The old man came home d***k again. Michael could hear him clumsily closing the front door and dropping his keys on the floor. The he trudged up the stairs and down the hall. He could hear him mouth breathing as an out-of-shape old bastard does. He was probably sweating, too, as usual.
Michael knew what was next. He leaned his ear on the wall in the place he knew he'd hear the best. The old man stepped into the bedroom and Michael heard the bed squeal in pain from the mound of d***ken flesh that dropped its weight on it. Michael pressed his ear against the wall more as he made out their voices. The old man couldn't whisper if he tried with the usual poor attempt at sweet-talk. She tried to pretend to be sl**ping, but she was awake. She knew, too, what was next.
She learned for years not to fight it. Just take it and go. Michael, as he had for many years, listened attentively as the bed squeaked with the old man's clumsy movement. A belt buckle clinked. Bed covers shhhed. A bump on the wall right next to Michael's ear. Then more breathing. The old man sounded like he was wearing a damn snorkel. The bed sounded like a rickety car over a bumpy country road.
It wasn't going to be long. It never is. As the noise stopped, the old man sighed. One more bump on the wall and he rolled over.
As usual, Michael stroked himself under his sweatpants as he listened to them having sex. Then, as the house grew still, he heard her whisper something he'd never heard her say before.
"Just a little more."
It was a tender plea.
The old man spoke not a word. Michael's stroking intensified at the sound of her voice, so much in need and want.
"Please," she said again. "Just a little more."
The old man snored. Now it was he who was pretending to sl**p.
Michael snarled and shook his head.
To hear that desperation in her voice, as he imagined what the scene was inside that room, had Michael in a frenzy. He burst a quick orgasm into his sock. He laid there for a few seconds, his body warm and sensitive. His erection remained. He kept picturing her, topless, riding the old man so desperately, begging for just a little more.
There was no going to sl**p. He thought about going downstairs to watch some porn on cable for a while. He crept down the hall, past their room, and by the bathroom, which, in this historic, old house, had an entrance from both the hallway and their bedroom. He paused there a moment. He loved being that close to her, inhaling her perfume scent. Seeing her lotion on the vanity.
In the bedroom, she laid a moment in disgust, both in him and in herself. For some reason that night, her body was trembling with and anxious desire. But his sweat and the smell of his body odor, some strange perfume and alcohol had her depressed by the reality of a life she had surrendered to many years ago. With the snoring heap of arrogance next to her, she had a desire to be clean. She felt an urge to begin taking control of her life and it would start with her body.
She needed a shower. She needed a lot more than that, but a shower would be a good start.
Really, she needed a cock inside her if only to just complete her orgasm for once.
She didn't want out of the marriage or the life, it was something she enjoyed. She taught Literature at the college, was on the Board of Trustees at the Library and had a book club that met every Thursday at her house, a restored historic home, which was the envy of all her friends, in this lovely harbor town. Running away and destroying all that she had was not an option.
But a woman needs to be touched the right way. A woman needs to feel wanted, desired. She had often thought about the company of a stranger, a way to find what she needs outside of the house. But that took great effort and, considering her husband's political power, took great risk. If only there was just someone she knew, someone already within their world, whom he'd never suspect.
As her mind continued to wander, she rose up from the bed. She was not at all worried to waken the d***ken fool. He was out cold. Pants still at his knees and cum all over his belly. He stunk. The room stunk. She headed to the bathroom.
Michael spied the hamper in the corner of the room and as he opened it, saw her panties bunched among some laundry. He grabbed them and smelled them. So sweet. He held them to his stomach to feel warmth. His cock quickly rose. He lathered his hands with her floral-scented lotion, pulled out his cock and stroked his shaft slowly. He closed his eyes and inhaled her scent from the panties again. He imagined her under him on that bed. He imagined her begging him for "just a little more."
She got to the doorway and immediately saw a figure inside. She gasped momentarily in fear that there was an intruder, but she quickly realized it was Michael.
