Me And Mrs Hotter: Almost Caught free porn video

My mother shrieked.

This was not unusual. My mother was fond of shrieking. She would shriek in any circumstance where a reaction was called for. Now she was standing in the middle of the kitchen in her best clothes, ready for her and my father to go out for the evening.

“I completely forgot!” she shrieked. “I meant to take the bulbs round to Angela!” She turned to where I was pouring myself a glass of orange juice. “You wouldn’t mind, would you, Darren? Taking the bag of flower bulbs round to Mrs Hotter? If she’s not there, just leave them on the doorstep. She’ll know who they’re from.”

“All right,” I said, trying not to sound too eager. “Just give me ten minutes or so.”

“That’ll be fine, dear,” my mother said, already preoccupied with some other thing.

She had no idea how keen I was to run this unexpected errand. I shot up to my room, wondering if I ought to change clothes, then deciding against it, not wanting to arouse suspicion. A bit of extra deodorant couldn’t hurt though.

I was always happy to see Mrs Hotter, ever since the day after my 18th birthday when she’d caught me in possession of some dirty magazines and brought herself to a climax in her car looking at them, and using her other hand to bring me off too.

It had been two months since then, but every time I saw her, she would wink at me in a way I hoped meant something, even if I’d almost given up hope that anything more would happen. When she came round to the house, my mother was always there, and I couldn’t really go round to her place on the off chance, because how could I explain my visit to her husband and/or her perfectly ghastly son, Tommy, who I positively loathed? Had mobile phones been around back then, things might have been different, but they weren’t, and so things were the way they were.

By the time I got back downstairs, my parents had already left. I departed by the back door, locking it carefully behind me. The flower bulbs were in the shed. I had no expectation of anything happening this evening either. It was Friday, and if Mrs Hotter wasn’t out somewhere, she might easily be sat in front of the television with Mr Hotter. Hope? A bare minimum, if any.

The Hotters lived in a large bungalow in the next street, and it didn’t take long to get there. The chances were, I thought, as I rang the bell, that either Mr Hotter or Tommy would answer the door and I wouldn’t get to see Mrs Hotter at all.

I was so convinced of this, and when there was no response to my second ring that no-one was home, that when Mrs Hotter suddenly appeared before me, all I could do was stutter, “G-g-g-oo-d-d e-evening, Mrs H-o-o-t-t-t-t-er.”

“Hello, Darren,” she said, with a big smile. She was wearing some kind of turquoise lycra top that clung to her breasts, revealing a certain amount of cleavage. From the way everything underneath was perfectly outlined, I guessed she wasn’t wearing a bra. She was, however, wearing a skirt with some kind floral pattern and black nylons. The whole outfit looked very haphazard, but to me she never looked less hot than her name suggested.

“M-m-m-u-u-m asked me to drop these by,” I said, holding up the bag.

“How kind of you to bring them,” Mrs Hotter said. There was a short pause. “Would you like to come in?”

“Oh no,” I said, not wanting to meet Tommy, or Mr Hotter for that matter. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“Oh you wouldn’t be intruding,” Mrs Hotter said. “I’m all alone, watching a film. Tommy’s out with his friends and Charles is at the Lodge.”

The full weight of every hope I’d harboured these past two months descended on me. Alone again with Mrs Hotter was exactly what I’d hoped to be, but now the opportunity had presented itself, I panicked. If Mrs Hotter hadn’t held the door open for me and said, “Come in!” I would have turned tail and run.

But with the invitation there, politeness dictated that I accept. I entered, letting Mrs Hotter show me into the lounge. “Would you like a drink?” she said. “After all, you are of an age now, aren’t you?”

Was it just my imagination, or was there something in her tone? I was still far too inexperienced to tell. “Thank you,” I said. “That would be lovely.”

I sounded like a prat. Who was I, pretending I belonged in this swanky looking lounge? But Mrs Hotter merely went over to the sideboard and poured. She’d said she’d been watching a film, but the tele wasn’t on. Maybe she’d switched it off when the doorbell went.

