7 More MILF Stories (12 page)

Fuck, this woman is a wild cat. I
stroke myself and put it to the hole. This will be the first time
that I enter a woman without latex. I never liked the sensation,
but Gemma and the half a dozen other woman that I have been with
insisted. To have the opposite happen with a woman specifically
deny any need for one is a revelation. I enter with that in
mind.

“
Ohhhhh... That's
thick.”

The woman grabs my hips. My balls tap
off the fresh leather as I lean forward with my feet pressed firmly
into the polished wooden floor.

“
Don't take your time
about this,” she whispers. “My husband will be home in 30 minutes
and I'll need a shower.”

Thoughts of Mr. Johns returning home
to see his wife in this position has me striking inward and out
with enough force to tire my hips quickly. I have to draw her up
and take her from the rear – my hands taking hold of that glorious
ass in the process – and power away until a little tightness
indicates that the woman has hit an orgasm and taken it in her
stride.

“
Harder, Bradley. Harder!”
goes her blissful cry.

I slam in with everything I have. When
she cums for real it is shocking. Liquids burst forward and she
rips into the leather with her long finger nails as they
subside.

“
Minutes remain,” she
pants. Her eyes meet mine. “Be quick to cum inside.”

Everything I have goes into my
movements. The burning in my balls is like someone holding a live
wire to my scrotum. It intensifies to an explosion when my orgasm
hits. I strain forward and lay six long shots in her womb without
any thought to pulling out.

“
Mrs. Johns!” I
cry.

She falls away and grabs at the bottle
wildly – her eyes wide, hands clawing and expression hungry. A long
chug of martini mix later and the woman is composed.

“
I heard his car,” she
states, throwing one leg over the other to hide the dribble of
white. “You need to go.”

I rush to my t-shirt without another
word and yank it on. My pants go up around my waist and I exit
quickly. Unfortunately, I find Mr. Johns in the hallway outside. He
has the evening newspaper in hand.

“
Oh, hello, Frank. Are you
lost?”

The man doesn't look like he knows
what just happened in his study.

“
Looking for the toilet,
sir.”

“
Ah, it's down the hall to
the right. Have you seen my wife? The chef left us packaged lasagna
again. I really must insist that she talk to the woman about her
meal choices.”

“
No idea, sir.”

He sighs.

“
Alright then. Tell Gemma
that I need to see her about her tuition when you talk to her
next.”

The older man strolls off. I lean
against the wall. That was too fucking close.
Seriously...

Choosing A
Woman

Frank Henderson, being
sympathetic but firm

Two months have passed since the first
time that I had sex with her mother and sadly it's become apparent
that I have to break up with the young woman as she just can't
compete.

“
I'm sorry. The spark left
some time ago, but I didn't want to say anything.”

Gemma's tears stain
my
dark
green
shirt's shoulder. The small family owned cafe we are in is quiet.
The background music to our little drama is low tempo music and the
room virtually wreaks of brewed coffee from the several drip
machines the line one wall.

I pat her back and assure her
everything is going to be okay for the third time since I told her
that it is all over.

25 minutes later I leave through the
front door, the bells above it chiming on my leaving, and pad down
the street in the light heat of this late autumn day.

For a second I glance back at the cafe
receding in the background. That went better than expected, but
'better' is quite subjective when one is talking about a break
up.

A flush of autumn chill runs over me
as I stroll down the street. Beside me a black convertible with the
top rolled up slides to a slow halt.

“
Well if it isn't young
Brad.”

Mrs. Johns will never learn my name.
I'm certain of it.

“
I broke it off,” I
say.

“
And?
You'll never have
me.”

“
I know.” Why deny the
truth? No one can catch the heart of a woman that believes that
deviousness is the primary quality that all women should uphold and
practice regularly. She may not be evil, but temptation is her
bliss.

“
Do you have the martini
mix at your apartment that I asked for?” she asks, leaning out the
window a little to intentionally flash me some of her cleavage as
she looks up at me.

“
Yes, ma'am.”

Her grin is wider than
usual.

“
Then I'll be coming over
for a drink.”

I shake my head. This
woman is trouble, but, then again, I think I'm starting to like
trouble and
trouble with big
breasts
is even better I've
found.

“
Can I get a
lift?”

“
Only if you're
good.”

She pops the door and I get into the
plush interior. Her hand is on my thigh and traveling inward before
we make it 20 meters down the road.

“
You will be a good boy
for me, won't you, Micheal?”

I ignore her little attempt at teasing
me. “Yes, ma'am.”

And that, folks, is how a MILF seduces
her daughter's boyfriend. I'm glad I was in the position to be
him.

An Orchard Of Older Love

More MILF
Series

Her fingers lightly
bristle over the sun-kissed sharpness of the leaves on a fat branch
in front of her. They caress down the bark and come to two golden
ripe apples. Mrs. Column's index finger swirls around on the soft
flesh of each slowly and delicately. Then her eyes turn to me. An
older woman, an lonely orchard and a younger man who is old enough
to know better. Love doesn't need the boundaries of four
walls.

Her fingers brush along a brace of apples
hanging lightly from a nearby tree with the grace of a woman much
younger than her in their years.

Mary Column, my mother's friend, 43 years of
age – beautiful: A rose still firmly in its bloom – and mine.

“Do you feel the warmth of the sun today?”
she asks

My eyes meet her blue jewels. They twinkle
with mirth and excitement. I know what she is suggesting.

“You want to sun bathe?”

