Sunaina Mere Virgin Girlfriend And Parosi
- 2 years ago
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Sun Salutation A free porn video
I had just gone through my first Vinyasa of the day, my back arched, eyes closed with the morning sun warming my face when I heard Mr. Hill come out onto his porch next door. He had a cup of coffee and a newspaper, and when he saw me, currently holding my Upward Dog pose, my sports bra-clad tits thrust out, he smiled and raised his steaming mug in my direction.
“Good morning, Mrs. Simmons!”
“Morning, Mr. Hill!” I called back, shifting my body into Downward Dog, so now it was my ass pointing up.
“Beautiful day out,” he said, drawing out the word beautiful with his slight, southern drawl.
“Yep, sure is,” I said, about ninety percent sure that despite how lovely our little suburban cul de sac was, our elderly neighbor was busy admiring a different vista. One clad in tight, Lululemon leggings.
A thin wisp of strawberry blonde hair came free and dangled in front of my face. I huffed at it, trying not to lose my concentration. To focus on the now.
By the time I rose to my feet, leveling my hands to prayer and exhaling, Mr. Hill was seated on one of his deck chairs, all but hidden behind his newspaper. As I began to swan dive down into my next series, he rustled the pages. I peeked up between my hands and just caught a glimpse of his appreciative gaze before he was obscured once more.
I’d been coming out to do some morning yoga on the porch a few times a week since my husband, Kevin, and I had moved in just over a month ago, and in that time, it seemed that our neighbor had picked up a morning ritual of his own, coming outside around the same time as me, and heading in just after I did.
It got to the point that even Kevin--who’s field of observation typically began and ended at his computer screen--started to notice.
“You know that creepy old guy next door is watching you,” he’d said when I had come in one Saturday, dabbing perspiration from my forehead with a soft towel, him still in a robe and slippers since he didn’t have to work for once.
“So?”
“It doesn’t bother you?”
“Hon, he’s reading the paper. Besides, he’s like...sixty-something.”
“He’s checking out your ass is what he’s doing,” Kevin said, finger stabbing at the screen of his iPad.
I had been reaching into the fridge to grab a bottle of the kombucha that I like, and gave my buns an arched little pop in Kevin’s direction that he didn’t even notice, his eyes glued to the screen.
“Well, at least someone does.”
This at least got him to look up. He gave his eyes an amused roll and went back to whatever the hell was more damned important than his wife’s nicely toned ass.
“Just sayin’, Jess, it’s kinda creepy,” he continued, no longer really talking to me, but just pontificating the way that he sometimes did. “You have a right to be on your own porch without getting gawked at like a piece of meat. And don’t give me any of that ‘generational’ crap--allowing people like him to skate by like it’s still 1950-whatever and acting like Don Draper treating women like objects is unacceptable.”
“Babe,” I said, gently pushing the iPad down onto the counter, making him huff. “He’s reading the paper. It’s fine.”
Kevin’s face got that look it got when he was about to try and push through something that he really didn’t want to do, brow creased into a little valley of displeasure.
“Do you want me to say something to him? I could.”
He sat up a little straighter and I had to fight the urge to giggle at his little “macho” display.
I shook my head, telling him again that it was fine, my delicate sense of lady-like honor didn’t need defending. I left out the part that since old Mr. Hill probably had almost a foot and a hundred pounds of solid muscle on my dear husband, not to mention a smattering of old US Marine Corp stickers on his truck that suggested he might be more skilled in the art of violence than a Senior Product Analyst, so maybe he should just let it be. I kissed his cheek and headed up for the shower.
That had been almost a week ago. It was now Thursday, Kevin was already at the office, and it was just me and my big, burly, not-so-secret admirer.
I was back in Downward Dog, my butt pointed to the heavens, and I could sense him watching, could almost feel it, like a light touch moving along my curves. I pedaled my feet, mostly to stretch my calves, but I might have thrown in an extra little wiggle of my booty as a bonus. Nothing overt, of course, me being a proper lady and all that.
When I’d told Kevin that I didn’t mind if Mr. Hill was checking me out, I’d been telling the truth. Far from being offended, I actually kinda liked the discrete attention. I’d put a lot of work into my body, and though I was only twenty-nine, I certainly wasn’t getting any younger, and with Kevin always so wrapped up in work, it was nice to feel desirable, even if it was the old, divorced, ex-military guy next door who was doing the desiring.
