The End Of The Drought free porn video

 

“What on earth was she doing here?” she asked herself. She unconsciously watched the deer nibbling silently and incessantly at the grass, the whole herd moving imperceptibly closer to her the longer she sat still. To an onlooker, a peaceful scene; unremarkable even. But that betrayed a churning turmoil that almost paralysed her.

She couldn't remember when she'd been more more anxious; she was dying for a nervous pee. She recognised the familiar signs but it wasn’t just the waiting this time – there was a disbelief that she was here at all.

It had all started so innocently: a renewed contact between two people whose lives had moved way beyond what they’d previously shared. What could be the harm?

Polite exchanges at first, but he'd revealed a remaining lust for her that had taken her aback: that hadn’t been in the script. She’d tried to shrug it off, reminding him of how her life had evolved and filled out. She’d spelled out how much she had to lose and how little appetite she had for endangering it. She’d pointed out that she wasn’t in her twenties any more, with all that that means to a woman’s body. That had worked from time to time and their contact had oscillated between silences, awkward attempts to chat about life’s humdrums and his occasional protestations of his continuing sexual interest in her.

The silences had seemed quite grown up at first, two adults taking a sensible pill, but she missed his interest in her and she was always pleased when their contact, usually emails, resumed. She wished it were otherwise but she missed having him in the background. And it was a very fractured thing, their contact.

She had so much on her plate that just time itself was at a premium. When emailing him there was always the cocktail of conflicts: a desire to keep the distant relationship alive against the guilt feeling that she was being disloyal, the worry of losing what she had worked for and… that certain something: a tingle perhaps? Almost a physical response to both the sweet and sexually forthright ways he’d express himself to her. She loved knowing how she made him feel and admitted to herself that she almost revelled in the effect she had on him. He was clearly still aroused by her; that much was crystal clear, and that knowledge did something for her as well, although she’d never let him in on that secret.

Gradually it had taken on a life of its own, this irregular distant meeting of minds and suppressed desire. Well, sexual curiosity really. It got to the point that here she sat, waiting for him, her head full of questions and doubts and her stomach churning.

Her beloved son had been so excited to be staying the weekend at his chum’s a couple of villages away and she’d seen a possibility born. She wouldn’t really be missed tonight – hubby was preparing to watch Chelsea get beaten by some unpronounceable Turkish club in the quarter final of the something-or-other Cup and hardly seemed to notice her mention the completely fictitious friend from Bristol who’d now moved to Derby with her new husband. Job done. With an accompanying menu of doubts and guilts. What was she thinking of?

She was nowhere near Derby but in the grounds of a country hotel barely fifty miles from home, waiting to discover whether you could put flesh back onto a ghost or whether they’re best laid to rest forever.

Meanwhile, he was relieved that he had the urgency over the last few miles of his journey to distract him from the bigger picture. That had been an agonising 30 minutes sat stationary near Catterick whilst the emergency services had cleared a jack-knifed truck from the A1(M). Just how many pallets of frozen chickens does it take to bring a dual carriageway to a standstill?

And now he was late. Not the end of the world but he hated the thought of her having to wait for him. It was meant to be the other way around. He’d telephoned her, obviously, but he was still driving too fast now, concentrating hard and pushing everything else to the back of his mind. And there was plenty to push.

He didn’t feel guilty particularly but he was aware that he was swimming in the deep end this time; this wasn’t just a brief messing about for her. It was high stakes stuff. And it wouldn’t be leading anywhere anyway: that much he already acknowledged. This was a mutual itch that they’d both concluded needed scratching.

As much as anything he was nervous. Would the evening even get off to any kind of start at al? Would even sensible conversation be choked off by a suffocation of politeness, guilt, awkwardness and an unwillingness on both parts to commit to even the most modest of first steps?

He asked himself, would he be any good when…? The usual twin fears stalked him: would he even rise sufficiently to the occasion amidst all the emotional background clutter and, if he did, would he be so excited that it would all be over before it had properly got under way? Certainly the evidence for the first fear was there. He comforted himself that his current absence of any erection could be put down to his concentration and irritation. As for the second... well, he wasn’t in his teens any more and the infrequent recent experience suggested that he had little to fear on that score. But still he worried.

