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I still find it hard to believe that I could find
myself in the situation that I'm in. A month ago I was
a happily married fifty-two-year-old mother and
grandmother who doted on her husband and family and
would never in a million years imagine doing anything
to put their happiness at risk. Today I am an
unfaithful wife who has fallen under the spell of a man
young enough to be my grandson who revels in making a
cuckold of my unsuspecting husband.
It all started about a month ago, when my husband,
Arnold, and I had been celebrating our thirtieth
wedding anniversary with a fortnight at the country
hotel where we had spent our honeymoon. It was quiet
and isolated with splendid views and we tended to visit
every few years, so the owners, Jeff and Mary, had
become our friends as well as our hosts.
Sometimes they'd even drop in when they visited the
city and our k**s had come to regard theirs as extended
family. Now, of course, they'd all left home except
Jeff and Mary's youngest son Tom, who we'd watched grow
from an adventurous toddler into a strapping s*******n-
year-old with a cheeky smile and a quick wit.
Tom often had us in stitches over dinner with his plays
on words, and I occasionally caught him staring at me
in such a way that I wondered for a moment if his
double entendres were meant for me. These were fleeting
thoughts, however, because Tom was always good mannered
to a fault. He was respectful and called me Mrs. Hill,
and I never for a moment imagined such a good-looking
young man would take a fancy to me.
After all, I was practically his great aunt as well as
being almost three times his age. Not that I'm a crone
– far from it. Nature has allowed me to age gracefully
so that my full body in still more buxom than matronly,
but my clothing never advertises the fact. My hair is
its natural silver, worn in what they used to call a
pageboy style, and in some ways you could almost call
me prim and proper. I've got generous curves in all the
right places, but I'm no sultry sex siren.
Anyway, after a lovely visit, the time came for Arnold
and I to say farewell, and Jeff and Mary asked if we'd
mind giving young Tom a lift to the city, where he
planned to buy a new car. We readily agreed and, after
a bit of shuffling gear around, cleared a space for him
in the back seat and we set off on the long drive home.
Unlike the previous fortnight it was a miserable
afternoon, and almost as soon as we pulled out of the
farm gate we were hit by heavy rain. The downpour got
heavier and heavier and we were barely crawling along
when Arnold lost control in the wet and slid off the
road into a ditch. He and Tom tried every trick they
knew to get us free, but finally, soaked and muddy,
they had to admit defeat and climbed back into the car.
It was getting dark by now, with no sign of an end to
the storm.
"Looks like we're here for the night," said Arnold
testily. My husband is a big easy-going man of fifty-
five, but the idea of spending a cramped night soaked
to the skin in a fully-laden small sedan was trying his
patience.
Tom, who knew the area well, came to our rescue.
"Don't worry, Mr. Hill," he grinned, pointing into the
gloom. "There's a shepherd's hut up just the track.
I've never been there, but if it's anything like the
huts on our property it'll be nice and dry, with bunks
and blankets. We could stay there until sun-up, then go
for help."
Now that the teenager had pointed it out we could see
the hut silhouetted against the darkness only a few
hundred feet from the road. It seemed the only smart
option, so we grabbed a small tarpaulin for shelter and
dashed across the wet field together. To my surprise
the door was unlocked, but Tom said that was normal
because the huts were used by different people at
different times, often as emergency shelters.
Inside the hut was indeed snug and weather tight. There
was a pot-bellied woodstove in one corner and a
hurricane lamp on a ledge, which Tom lit to shine its
light not on bunk beds but on a huge old king-sized bed
that took up almost half the floor space.
"Oh no," he said. "Looks like I'm sleeping in the car
after all." He had to raise his voice above the sound
of the rain, which was now coming down in solid sheets.
"Not at all," said Arnold, without asking my opinion.
"The bed's big enough for three."
"But won't Mrs. Hill mind?" asked Tom.
"It's alright, Tom," I told him. "Arnold can sleep in
the middle, if you're uncomfortable. Only a sadist
would make you go back outside in this weather."
Tom still looked doubtful. "If you're both sure," he
said – and we assured him we were.
