Gardening And More..... free porn video

Hi, my name is Chrissie. I'm 39 and married. My k**s have already flown the nest and I'm soon to be a grandmother. That really is scary.

I'm married to Pat, a very successful man who helps my dad run our family business. Unfortunately, he isn't much good at the wonderful art of bedroom fun.

His idea of having a good time is to get me to suck him for about five minutes, then a quick fumble around my bits, his cock sticking up me and after a few grunting thrusts shoots his come inside.

What next, you ask? Well, within five minutes he's snoring so loud he keeps me awake. But despite his obvious short-comings I love him to bits.

In every other way he is a model husband. He treats me like a princess, he spoils me, and nothing is too much trouble. Can you really imagine a man who clears the table and puts the crocks into the dishwasher every time we dine at home, even when we have company?

He takes me shopping, even chooses the underwear I love to wear for him, and sits outside the changing room while I try on all sorts of new things. And he never complains about how long I take choosing my new items. He'll even go back to the first shop where I saw that dress, but wasn't sure if it was really me, and let me try it on yet again.

All this makes the story I'm about to tell you more incredible, more unfaithful, more shameful.

We have a large garden—about three quarters of an acre. I love working in the garden, and most of it is in accordance with my planning and design. I took landscape gardening as one of my courses in school.

After a recent illness when I was unable to do much, it got a bit out of hand. Pat suggested we get a gardener to come help me fix it. At first I wasn't keen; it was, after all, my baby. But the following weeks of graft wore me down, I finally agreed to his suggestion.

I put an advert in the local shop window thinking a local pensioner might like to earn a bit of extra cash. We had so many replies I had difficulty deciding whom to take on. Being a bit of a coward, I asked Pat to interview them.

He spent most of Saturday talking to prospective candidates, choosing Bill, a seventy-three-year-old retired farm worker with the cheekiest grin imaginable.

Bill turned up the first morning, his belly hanging over his trousers, the scruffiest old man I think I have ever seen. To his credit, though, as soon as I told him what needed doing, he went to work like a man half his age.

The roses were hanging all over the place. He pruned them with expertise; honestly, I could learn something from this old man. The following day it was so wet I thought it best not to work outside.

I showed Bill around the green house and potting shed. He suggested all sorts of improvements, several of which I took on board. Before long, we had become good friends.

His sense of humour stopped me in my tracks several times. It bordered on rude. Well, not rude exactly, more like extremely suggestive. I often caught him looking at me in a way I never expected a man in his seventies would. He was perving me without a doubt.

By the time spring came round, my favourite time to be working outside, the garden was looking good. To be honest, I didn't really need Bill any longer, but he had become part of my life since we spent two days a week in each other's company.

I talked to Pat, asking him if we should dispense with Bill's services now that the garden was back in good order. He said, "No, you need more time for yourself. He can cut the grass and do the jobs you find hard." So Bill stayed on, becoming a permanent member of our household.

All this time, my working attire had been trousers or jeans with a baggy jumper or windcheater depending on the weather (a bit scruffy when I think about it).

However, as the weather warmed up, I wore shorts and a tee shirt in the garden, showing a lot more of my figure. I suppose you will need to know what I looked like; it sort of makes the story a bit more real.

I'm five feet five, brunette, and beautiful. Well, that's the description Pat always uses, but the truth is I'm a size 14. My measurements are 36E 26 36, a lot too curvy to be classed as beautiful, but I must admit I do like my shape, and work hard to keep it in good condition.

Keeping fit is not difficult for me, as we have a gym in the attic and an indoor heated swimming pool at the bottom of the garden, so I am able to swim all year round.

Bill was getting braver with his looks and comments about my body, saying things like, "You shouldn't be exposing all that flesh to an old man; you might give him a heart attack!"

I took it all in good grace, thinking it was just an old man thinking of his younger days, but I must admit to liking some of his banter. I am, after all, a woman; we all like compliments even if they are a little too suggestive.

Then the day came when I had been swimming and walked back to the house to get showered and changed for some gardening. Bill had made an early start, and when he saw me in my bikini, his eyes nearly popped out of his head.

It was very brief, only covering the smallest parts of my body (another gift from my devoted husband). It was white and very thin, when wet it hid nothing at all; thank goodness it had dried enough to regain some of its density. I walked into the house. He had caused me to wonder if he was really just teasing me. With his banter, could he actually fancy me? Could he do anything about it at his age?

The thought of his eyes watching my every step as I came back from the pool stayed with me as I showered. My pussy felt sort of alive. In fact, I touched myself and finished up lying on my bed fingering my clitty till I climaxed, thinking about old Bill.

I put on a very small pair of shorts that only my Pat had seen me in before. No panties. I topped it off with a bikini top that only just covered my ample bust. What was I thinking?

Bill was cutting the grass, so I started on the flower beds that run round the lawn, kneeling on the ground to reach the weeds, knowing my bum would be sticking up for Bill's benefit, the tight shorts cutting into me as I reached as far as I could to weed the borders.

Yes, I was prick-teasing this old man, whatever had come over me? I don't behave this way normally; I'm quite reserved most of the time. But it was making me so hot—so much so I could feel the moistness between my legs.

The shorts were white, so if I was getting wet it would soon show through the thin material. Bill stopped the lawn mower right behind me. Cutting the engine, he said, "If you don't cover yourself up quickly, I will not be responsible for my actions." I pretended not to know what he was talking about, so he enlightened me. "I can see everything you have to offer a man, and you look as if you are about ready for some cock. The sight of your almost naked ass is too much. Now go and put something on to cover yourself or I'm going to do something that will get me the sack."

"Why would I want to sack you, Bill? You have helped me transform the garden, and I enjoy you coming here to help me," I said. He climbed off the mower and walked to my side. He touched my overheated pussy with the tips of his dirty fingers, pushing the material deeper into my cleft.

I just held my pose, not wanting to lose this moment of bliss, but knowing it was wrong to let this dirty old man finger me outside in the garden. He took my arm, helping me to my feet, and led me to the potting shed.

He pushed the door shut and turned to me, saying, "Get those things off, now." I simply obeyed him without any conscious thought as I stripped in front of a man almost old enough to be my grandfather.

Perhaps I ought to tell you, I have a very submissive nature, probably due to my dad being very dominant in my early life. My husband has not explored this part of my makeup, unfortunately.