With every passing minute he also feared that she would think twice and the next he’d hear would be a heartfelt apology on the mobile phone as she slid back behind her steering wheel to head home. For Christsake, how slowly can this wanker in front drive? Get a fucking move on! 

She smiled at the realisation she was getting cold feet. It may be sunny but late afternoon in February in County Durham is hardly tropical. She’d need to move soon just to restore feeling to her extremities. The deer were just the other side of the wall now, so close she could hear them feeding on the soft grass.

The crows, or maybe they were jackdaws – she was never much good at all that - were still making a racket in the trees behind her. But the afternoon had turned and they’d soon be settling down for another chilly night. The closest few deer started and stepped back a few paces smartly as she involuntarily shivered. The spell broken, she stood up and the whole herd moved away a few yards. Surely they saw enough people not to be so nervous?

She’d use the loo in reception and then what? Her fingers closed over her car keys; she could be home in an hour and a half. Perhaps it was best. What had she fooled herself would happen? Pathetic, acting like a bloody teenager. She turned on her heel towards reception, the gravel crunching expensively beneath her boots. And the crows, or whatever they were, all took to the air together with a couple of clattering wood pigeons. Surely she hadn’t had that effect? Then she realised that there was a car swinging a little too quickly into the drive. She recognised him immediately. She wouldn't be driving anywhere that night, for better or worse.

He couldn’t believe it: there she was. Oh Christ. Perhaps it would have been simpler all round if she’d given up… oh shut up you twat; she’s there. Waiting for you. And she’s just what you’d hoped. It’s her – she’s changed but somehow she’s just the same.

Extreme anticipation temporarily pushed nerves aside. He was in a film and the script was going to play out regardless. It’s just that he had no idea what the script said.

In the seconds before stopping next to her, he’d undertaken a rapid appraisal. Christ, she filled a pair of jeans nicely. Her winter jacket wasn’t exactly revealing but it couldn’t completely hide the promise of what appeared to be a very full bosom. Wonderful! Her smile – perhaps a little nervous? – was just as he remembered and her hair still had that lovely lustrous quality and body. It was grey now but that hardly mattered.

He was alive now. In the space of a few seconds his hands had started to shake. Thankfully, he had a steering wheel to hang on to. He wanted her right there and then but he was riddled with uncertainty. At least his dick seemed to have reconnected itself at last. 

They said “Hiya” together and laughed. In an effort to retain some practicality, he suggested that he should park his car. Did she want to hop in? No thanks.

She wanted a last few seconds on her own, the short walk would do her good. She watched as the brake lights went out and the engine was silenced. He reached behind himself for a jacket and stepped out of the car. She was in no rush. She wanted a first impression of what had dragged her from hearth and home on this increasingly chilly night.

That first impression was largely favourable. He wasn’t his former reasonably skinny self and, from this distance, he looked bald. That wasn’t true. She knew he kept his grey hair very short. No moustache now, though. Funny how that memory of him had stuck all these years. He looked as if he’d kept himself fit but she realised with a start that this was a guy in his sixties. Hell, he was an older man back then and he still is. Ha! I’ll have to pull his leg about that.

They walked to reception together, polite small talk to the accompaniment of that modern backing track: the rumbling of suitcase wheels. Checking in made her smile. He hadn’t changed: he corrected the pretty receptionist (Lithuanian? Russian?) with a winning smile. No, they didn’t have the same surname. They weren’t Mr and Mrs Anything. The receptionist looked up from under her eyelids and caught his gaze. She understood.

She hardly bothered to look at the room when he opened the door; she was busting after all. She apologised and made a bee-line for the en suite bathroom. Closed the door but didn’t lock it. She sat there, the marble floor and walls seeming to calm her down. She’d been freezing only a short while ago but now she was glad of the chance to sit in the peace and cool of the bathroom. She noticed her hands slightly shaking as washed them. She wasn’t fully in control. Did she think she would be? Did she want to be?

She had another couple of minutes to herself as he needed a pee. She noticed that he didn’t shut the door completely, leaving it an inch or two ajar. A hint of a greater measure of familiarity or self-confidence, she supposed. She sat on the corner of the bed for a moment and reached out, running her hand over the duvet. Why? She grinned.

