Old Enough To Vote But…

Old enough to vote but not yet stroked; just out of high school awaiting acceptance to university and still a virgin. It’s depressing being eighteen but folks not seeing you that way or treating you that way because of your build; having mostly fresh, mumbling early teen boys hitting on you or worse yet old freaks that see you as jail bait but are willing to take the chance. The only guys of the ‘right’ age to approach you almost always turn out to be downright jerks or the shy inexperienced ones too timid and indecisive to take the lead and take you to the heights of pleasure your body so badly wants. That was a page from my diary a long time ago.

I was puttering around my garden on a windy afternoon as best I could with my heavy seven and a half months pregnant belly, tending to my flower plants while enjoying the strong wind and weak sunlight playing against my skin. My thin cotton 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 forth my fourth child after a long break.

As I bent over to spade around the root 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 annoyed curiosity than anything else and glared at the source of my interruption. I looked into a leering face that was stamped with as much lechery as the gone whistle. The owner was a man who looked to be in his mid-sixties or thereabouts. As he stared lustily and unabashedly at my pregnant body I felt like hurling the spade at his old ass, but that feeling of hostility was fleeting for it was quickly replaced by a sweet blast of nostalgia, brought to life by the combination of strong wind, the whistle and my billowing cotton dress. I was also a little bit tickled by his forwardness, because I have a weak spot for much older men. I quickly glanced at a patch of buttercups and my mind took me back to a time long gone but yet alive in a special corner of my heart and memory. I felt a pleasurable tingling; so instead of throwing the spade I threw a pleasant smile and a little wave of hand at the old guy who continued on his way, shaking his head in a manner that suggested he was regretting his age and longing for younger days.

I watched him disappear around the bend just as a sudden drizzle pelted down from the sky. I hurried indoors, still feeling the tingling in my body. Smiling inside I went to my bedroom and headed for a window where I looked out at the falling rain and a mental vision of my past. Lost in sweet revelry I brought one hand to my lower stomach and rubbed it gently as the other hand crept up to my bosom, brushing against a bra-less nipple that was quickly hardening. It wasn’t long before the hand on my stomach ventured lower and came to rest in the area of my swollen groin. I bent over to better touch my tingling crotch. My other hand pulled at a long hot nipple and I hissed softly. I waddled over to my bed where I lay on my back with legs bent at the knees and spread wide. I moved aside the leg of my underwear and gently patted my wet pussy as I thought of that day long ago.

It was a hot and windy 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 short armless pink blouse that hugged my bare ‘A’ cup breasts and left a few inches of my smooth chocolate tummy outside. Below the blouse was a short loose pink skirt of light cotton material that blew freely in the wind. Looking up the street I saw the familiar figure of Mr. Whyte the neighborhood builder/repairman; he was attending to his gleaming black bicycle which seemed to have slipped its chain. Mr. Whyte was a man somewhere in his forties, I believed. He was a short and wiry individual of a light complexion and curly brown hair due to his mixed ancestry: black, and a couple of other races, maybe East Indian, Portuguese and Amerindian or whatever. He had the reputation 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 stared strongly at me with a slight smile whenever we passed each other on the streets or he rode by our house on his bicycle with its ever present tool bag.

When I was about fifteen feet away from Mr. Whyte the wind upped strength and lifted the flimsy skirt up around my waist. It took a little while 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 little girl mind.
“Yellow, girl, yellow,” he said, referring to the colour of my nylon underwear. “Nice little buttercup, yellow and mellow, my favorite color and favorite flower, you are my little flower girl.”
I lowered my head shyly but looked at him sideways and managed a little 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 sensation take over my entire young body; it felt as if all my pores were exploding. I quickened my steps against my will and hurried away enjoying the rapture I was caught up in.