“Take a seat,” she said as she handed me the drink. I had no idea what it was, but it burned the back of my throat so bad I choked on the first mouthful. Clearly this was not something to be drunk like orange juice.

Mrs Hotter, to her credit, pretended not to notice. She sat down in an armchair opposite. “So how is life treating you, Darren?”

“Oh, can’t complain,” I said, again feeling like a prat, but hardly able to stop myself from playing some absurd part. “And you, Mrs Hotter?”

“About the same as always,” she said.

“Good, good,” I said, not really knowing if that was good or not.

There was an awkward silence, during which Mrs Hotter crossed her legs. My eyes fastened on the nylon, which she couldn’t fail to see. She sipped her drink and some slight playfulness entered her eyes.

“So, have you acquired a girlfriend yet?”

“No,” I said. “I haven’t, worse luck.” Somehow it occurred to me that this might make me out to seem as unpopular as I really was, so I added, “There have been moments, though…”

This wasn’t entirely bravado, although the plural was misleading. There had been a moment in the intervening months. An unsuccessful moment based on Frida, the Bensons’ Swedish au pair, giving no indication that she wanted a repeat, but at least I was officially no longer a virgin.

“What about you?” I returned, rather stupidly.

“Oh, you know, same old husband,” Mrs Hotter said, sounding a little bit weary.

In her car in the multi storey, Mrs Hotter had suggested that her husband didn’t show much interest in her these days. “But you’re gorgeous,” I said, not really knowing how to react and just blurting out the first thing that came into my head.

Mrs Hotter gave me an appraising glance. “I’m glad you think so,” she said. “If only Charles shared your opinion.”

Still not giving proper thought to what I was saying, I blurted, “He must be mad not to! I think of you every evening when I…”

Finally I heard myself and stopped in mid flow. Not only had I just insulted Mrs Hotter’s husband, I’d pretty much revealed that I used her as a wank fantasy. In my embarrassment I took a swig of whatever the drink was and coughed as it singed my throat.

Then I discovered that Mrs Hotter was looking amused, taking my revelation in her stride. “What, not young nubile things your own age?” she said.

I wanted to say that they weren’t a patch on Mrs Hotter. I wanted to say that ever since the experience in her car, I’d wanted to be with her properly. I wanted to say that compared to her, girls my own age were frankly dull. I realise now that what it boiled down to was Mrs Hotter being old enough to be at ease with her own sexuality, the way girls my own age weren’t – the way I wasn’t – but suddenly I didn’t know what to say.

To stave off the awkwardness I drained my glass, bringing on a new coughing fit. Why hadn’t I learned? When I was finished, I noticed that Mrs Hotter had curled up in the armchair, legs underneath her. The skirt had ridden up a little. An inch or so higher and I’d be able to determine if the nylons were stockings or tights. Please, please…

Mrs Hotter saw me staring, of course she did. The corners of her mouth curled upwards. “There’s no need to be embarrassed, Darren. I’m glad you find me attractive. That I can still hold my own.”

“You’re the most beautiful woman I know!” I blurted out, still completely unable to avoid sounding naïve and out of my depth.

But Mrs Hotter just smiled. “Tell me more!” she said.

I couldn’t rightly think what to say. Not without sounding stupid or coarse or insensitive, or all three at the same time. “I-I-I…” I stuttered. Mrs Hotter raised an eyebrow, but more than that, the hand that was resting on her thigh moved. Fingers moved, gripping fabric. Suddenly the skirt was moving in such a way that it did indeed reveal stocking top, and a good deal of skin above the same. I felt my cock begin to stir.

“Tell me what you think about when you…” The gesture Mrs Hotter made caused my head to swim, or was the alcohol having its effect? She shifted slightly as she spoke. My mouth fell open. I now had enough of a view up her skirt to believe, though I couldn’t be sure, that she was naked underneath.

I couldn’t hold my tongue. “Are you not wearing any knickers?” I blurted in amazement.

Mrs Hotter pulled her skirt back down a couple of inches or so, obscuring the view. “I’ll tell you if you tell me what you think about in the evenings,” she said.