By the time he’d come back she was hanging up her dress for the night. She’d agonised over the choice. Nothing too formal or over the top but special enough to do justice to the occasion. She’d almost rejected it for being perhaps a bit too low-cut but she’d tried it on anyway.

In the privacy of the changing room, she had leaned towards the mirror and smiled to herself, almost triumphantly. She was still proud of her breasts and she knew they’d work well for her in that dress. He wouldn’t fail to notice those in a hurry. She’d leaned even further forward and she had to admit that her cleavage looked damn good. Almost sheepishly she’d cupped her hanging breasts in both hands and felt their weight, her nipples hardening between her fingers. Oh my! She felt herself moistening; she needed to get a grip. She’d taken off the dress with some urgency, feeling quite shocked by her speedy arousal. Pathetic. She’d even looked both ways as she pulled back the dressing room curtain, as if to see whether anyone had been watching. 

Shoes had been easy. He was a sucker for plain high-heeled court shoes. She’d tried on a couple of pairs before finding what she was seeking. Her legs looked great in them.

Lingerie took the longest, funnily enough. The colour, really. Black always works, but perhaps too predictable. White wouldn’t have worked with her stockings. Red? Tempting but obvious? She’d finally gone for a deep burgundy, almost plum. The bra would make her breasts unmissable and she’d gone for a matching pair of panties, not a thong, with a pretty garter belt.

On her way home from the shops she’d hoped that the guys wouldn’t be home yet and she was in luck. Breathlessly, she’d run upstairs, thrown off her clothes and almost ritually tried on her new purchases. She’d paused a little to survey her offering to him before putting on the dress. She could almost fancy herself!

The colour of the lingerie looked great against her skin; her bust was so firm and grabbed attention. Her bum didn’t look at all bad and she was pleased with the contrast of the dark of her panties and stockings with the pale of her thighs. And when her dress was on – woe betide any guy who tried to ignore her.

She’d not wasted any time in peeling off the dress, though: she had no idea how long she had to herself. She’d hung it deep in her wardrobe, far from prying eyes, and walked back across the bedroom, catching sight of another woman in the full-length mirror. No, that was no other woman; that was her in all her renewed glory. She was impressed.

She sat on the bed, kicked off her shoes and carefully rolled down her stockings. She reached behind and undid her bra, feeling her breasts’ weight as she slid it off her shoulders. She was flushed, she noticed, and her nipples had darkened and stiffened. Her fingers trembled like a young girl’s as she ran their tips around her nipples. She’d always loved having her breasts played with.

Oh Christ – it was happening again. She kidded herself that she was just reaching down to take off her panties but her fingers pushed inside the soft material to feel her moistness. She fell backwards on the bed and parted her legs a little. She ought to take the panties off, but they were part of the magic. She’d have to make this quick, but she was used to that. One hand was just stroking her lips – hell, she was soaking now – whilst the other expertly played her clitoris. She climaxed in just a couple of minutes.

She lay there, panting, her heart pounding and her fingers sticky and juicy. Her mind was made up: she was going through with it. If she could make herself feel like that, she’d slaughter him. Far too soon her reverie had been disturbed by a car pulling up outside. Time to turn miraculously from tramp into caring mother and dutiful wife.

“Blimey, sorry.”

She jumped a mile as he touched her, jerking her back from her daydream. He’d walked up behind her, gently placed his hands on her hips and rested the side of his face against her hair. She’d been gazing out of the window and, in the western sky, Venus was already the usual evening highlight: an optimistic omen he hoped. He could smell her hair and he luxuriated in its softness; the years just rolled away. He could have stood like that for hours, just being here like this was more than he’d wildly expected only months beforehand.

She turned in his arms to face him, looked up and smiled. He was lost. He wanted this moment to last forever. How could he ever let her go again? She pulled him closer and he could feel the press of her breasts. She angled her head and parted those soft lips a fraction of an inch. For the first time in nearly twenty years his lips were on hers and it felt like heaven. Their first kiss was hesitant, shy even. They parted and looked at each other as if to take in what had just happened. But they were holding each other tight and they weren’t letting go.

She wondered if this was all going to plan, before realising that she didn’t have one and guessing that he didn’t either. It felt so natural, stood there by the window with just the stars and bare trees as onlookers. She offered herself again and he kissed her far more urgently this time, their tongues meeting for the first time. You could have lit up a small town with the electricity that produced.

