Heather always takes an age in the bathroom. I have no idea why and I don’t want to know; It can’t be removing makeup because she doesn’t normally wear any. My suspicion is that she is feeding a pernicious Sudoku habit.
While she is in residence I get despatched downstairs to turn off the computers in the business, set the alarms and lock up for the night. I reckon I have a good fifteen minutes where I can catch up with my blogging chums or, alternatively, download hardcore pornography.
On this occasion I was breathlessly trying to catch up with Nymph Whore Slut’s recent prodigious output and came across this post about yuvutu.com. Needless to say, I was hooked. I just had to click on one more interesting-looking clip, and then just one more…
When I finally got upstairs I half expected Heather to be snuggled up under the duvet, maybe even asleep. I found myself almost hoping that she was, so as to save me from explaining what had kept me from her. In the event, she didn’t ask. She was sitting cross-legged on the bed wearing a plain black underwired bra, black thong and red fishnet tights.
And lipstick.
She hardly ever wears lipstick unless we’re going out somewhere.
Or unless she really wants to please me and for me to please her.
It was the colour I most like to see on her lips, a deep, rich, brownish-red. The colour of an engorged nipple.
I lay across her lap and buried my face in her breasts. In all the years I have known her she has never liked to wear underwired bras, despite encouragement from me. In the last few months, however, she has brought several and wears one every day. Perhaps she believes that middle-age and gravity are starting to exert their influence. I can’t say I’d noticed.
I ran a hand across her fishnetted thighs. She would have to be out of those, and sooner rather than later, but not just yet.
”Give us a twirl, then.”
She got up and posed in front of me, strutted up and down, pouted and pushed her boobs up, turned her back to me and bent down low, stretching the scarlet fishnet over her bottom, a tantalizing veil over what it was the thong was barely managing to cover.
I don’t know if it is true, but I think I read many years ago that the women of the court of the pharoahs in ancient Egypt would use lipstick to signal their willingness to give oral sex. True or not, I have repeated this to Heather so often that she has taken it to heart. Now, as I lay there, stiff from my private little floorshow she bent over me, parted those sumptuous lips and slowly enveloped my cock with them. The way she was positioned I could barely reach any part of her with my hands, so all I could do was to lie back and enjoy my treat, the sight, sound and feel of her giving me a long, slow, leisurely blowjob.
Then, slowly, she began to crawl up the bed. Her breasts, still encased and enhanced, brushed my chest as her lips slowly homed in on mine, pausing only to roll one of my nipples around her tongue, and plant a ring of secondhand lipstick around it. My cock left the slightest trail of her saliva across her tummy as she dragged herself across it.
Our lips locked. She tasted of me. I thrust my tongue deeper into her soft mouth, hungry for moreof that curious metallic taste. She parried my tongue with hers and I sucked gently to bring her into my mouth and hold her captive with my lips as I caressed the soft underside of her tongue with mine.
My arms were crossed behind her head, the forearms pushing her face down onto mine, but now as we paused for breath, I slid them down her back and under the waistband of her tights. For a few moments I savoured the feeling of the fishnet squashing my hand against the flesh of her bottom, but, pretty to look at as they are, they’re utterly impractical. They just had to go.
The bra and thong stayed, though. I love to fuck my woman when she’s still partially clothed. What am I saying? I love to fuck my woman when she’s very nearly fully clothed, when I’m very nearly fully clothed, partially clothed or we’re both stark bollock naked. I just love to fuck my woman, anyhow, any way anywhere. But the number of different permutations of one or the other being clothed or unclothed would by itself give a couple of weeks worth of variation. Tonight she had taken the trouble to wear a thong for me-I found out later that she had been wearing it all evening, waiting for me to put the moves on her-and I was jolly well going to fuck her in that thong.
I slid one hand round under her so that it was pushing, palm upward, on her mons. The thin strip of material that was the thong had all but disappeared into her cleft and I gently extricated it and pulled it aside. It was soaking wet. My palm slid over her silky patch of hair, fingers probing into the wetness and at last curling round inside her. She reacted by crushing her face harder onto mine and reaching back behind her to grab my cock.