By the light of the hurricane lamp we lit the stove and
I whipped up a meal of beans and coffee from the hut's
scant supplies. Then we hung our drenched clothes near
the stove to dry and crawled into the huge bed – first
Tom, in his T-shirt and jocks, then Arnold in his baggy
underwear, and, last of all, me, wearing only my slip.
The drumming of the rain soon lulled me to sleep until
I woke in the middle of the night to find Arnold, who
like many men his age has a weak bladder, clambering
over me to go to the small chemical toilet tucked
outside under the tiny porch. When he came back he
simply crawled in next to me, putting me in the middle
of the bed. I was conscious of Tom lying beside me but
I was too tired to be concerned about protocol, so I
spooned against Arnold's back and dropped off again.
A few minutes later I was wide awake, acutely aware of
Tom's young body spooned against my back in the same
way I was spooned against Arnold. Tom's right hand was
resting on my hip and I could feel his warm breath on
the back of my neck. He seemed to be asleep, so I
gently removed his hand, but he replaced it in such a
genuine sleepy way that I decided it was an
unintentional and u*********s movement on his part and
let it lie.
I awoke again to find Tom still apparently asleep but
his hand now moving gently over my body outside my
slip, softly stroking me from shoulder to thigh without
actually touching any of my intimate places. It was all
very bizarre and dreamlike and I was a loss as to what
to do as the teenager's hand caressed my body. What Tom
was doing was appalling, unforgivable, but if I made a
fuss the result could be much worse. Despite his
affability, Arnold would not take Tom's liberties lying
down, even if I was.
My husband would be shocked to the core, just like I
was, and chances are he'd try to give the impudent
youngster a thrashing, which at Arnold's age could only
end in him either being beaten or having some sort of
seizure. I listened to Arnold's peaceful snoring, and
decided not to react in any way to Tom's caresses. I
told myself that it was no real harm in it – and he was
only a boy after all. He wasn't touching my breasts,
bum or pussy, so why overreact? It was as if I was
mesmerised by the youngster's touch as I lay there in
the darkened hut next to my husband being felt up by
this chit of a lad. It was like some surreal dream –
serene and sensual.
Then Tom's hand moved teasingly up my body to cup my
right breast, squeezing just a little but avoiding the
sensitive nipple. I must have jumped slightly because
Arnold stopped snoring and grumbled something under his
breath. At this, Tom's hand stopped as well and, still
pretending to be asleep, I put my hand on top of it to
stay its progress. But when Arnold started snoring
again, the teenager was on the move once more, this
time making no pretence about being asleep.
I strained to control his fingers without rousing
Arnold as they moved unerringly down my stomach. I also
became acutely aware of Tom's hard young cock pressed
into my bottom. The hand moved ever lower, its
destination now clear, and I thought: "No way, you
little bastard" and slung my leg over Arnold to deny
Tom access to my most intimate part. But the cocky
bugger simply eased his hand behind me and approached
his target from the rear. I bit my lip in horror as he
stroked down my bottom, lifted my slip and cupped my
pussy through my panties.
This new invasion definitely made me jump and I was
about to say something and finally expose Tom to Arnold
when my husband suddenly swore and rolled out of bed.
"Bugger all this tossing and turning," he grumbled.
"The rain's stopped now. I'm going to sleep in the
bloody car."
As he spoke, one of Tom's fingers slipped under the
elastic of my panties and touched me where only Arnold
had touched me before. The youth's bold arrogance took
my breath away, and before I could gather my thoughts
and react to my husband's announcement, Arnold had
grabbed a blanket and stomped out of the door.
Now that I was free to tell Tom what I thought of him,
I didn't hesitate. I rounded on him angrily.
"Now look here, you young..." was all I got out before
his mouth fixed on mine in a kiss far more refined and
skilful than I expected from one so young. At the same
time, before I knew what was happening, he deftly moved
above me, and in one smooth motion opened my legs with
his knee and slipped his hard young cock into my pussy.