He was a silhouette in the glow of the moonlight coming into the skylight above. His young, smooth skin gleamed and his muscles were defined by shadows. She watched him through the slight opening of the door that led to her bedroom. He didn't know it was opened.
She thought she was imagining things. He was holding her underwear and....masturbating?
He was magnificently large.
Her body and mind were at odds. She was in need, for sure. But to hunger for him was surely wrong. How would he react to her? He was holding her underwear in the middle of the night, however. He was using.....her lotion!
She felt her knees tremble with a nervous energy that thrilled her. The more she tried to stifle her arousal with sensibility and discipline, the more aroused she became. And the more he stroked, the more horny than scared she became.
Through the opening of her robe she reached to her sticky belly and caressed herself. She then grazed her fingers through her hairy, wet mature muff. Her index finger split her folds. Still quite sensitive and moist. She let out a whispering sigh. Her nipples pushed against the material of her robe. They begged to be touched.
He scavenged the hamper for more treasures. The panties were an incredible turn-on. What else would he find? A bra. Her mature busom held in here so neatly and firmly. Creating her trophy curves. He held it up and inspected the cups. His cock bucked in the air with delight.
She watched him admiring her undergarments. She was flush with embarrassment and excitement. She wanted to see more. So she tried to open the door some, but the antique hinges on the old, wooden door squeaked. He looked up quickly in frozen terror.
She froze, too. They stared at each other, both in fear and desperate arousal. He held her bra, his cock was extended and throbbing, glistening with lotion and precum. She eyed him carefully. He could only glance at her. The robe was open, but the dim nightlight revealed very little. She was looking at him. At his hands holding her bra. At his cock, which seemed so much bigger than the old man sl**ping on the bed, even back when his stomach didn't cover it.
Fear told her to scold him, send him to bed and run herself a bath. Get these thoughts out of your head, Jennifer.
But there was another voice telling her to take control for once. Telling her this was an opportunity being presented to her and she shouldn't ignore it. Telling her this is exactly what she was looking for.
But why him?
She moved into the room and closed the door behind her. He remained frozen.
She got a hold of herself and thought of Robert Frost, one of her favorite poets.
"Two roads diverged in a wood and I took the one less traveled."
She decided this would be her adventure. She would control it carefully and yet with the compassion she craved from the old man.
"Continue," she said to Michael with a stern, but encouraging whisper.
He looked back at her.
"Con- continue?" he replied.
She allowed the robe to fall off her left shoulder, revealing one full, mature breast to his hungry eyes, along with her torso, her hip and her leg. His cock pulsed with anticipation.
"Continue what you were, uh, doing," she said, nodding to his cock.
She then took the lotion in her hand and poured some into her palms.
"Or should I?"
His stomach trembled and he took a step toward her. He dropped the bra and panties to the tiled floor.
She reached for his young member and gently applied the lotion. She rubbed it around his shaft and to his head and lathered him up. His scrotum, too. With both hands, she shined up his magnificent rod until she could feel him bucking at her touch.
She then took his hands and smeared more lotion onto them. She guided his hands to her breasts and felt her knees almost give out when his hands cupped her breasts. His fingers ran over her nipples. She went back to his cock and stroked him more.
He leaned into her busom and kissed each with tender lips. She sat up on the vanity and dropped her head back, inviting him to kiss her more, explore her body at his will.
He felt her move his cock to her pussy and felt her hot, moist lips touching his head. His heart raced as he dutifully licked and kissed her breast, caressing the other with his lotion-lathered fingers.
And she steadily guided him inside her, she kept thinking of Frost. "The Road Not Taken." This would be her break from her usual conformity. Her proper upbringing, her comfortable and idyllic life. She would take the other path this time and see if it does make all the difference.
But she did so with great hesitancy. This wasn't like fucking a stranger or a friend from work. This was way beyond the threshold of scandal. But GOD it felt so liberating.
He pushed in just the head first, then half of his shaft, then all. He felt a rush of adrenaline. He was deep inside her, it felt like a dream. In fact, for many years, this was exactly his dream.