This was so exciting, being told to strip, like I was just his servant, his slave! It turned me on with a vengeance. By the time I had removed my bare minimum of clothing, he had dropped his trousers, letting his cock stick out.

Any ideas I had about him being too old fled from my head. This was a big rampant old cock that was going to fuck me. Oh, I just hoped he was as good as he looked at this moment.

He picked me up by my waist and sat me on the bench, pushing me back so I was leaning against the side of the shed. My legs opened entirely without my bidding, thinking he was going to stick his cock into me, but no. He leaned forward till his face was almost in my crotch.

I could feel his hot breath on my neatly shaved pussy. Then he did something I had not experienced before. His tongue snaked out, flicking the tip of my clitty, sending shivers down my spine. What the hell was he going to do to me?

He pushed his tongue deeper into my sex, making me gasp for breath. Then, as he played with my clitty, I suddenly climaxed like never before. Only my fingers had ever done this to me, and not as often as they should.

It always felt somehow wrong to make myself come. Perhaps it's the Catholic school I attended as a girl teaching me the idea that sex for pleasure was a sin. But how could this be a sin? My body was shaking with pure unadulterated lust as this old man tongued my pussy, making me writhe in ecstasy.

He didn't stop when I climaxed as I thought he would; oh no, he just drove me higher and higher till I actually lost consciousness—another first for me. Never did I think a climax could be so big it would cause me to faint.

Yet, I did faint, and not just the once. His head buried in my crotch, his tongue working its magic on my pussy, I lapsed into a sort or suspended animation, if that's the right word for it.

I don't know how long he kept me in this wonderful state of sexual suspension, but it seemed like I had never been anywhere else. It was so good and so perfectly natural.

Eventually, he came up for air. He looked into my eyes and said, "You enjoyed that, didn't you?"

I replied with a breathy, "Yes, it was wonderful." He then told me to get down off the bench. I did as I was instructed. His cock stood out oh-so-much bigger than my Pat. It was thick and very red, inflamed looking, not very pretty.

Pat's cock is smooth and clean-looking with just a few veins standing out on the shaft, with his foreskin covering the knob. Bill's was nothing like that at all. It looked all knobbly and he had no foreskin, the bulbous end looking almost threatening, and twice as big.

Bill turned me to face the bench, bending me over like he was going to give me the slipper. It reminded me of the once I got caught trying to scale the school walls and the head mistress bent me over her desk and gave me six very hard stokes of her slipper.

Was Bill going to punish me? No, punishment was the last thing on his mind. He rubbed his big old cock up and down on my very wet and sensitive pussy, then, finding just the right angle, he pushed it up me in one huge thrust.

I know I screamed as it tore into me, spreading my sex wider than anything before, but it was the depth of the penetration that took my breath away. His hand found my mouth, holding it so I wouldn't alert the neighbours as he drove his huge cock into me time and time again.

If I thought the climaxes he had given me with his tongue were good, this was in another league. It seemed to start in my toes and rush through my body, sending waves of unbelievable pleasure through me till I again lost consciousness.

His big dirty hands gripped my hips as he powered that thing into me with so much energy, so much passion. He was like a machine, just plunging his cock into me over and over again.

After what felt like hours for me pinned to the bench, unable to move, he said, "Do you want it up you?"

Thinking he meant his cock, I said, "Oh, yes.."

He was talking about his sperm. It flooded me with several big spurts, then lots of much smaller ones, until he slipped out of me, leaving me hanging onto the bench to support myself.

My legs felt like rubber and were not able to hold my weight. It took me quite some time before I could push myself upright. Bill was standing there, his clothes back in some sort of order, as if he had just watched this, as if he hadn't been the randy old man who had just given me the fuck of my entire life.

I cleaned myself up as best I could and went indoors, straight to the shower. I stood under the running water wondering what the hell had happened. Was that sex? If so, I had been missing out. That was nothing like what I had been getting all my married life.

I know in books I read about sex being mind-blowing and so intense it made the girl swoon, but in reality it was just a quick fumble in bed, mostly leaving me frustrated, and sometimes going to the bathroom to finish myself off.

I touched my pussy; it was so sensitive, and so hot like a fire had burned inside me. I touched my clitty, but it was so tender I couldn't do anything other than hold it gently, never had I felt so alive, so damn sexy.

I simply couldn't face Bill again today, knowing I had caused what had happened today by my blatant exhibitionist behaviour, dressing to tease him the way I had. That made it all my fault.

I could hear the lawn mower going up and down the lawns till about three thirty, when he normally knocked off. I went out to make sure he had gone. I was a very mixed up lady, wanting him to still be there but not daring to face him.

He had gone home. The garden looked so neat. He had still done a good day's work even with the distraction I had caused. What about Thursday, when he would return? What was I going to say to him?

Pat came home as usual. Should I tell him of my infidelity? How would he take it? It might turn him on knowing his wife had been ravished by the old gardener, but it might end our marriage. So I decided to keep quiet.

I tried so hard to act natural all evening. He asked a couple of times if I was alright. He knew something was not normal, but he couldn't know his wife was a sexual wreck because she had teased the gardener and got just what she deserved.

We at last got to bed. He put his arm around me. Oh no, what if he wanted to make love? He would know his wife had been unfaithful! There is no way I could respond in the normal way with my pussy still on fire from old Bill's massive cock!

But he just kissed me and went to sleep, leaving me wondering what the hell I had done. Risking my marriage for a fling with an old man, a dirty old man to boot, what sort of fool was I?

Wednesday came as it always did, despite my fear of Thursday, knowing it was one day closer. How was I going to face my gardener when he had given me the biggest thrill of my life, even though it was illicit and forbidden since I am a married woman?

I worked in the garden for a few hours before going off to meet a friend for lunch. As we sat talking about our normally mundane lives, she asked if I had ever had an affair. I said no, my face colouring as I lied. She said she was thinking of letting someone else have sex with her because her husband wasn't interested any more and she needed to be loved.

We talked for hours till we both decided to be honest with one another. She admitted she had taken a sales man to bed, just a man who called at the door trying to sell something, and she wasn't fully dressed, as she was about to get in the shower. He eyed her up as her robe flapped slightly showing a lot of her very trim legs.

His comments and looks made her horny so she asked him in for a coffee, that being the oldest excuse in the world, and they finished up on the lounge carpet, having rather wild sex, complete with carpet burns on her knees and elbows.