Suddenly, they couldn’t get enough of each other, their lips being squashed by the passion of years apart. There was no stopping now, even if she’d wanted to. And she didn’t.

She had been pushed back against the writing desk under the window, the edge just at bum height. She was leaning back and he was pressing into her. Mmm, she was doing something right; she could feel his hardness now against her tummy. Perhaps she ought to be doing something. 

He realised that he ought to do something else. It couldn’t be comfortable for her to be jammed up against the desk and his dick was already reminding him that just kissing her all night was not really going to tick all the boxes. He feared his next decision. If he acts and it’s the wrong thing, he’ll have shattered the moment. If he doesn’t she’ll wonder whether he’s turned gay since they were last together.

He glanced at the clock by the bed . A little over two hours till dinner. Even allowing for the age she’d probably take to get ready, they were not in a rush. They had time for… well, whatever turned up. And so he acted. He slipped his hands inside her top and started to slip it upwards, removing it. Her reaction would answer all the questions.

She raised her arms to let him undress her. There was no point acting coy. They both knew why they were there.

He was so gentle. Were his hands shaking? He took care that her top would not catch her earrings and he also tried to avoid messing up her hair. She stood there now, he temporarily distracted as he turned to carefully lay the top on the chair. For God’s sake! Leave the damn thing. Turn around and look at me.

He turned back to her but he deliberately took his time to increase the anticipation. Wow, she had a pair of tits. She wasn’t a twenty-something any more but her breasts were wonderful. There was no point in being Mr Cool anymore, he just wanted to see them out. But he savoured the moment. He had to feel her before he took off her bra. They looked so firm and proud.

He cupped her breasts and leaned forward to kiss her shoulders, neck and chest. He moved to her bosom and kissed the exposed skin and seemed to want to push his face into her cleavage.

“Just wait till I’ve got my fuck-me undies on,” she thought, “you won’t be able to take your eyes off me… ”

He reached behind her at last and undid her bra with an accomplished ease. But he wanted to savour this. She duly allowed the straps down over her arms and then he slowly lowered her bra, watching her breasts fall under their own weight. They did droop a little more than before, but that was to be expected. But she’d been right, they were still magnificent. He loved the impression of weight in more mature boobs and hers were perfect. Full and womanly and they still held up fantastically. Her nipples were superbly perky, darker and bigger than he remembered. He was enraptured and transfixed by his lovely ex-wife standing topless in the weak moonlight.

She was enjoying this more than she’d imagined. She was getting an unexpected buzz from standing there topless, breasts hanging and exposed for his scrutiny. She looked good and knew that he thought so as well – he stood there almost reverentially.

Sshe wondered how big he was now. She was ready for him and was tempted to slip her hand down to feel. But discretion held her back.

She had to do something or she feared that the moment would be lost. He was wearing a rugby shirt so that would pose no problem. She stepped forward, took the shirt in both hands and pulled it up and off. They were now both stripped to the waist. His chest was hairier than she remembered but he’d looked after himself and was more muscular than she’d expected. Not bad for an old guy, she thought and smiled.

He decided that this 'after you, after me' process had gone on long enough. He bent to remove his shoes and socks and took down his jeans. He knew that she was watching and hoped that she wasn’t disappointed. He waited a few seconds before easing his briefs down, pausing a bit theatrically for an instant before exposing his cock and balls.

He was not fully erect but his penis was, he hoped, still an impressive sight as it sprang from confinement. Christ, he was a tart. He was enjoying laying himself open to her, feeling exposed and vulnerable but also conscious of performing. Or was he making himself look stupid?

She realised that the tempo had increased as she watched him undo his jeans. So far so good. His waist had filled out a bit but he still had nice hips and his legs were in good shape. Was he going to take his pants off or was she expected to do that? Before she had to resolve that question he’d pulled them down. She had to admit she'd wanted to see what his penis was like.

Wow! Not exactly standing to attention at the moment but it was thicker than she’d remembered, semi-hanging there looking heavy and, well, menacing. And she noticed that he now kept himself smooth. He had said he did but it still came as a bit of a shock. Looked quite nice though and she could see the shape of his balls and scrotum nicely. She was impressed and wondered how much bigger he’d get.