There was no fumbling, no hesitation. Tom made me into
an unfaithful wife almost before I was aware of it. For
the first time I realised how wet I had become during
his clandestine caresses, but nevertheless I pushed at
his chest and moaned a protest into his mouth, as he
began moving his cock in and out of me - slowly at
first, then faster and deeper – never giving me a
chance to voice my objections. And with every deep
stroke I was less inclined to object.
He was gentle yet firm, touching me teasingly as he
probed my married pussy until my body remembered it was
female first and foremost and started, despite myself,
to respond to him. As if observing from a distance I
watched my hands stop pushing at his smooth chest to
slide up his neck and tangle their fingers in his curly
hair.
I felt my legs rise from the bed and wrap themselves
around his powerful young thighs as he let loose his
teenage potency and pummeled into me. I heard my voice
mewing, purring, gurgling in ecstasy and whispering
sweet nothings as I shuddered to my first orgasm. Now
there was no turning back. I felt guilty and dirty yet
wonderful all at the same time as my teenage lover
drove me to orgasm after orgasm in the early morning
light.
Finally came the sound of Arnold returning and Tom
quickly bounded out of bed, dragged on his damp clothes
and greeted the man he had just made a cuckold with a
cheery offer of a cup of coffee. My pussy soaked and
sore, I faked sleep while my lover passed the time of
day with my oblivious husband.
Tom's audacity was stunning. He even rubbed his crutch
and winked at me when he caught me watching through
lowered eyelids. I blushed with shame, telling myself
that it was only circumstances that had led to my
unfaithfulness and that it was now over once and for
all. I could hardly contain my relief when the tow
truck got us back on the road and we dropped Tom off at
his hotel.
"That's a good lad, that is," said my husband as we
watched Tom walk away. "Jeff says he's got a bit of a
reputation with the girls – but I reckon its bull. He's
too well mannered. That's all thanks to being brought
up by two maiden aunts, I expect."
I suspected Tom's aunts had been far from maidens,
which would explain his skills as a lover at such an
early age, but I didn't bother to answer Arnold,
determined to put Tom and the events in the shepherd's
hut far behind me.
Which is what I did until one morning a few weeks
later. I had just washed up the breakfast dishes and
was in the hallway dressed in my housecoat and talking
to Arnold on the phone when the doorbell rang. I opened
the door to find Tom on the stoop wearing a big smile.
"Who is it?" asked my husband as Tom pushed me against
the hallway wall and clamped his mouth on mine,
slipping his hands under my housecoat as he did.
Somehow I pulled away from the kiss.
"It's young Tom," I replied breathlessly, trying to
fight the randy teenager off with one hand and talk
into the phone at the same time. Tom had moved behind
me, bringing his hands up to massage my heavy breasts
and kissing my neck. With my husband listening to every
sound I was once again in a position where to cause a
fuss would court disaster.
"I expect he wants a bit of home comfort," my husband
said as the teenager let his hands wander over my body.
I fought not to cry out in outrage and surprise. "It
must be hard on him in the big city."
Tom, his tongue in my other ear, heard this and took
the phone from my shock-numbed grasp. "It sure is hard,
Mr. Hill," he told Arnold in his innocent farm boy
voice, taking my unresisting hand and placing it on the
rigid ridge in his jeans. "I just needed somewhere to
come for a bit of solace."
"Well you make yourself right at home," I heard my
husband say as, under Tom's guiding hand I began to
stroke the young man's hard on. "Ask Mrs. Hill if
there's anything you need."
"Don't worry, I will," grinned Tom, sliding my
housecoat off my shoulders so that I stood naked in
front of him. "Your wife is the kind of wife I'd like
to have some day, Mr. Hill."
"A nice lad like you will find a good wife sooner than
you think," Arnold said, as Tom's fingers played with
my erect nipples and I fumbled with his fly.
"I think you might be right, Mr. Hill," he said. "In
fact I've got my eye on a wife right now."
I heard my husband laugh down the line. "Then you'd
better strike while the irons hot, lad, or someone else
will beat you to it. Can you put my wife back on?"
The teenager shrugged and handed the phone to me,
leaving both his hands free to play with me while I
struggled to keep my breathing even.