“Not exactly, Kieth,“ she purrs, her nimble
feet taking her to me and her lips to mine for longer than I'm
willing to admit as being chaste.

“Mrs Column, is that really how you should
be kissing your friend's son?”

Her warm chuckle is music to my ears. One
hand comes up and runs slowly through my brown mousy hair.

“I think you are more than just Judith's son
to me, don't you?”

“And how would Mr. Column feel about
that?”

There is a faint crinkling around her eyes.
That playful look hasn't disappeared from them. If anything it has
become stronger and brighter and far more arousing in the quality
of its mirth.

“Who said that he has to know? The
springtime of a man's youth only comes once.”

Her hand strays low on my stomach.

“Doesn't it?”

I groan as that hand runs down and under the
waist band of my shorts and into the place where I know that – for
all my best efforts to stop myself – I should not be letting her
go. Mrs. Column is married after all; not some single girl of 25
with nothing to lose, but a woman with a young son of 17 and one of
12, yet still more beautiful than any other woman that I have ever
seen: The stuff of dreams given two hands and two feet to please
and pleasure (with a wonderful array of other gorgeous points
between each.)

I moan in pleasure as her small fingers cup
my balls and roll them around in light little tickling circles.
Always this moment – that first touch of her body, sexy and
desiring against my own – reminds me that she is no inexperienced
girl. This is a professional, someone who has honed their skills in
the bedroom to perfection, and, of course, I know that skill has to
have come from somewhere. Mrs. Column has had men and I am only
one, but each time she manages to make it special. I honestly
believe that she would to do more for me than any other man that
she has been with, but that is perhaps just the vibe that she gives
off. I am not sure if what I believe is a falsity of her charm or
reality as it is.

The woman's lips are as nimble as her feet
were before as they shifted across the grass that sits among the
rows of the orchard that we stole into when the farmer and his work
hands were not about. My mind is only vaguely aware that being
caught here like this, with Mrs. Column on her knees and my harden
manhood sticking so far out in its erectness as to scare me and
concern me that it might snap something inside with how hard it has
become, is dangerous. For me this is all about what I would lose
after we were caught, not what would happen when caught. Hence, I
am careful in my cries.

Mrs. Column draws back the foreskin and
licks very slowly and carefully around the pink inside. Each little
bit of lubrication sends a shiver through my body as she works the
skin back over the edge of the knob and gives her attention to the
eye at the end, which, with a pressing of her fingers, opens widely
and accepts her tongue – only a millimeter of it but enough to make
me stand up on my toes and bless the sun (our only companion in
this act of gratification in our outdoor environment) with my
upward tilted jaw and strong cry.

“It's dirty!” I whine.

Dirty
does not faze Mrs. Column. She is not one – in my experience
– to be thrown aside by something unclean.

“Turn,” is all that she offers.

I hustle about and cry out as her tongue,
that wicked item of flesh, is slowly pressed between my butt
cheeks, working over either side and leaving a long wet trail of
saliva, before working upwards to the hole and tickling the flesh
before sliding inside.

“Noooo...” I whine, “this is too much.”

'Too much' are two words that I should never
think to utter with this woman. Every time I think there's a limit
to how far she can go and how far she can take me down the dark
path of mature sexual adulthood, she takes me further. It's like
there's always a new dark tunnel that I don't know about and she,
the guide, is the one in charge of pushing me down it kicking and
screaming to something new and even more erotic. Sex with Mrs.
Column will never get old, even if she does.

I place my hands in the branches and feel
their hard barky coating. An apple falls with a plonk as my fingers
tear at the leaves on what is in front of me. The rustling of these
leaves, the breeze running through them, and the sweat pouring from
my brow, even though it is not quite that hot, are like hot elixir
poured all over me. My dick, which is now being caressed in both of
her hands, is straining at the bit. I will cum soon and that would
be a great shame, because, due to our friendly breeze, I can smell
that she is quite wet. No point in wasting a wet load on a green
grassy area when there is a wet pussy to dump it in. No point at
all.

My affections are rough and rousing as they
usually are. Mrs. Column has chastised me many times for being such
a hasty lover – her point being that the other women that I will
meet might not find such a youthful effort to be pleasing. I don't
feel that she is correct in this case. It is only her that can turn
me into a raving sex maniac and today I am more on the edge that
usual.

First, I take her dress, pull it down and
expose the tanned flesh of her huge breasts. These have been
suckled by two children, but they know a man's touch and the
difference between it and a child's. I run my fingers over the skin
before – unable to restrain myself – I partake of her sexy, tight
nipples that burst to life under my thick tongue and bristled
chin.

“Oh, Keith!” My name from her lips is
pleasure enough to make me ravage her even further. I take both
nipples and yank them out long and strong before bringing them
together

It always surprises me how flexible a mature
woman's nipples can be. They reach together and I can get them
between my teeth to nibble and suckle just as she likes it.

The woman's moans are rich in that sharp
soft tone of her voice. I work her breasts until I can handle no
more. Already my hands have been working my cock long and strong
and it is time to take the prize. I can wait no longer.

Turning her and pulling up the autumn blue
dress that is one season too early, I bend her at the hips, take
one long good look at the bare big behind that I have for my play
today and insert my dick to the end of its extent into her rich and
warm pussy.

“Ahhhh!”

Her moan is loud and might arouse some
suspicion if someone were to hear it, but I treasure that sound.
This is her at her best. Outdoors, half naked, a younger man's cock
in her pussy and her husband nowhere to be seen. This is Mrs.
Column and god is she sexy.