He decided that he could now drive this. He stepped towards her, conscious of his cock swaying heavily as he moved. He could see her watching it. That was so hot. He knelt before her and finished undressing her, admiring her shapely thighs as he pulled down her jeans. Just a matching black pair of panties – nothing too flash; very her. He hesitated, almost too fearful of the moment. He leaned forward and rested his face against the swelling beneath her panties.

She was warm and she smelled fantastic, body lotion of some sort or perhaps perfume, but also her own animal odour. She was already lubricating, he imagined, and he just gently ran the back of his fingers against her panties down there – a warm moistness. This was it; he was about to lay her completely exposed for his wonderment.

She was shivering. His hands were on the sides of her panties and he slid them down over her thighs, letting them drop to her feet. It would look so uncool to forget and fall on her face when she moved so she pulled one foot from them and kicked them away with the other. She stood there, remembering to leave her legs slightly apart. She looked down as he looked up at her. Had she ever seen a guy so under her spell? He was like a kid in a candy store and it seemed like he didn’t know where to start.

The first thing he noticed was that his guess was right – she had kept some pubic hair, but nicely trimmed. Wonderful! He’d come back to that later. He wanted to run his hands and face over her beautiful thighs, She was so shapely and her skin so soft. He gently pressed her buttocks, beautifully soft and still firm. He brushed the backs of his fingers up the inside of her thighs till he was almost touching her pussy. The inside of a woman’s thighs was one of his favourite parts – warm, soft, delicate and smooth with the promise of delight so close.

He couldn’t ignore it any longer – the centre of her womanhood. He brushed his nose and cheeks against her hair, so soft, so sensuous and already slightly damp. He pushed his nose into her slit a little way and breathed in her smells. He luxuriated a second and pulled his face away, just allowing the tip of his tongue to brush her outer lips. He got to his feet.

“Hell, that was quick. Is that all I’m getting?” she thought as he got off his knees. She noticed, with dismay, that his cock wasn’t now as impressive. Was she heading for a big disappointment after all? And then he did something quite unexpected: he put an arm behind her knees, another around her shoulders, picked her up and laid her gently on the bed. Blimey, it had been a long time since anyone had done that.

For a second that seemed like hours he just knelt there on the bed and drank in the sight: after all this time she was naked on a bed for him again. For the first time that evening he wondered what to do next. Given a completely open choice he’d have started by painting or photographing her – he wanted never to forget the smallest detail of the vision that was her. Neither was practical, so move on – trust to instinct.

“For God’s sake, now what?” He didn’t seem to be in a hurry to do anything. Was she intended to make the next move? She was about to reach out to touch his leg, his penis, anything when he bent forward and kissed her lightly on the lips. No tongue, just a caress. And his fingers idly, but fondly, played with her hair. He pulled back, looked at her; then kissed her again. And she realised with a tingle, he was just in awe of her, worshipping her. All that he’d written and said in the last couple of years was there in his face. It had been true: he was still in love with her. This wasn’t a sexual moment - his erection had largely faded – she was the altar and he was kneeling before her.

Anaked girl can take only so much silent worship before starting to feel restless; slightly foolish even. She moved just enough to break the moment and he responded, his right hand lightly caressing a breast whilst his other ran so softly over her thigh. He kissed one nipple, then the other, lightly at first but then more ardently. His lips took in her whole areola and she could feel his tongue working her nipple increasingly urgently. He was sucking now and then kissing all over her breasts.

He loved her tits. She had sexy nipples that seemed to have become more alluring with the years and the skin on the underside of her breasts was just so exquisitely smooth and soft. How he wished he’d known her when she was lactating – he’d have drunk so deeply from her.

She could feel his fingers on her thighs, especially the insides at the very top of her leg. Sometimes he’d caress her skin with his whole hand but he’d never quite touched her pussy. His mouth was now on her stomach, running down over her abdomen. His tongue made her belly button tickle.

Wow, her skin was lovely. He just wanted to kiss her all over but time was moving on and, anyway, he didn’t want to run the risk of boring her. This whole evening was a trip into the unknown again and he was having to learn her likes and dislikes on the hoof. He loved the spot just inside her hip bones, the small dip that seemed so insignificant but always drew his attention. His tongue lingered there an instant before continuing its journey south.