She tried not to think about him, she just tried to think about the feeling of a strong, young cock reaching places that needed to be reached. An energy raced throughout her body that she felt emanated from his penetration.
They moved together with a slow, yet amazing pace.
He put his arm around her and began to pump her like the so many times he dreamed about and so many times he imagined as he heard her with the old man through his wall. He stroked himself to sl**p those nights just thinking of her lying there getting fucked. Now he was the one fucking her. And she wouldn't beg for "just a little more" this time. He would give her all she wanted and needed. He looked into her eyes as he fucked her. She looked back and understood.
This was good. There was a clear synergy here. Her mind and body aligned. She let herself relax.
She lifted her thigh around his waist to grind her pussy harder and feel him push against her pelvic bone. His head rammed the back of her pussy in places the old man never reached. She felt for sure she'd orgasmed before. But what was brewing inside her was something so intense she braced for the rush.
As she gasped and whimpered, she grabbed a towel and bit down to stifle her moans. She bucked so much she had to hug him closely to keep still. He pumped away like a good boy, undeterred, making sure she got every morsel of that bolt of lightning that flashed through her body. She dropped the towel from her mouth and took in a few deep breaths. She felt sweat pouring from her skin. She slowed him down by holding his hips firmly and then he slipped out of her.
His cock was glistening even more. Now with her juices on him. And it was still so erect and strong. He was panting, sweating. Trying so hard just to please her. His eyes were wide and excited.
They both shared a smile for a moment.
As she caught her breath, however, her self-consciousness emerged again with thoughts of: This was wrong. What did I just do? She pulled up her robe and wrapped it tightly around her.
He turned and leaned against the vanity, watching her and wondering what was to come of this. He felt his balls so ready to explode again. His cock refused to surrender. When she wrapped herself up and stared only at the floor for a second, he was concerned. And he was desperate.
"Just a little more," he whispered to her, almost absent-mindedly.
She couldn't help but grin, realizing the irony and enjoying the rare feeling of power and control. She looked up at him, wearing that face of desperation and want and need. So innocent. Only wanting a loving touch. She knew everything he was feeling at that moment.
He looked up at her, waiting for her to leave. He would then, at least, finish the job on himself. But instead she dropped her arms from their folded position across her busom. With it the robe opened again, too. His eyes went right for her breasts, her belly and the Y of her dark muff. Her scent filled the room and his nostrils. His cock throbbed as if begging for her touch.
She leaned toward him and her breasts hung over his cock. She took it in her hand and slid it into her cleavage. He felt two warm mounds of flesh hugging his shaft and her fingers working up and down his vein. She watched him as his eyes shut and his chest heaved. He braced himself as she continued to stroke his cock with her tits. She mashed them around his head, pressing her nipples against his tip to smear more precum and pussy juice over them.
Her hands moved to his balls and she massaged them gently while her breasts hugged his cock. She dropped her head and kissed the tip with her lips. Her hot breath enveloped his tip. Then so did her mouth. She took him in, still keeping her breasts mashed around him. She sucked on him and stroked his shaft with a furious pace. His balls slammed against the underside of her busom.
He raised his pelvis from the vanity and fired hot cum into her mouth. She pulled him out to let the rest coat her breasts and seep into her cleavage. She stroked him a little more and then ran her finger up his vein to release every drop. When he finally caught his breath, he opened his eyes and looked down to her.
She had his cum on her cheek, some on her neck and most across her busom. She wiped her mouth with the towel and closed up her robe again, covering the wet cum and all. He slipped off the vanity and pulled his sweats back up.
They maintained eye contact the entire time.
He turned to leave, not knowing what to expect in the morning. She went to run a bath. Now she really needed to get clean.
He turned back, however, just in time to see her drop the robe again and dip her foot into the tub. His loins stirred as he returned to his room.
A short while later, he woke in his bed and smelled sweet floral scents and felt dampness on his arm. He opened his eyes and she was sitting next to him, wrapped in a towel and with her hair wet.
"Just a little more?" she whispered.