This was a game I was ill-equipped to play. “I-I think about ev-everything.”

“Everything that’s in those magazines of yours?” Mrs Hotter suggested.

I nodded, not wanting to say anything out loud. I’d made enough of a fool of myself already.

“You can tell me,” Mrs Hotter said. “It’s not like I’m a blushing innocent. I could tell you a story or two.”

I wished she would. It would take the pressure off me, besides being totally outrageous. I still had no idea what to say, except possibly ask for another drink, but I was enjoying the sight of her stocking tops too much, besides which the stuff was so strong I wasn’t sure I could take another.

When my tongue still wouldn’t work, Mrs Hotter prompted, “The last time you came thinking of me, what were you thinking?”

Her directness shocked me out of my silence. So much so that I blurted out with brutal honesty, “I imagined that I was coming on your face, Mrs Hotter.” It sounded bad. It sounded worse than bad. Why had this compulsion to be honest come over me? Was it the drink? Couldn’t I have just said something that sounded less offensive?

But Mrs Hotter was actually tittering. “And was I wearing panties?” she asked.

“Eh? No, you were wearing nothing except a pair of shoes and stockings,” I said, not quite able to comprehend how I was suddenly able to say that without feeling as if it was the kind of thing that merited being hauled in front of the firing squad.

“So no panties,” Mrs Hotter mused. “Just as I’m not wearing any panties now.”

If I hadn’t already been hard, I would have become so. I stared at her, at her skirt, but Mrs Hotter wasn’t moving. Perhaps she just liked me to know she was naked underneath.

“You should know, Darren,” Mrs Hotter said, “that far from every woman enjoys having a man ejaculate on her face, but I simply adore it!”

Mention of her face made me finally tear my eyes away from her stocking tops, and when I lifted them, I discovered something else. Where the lycra top had provided an outline earlier, now it was clear that Mrs Hotter’s nipples had swollen to epic proportions.

“So what else do you think about when you…” Again Mrs Hotter made that obscene gesture with her hand.

I said the very thing that was already in my mind. “Your breasts.”

“Oh yes,” Mrs Hotter said. “Tell me more.”

I swallowed. I’d already behaved like an idiot far too much, and now I was determined not to be so vulgar. “I imagine touching them,” I said. “Kissing them.” I paused. “Sucking on them.”

Before I had time to blink, Mrs Hotter had somehow pulled the straps from her shoulders. I was finally seeing the shapely mammaries I and no doubt every other red-blooded teenager in the vicinity had fantasized about. Her hands were on them as she pushed them together, thumbs rubbing up against nipples that were more like bovine teats.

“And do you imagine placing your big, swollen cock between them?” Mrs Hotter asked. “Do you imagine yourself fucking my tits?”

The filthy way she uttered this forbidden sentiment made my cock throb. My recent determination to stop behaving like the inexperienced teenager I was vanished along with my cool. “Yes!” I exhaled. “Yes! Can I do it now, Mrs Hotter? Can I… fuck your tits and cum on your face?”

I’d obviously said something wrong, because Mrs Hotter snapped the lycra back into place, obscuring those luscious mounds.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to…”

“When I was interrupted,” Mrs Hotter said, “I was busy watching a film. Would you care to join me?”

So this was it, was it? All hopes reduced to watching a film with Mrs Hotter. Well, it was better than nothing, I supposed, and it was my own fault for being such an idiot. When Mrs Hotter rose, I imagined it was to reactivate the television, but then she said, “Come!”

I followed, understanding nothing. It was when I realised she was showing me into the bedroom that I suddenly grasped that things might not be as bad as I’d imagined. I grasped something else too. There was a large towel spread out on the bed, and a white, plastic dildo next to it along with a remote control. This explained Mrs Hotter’s haphazard outfit. Clearly she’d been enjoying herself on her own when I rang the doorbell.

This boded well. “Lie down,” the woman instructed.

In the marital bed? My mind was blown even before the woman laid down next to me and grabbed the remote control. The room was furnished with a television and a VCR, and when an image appeared, it was of a woman on all fours, huge breasts swinging beneath her as a man did the doggy on her with great determination.