"Yes?" I asked my husband querulously, watching Tom
fall to his knees and take one of my hard nipples into
his mouth.
"I could be home late tonight, so don't expect me for
dinner," Arnold said as Tom kissed my belly and started
licking even lower. "But make sure you feed Tom well.
He's a growing lad so he's bound to have a big
appetite."
You've no idea, I thought as I hung up and Tom's tongue
began lapping at my tingling clitoris. Nobody, not even
Arnold, had done this to me before and, stupefied by
Tom's blatant display of wanton lust, I lay back on the
hallway mat and opened myself to the horny young man,
moaning and writhing on the floor as he gobbled my
pussy. When he'd finished he pulled me to my feet and
upstairs to the main bedroom where he bent me over the
bottom of the bed and took me from behind as I gazed
with lust-dazed eyes at wedding photos of Arnold and I,
howling my joy as I was impaled on the boy's big tool.
Tom stayed with me all day and I never got to stand up
again, let alone put my housecoat back on. In those
long ecstatic hours being shafted in my marital bed of
thirty years I forgot Arnold and our c***dren and the
fact that my lover was young enough to be my grandson.
I was exhausted and totally satisfied by the time he
was ready to leave, but before he left he made one more
call to Arnold, who was working alone after hours at
his office.
"Hi, Mr. Hill, I just phoned to say sorry that I missed
you and I hope to see you next time I drop in," my
teenage lover told my husband. "If not, I'll just have
to make do with Mrs. Hill's company again."
"Anytime, Tom," said my cuckold husband jovially. "Just
pop in and my wife will be only too pleased to help
out."
"Don't worry, I will," Tom told my husband – and he
has, every day for the past fortnight. Almost as soon
as Arnold's out of the front door Tom is in the back
and into my pussy. I happily obey his orders to chat to
Arnold on the phone while he feels me up or worse. It
feels so naughty, so risky, so exciting.
I'm not a fool. I know that a young stud like Tom will
soon move on to greener and younger pastures. But until
that day I'll gladly play his middle-aged whore for as
long as he wants me to.
myself in the situation that I'm in. A month ago I was
a happily married fifty-two-year-old mother and
grandmother who doted on her husband and family and
would never in a million years imagine doing anything
to put their happiness at risk. Today I am an
unfaithful wife who has fallen under the spell of a man
young enough to be my grandson who revels in making a
cuckold of my unsuspecting husband.
It all started about a month ago, when my husband,
Arnold, and I had been celebrating our thirtieth
wedding anniversary with a fortnight at the country
hotel where we had spent our honeymoon. It was quiet
and isolated with splendid views and we tended to visit
every few years, so the owners, Jeff and Mary, had
become our friends as well as our hosts.
Sometimes they'd even drop in when they visited the
city and our k**s had come to regard theirs as extended
family. Now, of course, they'd all left home except
Jeff and Mary's youngest son Tom, who we'd watched grow
from an adventurous toddler into a strapping s*******n-
year-old with a cheeky smile and a quick wit.
Tom often had us in stitches over dinner with his plays
on words, and I occasionally caught him staring at me
in such a way that I wondered for a moment if his
double entendres were meant for me. These were fleeting
thoughts, however, because Tom was always good mannered
to a fault. He was respectful and called me Mrs. Hill,
and I never for a moment imagined such a good-looking
young man would take a fancy to me.
After all, I was practically his great aunt as well as
being almost three times his age. Not that I'm a crone
– far from it. Nature has allowed me to age gracefully
so that my full body in still more buxom than matronly,
but my clothing never advertises the fact. My hair is
its natural silver, worn in what they used to call a
pageboy style, and in some ways you could almost call
me prim and proper. I've got generous curves in all the
right places, but I'm no sultry sex siren.
Anyway, after a lovely visit, the time came for Arnold
and I to say farewell, and Jeff and Mary asked if we'd
mind giving young Tom a lift to the city, where he
planned to buy a new car. We readily agreed and, after
a bit of shuffling gear around, cleared a space for him
in the back seat and we set off on the long drive home.