When I got home 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 bathroom and standing before the mirror, quickly lifted my skirt up above my waist looking dreamy eyed and appraisingly at my yellow panties and my ‘buttercup’. I slipped out of my skirt and blouse and just stood there looking at my blossoming body, feeling all grown up and desirable. I was a mere four feet eleven inches in height, weighing about one hundred and five pounds, a considerable amount of which was settled in my ass hips and thighs. I pulled up the waist of my panty causing it to cling snugly to my virgin mound, accentuating its plumpness and giving it a nice little camel toe look. I will admit that my mound even without hair to pad it up in my underwear was a sizable lump, more than the normal size. I knew this from comparison with other girls when we showered after games. So I can imagine why Mr. Whyte whistled when he caught sight of my nylon covered crotch; it was quite a handful by any standards. I turned around and examined my round, full ass, the crack of which the panties had slipped into. I was pleased with the sight of the rounded cheeks and felt my little yet to be touched pussy pulsing as I became turned on just looking at my sexy young body that glowed like polished chocolate. I brought one hand up and tweaked both little nipples pulling them outward firmly. With the panties crotch now sunk into my tight but wet little crack I rolled my hips and made little humping movements against the damp fabric.

A minute later I pulled off the panties and stepped under the shower. As the water engulfed me I used one hand to massage and pinch my little breasts and nipples while the other hand flittered over my stiffened clit. After a while I parted my crack and slipped a finger into my hot slick tunnel and began finger fucking my little pussy frantically. I came quicker 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 whistle and nice words.

That night I lay in bed for a couple of hours conjuring possible sexual scenarios as I played with myself. After a couple of intense orgasms I dropped off to sleep and dreamed of being fucked by a number of men who resembled Mr. Whyte, and sometimes took on the shape of dogs and horses and monkeys.

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

From that day onwards whenever we met he would call me buttercup, but the little girl in me could not get me to say Bertrand to his face, sometimes being seen as ‘little’ can make you think you’re little, so I reserved that luxury for my mind and quiet 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 meeting. His words left no doubt about his true interest in me; He saw me more as a woman and prospective sexual partner than as a young girl he was just being nice to. And I loved it. My mind kept telling me that I was treading dangerous waters, but my body wanted to swim, wanted to get wet, so I paid no heed to my mind and the teachings and warnings I’d got over the years about grown men paying unbecoming interest in me. There were lots of young boys and men who paid me compliments and showed interest in me, but none of them made me feel the kind of heat Bertrand’s words and attention generated in me. I wanted to take a chance with him. I wanted him to touch me all over. I wanted to touch him all over.

One evening about a month after our first encounter I was returning home from a dance class 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 neighborhood. 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 halt by applied brakes.
“So my little flower is out at night to brighten 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 home before someone picks it,” the voice continued
I didn’t reply, I was truly lost for words, but I was excited to say the least. My heart pounded in my little chest and my body quickly heated up, especially around my ears and neck and between my legs. I felt a hand on my shoulder 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 little playground in Brewster Street that I had heard things about.
“I know, but it will give us some time to talk, we never get a chance to talk and I want to talk to you little 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 road. My heart was pumping wildly and my palm grew damp. I began to have second thoughts as warnings I’d got as to what to do and not do as a young 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 little scared.
He must have sensed my thoughts, “Don’t be afraid, I won’t hurt you” he said, raising his hand to pat my heated cheek. 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 hands around my waist gently pulled me against him. The bag that I was carrying slipped from my fingers like an escaping bird. My slightly trembling body leaned into his between his spread legs and I felt something sizable and hard down there press against my tummy. He lifted my chin and brought his lips down to mine, poking his tongue between them. I instinctually I opened my mouth and let him into mine. It was my first ever kiss and I didn’t know for sure what to do. Following his lead I stuck my tongue out and he latched onto it and began sucking on it gently. I was in heaven. His hand gripped my ass cheeks and pulled me in closer against his hard pulsing dick. He brought one hand up and began caressing my little breasts, one then the other through my sweater as we kissed. After a little while he lowered his hand and brought it up under the sweater and cupped a bare breast, twirling the stiffened nipple between his thumb and forefinger. I wasn’t wearing a bra. He moved one of his spread legs in and brought it to rest between my thighs, pressing against my yearning pussy. He started humping his knee against my pussy, driving me wild with pleasure. Then I felt him lean downward a bit and suddenly his hand was covering my damp little virgin crotch. I felt him move the panty leg aside, and I gasped as his finger slipped between my plump labia lips and started to enter my pristine tunnel. Alarm bells went off in my head and I pulled back quickly causing his finger to slip out.
“No, don’t do that,” I whispered, even as my pussy was yearning for him to continue.
He put his finger back to my entrance and started to press it into my little hole, 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 nose and then he brought his lips to mine and slipped his tongue into my mouth briefly.