When I asked her if she told her husband, she said, "Good God, no! He would go mad. That's something you need to keep to yourself." I told her about my fling with an old man but not who it was. I quite honestly was ashamed of myself for allowing this dirty old man to do what he had to my body, but knew I wanted it to happen again.

She, on the other hand, was fascinated. She wanted all the details. I told her enough but kept the really bad bits to myself. I pretended not to have encouraged him the way I had, and made it sound as if he did all the chasing.

Most of all, she wanted to know how big he was. I had said he was huge, but she wanted details. I indicated with my hands how long it was and she couldn't believe it. "No man is that big," she told me. She made me promise if it happened again I would find out just how big it was.

As I made that promise, I knew it would be tomorrow when I saw that monster again. However much guilt I felt at deceiving my husband, I needed the sensations he gave me at least once more, knowing how it had transported me to another plane. It was something I wanted to feel again.

It was another quiet evening at home with Pat. He was still aware of something not quite right and asked me several times if I was troubled about anything.

He had a stock of porn films that he liked to watch when I wasn't around. He thought I disapproved, but I'd watched every one several times because it got me hot and helped me to bring myself off, especially after a disastrous sex session in bed the night before.

I suggested he get out some of his films to watch, thinking it might take his mind off my strange mood. He said, "But you don't like me watching them when you are around."

"Well, perhaps it's time I broadened my mind," I replied.

He needed no further encouragement, and soon we sat watching the typical porn flick, a young nubile wife goes to a pub with her partner, an old man in the pub looks at her with lust, she gets hot and he suggests that they have sex. This one was a little different because the older man took her over the luggage boot of their car with hubby watching.

Pat was really getting off watching this film. "How would you like to be that girl?" he asked.

My very guarded reply was, "Why? Do you want me to have other men?"

He just smiled and said, "Yes, it would turn me on like hell to see you being screwed by an old man."

I acted just the way he expected me to, shocked and very indignant. "Why would you want me to be taken like a whore by some stranger?"

"I don't really know why, it's just that every time I watch one of these films, I imagine you being the woman." Then he shocked me. He continued, "I know I don't satisfy you because you have to go to the bathroom to give yourself a climax as soon as you think I'm asleep." He told me he had listened at the bathroom door as I panted into an orgasm, and then crept quietly back to bed and pretended to be asleep again.

It was still quite early, so I asked if he had another film on the same theme. He jumped up to get another film, leaving me sitting there with very muddled thoughts running through my mind.

The second film was a better plot, the young woman being the instigator and the husband just a voyeur, secretly hiding in the wardrobe. This was a little bit like my adventure. He was a big boy and made her cry out as he forced his huge cock up her.

She was kneeling on the bed while he stood behind her, his hands gripping her hips, very much like Bill had done. They were obviously positioned for the camera angle, and he finished by shooting his stuff all over her back.

Pat was looking excited as he watched the scene unfold; despite the fact that I knew he had this film for over a year, it still made him horny. I suggested we make love while watching it again. He looked shocked. I never ask for it—I usually leave it up to him to make the first move.

"Shall we go to bed then?" he asked.

"No," I replied, "Let's do it right here, in the living room."

He seemed very uncertain. He is very much an in-bed-with-the-lights-off type of man.

I undressed him as sexily as I knew how, paying special attention to his cock as I exposed it, even sucking it for a few seconds. He asked me what had come over me and why I was acting this way. I told him it was watching those films. "So it turned you on seeing an old man fuck a young girl then, did it?"

I just agreed with him, afraid to commit to something I didn't know about. He gave me the best fucking he has ever managed on our living room carpet. It was good. He, with a little help, made me come. He had never asked me to do anything other than missionary position before, but tonight he took me on my knees so I could reach my clitty and rub it as he fucked me.

He was amazed when I climaxed, making him come with me. I will risk repeating myself—it was the best sex we ever had. He seemed really pleased that we had done it in a different way and couldn't stop talking about it till we both drifted off into a very contented sleep.

At breakfast he asked me if I had given any thought to what he had suggested. I acted all innocent and pretended not to know what he was talking about. "You really got off thinking about another man having sex with you, didn't you?" he asked again.

What could I say? I thought for a minute and said, "Well, it was part of it, but you were so good last night I don't think I need another man to satisfy me."

"So you were turned on by thinking about strange men?"

"Well, it was a very nice evening, wasn't it?"

He smiled and said, "Perhaps we can talk about it this evening. I really want to see you with an older man."

As he pulled out of the drive, I realised this was Thursday, and Bill would be here again. How the hell could I pretend nothing had happened? He arrived and came to the kitchen door for his usual cup of coffee before he started work.

He was a perfect gentleman, and there was no awkwardness at all, just my own guilt showing in my face. He finished his coffee and said, "I thought I had better get the potting shed cleared out today, if that's alright with you." Did he have to mention that shed?

I wore a baggy jumper and a pair of old jeans, trying to hide my figure—too little, too late, I hear you say. But it was my only defence against myself; I needed to hide behind these very unflattering clothes.

I went into the shed to help him clear out all the old winter trash that got stored there every year. We worked side by side till lunch time, with not a word spoken about our actions on Tuesday.

I asked him if he wanted some lunch, and as usual he said, "Yes, please."

I prepared some sandwiches and took them out to Bill. He was sitting on an upturned box drinking one of his beers. He always arrived with three bottles of beer.

I put the food down on the bench and turned to him, saying, "Look, Bill, I know I shouldn't have done what I did on Tuesday. I hope you will forget it. Please."

Bill grinned and said, "If you mean I'll not mention it to a living soul, you have my word. But asking me to forget it is not possible. I have watched you bending in the garden all year and wanted to do that to you so many times." He looked up at me from his sitting position, and continued, "It was the best thing that has happened to me since my wife died four years ago. You don't know how much it meant to me to be able to make love to a beautiful young woman like you."

I felt sorry for the way I had treated this kind old man. I had virtually used him. What was I thinking? I reached out to him, taking his hand in mine. It looked so big and dirty against my small pale one. He smiled and said, "You mustn't feel bad about what happened, because whatever your intentions, you did me a huge favour. You made me feel like a man again."

We talked for ages just getting to know each other. Despite Bill working for us for over a year, it had been simply an employer -- employee relationship. Until Tuesday, that is. But what was our relationship now? I had no idea.