My experience of porn as moving pictures was strictly softcore. The magazines I owned were subject to a bizarre form of censorship. This was something else entirely. Where had Mrs Hotter got hold of it?

More importantly, had she just invited me into the boudoir to watch, or was she expecting me to take some kind of initiative? The woman was so unpredictable it was impossible for me to know. I lay there, caught between not wanting to be too forward and not wanting to disappoint her.

Then my attention was distracted by a change of scene in the film. On screen appeared an absolutely massive cock, more like someone’s lower arm than a penis. A woman with long, dark hair had her mouth poised just above it. Her lips pursed and she drooled onto the organ, making it slick with saliva and giving it a few rubs with her hand. Then she opened her mouth wide and made an attempt to go down on it, hardly able to fit any of the gargantuan organ between her lips.

I was mesmerised by the sight, but also slightly demoralized. Was this what Mrs Hotter got off on? How could any normal person compete with that?

No doubt Mrs Hotter saw the way I was staring, because she said, “That man’s a freak of nature. I wouldn’t mind getting fucked by him, to see what it’s like, but I wouldn’t worry about him, Darren. From what I remember of your cock, it’s easily big enough to provide satisfaction.”

Was she being kind, or did she mean that? And was I expected to take some kind of initiative? Like a big dummy, I said, “Would you like to see it again, Mrs Hotter? To see if you remember correctly?”

“Oh I never forget a cock,” Mrs Hotter said. The implications of this were lost on me in the heat of the moment. “But I’d love to have another look.”

Relieved that things seemed to be back on track, I moved a hand down to unzip, but Mrs Hotter was ahead of me. She spun round quickly and pulled the zip down, extracting my cock with what I realised was practiced ease.

Holding my member in one hand, she said, “Yes, it’s definitely as big as I remember.” Her hand moved and I let out a groan. I remembered that hand very well indeed, remembered it bringing me to the boil and over the edge in her car. “Mmmmm!” Mrs Hotter purred. “Ever since that day, Darren, I’ve regretted not tasting your cock when I had the chance.”

It didn’t matter if this was true or not. Like everything else with Mrs Hotter, what mattered was that I wanted to believe it. A trickle of pre-cum emerged. Mrs Hotter leaned in. I held my breath as her tongue came out, soft and velvety against my helmet.

“Oooh, Darren,” she cooed. “You taste so good. I’m looking forward to tasting the full salty load.”

How I managed not to give her the full salty load there and then I shall never know. I was so worked up, all thought of playing it cool, like a proper adult, vanished. “Please, Mrs Hotter.”

“What’s that, Darren?”

“Please suck my cock, Mrs Hotter.”

The woman gave a wicked grin. “I thought you’d never ask!” She pressed her lips against my bulb, then inched them slowly downwards. The sensation was incredible. Frida, the Swedish au pair had given me my first experience of this, but I realise now that she was as inexperienced as I was, and her teeth grazing me almost constantly hadn’t been pleasant.

Mrs Hotter, on the other hand, was clearly very experienced in the art. She slid her lips down me slowly and seductively, pausing at half-mast to wriggle her tongue, all the while looking up at me, flames of debauchery dancing in her eyes.

Slow movements were her thing. Perhaps she understood that anything more vigorous would have set me off in an instant. She pulled her lips a little way up, then pushed them a little way down. Her mouth seemed awash with saliva as she moved her lips up and down in these tiny increments.

I adjusted my body, as eager for the selfish pleasure of feeling Mrs Hotter’s body as to reciprocate the pleasure she was giving me. I fed a hand under her skirt, searching for stocking top. When I found it, I slowly slid my hand further up, fingers trembling at the feel of her naked skin.

“Mmmmmm!” Mrs Hotter purred, her tongue once again slithering against my cock where it nestled in her mouth. Thus encouraged I kept up the trajectory, my fingers moving upwards as the woman’s lips slid down a little way, then back up a little way.

On the TV, the brunette was still doing her best with the impossibly huge cock, but I only had eyes for the way Mrs Hotter was feasting on my own organ. My fingers kept on moving up her thigh. I realised I hadn’t breathed for forever, and gulped down air.

