bringing me closer and closer to the edge. I lean back, my tits bouncing with every movement, and grab his cock, stroking it in time with my own needs.
"You like that?" I purr, watching him as he devours me.
He nods, muffled by my pussy, and I can feel his cock throb in my hand. I lean down and take it in my mouth, the taste of him mingling with the scent of my arousal. I suck hard, feeling him swell even more, his hands gripping the sheets like he's trying to hold on for dear life.
"You're going to make me cum," he gasps, and I just smile around his cock, savouring the power I have over him.
But it's not just about him. Oh no. This is about me too. I slide up his body, my pussy wet and hungry, and I position his cock at my entrance. He looks up at me, his eyes filled with a mix of lust and something else, something almost... tender. And then I slide down, feeling him fill me up, stretching me out in a way that's both familiar and thrilling.
We move together, our bodies a symphony of skin and sweat, his cock sliding in and out of my cunt like it's found its home.
He's wearing my bra now, the cups too big for his small chest, the straps digging into his shoulders. It's an odd sight, but it turns me on more than I care to admit. There's something about the power exchange, the way he's willing to submit to me, to my desires, that makes me wetter than I've been in years.
"Fuck me," I whisper, my voice a hoarse growl. "Fuck me like you mean it."
And he does. He bucks his hips up into me, his cock hitting all the right spots, making me moan and gasp. I grab the headboard, my knuckles white, and I ride him like I'm riding that wild horse, letting him take me where he will.
But then he stops, panting, his cock still buried deep inside me. "Can I... can I take them off?"
"Take what off?" I ask, confused for a moment.
"The panties," he says, his voice strained. "I want to feel you, all of you."
I nod, and he wiggles out of them, tossing them aside. He takes a deep breath, and then he starts to move again, his bare cock sliding against my skin, no barriers between us.
It's like a switch has been flipped. The orgasm hits me like a freight train, my whole body shaking, my pussy clenching around him. I scream out, my voice echoing off the walls, and he follows suit, his cock pulsing inside me as he cums.
We lay there, our bodies tangled, our breathing ragged. He looks up at me, his eyes filled with something that could almost be love, and for a moment, I feel a pang of guilt. But it's fleeting. This isn't love. This is lust, pure and simple. And it's beautiful in its own way.
"Thank you," he says, his voice soft.
"For what?" I ask, playing coy.
"For letting me be me," he says, and I can see the sincerity in his eyes.
I smile, stroking his cheek. "Anytime, darling."
We dress, and I leave him there, his cock still hard and his face still flushed. I know he'll be thinking about this for a long time, and so will I. It's moments like these that remind me that age is just a number when it comes to sex.
As I walk out of the hotel, my heels clicking on the marble floor, I feel alive, like I've just run a marathon or climbed a mountain. And in a way, I have. Because when you're a fifty-one-year-old in an open marriage and a taste for adventure, the world is your playground, and every cock is a new toy to explore. |
Shall you be going back for round two? I do hope so hee-hee 
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Xx