Bill started talking about his wife and how they made love at every opportunity, experimenting with every combination of sexual activity, but he referred to it as fucking. He told me how they had sex on a train going to London with other people in the same carriage. He said the best was on a day trip to France, the only time he or his wife had ever been out of this country, and he made love to her on the top of the Eiffel tower.

But what interested me most was his description of how they had sex; it seemed there are hundreds of ways to make love, and none of them were familiar to me. Until last night, I had only ever made love to my husband on my back, Bill being the one exception in my potting shed.

He asked me outright if I had enjoyed our fuck on Tuesday. I told him the truth; that it was the most exciting session I had ever experienced, and how I felt all night, but when he asked me if I wanted a repeat, I just went that very bright shade of pink. I didn't need to answer him. He got the message loud and clear. My blushes said it all for me.

He reached out and touched my nipple through the baggy old jumper. It made me jump. The electricity hit me like getting a shock from a faulty appliance. He smiled at my reaction, and said, "You want it bad, don't you, Chrissie?"

What could I say? I knew and he knew we were going to do it again. The old baggy clothes were just a feeble attempt to ward off the inevitable. This time I asked him to come indoors with me, where it was more private. He chuckled and said, "We never used to worry about being private. The more exposed the better."

I pointed out to him that it was his wife he was with then, not someone else's, and I went in. He followed a few minutes later just for the sake of the neighbours. As soon as he got in the kitchen he pulled me into his arms, his rough chin grazing my face as he snogged me as if we were teenagers.

His tongue found mine as he probed my mouth. Moments later, he asked, "Where shall we do it?"

I led him up the stairs to our bedroom. "Oh my Lord, this is posh," he said. I let him undress me, pulling my top over my head and my old jeans down. Then he unfastened my bra, letting my ample tits free. He looked at them for a few seconds, and then took one nipple in his mouth, sucking like a c***d.

But the feelings he was creating inside my body were nothing like c***dish. My tummy was turning somersaults. I let my head fall back as he made me moan with delight. His hands were busy pulling my panties down. When they reached my knees, I wriggled to make them fall to the floor. I wanted him to see me naked.

His teeth were gripping the tip of my nipple, causing me to moan and beg him to fuck me. He let go long enough to say, "Don't be impatient. You have a lot to learn," then he went straight back to my nipple. His hand was exploring my pussy, and with both the sensations coursing through my body, I almost lost control.

He finished stripping me, then carried me to the bed, laying me full length down the middle. He stood beside me just looking at my naked body, his eyes taking in every curve, every little indentation, and probably every imperfection as well.

I don't know what made me do it, but I spread my legs wide apart and lifted my arms over my head, in total submission to him. He gave that now familiar smile. He could have said, "Yes, I know you want me," but he didn't. He just looked at me displaying my naked body to him with delight in his eyes.

He soon removed his clothes and surprised me by hanging them over the arm of a chair. As he turned back towards me, his cock stood out in front of him. My friend's words came back to me. "Find out how big it really is." I wanted to ask him, but was too shy.

He climbed on the bed beside me. I thought he was going to use his tongue on me again, but no. He lay close to me, his hand resting on my tummy, with no attempt to do anything except enjoy the moment. His hand started to move very slowly, making sort of circles round my tummy, getting a little bit bigger each time till he was brushing my tits at the top and my pubic hair at the bottom.

Unfortunately, there are no words to describe the feeling I was experiencing. Lust doesn't fit, nor would ecstasy do it justice. There was a little fear in the feelings because he was exploring senses I didn't know I had. Yes; it was a mixture of all those things and more.

All of that was caused by his rough old hand stroking my tummy. He looked into my eyes and said, "Would you like to go down on me?" I honestly didn't know what he meant. I had some idea from watching the porn films, and I did give my husband a little suck last night as a special treat. He moved so his cock was pointing straight to my mouth.

To be perfectly honest, I wasn't keen on sucking this dirty old man's cock, but then I remembered what he had done to me only two days ago. I owed him big time. So, grasping his pole in my hand I opened my mouth as wide as I could, and found it was a tight fit, only just clearing my teeth as he pushed about three inches of his big old cock in.

My eyes were open, and I watched his face. He liked what I was doing to him. I looked down at his cock disappearing in my mouth, my hand gripping it to try to stop him from pushing in more than I could take. I noticed that my wrist was smaller than his cock; oh my God, how big was this thing?

Bill said, "If you kneel, you will find it easier," so I got up on my knees, moving between his legs, my head bending to take him back in my mouth. This was easier, but when he put his hands on the back of my head, entwining my long hair in his fingers, I thought he was going to choke me. Of course he didn't, he just gave me the encouragement I needed to take as much as possible of that big cock down my throat.

Bill was groaning like he was in pain but I knew different. He was giving vent to the feelings I was so proud to give him. I felt as if I was rewarding him for his efforts last time.

I hadn't been doing this for very long when he told me, "You better stop now or I will come." I thought, Well, he made me come with his mouth, so now it's my turn to do the same for him, so I carried on sucking and running my tongue round the big knob. Suddenly he cried out, "Oh my God, you've made me come!" as he spurted gallons of hot stuff in my mouth, giving me my first taste of man come.

I gagged as he filled my mouth so full I couldn't swallow it quick enough, but he held my head tight to his body till he had finished. I was gasping for air as he let me up. He pretended to be sorry for making me take it all, but from the twinkle in his eyes I knew he wasn't really sorry.

But as soon as his tongue touched my clitty, I forgave him. That was so small a price to pay for this. He was kneeling on the bed with me pulled up onto his knees, so my pussy was exposed to his lecherous old tongue, as he worked his magic on me again.

Please don't ask how many times he made me climax. It's not possible to count when you're having continuous orgasms, no let up between one and the next, just one huge orgasmic experience.

My belly really hurt from the constant contractions caused by the climaxes he was giving me, but between calling his name and telling him he was a randy old goat, I begged him to put it in me. I wanted to feel that wonderful moment when he stretched me wide open, made me gasp for breath.

He smiled up at me and said, "Are you ready for it yet?"

That teasing old bugger. I said, "Yes, please, please fuck me," the first time I had ever used that word. I always thought it was just crude, but it was exactly what I wanted, right now.

Again he surprised me. I thought he would have pushed it into me right where we were, but he lay on the bed beside me, saying, "Your turn to do the work today." I didn't know what he intended, but had a good idea.