“Mmmm,” Mrs Hotter purred. Her lips began to move back up, and this time there was real suction. I gave a little twitch, fearing that I was about to self-combust, but again luck rather than skill was on my side. I realised that I’d travelled the full length of her thigh. Mrs Hotter’s lips were sliding back down as my trembling fingers touched her plump petals.

I felt my way, easing a finger between them, feeling how slick and moist the woman was. Her tongue slithered against me again. Her mouth was as wet as I imagined her vagina was, and I was preparing to insert a finger to discover if this was the case when a loud bang reverberated, and a voice called out, “Mu-um!”

The shock of hearing my nemesis’ voice finally triggered the accident. Mrs Hotter, though, reacted quicker than I did, sliding her lips off me so that the first spurt struck the side of her face. She rolled over as I continued to ejaculate, finding the remote and muting the sound on the VCR. She wiped her face with the back of her hand, and the back of her hand on her skirt. “Wait here,” she murmured in a low voice. “I won’t be a minute.” She closed the door firmly behind her.

In the event she was gone for five minutes, leaving me to stew and curse the arrival of Tommy, who had to ruin everything for me! What use was all that spunk that was seeping into my t-shirt? I wiped myself clean with a corner of the towel, wishing only the worst for the bastard. I found out later that he’d been out with some girl who he imagined was loose enough for him to get his end away no trouble, but when he’d tried it on with her, she’d kneed him squarely in the groin. That gave me great delight, but not half as much delight as the return of Mrs Hotter.

Having entered and closed the door behind her, she whispered, “We’re all right as long as we don’t make too much noise. Tommy won’t disturb us. He’s never allowed in here. It’s strictly off limits.”

I was amazed. I’d been looking forward to nothing more except being smuggled out of the house in some way. I nodded, not knowing quite what to say. “I’m sorry about…” I whispered, making a vague gesture in the direction of my now shrunken cock.

“Oh I’m sure a vigorous lad like yourself can get it up again, eh?” Mrs Hotter murmured.

I grinned. “Well, one evening I did come four times in two hours thinking of you,” I confided, cursing myself the next minute for not being able to refrain from saying such embarrassing things.

But Mrs Hotter seemed amused as she pulled her skirt off. There, before my eyes I finally saw her naked pussy, the closely cropped fuzz of hair. She climbed onto the bed and straddled me, moving swiftly up to my face.

I knew what was coming. It wasn’t the first time a woman’s genitals had come in contact with my mouth. I’d provided this service for Frida, the Swedish au pair, feeling it was the least a gentlemen could do. Having Mrs Hotter on top of me was, however, an entirely different kettle of fish.

“Four times in two hours,” she whispered as she lowered herself onto my face. “My, my! Wouldn’t that be delicious! Once on my bum, once in my pussy, once on my face and… where else?”

I had an answer in my head, but there was no way I could voice it with Mrs Hotter grinding down on my mouth. “Oh yes! On my tits!” the woman breathed, as if she could read my mind.

She’d pulled that stunt again, the one where she managed to pull the lycra top down and expose her massive boobs before I’d had time to blink. She fondled them, pulling on her nipples which soon swelled back into life as massive teats. I was still reeling from what she’d just said, how filthy it was, but I couldn’t just lay back and revel in it. Instead I reached round to grab her buttocks, squeezing them as I brought my tongue out.

As you can no doubt imagine, my cunnilingual skills were still very much a work in progress. Nevertheless, I knew the rudiments, and could easily slide my tongue into Mrs Hotter’s slick slit. I honestly believe the woman wasn’t particularly concerned with my skill level, in any case. She moaned softly as the tip of my tongue savoured her nectar, then a little louder as I, more by luck than design found her clitoris.

“That’s it, Darren,” she whispered. “Right there! Lick me right there!”