Unlike the previous fortnight it was a miserable
afternoon, and almost as soon as we pulled out of the
farm gate we were hit by heavy rain. The downpour got
heavier and heavier and we were barely crawling along
when Arnold lost control in the wet and slid off the
road into a ditch. He and Tom tried every trick they
knew to get us free, but finally, soaked and muddy,
they had to admit defeat and climbed back into the car.
It was getting dark by now, with no sign of an end to
the storm.
"Looks like we're here for the night," said Arnold
testily. My husband is a big easy-going man of fifty-
five, but the idea of spending a cramped night soaked
to the skin in a fully-laden small sedan was trying his
patience.
Tom, who knew the area well, came to our rescue.
"Don't worry, Mr. Hill," he grinned, pointing into the
gloom. "There's a shepherd's hut up just the track.
I've never been there, but if it's anything like the
huts on our property it'll be nice and dry, with bunks
and blankets. We could stay there until sun-up, then go
for help."
Now that the teenager had pointed it out we could see
the hut silhouetted against the darkness only a few
hundred feet from the road. It seemed the only smart
option, so we grabbed a small tarpaulin for shelter and
dashed across the wet field together. To my surprise
the door was unlocked, but Tom said that was normal
because the huts were used by different people at
different times, often as emergency shelters.
Inside the hut was indeed snug and weather tight. There
was a pot-bellied woodstove in one corner and a
hurricane lamp on a ledge, which Tom lit to shine its
light not on bunk beds but on a huge old king-sized bed
that took up almost half the floor space.
"Oh no," he said. "Looks like I'm sleeping in the car
after all." He had to raise his voice above the sound
of the rain, which was now coming down in solid sheets.
"Not at all," said Arnold, without asking my opinion.
"The bed's big enough for three."
"But won't Mrs. Hill mind?" asked Tom.
"It's alright, Tom," I told him. "Arnold can sleep in
the middle, if you're uncomfortable. Only a sadist
would make you go back outside in this weather."
Tom still looked doubtful. "If you're both sure," he
said – and we assured him we were.
By the light of the hurricane lamp we lit the stove and
I whipped up a meal of beans and coffee from the hut's
scant supplies. Then we hung our drenched clothes near
the stove to dry and crawled into the huge bed – first
Tom, in his T-shirt and jocks, then Arnold in his baggy
underwear, and, last of all, me, wearing only my slip.
The drumming of the rain soon lulled me to sleep until
I woke in the middle of the night to find Arnold, who
like many men his age has a weak bladder, clambering
over me to go to the small chemical toilet tucked
outside under the tiny porch. When he came back he
simply crawled in next to me, putting me in the middle
of the bed. I was conscious of Tom lying beside me but
I was too tired to be concerned about protocol, so I
spooned against Arnold's back and dropped off again.
A few minutes later I was wide awake, acutely aware of
Tom's young body spooned against my back in the same
way I was spooned against Arnold. Tom's right hand was
resting on my hip and I could feel his warm breath on
the back of my neck. He seemed to be asleep, so I
gently removed his hand, but he replaced it in such a
genuine sleepy way that I decided it was an
unintentional and u*********s movement on his part and
let it lie.
I awoke again to find Tom still apparently asleep but
his hand now moving gently over my body outside my
slip, softly stroking me from shoulder to thigh without
actually touching any of my intimate places. It was all
very bizarre and dreamlike and I was a loss as to what
to do as the teenager's hand caressed my body. What Tom
was doing was appalling, unforgivable, but if I made a
fuss the result could be much worse. Despite his
affability, Arnold would not take Tom's liberties lying
down, even if I was.
My husband would be shocked to the core, just like I
was, and chances are he'd try to give the impudent
youngster a thrashing, which at Arnold's age could only
end in him either being beaten or having some sort of
seizure. I listened to Arnold's peaceful snoring, and
decided not to react in any way to Tom's caresses. I
told myself that it was no real harm in it – and he was
only a boy after all. He wasn't touching my breasts,
bum or pussy, so why overreact? It was as if I was
mesmerised by the youngster's touch as I lay there in
the darkened hut next to my husband being felt up by
this chit of a lad. It was like some surreal dream –
serene and sensual.