"You will have to tell me what to do," I told him.

He guided me round till I was sitting astride his body, his big cock sticking up just in front of my tummy. He said, "Now lift yourself up and sit on that." I straightened my knees, lifting my body high above him but it still wasn't high enough; his cock was still nearly up to my belly button.

He pulled me up the bed so I was nearer his head, allowing the angle to take up the extra length of his huge cock. He reached between us, holding himself at the right angle; I sank down till it was just entering me, savouring that feeling of being stretched to the limit.

I never knew how much more penetration it gave when you're sitting on a man, your body bent to expose your pussy, pulling your buttocks tight, giving him the very best angle to give you the maximum amount of cock.

He didn't need any advantage. God had given him all he would ever need, which I found out as I lowered my body onto his cock. His hands were busy making my nipples so sensitive and responsive to his fingers as he gripped them and let them go, causing the blood to flow back quickly, sending very strange feelings into my pussy.

This old man had an awful lot to teach me, and I was a very keen learner. Any guilt I may have felt had disappeared with my inhibitions; I had become a sexy little slut. I felt as if his big cock owned me, body and soul.

The only thing in what little sense I had left was his cock and what it was doing to me, as I took more and more of his iron bar inside my oh-so-wanting and willing body. It reached the point where I thought it got last time, but there was still more to come. I couldn't feel the hair round his bits touching my bum so knew it was not all in.

I was a little afraid of how much more there was to come. Could I take any more? I really didn't know. This was as much as I had ever had, and as my traitorous body kept slipping lower and lower, my insides were quaking with fear and anticipation.

I had been slowly taking it inch by inch till at last I felt the tickle of his hairs on my bum. Thinking I was right down I relaxed, letting my body sink that last fraction. What a silly girl. You must think I'm really stupid. There was at least and inch or more left.

As it tore into me, it caused the biggest climax ever; yes, even bigger that the ones Bill had given me last time. It seemed as if the top of my head had blown right off. I gasped for air as it took me by storm, making every bit of my body shake with pure lust, like nothing I had ever felt before.

Cause and effect came to my mind—the more I climaxed, the deeper it seemed to penetrate my body. The deeper it went, the more I climaxed. Bill hadn't moved a muscle yet. This was entirely due to the size of his cock and what it was doing to my insides.

It kind of felt like it was rearranging my entire internal body to accommodate its huge dimensions. After a while, as I became accustomed to the size of it inside me, I tried to ride him, as he had indicated, but it was just too much.

As soon as I lifted up and sank back down, I climaxed again, making me helpless for another few minutes. I tried several times with the same result. It was great for me, but I thought it couldn't be very good for Bill.

I said, "I just can't keep going, Bill, it's just too big."

He lifted me up on his hands and started to fuck me from below. No matter what I had done in the past, nothing could have prepared me for this. It blew my mind completely. I remember shouting his name as he pumped that huge weapon into me, then I remember losing it completely.

I was only semi-conscious for the remainder of his fucking me; as soon as I regained my senses, he drove them out again. He lifted me higher so he could give me longer strokes, probably for his benefit more than mine, but the effect was the same—the longer strokes drove me to even greater pleasure.

Unable to stay upright, I had collapsed onto his chest as he continued to ram his cock into me; I think this gave him even better access to my poor overused little pussy. I was tiring of the constant orgasms and felt if he didn't come soon, I would have to ask him to let me rest.

He realised my state and stopped his urgent thrusting, letting me sit on his lap, if that's the right description for what I was sitting on! I recovered enough for him to start again but as soon as he did, my body betrayed me, plunging me into another series of the most intense orgasms.

He took me to places I had no idea existed, on another planet. Never had anything given me so much pleasure and also pain. My tummy muscles felt like I had bad cramp. I had to ask him to stop. He lifted me right off his cock in one strong movement. I had asked for it, but now that it was no longer there, I felt so empty.

Bill carefully laid me on the bed beside him, holding me tight like a father would his c***d. But we were naked, and no resemblances of father-c***d thoughts were in my head, and I doubt his were any different.

He held me till I recovered, asking me several times if I was alright. I think I might have frightened him a bit with my loosing consciousness so many times. He was quite concerned about me. I assured him I was okay, just completely knackered from the huge amount of climaxes he had given me.

Bill smiled down on me and said, "You shouldn't have made me come with your sexy mouth. I will last for ages now. We old men don't come very quickly the second time."

"I'm sorry, Bill, I didn't know," was my reply.

I held his cock in my hands, both of them only covering about half its length, and I couldn't close my fingers round the girth of it. I asked him just how big it was. He grinned and said, "Why don't you measure it?"

I reached into my bedside cabinet and found a tape measure. First I wrapped round the girth, which measured just over seven inches, and doing some very quick math, that's well over two inches thick. Then came the length. My God, no wonder it hurt! It was over ten inches long!

Pat is only about five, perhaps five and a half, and my hand closes comfortably round his cock. Bill was almost twice his size. I'm not sure I ought to be making these comparisons. I may find myself dissatisfied with my hubby if I'm not careful.

I played with Bill's big cock for a while till I felt ready it take it again. He asked, "Are you sure? We can call it a day if you've had enough."

I told him I was determined for him to come deep inside me again. I felt I owed him that at least.

He moved between my legs and gently parted my very inflamed lips with his fingers, putting just the knob into me, and then very slowly and gently pushed it in till his rough, hairy beer belly was pressing into mine.

I was still very full but not in any pain this way. He worked his hips, making me climax several times before he said, "Here it comes.."

And he was filling my pussy with his come. It felt like a river of fire as it filled me to overflowing, oozing out between his cock and the walls of my pussy. He had stretched me so wide that I wondered if I would ever get back my normal tight little pussy.

The thought flashed through my mind—what if it didn't? Pat wouldn't even touch the sides any more. Despite this fear, I sort of knew it would eventually go back to its normal size.

Bill kissed me on the mouth, his whiskers scratching my face. "Thank you, Chrissie. That was something else altogether. My wife would have been proud to meet you." He left me laying there totally knackered with a husband coming home soon who would expect some food to be prepared.

I showered and dressed, rushing down to make a start on dinner. The phone rang. It was Pat. He wanted to take me out for dinner, so I was saved again. We ate at our favourite restaurant and came home quite late. As we drove through the woods he pointed out a dogging site and asked if I wanted to give it a look. "Some other time, darling," I told him.