He had deliberately avoided going for her cunt like a bull at a gate but it seemed that she was wanting attention. She was, perhaps involuntarily, raising her hips slightly whenever his fingers moved up her thigh and he thought that her breathing pattern had changed; he could actually hear her breathing. So he let his fingers brush, oh so lightly, against her labia. A good sign, her inner lips had come out to play and he marvelled at their moist, delicate beauty.

With relief, she realised that her signals had been picked up. She’d not been in a position, literally, to do much to him and she was happy to indulge in a spot of selfishness. He wants to worship me with his mouth and fingers? Fine. But now she needed more and it looked like he’d got the message.

Her pubes felt like finest down as he pressed his face into her. Heaven. And his tongue pried at her lips, moist and musky, until he found her clitoris, already firm and waiting for him. A cliché certainly but her pink glistening bud was like a shimmering pearl in an opened oyster. His lips closed over it and he sucked gently before starting to work it with his tongue, faster and faster. He could feel her moving now, pushing into his face.

He moved his mouth down and for the first time probed inside her cunt with his tongue. He loved this, always had. He gently pulled her outer lips apart and the whole of her opened up like a rose. She was absolutely wonderful and he was in heaven. He pushed his tongue deep inside her and, all the while, worked her clit with his fingers. Her juices were flowing freely now and his mouth, chin and nose were wet with her glistening nectar. She tasted so good: sweet, sticky and intoxicating. He lapped and lapped, swallowing what he could. He was drunk with lust, pushing his face harder into her cunt to penetrate her as deeply as possible with his tongue.

Oh shit! Was she enjoying this? Not once had his fingers entered her. He’d used them expertly on her little bud and her labia and his tongue was now doing the hard work. And how! So different to other guys who’d just pushed and prodded with their fingers and left her cold and contemptuous. She was heaving her hips uncontrollably now, pushing herself into his face. She was close to coming and yet there was part of her enjoying almost the power and control she had in giving him a faceful of cunt and knowing he’d just take it. She was almost at the point of ecstasy and he was powerless through lust.

He knew now he was doing a good job. It was difficult to keep up with her pushing and her breathing was loud. Every time he pulled back she’d thrust herself back onto his tongue. She sounded like she was having a heart attack. And then she moaned from deep inside, pushed one last time up against his face and let her hips sink into the duvet, her body shaking. As she climaxed, juices poured from her, almost like pee. He couldn’t remember this from their time before, but perhaps he hadn’t pleased her like this before. She tasted fantastic. They ought to bottle this. He drank deeply, drunk with lust, pleasure and relief that he’d pleased her.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. That was fantastic. She hadn’t expected to come so quickly or so deeply. Months of expectation and doubt had climaxed in that loss of control and surrender. No wonder the French called it le petit mort. It was almost like slipping into a mini-coma and then recovering. And the mess she’d made! That hadn’t happened before.

She lay back, eyes shut, completely self-obsessed for the moment. Every part of her body was tingling and one part was on fire. She became aware of him pulling away from between her legs. His eyes were shining, he looked ecstatic. He slid up the bed, put his arms around her and moved to kiss her. For an instant she was going to pull away, but what the hell. Their lips met and she could taste herself on him. The tongue that moments before had been deep inside her was now seeking out her own tongue. It was animal and she tasted good!

The time for subtlety was over now. H wanted to fuck her for his own sake. It always happened; he’d concentrated so much on the oral side of it that his erection was virtually nothing. It happened every time, and every time he wondered if it would turn out OK.

She pushed herself up on her elbows after he’d kissed her and turned towards him. Reading his thoughts, it seemed, she reached out and took him in hand. He was on his knees and she turned further towards him, cupping his balls in one hand and starting to wank him slowly with the other. Her fingertips caressed his scrotum and moved back, teasing his perineum. Hell, that was good. He squirmed with a tingling pleasure and wondered how far she’d go. She hesitated and then moved back to caressing his scrotum and thighs, all the while languidly working his cock. And it was working.

You’re good, babe. She congratulated herself on a job exceedingly well done. In the course of a couple of minutes she’d brought life back to his penis. After she’d come she’d been a little concerned at his pretty lame erection. Surely she excited him? What had that been all about? She’d felt she literally had to take matters into her own hands. She’d done it! He was growing in her hand – another stab of power pleasure.