Then Tom's hand moved teasingly up my body to cup my
right breast, squeezing just a little but avoiding the
sensitive nipple. I must have jumped slightly because
Arnold stopped snoring and grumbled something under his
breath. At this, Tom's hand stopped as well and, still
pretending to be asleep, I put my hand on top of it to
stay its progress. But when Arnold started snoring
again, the teenager was on the move once more, this
time making no pretence about being asleep.
I strained to control his fingers without rousing
Arnold as they moved unerringly down my stomach. I also
became acutely aware of Tom's hard young cock pressed
into my bottom. The hand moved ever lower, its
destination now clear, and I thought: "No way, you
little bastard" and slung my leg over Arnold to deny
Tom access to my most intimate part. But the cocky
bugger simply eased his hand behind me and approached
his target from the rear. I bit my lip in horror as he
stroked down my bottom, lifted my slip and cupped my
pussy through my panties.
This new invasion definitely made me jump and I was
about to say something and finally expose Tom to Arnold
when my husband suddenly swore and rolled out of bed.
"Bugger all this tossing and turning," he grumbled.
"The rain's stopped now. I'm going to sleep in the
bloody car."
As he spoke, one of Tom's fingers slipped under the
elastic of my panties and touched me where only Arnold
had touched me before. The youth's bold arrogance took
my breath away, and before I could gather my thoughts
and react to my husband's announcement, Arnold had
grabbed a blanket and stomped out of the door.
Now that I was free to tell Tom what I thought of him,
I didn't hesitate. I rounded on him angrily.
"Now look here, you young..." was all I got out before
his mouth fixed on mine in a kiss far more refined and
skilful than I expected from one so young. At the same
time, before I knew what was happening, he deftly moved
above me, and in one smooth motion opened my legs with
his knee and slipped his hard young cock into my pussy.
There was no fumbling, no hesitation. Tom made me into
an unfaithful wife almost before I was aware of it. For
the first time I realised how wet I had become during
his clandestine caresses, but nevertheless I pushed at
his chest and moaned a protest into his mouth, as he
began moving his cock in and out of me - slowly at
first, then faster and deeper – never giving me a
chance to voice my objections. And with every deep
stroke I was less inclined to object.
He was gentle yet firm, touching me teasingly as he
probed my married pussy until my body remembered it was
female first and foremost and started, despite myself,
to respond to him. As if observing from a distance I
watched my hands stop pushing at his smooth chest to
slide up his neck and tangle their fingers in his curly
hair.
I felt my legs rise from the bed and wrap themselves
around his powerful young thighs as he let loose his
teenage potency and pummeled into me. I heard my voice
mewing, purring, gurgling in ecstasy and whispering
sweet nothings as I shuddered to my first orgasm. Now
there was no turning back. I felt guilty and dirty yet
wonderful all at the same time as my teenage lover
drove me to orgasm after orgasm in the early morning
light.
Finally came the sound of Arnold returning and Tom
quickly bounded out of bed, dragged on his damp clothes
and greeted the man he had just made a cuckold with a
cheery offer of a cup of coffee. My pussy soaked and
sore, I faked sleep while my lover passed the time of
day with my oblivious husband.
Tom's audacity was stunning. He even rubbed his crutch
and winked at me when he caught me watching through
lowered eyelids. I blushed with shame, telling myself
that it was only circumstances that had led to my
unfaithfulness and that it was now over once and for
all. I could hardly contain my relief when the tow
truck got us back on the road and we dropped Tom off at
his hotel.
"That's a good lad, that is," said my husband as we
watched Tom walk away. "Jeff says he's got a bit of a
reputation with the girls – but I reckon its bull. He's
too well mannered. That's all thanks to being brought
up by two maiden aunts, I expect."
I suspected Tom's aunts had been far from maidens,
which would explain his skills as a lover at such an
early age, but I didn't bother to answer Arnold,
determined to put Tom and the events in the shepherd's
hut far behind me.