He didn't seem interested in sex that night, thank goodness. I couldn't even take his tiny cock, my pussy was so sore from the pounding Bill had given me this afternoon. A strange thought went through my mind. Bill and I would have to have sex in the mornings because it would give me the chance to recover if Pat wanted it at night.

As you can imagine, this is an ongoing saga, which hopefully will not end any time soon. Bill seems to be younger instead of older. Perhaps sex has given him a new lease of life, because he is getting it twice a week regularly.

My husband's idea of me going with a stranger has materialised. It started with that same dogging site he pointed out to me and grew from there.
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I would do anything; yes, anything to feel his cock inside my wet and very willing pussy.

We also shared long and leisurely sessions in my bedroom—no, it's not my bedroom, it's our bedroom. I share it with my wonderful husband, Pat. He has wanted me to share my body with a strange man, even suggested we go dogging, but I feel so exposed and quite honestly frightened at the thought of all the men there wanting to touch my body or wanting to take Pat's place between my legs.

But he has no idea that he is already sharing with that old rogue he hired as a gardener. I've wondered once or twice if he has suspicions, but I think it was my guilty conscience making me pick up on little things he said and did around me. But he would come out and say something if he thought I was doing it behind his back.

I think you will easily remember the size of Bill's big old monster, but just in case you didn't read the first story, I will remind you. It is over two inches thick and about ten inches long; bigger than I ever imagined a man could be. It made me its captive. I wanted it so much—whenever he was absent, I longed for his wonderful sex.

When he arrived in the mornings, I waited with bated breath until he came to the kitchen door for his cup of coffee. Coffee wasn't what I was waiting for. As soon as he stepped in the door, I wanted him so much; his dirty old clothes, his rough unshaven face, even his big beer belly all seemed so attractive to me, but it wasn't any of those that I needed. It was that monster lurking in his trousers I wanted.

To compare him to my husband is like trying to pass King Kong off as Brad Pitt; every thing about them was so opposite. Pat was tall, trim, athletic, and always smart even when he was relaxing at home, and so god damn handsome. Bill was short, fat, and never seemed to wash; in fact, he smelt of stale beer most of the time, probably because he always had a bottle with him and drank two, sometimes three, with his lunch.

He would sometimes take me over the breakfast bar without taking his trousers off. He would just bend me over and unzip himself, knowing I would be wet and very willing. The thought of him had me on heat for hours before he came to work. He was just so sure of himself, and of me wanting him.

He never asked me if I wanted to make love, or fuck, as he called it. I had been so well conditioned to his cock that he didn't need to ask; he knew how much I wanted that huge chunk of meat. I had become addicted to his cock, and he was well aware of the fact.

Please don't think I'm complaining, because it was exactly what I wanted from him. Neither of us were "in love", we just both needed sex and this was the perfect arrangement—mutual satisfaction, twice a week, every week. I even dreaded going away on holiday because it would mean not getting old Bill's cock for however long we were gone.

Perhaps this all sounds a bit like a good marriage, but there was a big difference. I was married to a wonderful man and I was being seriously unfaithful to him, but couldn't help myself, didn't want to help myself, I wanted my cake and to eat it; a recipe for disaster, you might think.

I knew the risks I was taking. It was becoming easier to hide my infidelity from my husband. I was becoming quite a good liar, but to his credit, he continued to improve, and we made love in several new and quite exciting ways. The better he became at loving me, the worse I felt about my deceit.

One morning, Bill arrived. He was looking more respectable than I had seen him for some time. He had obviously washed and shaved and even had a new jacket. Well, not brand new, just not as terrible as his usual one. He came into the kitchen, taking off his Wellingtons, and leaving them at the door. He seemed a little strange, not the usual self-assured Bill I knew so well.

He sat at my breakfast bar toying with his coffee, not looking at me in his usual predatory way, as if he could devour me any second. I was wearing just a thin robe, slipped on as I got up to see my husband off to work. Even he had patted my bum as he left for a day's hard work, telling me how sexy I looked first thing in the morning, but Bill was deliberately not noticing my blatant state of near nudity.

Not able to stand it any longer, I asked him what was wrong. He looked at me and said, "We've been fucking each other for a year today, and I wanted to do something special to remember that first time. I want you to come down to the potting shed dressed just like you are."

Now, you might remember we have a large garden. It's fairly private, but the potting shed is right at the bottom, and it's overlooked by several neighbours. Dare I walk down my garden in this filmy little scrap of lace? Was he testing my devotion to his big old cock? Well, if he was, he must have been pretty sure of my willingness to do as he asked, because I stood up. "What are we waiting for?"

He walked behind me, telling me the rising sun was shining through the material, exposing my curves to him. I thought, Yes, and anybody else who might be looking. What would my neighbours think of me leading my old gardener down my back garden with nothing but a sheer wrap covering my naked body?

It was with some relief that I opened the shed door and slipped inside, away from the prying eyes of the people in the houses on either side.

"Take that thing off. I want to see you naked," Bill said. I simply did as he asked. Did he tell me to take it off? Yes, I'm sure he ordered me to strip in front of him in my own potting shed, just as I'm quite sure he knew I would do it without question.

He knew how much I needed his love making. He walked round me as I stood there completely naked in the cold air of this unheated shed. The cold made my nipples stand out and my skin sprouted goose pimples. With Bill so clean and odour free, I could smell the musky scent rising from my pussy. It was such a giveaway.

It was a heady mixture of woman on heat and potting compost, blended with the aroma of the various chemicals found in potting sheds, but it wasn't unpleasant. In fact, it was quite the reverse; it made me want him more than ever, but he was making me wait. He had played this game before, but if I waited it would be so much more exciting when it came. Or should that be when I came?

Not that I had any choice. He was, as always, in charge. He told me to bend over the rough old bench, and I thought he was going to take me as he did that first time. But he didn't. He found two short pieces of rope and tied my hands to the wall of the shed. I had never noticed those hooks screwed into the woodwork before! I started to object, but he said, "Do you want me to gag you as well?"

Knowing him well enough now, I kept quiet and let him continue to bind me hand and foot, my legs spread wide and fixed firmly to the legs of the bench. I felt fear for the first time since I had been having this affair with Bill. What was he going to do that needed me tied up? He knew he could do anything he wanted to my body and I would willingly comply, anything so long as he put that monster inside me and fucked me hard.