With her cunt pushing down on my face, I couldn’t do anything with my mouth but keep flicking my tongue against her. This was good; it meant I couldn’t say anything stupid. I looked up, watching as her fingers toyed with those huge nipples of hers. There was no question of my staying soft, in spite of my recent ejaculation. I was as hard as granite. Mrs Hotter groaned again as I worked my tongue. Desperate for something more, I moved a hand across her buttocks, dragging a finger down her bum crack.

When my finger reached her bum hole, Mrs Hotter let out an extra gasp, shifting a little. I could literally feel her dripping onto my chin. I kept on lashing my tongue against her, pretty much my only technique, as I continued the trajectory of my finger. My arm was in an awkward position, but I was determined to feel what I’d almost felt when I was so rudely interrupted by Tommy.

Mrs Hotter was absolutely overflowing with juices. I slid a finger inside, making an effort to get a second one in there. Because of the awkwardness of the position, I couldn’t get them far in, but Mrs Hotter seemed to like it. “Oh Darren!” she gasped. “What are you doing to me?”

Yet again my impulse to say something stupid was hindered by my mouth being covered. Mrs Hotter stopped fondling her breasts to clutch at my hair, which was too short for her to really have anything to hold on to. Her breathing intensified, and then she was tensing on me, grinding down hard. My fingers were forced out of her, but that didn’t stop her from giving stifled moans as her juices trickled onto my face.

I was expecting her to want a rest after that, but she just backed away from my face, right the way down to my ankles. Staring straight up at my dampened face, she leaned forwards, grabbed one of her breasts and teased the little string of my penis with a taut nipple. “Talk dirty to me, Darren,” she breathed. “Say the dirtiest things you can imagine.”

I’d said so many daft things already that I was scared of my own imagination. But I tried. “I want to fuck you every night,” I whispered. “Twice.” I added for good measure.

Mrs Hotter smiled. No doubt she thought this was pretty tame, but she grabbed my cock and shoved it between her deliciously fleshy boobs, pushing her mammaries together so that they hugged my rigid, seemingly inexhaustible, teenage cock.

“Oh Darren,” she breathed. “It takes a lot of sex to satisfy a woman with my appetites.”

Was she serious? It was impossible to know. “I’ll fuck you whenever you like, Mrs Hotter,” I said.

The woman smiled, squeezing her mammaries round my cock. There was still action happening on the TV, but I couldn’t care less about that, all that mattered was the seemingly insatiable Mrs Hotter and her enormous breasts and impossibly swollen nipples.

“Mmmmm,” the woman purred. “I’ll be making sure you live up to that promise, Darren.”

I hardly dared hope that she would. Right now I had to make the most of things. “Can I fuck you now, Mrs Hotter?”

This sounded really peculiar, but the woman understood what I meant. “You’re right, Darren,” she breathed, shoving her breasts together so that my cock was completely buried in tit flesh. “You haven’t had your cock in my cunt yet, have you?”

I was still finding it hard to believe an ordinary woman used those words, especially one who was Mrs Hotter’s age. I shook my head. “Mmmmm,” Mrs Hotter purred. “We need to do something about that, don’t we?” She moved, massaging my cock head with her massive boobs. “I want you to fuck me, Darren. I want to feel your big cock in my cunt! How do you want to fuck me, Darren?”

“Doggy style,” I suggested hopefully, sounding more like a puppy than a young stud.

But Mrs Hotter was very good about things. “Just how I like it,” she breathed. “Get naked and fuck me, Darren!”

Without further ado she rolled over and got onto all fours next to me. I rolled off the bed and stripped off, getting clothes caught in ridiculous ways as I simultaneously surveyed the delicious curve of her arse. Then I made my move. I couldn’t help but think about Tommy being elsewhere in the house as I got behind Mrs Hotter and prodded my cock against her labia.

“Aaaaah! Fuck me, Darren!” Mrs Hotter breathed. “Fuck me hard!”

My cock slid into her and I began humping. I’m sure my technique left a lot to be desired, but if so Mrs Hotter made no indication of that, moaning lustfully as I reached underneath her to grab huge handfuls of her massive tits, eventually pulling on her engorged nipples. One urge had to be resisted, and that was the urge to shout out, “HEY, TOMMY! GUESS WHAT! I’M BUSY FUCKING YOUR MUM!”