Which is what I did until one morning a few weeks
later. I had just washed up the breakfast dishes and
was in the hallway dressed in my housecoat and talking
to Arnold on the phone when the doorbell rang. I opened
the door to find Tom on the stoop wearing a big smile.
"Who is it?" asked my husband as Tom pushed me against
the hallway wall and clamped his mouth on mine,
slipping his hands under my housecoat as he did.
Somehow I pulled away from the kiss.
"It's young Tom," I replied breathlessly, trying to
fight the randy teenager off with one hand and talk
into the phone at the same time. Tom had moved behind
me, bringing his hands up to massage my heavy breasts
and kissing my neck. With my husband listening to every
sound I was once again in a position where to cause a
fuss would court disaster.
"I expect he wants a bit of home comfort," my husband
said as the teenager let his hands wander over my body.
I fought not to cry out in outrage and surprise. "It
must be hard on him in the big city."
Tom, his tongue in my other ear, heard this and took
the phone from my shock-numbed grasp. "It sure is hard,
Mr. Hill," he told Arnold in his innocent farm boy
voice, taking my unresisting hand and placing it on the
rigid ridge in his jeans. "I just needed somewhere to
come for a bit of solace."
"Well you make yourself right at home," I heard my
husband say as, under Tom's guiding hand I began to
stroke the young man's hard on. "Ask Mrs. Hill if
there's anything you need."
"Don't worry, I will," grinned Tom, sliding my
housecoat off my shoulders so that I stood naked in
front of him. "Your wife is the kind of wife I'd like
to have some day, Mr. Hill."
"A nice lad like you will find a good wife sooner than
you think," Arnold said, as Tom's fingers played with
my erect nipples and I fumbled with his fly.
"I think you might be right, Mr. Hill," he said. "In
fact I've got my eye on a wife right now."
I heard my husband laugh down the line. "Then you'd
better strike while the irons hot, lad, or someone else
will beat you to it. Can you put my wife back on?"
The teenager shrugged and handed the phone to me,
leaving both his hands free to play with me while I
struggled to keep my breathing even.
"Yes?" I asked my husband querulously, watching Tom
fall to his knees and take one of my hard nipples into
his mouth.
"I could be home late tonight, so don't expect me for
dinner," Arnold said as Tom kissed my belly and started
licking even lower. "But make sure you feed Tom well.
He's a growing lad so he's bound to have a big
appetite."
You've no idea, I thought as I hung up and Tom's tongue
began lapping at my tingling clitoris. Nobody, not even
Arnold, had done this to me before and, stupefied by
Tom's blatant display of wanton lust, I lay back on the
hallway mat and opened myself to the horny young man,
moaning and writhing on the floor as he gobbled my
pussy. When he'd finished he pulled me to my feet and
upstairs to the main bedroom where he bent me over the
bottom of the bed and took me from behind as I gazed
with lust-dazed eyes at wedding photos of Arnold and I,
howling my joy as I was impaled on the boy's big tool.
Tom stayed with me all day and I never got to stand up
again, let alone put my housecoat back on. In those
long ecstatic hours being shafted in my marital bed of
thirty years I forgot Arnold and our c***dren and the
fact that my lover was young enough to be my grandson.
I was exhausted and totally satisfied by the time he
was ready to leave, but before he left he made one more
call to Arnold, who was working alone after hours at
his office.
"Hi, Mr. Hill, I just phoned to say sorry that I missed
you and I hope to see you next time I drop in," my
teenage lover told my husband. "If not, I'll just have
to make do with Mrs. Hill's company again."
"Anytime, Tom," said my cuckold husband jovially. "Just
pop in and my wife will be only too pleased to help
out."
"Don't worry, I will," Tom told my husband – and he
has, every day for the past fortnight. Almost as soon
as Arnold's out of the front door Tom is in the back
and into my pussy. I happily obey his orders to chat to
Arnold on the phone while he feels me up or worse. It
feels so naughty, so risky, so exciting.
I'm not a fool. I know that a young stud like Tom will
soon move on to greener and younger pastures. But until
that day I'll gladly play his middle-aged whore for as
long as he wants me to.
Trisha
- 11.04.2020
- 14
- 0