Because I was tied face towards the wall, I couldn't see anything, could only hear him moving around behind me adding to my apprehension. I tried to twist my neck round to see but it was impossible. The fear was escalating into real terror, but I could still feel and smell my wantonness, the heady aroma of a turned-on woman.

He wouldn't hurt me, would he? But it didn't matter what I thought. It was he who was in control of me. There was nothing I could do about it. I had allowed myself to be led into this old shed and had not struggled when he tied me up. It was my fault if he did something terrible to me; quite frankly, I had asked for it. He was still rummaging around behind me. He must be looking for something, but what? He had the thing I wanted right there in his pants. He only had to pull them down and that was all I needed. It went quiet behind me. It was worse than the sounds of his fumbling, but I knew that whatever it was he was searching for had been found.

My mouth had gone dry despite the coffee I had shared with Bill only a few minutes ago, but that was in the relative safety of my home. This was a completely different situation. I had some vestige of control in my kitchen, but none while tied to the work bench in my potting shed with this rather lecherous old man standing behind me.

My traitorous pussy was throbbing in anticipation of his cock and how it would make me feel. Despite the abject fear in my brain, my pussy still wanted him so badly; in fact, the uncertainty of this situation only added to the sexual tension of my body, and yes, even the real fear made me want him more.

Bill said in a very stern voice, "Chrissie, you have been a very bad girl. You have been fucking me now for a whole year and you haven't told your husband about it. That's really bad, and you must be punished." With that, I felt a stinging in my bum that took my breath away.

God, what was he doing to me? Before I could gather my senses, another stinging slap landed on my bare and so exposed bum. This time the pain was actually worse, because it landed on the same spot. This was agony. Why was he doing this to me? After all the wonderful sex we had enjoyed together, he was punishing me like I had never experienced before.

Remembering that caning I got at school was like comparing a pin prick to a major trauma. I tried to cry out, but my mouth was so dry I could only make a sort of groaning sound. Again, that wicked pain seared my bum cheeks, but this time I felt something else, a strange feeling deep inside me, not unlike when Bill's big old cock rams up too hard.

Again and again, that swishing sound followed by another agonising sting in my bum. That feeling inside me grew with each stroke of whatever he was using to beat me with. It got so intense I couldn't stop it, good God, I was climaxing by being thrashed by this old man who actually worked for me. Never in my wildest dreams could I imagine being made to come by pain. This wasn't something I had ever contemplated, but it was a fantastic orgasm.

It was wracking my body as it grew bigger and bigger, different to anything I had experienced before. I thought Bill had taught me all there is to know about coming, but was this perhaps another lesson in my awakening. As I eventually came down to Earth, I felt his cock nudging against my pussy. It was running with my juices and he didn't have any trouble pushing it right in with one almost violent thrust, which made me come again. He gripped my hips in his big strong hands and pounded his cock into me without the slightest consideration for me at all.

He was using me for his own pleasure, his big beer gut rubbing against my inflamed buttocks with every stroke. It was hurting me both internally and externally, but I knew it would do me no good to complain, and would perhaps get me another beating with his weapon.

But the excitement soon overcame the pain and it felt so good to have his cock in me again, I could feel my peak coming quickly as he pounded that oversized hunk of man into me like it was his last chance. But why did he think that? He knew I would come to him at his merest whim. He knew as well as I that I was addicted to his big old cock.

My climax was the most intense I have ever had. It shook me to my toes, making my whole body tremble with passion. Was it the situation, or being tied up? Was it the fact I had no control at all, or was it that beating he had given me, making me come thorough pain? I couldn't think straight, I was lapsing in and out of consciousness as he drove me higher and higher.

My confused mind couldn't stay on one thought for more than a few seconds as he kept me on the peak of orgasm for I don't know how long, but it was just as long as he wanted. I was just the receptacle for his lust and he knew it as well as I did. I was nothing more than an available pussy for his pleasure.

After what seemed like hours to me, tied and helpless, he grunted and filled me with his hot stuff. He kept himself buried to the hilt inside me, just making those little movements he knows will trigger more response from my pussy, making it grip him and milk his hard old cock, sucking the last few drops from it.

At last he pulled out, letting his come flow down my legs, pooling at my feet on the rough wooden floor. He untied me and said, "You best get back indoors, young lady, or I might be tempted to do all that again." I didn't need telling twice, and grabbing my gown, I slipped it on and ran for my home.

If my neighbours had been looking, they would have seen most of my naked body because I didn't wait to tie the belt. I just ran, the gown flapping around my body, showing far more than was decent. I slammed the door, almost locking it, but my need to get into the shower was so strong that I ran up the stairs and turned the water on full. Stripping that wrap off, I stepped into the soothing flow of the shower.

Our shower is all mirrored and even through the steam I could see the welts across my bum, standing out bright red and so inflamed. It suddenly hit me that there was no way I could hide those marks from my husband. Was that why Bill had treated me so badly, to show Pat what he had done to me, making it impossible for me to hide my infidelity any longer? Was this his way of showing my husband he was fucking me?

How on Earth could I hide this red and so sore bum from him? He would be sure to ask what had happened. I tried to think of something I could tell him that might seem plausible, but there was nothing. It was so plain to see that I had been beaten with what looked like one of my own garden canes; the marks were thin and clearly defined, like red stripes across my entire buttocks.

I dried myself on a big soft towel, trying not to make my bum hurt any more than it already did. I gently put some soothing cream on, hoping it would relieve the stinging, but just smoothing it on made me think of that climax I had while he was caning me. Why had that happened? I could think of no sensible reason for pain causing me to cum.

But then, when I think about it, there is so much I didn't know, things that Bill had taught me over the past twelve months. I had only ever made love on my back with Pat on top until Bill came into my life. He had opened up a new and exciting world of sex that I might have gone through life never knowing, so perhaps this was just another lesson in my education, but not one I wanted to repeat.

Pain is something I am not good at, even the dentist frightens me almost to death, and because I have never been really ill, I suppose I haven't built up a pain threshold, but that changed this morning. I knew pain now. It was still making it impossible for me to sit down. What had that terrible old man done to me, and why?

I could hear my lawn mower chugging up and down the lawn, reminding me that it was getting nearer to lunch lime. He would expect me to prepare him a sandwich and take it out to him, or he may come to the kitchen as he had been doing for the past few months. How could I face him? I seriously thought about locking the door and leaving him to his own devices, the horrible old man.