Within minutes it was bigger than she’d seen it so far, perhaps ever? He seemed thicker than before and his cock was much darker than his stomach or legs – it was truly engorged. She could feel its heat and felt it throbbing. She ran her finger over the smooth glistening blue head and found a small drop of his seminal fluid. She couldn’t help herself – yep, it tasted good.

He turned her over onto her knees. Her superbly shaped and smooth arse was presented to him and he marvelled again at her moist cunt, those beautiful lips pouched between heavenly thighs. He had to treat himself again and he licked his tongue along her slit and up between her cheeks. He ran his tongue around her anus, teasing it gently. He wondered if… but thought better of it. There was still stuff he didn’t know about her and now wasn’t the time.

He was very aroused and her timely hand job had been the icing on the cake. He raised himself on his knees, his cock swaying and pulsing. She was ready for him. Wet, open – it was where his cock belonged. He pushed his shiny blue head gently between her lips and she opened up for him. He grasped her hips and thrust himself deep into her. As he penetrated further he could feel her pushing herself backwards onto him.

Hmmm, he felt thick. His cock head went in easily but as he pushed in further he seemed to fill her whole inside. But she was very lubricated and he was taking an unusual amount of care not to make her uncomfortable. He made her gasp quietly into the pillow a couple of times but once she’d eased her position by pushing her hips back he had fully entered her with a surprising lack of effort. She so wanted him, that much was now clear.

She felt him lean forward onto her and take her hanging breasts in his hands. She remembered he just loved feeling them like that. And then he started.

He couldn’t stop himself now. He’d fully entered her and then pulled almost all of his cock out again. It was glistening and her exposed lips were deep pink and soaking. He pushed back into her, more forcibly than before, trying to shove more of himself into her. And again. And again. Not gentle now: he was fucking her, harder and harder. He knew he was deep inside her each time but he wanted each thrust to take him in further, harder. Pushing, stabbing, forcing. His balls were slapping against her cunt lips and her heavy breasts were swinging wildly beneath her. This wasn’t subtle or even loving; this was carnal. Lust.

Oh wow; her cunt was burning now. With each thrust he seemed to be penetrating deeper. His cock was hitting her cervix – how much further did he want to go? It was a bit uncomfortable having her breasts swinging about but luckily he was holding them most of the time. It was a shame he didn’t realise how tightly he was squeezing them. But he was doing a good job. She knew she was unlikely to come in this position but, hell, she was truly getting a fucking.

He knew he was coming soon and he had no ambition to make this last artificially long. He also knew that he wanted to shoot his load deep into her. He was fucking her faster and faster, wanting to come as soon as possible. He hadn’t said a word to her; the time for talking will be later. No gentleness, love or worship now. He was just going to fill her with his sperm as quickly as possible.

She wondered if he would want to finish himself over her face or breasts, or perhaps in her mouth. She would be happy with whatever he wanted: this evening she was playing the whore. But it seemed that subtlety had gone out of the window. He was fucking her faster than she’d ever remembered, perhaps the lust of many years being released into her. And then, with a low groan he held her hips tight and pushed into her and held himself there, his cock throbbing and pulsing as he pumped his cum deep into her body. It had been years since he’d ejaculated as hard or as much as that.

The strength and will drained out of him with his thick load. He rested himself on her, his head turned on her shoulders. For comfort she slid her knees down so that she was lying on her front. He took care to keep himself inside her. His cock felt completely at home and he enjoyed the feeling of it gradually becoming smaller inside her. After a couple of minutes she raised a leg and rolled over onto her back, both of them taking care to keep him in her.

He was spent now and was happy just to lie with her. She had no desire to move either, content just to let her body glow and enjoy the burning in her vagina.

No words were necessary. What could be said? Most couples lying like this would have thought in some way about the future and perhaps idly chatted about their plans. But they knew they had no future together and that this moment had to be held carefully for as long as possible.

And yet…

He couldn’t help it. He turned his head towards her and kissed her gently. “I never stopped loving you, you know.”

She shut her eyes, turned her head away and pulled the duvet over them.

[Not the most hard-core story you'll read, but as it was written for my ex-wife it also had to tick a romantic box as well. I'm pleased to say that she loved it and suggested I write more. It was very arousing to hear that she masturbated when she read it!]