He took hold of his bike and we left the playground.
“It’s okay,” he said “I won’t rush you, there will be other times.” He made me sit on the cross bar of his bike and he pedaled away quickly. He put me off a little before we got to my street corner and I walked home 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 hands. And I didn’t even get to feel his cock in mine. Oh what a fool 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 other times and I began to feel 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 heart 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 hand. My mom came in and told me that he had brought to her attention the broken down state of the fence in our backyard and the loose boards and roof on the little storage shack also at the back. 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 next day anyway, so it was best he do it then.

The next morning he arrived at around eight and came into the yard with his tool bag hanging from his bicycle handle. Mom was at home, it being Saturday. I gazed from my bedroom window which overlooked the back yard as he began his 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 body as I reflected on our last meeting; the feel of his rough finger entering my tight pussy, his soft wet tongue in my mouth, his fingers tweaking my nipples. I wanted badly to touch 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 furious humping, imagining that it was Bertrand’s body. I took the bar of soap and slipping it halfway into my slit I began rolling my hips. One hand slick with soap reached behind and an eager middle finger found my puckered hole and forced its way in. In less than five minutes 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 raise his head to look my way I loosened the towel and strode pass the window pretending not to have seen him. I stopped at a spot 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 full frontal raised the towel to my wet hair. I rubbed vigorously at my wet hair, knowing that the movement was causing my tiny breasts with their stiff nipples to bounce a little. After about three minutes I suddenly dropped the towel to the floor and looked in his direction. He was staring at me with his hand inside his pants pocket. Pretending to be startled I opened my eyes wide and quickly brought my hands up to my breasts, covering them. Walking backward I retreated to the other end of the room, smiling inside at my sudden daring, as my chocolate body glowed red with excitement.

I searched through my undergarments and found the yellow pair of panties that I had been wearing on that eventful windy day. I slipped them on and then put on the same pink blouse and skirt. I went into the living room where mom was enjoying her favorite Saturday morning show. Ten minutes later when the show came to an end she informed me that she was going to make a quick 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 wait until she returned. She had already provided him with a pitcher 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 minutes just in case she had forgotten her money or something and returned. I then went to my bedroom window where seconds later Bertrand looked up and our eyes met. We held each other’s gaze for a long time then I saw him point his chin in the direction of the shed before downing his hammer and walking towards it. About five minutes later I slipped out the back 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 door of the shed and pulled it in. he then cleared a little spot 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 little buttercup 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 eyes widened as he took in the sight of my fat crotch covered by the tight yellow, nylon undies. He stepped forward and reaching out, cupped my pussy 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 upper groin as he fumbled down there. Then suddenly he took my hand and placed it on something hard yet soft and hot and pulsing. I gripped the lurching item, and for the first time in my life held a man’s cock, a hard erect cock. I heard myself groan and without thinking I drew closer and pressed the hard appendage against my contracting vulva. He pressed forward and I returned the movement, and soon we were grinding madly against each other. He held me tight, sucking on my willing tongue as we did our little dance of lust.