To prevent that, I gasped, “Oh, Mrs Hotter! You’re the best!”

Mrs Hotter gasped back, “Oh, Darren! Your cock feels so good inside me! Fuck me as hard as you can!”

I wasn’t about to do anything except what was asked of me. My fingers dug into tit flesh as I thrust my cock into her. It was obvious that Mrs Hotter was doing everything she could to keep her moans to a level where they could not be heard outside the bedroom. Nevertheless, there was plenty of noise. You’ll think I’m exaggerating, but I was half afraid the sound of flesh slapping and the obscenely joyful gurgle from Mrs Hotter’s vagina were clearly audible throughout the rest of the house.

“Oh, Mrs Hotter,” I panted, thrusting my cock into her. “I can’t believe you’re so wet!”

“You make me so horny, Darren,” Mrs Hotter gasped back. Then she lowered her body, reaching back with one hand to stroke her clit while I kept on working as hard as I could, enjoying the feel of huge udders against the palms of my hands, and the feel of the woman’s vagina closing around me.

“Ah! I’m going to cum again!” Mrs Hotter breathed. “See what your big cock does to me, Darren? I’m going to cum again! On your big cock!”

Holy smoke! How hot was Mrs Hotter? At that point I felt like I was the luckiest 18 year-old alive.

The noise from outside was faint, but recognizable; the sound of tyres crunching on gravel. “Charles!” Mrs Hotter gasped. “What the devil is he doing home already?”

This was bad, very bad. I stopped dead, but as I began to pull out, Mrs Hotter breathed, “No, Darren! Keep fucking me! I want you to cum in me! But be quick about it!”

Was she serious? Heart racing I began to thrust again. “Yes! Yes!” Mrs Hotter breathed. “Fuck me! Cum in me!”

She was no longer rubbing herself, just waiting for me to cum. In my haste, I discovered that I could go even faster than before. I held Mrs Hotter tight, driving my cock into her like a berserker, spunk beginning to boil again.

“Oh yes!” Mrs Hotter breathed. “Cum in me, Darren! Cum in me!”

I did everything in my power not to shout out loud as I exploded in Mrs Hotter’s cunt, the woman gasping, “Yes! Yes!” After my previous accident, I’m not sure how much spunk there was, but I could feel my cock twitching and clenching between sugar walls.

Mrs Hotter waited for me to twitch my last before breathing, “Quickly, Darren! The window! Take your clothes and go! Make sure no-one sees you!”

There was a potted plant on the window sill, which I removed quickly before grabbing my clothes, opening the window and clambering out. Fortunately next door didn’t have windows facing the Hotter residence. Pulse racing, and still in something of a daze, I stood as close to the wall as I could, while I pulled my clothes on, feeling like a character from a cartoon, or one of those old Carry On films I’d seen on TV.

Keeping to the shadows, I decided it was safest to leave via the bottom of the garden. As I walked home I hoped fervently that Mrs Hotter had managed to do whatever she had to do to hide all signs of what had gone on in the marital bedroom. Fortunately, when I returned home, my parents were still out, so there was no-one to ask what had taken me so long.

A couple of days later, my mind was put at rest when Mrs Hotter came round to see my mum. Today she was in jeans that showed the curve of her arse to good effect, and a blouse with one too many buttons undone. With my mum out of the room fetching something, she sidled over to me.

Her lips came up close to my ear, and I felt a ripple of pleasure run through me. “I brought myself off later,” she whispered. “In bed, next to Charles, once he’d fallen asleep. I still had your spunk inside me!”

How depraved could the woman get, I wondered? I couldn’t resist reaching out and clutching at one of her large breasts. Mrs Hotter grabbed my wrist, pulling my hand away. “Best not,” she said. “Not here, not now.” She paused, tongue sliding across lips. “But I do want you to cum in me again, Darren.”

“When? Where?”

“As soon as possible,” Mrs Hotter smiled. I’m as impatient as you are, my young lover.

I liked the sound of that. I liked the sound of it very much indeed.

TBC