I could feel the increasing urgency in the way she took hold of me. I could hear her breathing change. I knew she was close and desperate to come. I rolled over with her until she was on her back I knelt up beside her, pulled one breast free and latched onto the nipple, sucking greedily, trying to cram as much into my mouth as I could while I worked away at her clit. She hung onto my cock like grim death as she bucked and writhed and finally let out a shout then seemed to deflate under me.
I carefully disgorged the mass of breast I had devoured. She lay there, peaceful and sated, shivering a little as she always does when the tides if orgasm have receded. But she was to have no rest. Roughly, I turned her over. I grabbed the back of the thong and hauled her up into a kneeling position. With the T at the back of the thong hooked over my thumb, I reached up and grabbed the two bra-straps in the same hand, bunching them all together in my fist and lifting a little. Heather let out a little yelp of pain as the thong bit into her crack and the bra pressed into her chest. I relaxed my grip sufficiently to clear the thong to one side, out of my way, and then slammed my cock into her again and again until, with my head thrown back and doing my best to lift her off the bed by her underwear, I came.
Slowly, painfully, I pulled out of her and released my grip. I peeled the thong from her thighs, and it rolled up like used thongs always do. I discarded it on the bedroom floor for now, a soggy, lewd, crumpled figure of eight, and returned my attention to her thighs; kissing them and mopping my sweat-soaked hair on them. I released Heather from her bra and she sighed with relief, sank onto the bed and pulled me down on top of her. It was way too late for any mopping up so we just lay together in our combined juices; holding, kissing, dozing intermittently.
I could, of course, have saved myself the effort of all this description had I just taken the camcorder with me into the bedroom, had Heather just permitted it. We could have posted the whole wonderful thing on yuvutu and let the world look in and see how we love each other.
But don’t get too excited. I’m afraid it ain’t never going to happen.
While she is in residence I get despatched downstairs to turn off the computers in the business, set the alarms and lock up for the night. I reckon I have a good fifteen minutes where I can catch up with my blogging chums or, alternatively, download hardcore pornography.
On this occasion I was breathlessly trying to catch up with Nymph Whore Slut’s recent prodigious output and came across this post about yuvutu.com. Needless to say, I was hooked. I just had to click on one more interesting-looking clip, and then just one more…
When I finally got upstairs I half expected Heather to be snuggled up under the duvet, maybe even asleep. I found myself almost hoping that she was, so as to save me from explaining what had kept me from her. In the event, she didn’t ask. She was sitting cross-legged on the bed wearing a plain black underwired bra, black thong and red fishnet tights.
And lipstick.
She hardly ever wears lipstick unless we’re going out somewhere.
Or unless she really wants to please me and for me to please her.
It was the colour I most like to see on her lips, a deep, rich, brownish-red. The colour of an engorged nipple.
I lay across her lap and buried my face in her breasts. In all the years I have known her she has never liked to wear underwired bras, despite encouragement from me. In the last few months, however, she has brought several and wears one every day. Perhaps she believes that middle-age and gravity are starting to exert their influence. I can’t say I’d noticed.
I ran a hand across her fishnetted thighs. She would have to be out of those, and sooner rather than later, but not just yet.
”Give us a twirl, then.”
She got up and posed in front of me, strutted up and down, pouted and pushed her boobs up, turned her back to me and bent down low, stretching the scarlet fishnet over her bottom, a tantalizing veil over what it was the thong was barely managing to cover.
I don’t know if it is true, but I think I read many years ago that the women of the court of the pharoahs in ancient Egypt would use lipstick to signal their willingness to give oral sex. True or not, I have repeated this to Heather so often that she has taken it to heart. Now, as I lay there, stiff from my private little floorshow she bent over me, parted those sumptuous lips and slowly enveloped my cock with them. The way she was positioned I could barely reach any part of her with my hands, so all I could do was to lie back and enjoy my treat, the sight, sound and feel of her giving me a long, slow, leisurely blowjob.