He dropped to his knees and lifting my skirt high, began sniffing at my crotch before smashing his nose into the wet heat. I never knew such things really happened, although I’d heard some talk about it. I thought it was a bit gross and tried to pull back, feeling embarrassed, but he held me tight around the back of my thighs, and pushing his face back down there managed to take my pussy, panty crotch and all into his hot mouth and began sucking and gently biting the quivering flesh, causing such pleasure that I quit trying to pull away as I threw back my head and growled deeply. I felt him pull my panty leg aside and felt his tongue pierce my almost bald mound. Then my engorged clit was between his lips being teased by his flickering tongue. He kept at it for about five minutes, giving me a sweetness that I never dreamed of. Luckily he was holding me tightly, because my legs suddenly became lifeless as a surging 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 pants to the ground. I looked up at the jerking fleshy tool bouncing against my face. It seemed huge to me, but was maybe only about seven inches, shaped like a smooth and shiny brown sausage with prominent veins. I marveled at the tempting treat and without being asked, grabbed it and took it into my inexperienced mouth. I heard his intake of breath and was pleased that I had touched him deeply. I sucked the bulbous head like a lollipop, swirling my tongue around it. I opened my mouth wide and let it slip down my throat till I couldn’t take any more and began to gag. I came up gasping and choking and after a few seconds went at it again, finding a strange satisfaction in the feeling of being of being suffocated. Kept it up for a awhile, letting the long appendage go all the way down till I gagged and choked then coming up for air and seconds after repeating the strange exercise. He took my hand and put it to his balls. I’d heard enough talk about men being hit in their balls and the pain it brought to know that balls were tender things to be handled with care. I caressed and rubbed it with tender loving care as I sucked on his cock. Then I lowered my head and licked them. I went back to the cock which was more fun, and began biting and licking the shaft and pumping it. Trying to recall and put into play all the little sex information I’d picked up here and there from overheard 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 corner for a couple of old mats that he spread on the ground and made me lie on.

I lay still in slightly fearful but excited expectation. I’d heard that the first time could be painful. I raised my hips and let him pull my panties off. He put it to his nose and sniffed it then licked at the damp crotch. He opened my blouse exposing my little tits 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 breasts as he rubbed his long cock against my pussy. Every time it moved across my clit I shivered. He grasped his cock and positioned it at the entrance of my hole and started to rub it against the entrance. He told me to spread my legs. I obey, holding them wide and bending my knees a little. I felt him spread my virgin lips and with his cock fitted between them began pushing gently. It hurt a little and I winced he pushed again and it hurt even more. He bore down on me harder and I felt a piece of him enter me. The sudden pain made me dig my heels into the floor and try to push away from the intruder but he grabbed my shoulders and followed my retreating pussy with his vibrant cock. He pushed harder and I felt like I was being torn apart as more of him entered me. I started to scream and he covered my mouth with his hand as he continued to force his way in. suddenly I felt like something had snapped, followed by burning pain. He stopped pushing and remained still, buried deep inside of me as I bit into the fleshy pad at the side of his hand over my mouth, while trying to accept the unusual pain.

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 minutes until I’d grown accustomed to the rhythm and the pain, before increasing the tempo of his hips to a more rapid and deeper plunging into my young depths. I felt my pussy welcoming the increased speed and I bit my lip and closed my eyes and took his steady pounding like a champ, 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 cheeks 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 body stiffen then begin to shake as if he was experiencing fitful spasms. He tried to pull 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 first ever cum douche. I opened my eyes 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:
“Buttercup, thanks for letting me pick your flower.”

I lay on the ground and watched as he cleaned up the traces of blood 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 shower before my mom returned and to wear a sanitary pad. He also told me to check the medicine cabinet and take a couple of pain pills if there was any. I did everything he said, and was lying in my bed fresh and glowing, cuddled up with a book by the time mom returned. That was only the beginning of a large number of sexual encounters with Bertrand over the next three years. He and his wife divorced and he went away leaving her and his kids, two of them older than me, in the family house. He wrote for a while but then the letters stopped coming.