In fact, that is what I did. I put on a pair of loose light slacks, went downstairs, and locked the back door. I closed the curtains, shutting him and his cane out of my life as best I could, but he was with me—my bum attested to that. I tried to sit in an arm chair, a very soft one, but even that caused my bum to sting more. What was I going to do when my husband came home? How the hell was I going to explain this?

Opening a bottle of wine, I took a large swig, hoping it would take my mind off both my bum and my more important issue of what to tell Pat. I busied myself around the house, thinking, if I was unfaithful at least I could be a good wife in every other way. The second glass of wine seemed to help, and my mind made and rejected plans to hide my backside from my husband.

I thought about going to bed and telling him I had a bad headache, but I never had headaches. I'm not the kind of woman who can fake a pain to persuade her husband to leave her alone; it's just not me. But what was me? Who had I become this last year? To be honest, I didn't know this woman who was trying to find a way to prevent her man from finding out how she had been so unfaithful over the last few months. She was a stranger to me.

I could hear Bill knocking on the back door, wanting his cup of coffee. Well, he wasn't getting it from me, not today. He could go thirsty for all I cared; the thrashing he had given me was bad enough, but the worst thing was that it showed so plainly and I couldn't hide it from my man. I had to risk my marriage and possibly the love of my life, all because Bill had done this terrible thing to me.

What a thankless old man he was. I had given myself to him so freely and willingly, and this was the way he repaid me. I would never speak to him again except to give him his marching orders, if I still had a home and garden to care for after this. At that moment, I hated him with all my being.

As I was getting the evening meal prepared, the phone rang. It was Pat. He had been delayed at the office and had to go to a job several miles away, so he wouldn't be coming home tonight, but would see me tomorrow. I almost said, "Thank God for that." What a wicked thought for a wife to have. He was so apologetic, making me feel worse than I already did. Another day might just give me the chance to hide those welts from his eyes.

We talked for a while before he hung up. His voice sounded sort of strange, but he said nothing out of the way, so I supposed it was his disappointment of not coming home tonight. He hated hotels and avoided them as much as possible, but with the business growing, he spent two or three nights a month away from home. He was gradually taking over from Dad, who wasn't getting any younger.

I decided to take a long hot bath, hoping it would help my bum, which was still so sore and so hot. Lying in the hot water with the wonderful foam floating around my flesh is something I adore. The bursting bubbles tickled my nipples and my hand seemed to stray down to my pussy. How stupid can I get? Hadn't my pussy got me into enough trouble already? Did I really need to play with myself again, just making me want that big old cock?

I vowed I would never let him near me again. If Pat forgave me, I would be so faithful to him. I should never have allowed myself to be led off the path of honesty. If I lost Pat it would finish me. I think I might have considered ending my life, because it wouldn't just be Pat. My parents would disown me too, because Pat was the son they always hoped for. They loved him as much as they did me, their own daughter.

I went to bed early because at least I could lie on my side, easing the pressure on my bum. The phone rang about ten. It was Pat telling me he had finished his business and was going for a drink, and then to bed. I asked him to call again when he was back in his hotel and talk to me. We often talked dirty on the phone late at night when he had to stay away.

I lay there in our bed, wondering if I would ever sleep in this bed again. Would Pat throw me out? He had every reason to. I tossed and turned, wanting to tell him, but so afraid of the consequences, knowing I wasn't going to get any sleep this night, wishing Pat was here. At least I could tell him and get it over with. The agony of not knowing how this was going to end was worse than the pain in my bum. At last the phone rang again.

His voice, slightly blurred by drink, came soothingly down the line, telling me how much he loved me and how he missed me not being in bed with him. He started to get sexy, telling me to touch myself, let my fingers roam, guiding them with his passionate voice over the phone. It was, as always, very erotic, and it was masking the guilt I felt. He teased me, making me come several times before he said goodnight, promising me something special when he got home.

As the line went dead, I thought, Yes, I too have something special for you when you get home, but I don't think you are going to like it, and it might be the last time you talk me into climaxing ever again. I couldn't help the tears as they flowed down my cheeks. How could I have been so stupid, so careless with my love, so greedy for sex that it blinded me to the real value of what I had? But regrets are not going to help, not now.

I might have slept for an hour or so before the dawn was breaking. I felt wretched and unworthy of the love of my man. I had betrayed our marriage. But hang on, wasn't it Pat who was always urging me to have sex with some other man? Wasn't it Pat who wanted to take me dogging? Perhaps this might be salvageable after all. He might just forgive me if I told him all the details of my affair with Bill. It was a hope, and slim as it may be, I clung to it like a life raft in my sea of misery.

Pat phoned before he left for another meeting, telling me how much he missed me and he would be home as soon as possible. What had I done? This man loved me so much and I had betrayed him. I was every kind of fool imaginable, risking all this for a quick fuck with a dirty old gardener who had beaten me with a garden cane.

I had another long soak in the bath, hoping it would fade the red welts across my bum, but looking in the mirror tiles of the bathroom, I was shocked to see my ass criss crossed with bright a bright red pattern of very sore marks and no sign of diminishing. In fact, they looked worse this morning than they did last night. How could I face my man looking like this? There was no hiding place. I was in trouble.

Later that morning I went down to the potting shed, visiting the scene of the crime. The cane he had used laid on the bench, looking so innocent, just like any number of garden canes, just an inanimate object; only when in old Bill's hands did it become my waterloo.

I sat in the lounge, wondering how on Earth I could explain this to Pat in such a way that he could find some way to forgive me. Nothing came to mind, only that faint hope that his encouragement for me to have sex with other men was real and not just a male fantasy. Dare I hope for this? I had no other choice.

The phone rang, bringing me out of my tormented thoughts. It was my best friend. She was about to have her first baby, and things weren't going very well for her. She wanted me to go round for a bit of moral support. I agreed, getting out of the house and thinking of someone else made it seem a little better. When I arrived, things were really bad. She had gone into labour, and needed to go straight to hospital.

Her husband had walked out on her only a few weeks before, so she was alone. Her parents lived somewhere up in the highlands of Scotland and couldn't get there for hours. I agreed to stay as long as she needed me and phoned Pat on his mobile to bring him up to date.

Getting her into my car and off to the local hospital, waiting around for tests, and sitting on hard chairs soon brought back