Then, slowly, she began to crawl up the bed. Her breasts, still encased and enhanced, brushed my chest as her lips slowly homed in on mine, pausing only to roll one of my nipples around her tongue, and plant a ring of secondhand lipstick around it. My cock left the slightest trail of her saliva across her tummy as she dragged herself across it.
Our lips locked. She tasted of me. I thrust my tongue deeper into her soft mouth, hungry for moreof that curious metallic taste. She parried my tongue with hers and I sucked gently to bring her into my mouth and hold her captive with my lips as I caressed the soft underside of her tongue with mine.
My arms were crossed behind her head, the forearms pushing her face down onto mine, but now as we paused for breath, I slid them down her back and under the waistband of her tights. For a few moments I savoured the feeling of the fishnet squashing my hand against the flesh of her bottom, but, pretty to look at as they are, they’re utterly impractical. They just had to go.
The bra and thong stayed, though. I love to fuck my woman when she’s still partially clothed. What am I saying? I love to fuck my woman when she’s very nearly fully clothed, when I’m very nearly fully clothed, partially clothed or we’re both stark bollock naked. I just love to fuck my woman, anyhow, any way anywhere. But the number of different permutations of one or the other being clothed or unclothed would by itself give a couple of weeks worth of variation. Tonight she had taken the trouble to wear a thong for me-I found out later that she had been wearing it all evening, waiting for me to put the moves on her-and I was jolly well going to fuck her in that thong.
I slid one hand round under her so that it was pushing, palm upward, on her mons. The thin strip of material that was the thong had all but disappeared into her cleft and I gently extricated it and pulled it aside. It was soaking wet. My palm slid over her silky patch of hair, fingers probing into the wetness and at last curling round inside her. She reacted by crushing her face harder onto mine and reaching back behind her to grab my cock.
I could feel the increasing urgency in the way she took hold of me. I could hear her breathing change. I knew she was close and desperate to come. I rolled over with her until she was on her back I knelt up beside her, pulled one breast free and latched onto the nipple, sucking greedily, trying to cram as much into my mouth as I could while I worked away at her clit. She hung onto my cock like grim death as she bucked and writhed and finally let out a shout then seemed to deflate under me.
I carefully disgorged the mass of breast I had devoured. She lay there, peaceful and sated, shivering a little as she always does when the tides if orgasm have receded. But she was to have no rest. Roughly, I turned her over. I grabbed the back of the thong and hauled her up into a kneeling position. With the T at the back of the thong hooked over my thumb, I reached up and grabbed the two bra-straps in the same hand, bunching them all together in my fist and lifting a little. Heather let out a little yelp of pain as the thong bit into her crack and the bra pressed into her chest. I relaxed my grip sufficiently to clear the thong to one side, out of my way, and then slammed my cock into her again and again until, with my head thrown back and doing my best to lift her off the bed by her underwear, I came.
Slowly, painfully, I pulled out of her and released my grip. I peeled the thong from her thighs, and it rolled up like used thongs always do. I discarded it on the bedroom floor for now, a soggy, lewd, crumpled figure of eight, and returned my attention to her thighs; kissing them and mopping my sweat-soaked hair on them. I released Heather from her bra and she sighed with relief, sank onto the bed and pulled me down on top of her. It was way too late for any mopping up so we just lay together in our combined juices; holding, kissing, dozing intermittently.
I could, of course, have saved myself the effort of all this description had I just taken the camcorder with me into the bedroom, had Heather just permitted it. We could have posted the whole wonderful thing on yuvutu and let the world look in and see how we love each other.
But don’t get too excited. I’m afraid it ain’t never going to happen.
Previous picture: The Sun Inn, Just across from the brewery in Hook Norton, Oxfordshire
2 comments:
"I’m afraid it ain’t never going to happen."
That's OK, your words say things that video could never do.
Thanks, I hope you enjoyed.
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