I got up from the bed where I had been lying rubbing my pregnancy swollen vulva as I reminisced on my first sexual experience. I waddled over to the window of my old bedroom which had now been converted into a master bedroom for me and my husband. I had never moved away, and was joined by my husband in the house the day we got married. Mom had died a couple of years ago leaving me the house which had been expanded over the years. I looked out at the 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 give the old guy a couple of days work sprucing up the yard. As I mentioned at the beginning of the story, I had a thing for much older 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 time sexual encounters with much older men. Bertrand had filled me with that longing. The last 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 itch and thinking about having a final swing. So when I heard of my husband’s arrangement 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 little, or let him cop a feel; that would be fun. I felt my pussy twinge at the wicked thoughts.

The next morning not long after my husband and kids had left I took a shower and put on a light, short, almost sheer white maternity dress that had buttons 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 nipples poked against the front of the dress. I sat down with a coffee and waited for my intended ‘victim’, primed for fun. While waiting for the old guy to turn up I felt the need to ease my bladder; 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 strange sounds. Looking out I saw the old guy with boards in his hands heading for the shack; he had obviously stared working and I hadn’t even heard him come into the yard. He hadn’t announced his arrival. I decided to go out right away and have a talk with him. The door of the shack was open 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 face said:
“Hi buttercup, how ya doin. Ya look as good as ever flower girl?”
I almost jumped out of my skin as those words registered in my head and the identity 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 ground as my body shook uncontrollably. I was crying and laughing at the same time as he came forward and took me in his arms. I felt a sensation in my pussy and hot liquid running down my legs. Looking down I saw the puddle of pee. I had been so startled by the discovery that the old man was really Bertrand my long lost lover that I peed myself. I was deeply embarrassed. His eyes 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 liquid running down my legs. Raising my dress his mouth travelled up my swollen thighs. I stood there like a statue as his tongue and lips played against my skin. 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, looking at him silently as his mouth teased my pussy with its neatly trimmed black 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 breasts. He took a long stiff nipple between his lips and sucked on it tenderly as his fingers twirled the hair and brushed the clit of my suddenly hungry cunt. He got up and took off his jeans and shorts and I looked amazed at the familiar long, smooth brown pussy digger. I watched as he squeezed and pumped it gently until it was stiff with excited blood. I turned on my side and bending my knee raised the leg up. He lay beside me, positioned hi cock at my opening and swiftly plunged it all the way into me. Aided by my flowing juices he got in easily. He began slamming into me furiously, making me cry out.
“Yes Bertrand, yes, fuck my hungry pussy. It’s been so long darling, its hungry for you feed it with your cock, fuck me!”
He gripped one of my breasts squeezing it roughly, and bit into my shoulder as he pounded my pussy from the back. I raised my leg high in the air to give him easy access. I hissed and groaned and grunted loudly, unashamedly, urging him on with words as well as body movements as he slammed into me with quick short jabs like a crazed dog pounding his bitch in heat. I got on my knees and he spread my ass cheeks and ground his groin against them as he sunk his cock to the base in me. I could feel his pubic hair tickling me as he pressed into me with a circular grind. How I loved the feel of that cock in my dripping pussy. He brought both hands between my spread thighs, palm upwards and gripped my swollen belly from underneath as he leaned his head back; hips pushed forward and pumped me furiously. I snarled like a bitch with pleasure as I felt him stiffen before shooting into me in quick spurts, flooding me with his ancient slick cum. I cried out loudly as my own orgasm broke its dam, causing my eyes to roll up and my open mouth to drool. When we were both spent and lying on our backs I turned and looked at his satisfied face and I felt good and also satisfied. I was truly in heaven; a happily married and sexually fulfilled woman with a young stud and an old stud to fuck me whenever I wanted; the best of both worlds. What more could a girl want.