Before accepting the new job that had brought us out here to the middle of fly-over country, Kevin and I had lived in Santa Monica, and I desperately missed the city. Hell, maybe there was a little part of me that felt like getting eye-fucked while trying to focus on my Ujjayi breath was like a little taste of home. Give him a heavy tan, a Rolex, and swap that coffee for a free-trade skinny latte with soy, and it would almost be like I’d never left.
I finished up, tapped the pause button on my phone, silencing the soothing, Nepalese temple music playlist, and gathered up my block and mat to head inside.
At the patio door, I waved and called over, “Have a good day, Mr. Hill!” I resisted the urge to cheekily add in a quick see you tomorrow.
“You as well, Mrs. Simmons!” He folded the paper over and gave me a knowing, roguish wink. If tradition held, he’d get up and head inside about a minute after me--just long enough to not be super obvious about it. I knew because I’d watched him as well, peeking from behind the safety of the white lace curtains above the sink. I was watching him now, nibbling at the inside of my lip and wondering if that was a slight bulge in his jeans or a trick of the light and my own perverted imaginings.
I reached down, meaning to fill up a glass of water, only to be met with a terrible, gurgling, rumbling sound from the depths of the basin and a violent spray of water.
“Jesus!” I jumped back as the pipes groaned, the faucet quivering and spitting. “Dammit!” I slapped the thing off and glared at it with the fury reserved for when common, everyday things suddenly and unexpectedly betray you. The house was on the older side (or rather, it had character, as our realtor had put it), and I knew that the occasional quirk or noise or angrily spitting sink was just a part of that, but it never failed to annoy me when it happened, especially when Kevin was at work. My dear husband considered himself to be “handy”, and had liked the idea of turning this elderly property around a bit, but of course, nothing ever broke when he was home. Oh, no. Things only ever showed their character when it was poor Jess by her lonesome with nothing but some YouTube tutorials.
Fuck, I wasn’t even going to be able to take a shower. I didn’t know a lot about plumbing, but I was pretty sure that this wouldn’t be a localized phenomenon. I was going to have to call a plumber and wait for him to show up and--
Hang on.
I leaned back over the sink--carefully, in case it decided to come back to life somehow--and looked outside. Mr. Hill was just getting up, ready to depart now that the morning’s entertainment had concluded.
I tugged the patio door open and took a step out.
“Um, Mr. Hill?”
He looked up. “Yes?”
I bit my lip and gave him an apologetic smile. “Hey, I really hate to bother you, but...you don’t happen to know anything about plumbing, do you?”
*
He came inside, almost having to stoop to make it through our patio door. All of our previous encounters had taken place outside, either on the lawn or in the driveway, but he moved with an air of familiarity. I seemed to recall him mentioning having been friendly with the previous owners, but honestly hadn’t been listening that closely.
“Sink, you said?”
“Yeah,” I replied. “I went to turn it on and it just started, like, spitting. I don’t know, stuff is always breaking here. I didn’t even have any WiFi for like, a whole week when we moved in. It was pretty bad.” I trailed off, realizing that I must sound like a spoiled little child to this man who had already lived a whole life before the advent of social media and its all-consuming demands.
He uh-huh’ed along with me and turned on the sink. The faucet creaked and groaned, spitting like an angry, chrome-plated cat.
Mr. Hill took a step back from it, raising his voice over the noise. “It’s fine, I think there’s just air in the line. Your husband been doing any work?”
“He’s been trying to put in a shower in the guest bathroom,” I called back. “Do you think that’s it?”
Mr. Hill nodded. “Probably turned off the main, this’ll bleed off in a minute.”
A few seconds of rattling, gurgling hesitance, and then the faucet began to calm, water flowing into the basin like it was supposed to.
“See? No problem.”
“Oh. Well,” I said, leaning against the counter and feeling more than a little sheepish. “I guess I probably could have fixed that little problem myself after all. Sorry to have bothered you.”
“It’s no bother,” he said, flipping the sink off and favoring me with a grin, setting off a thousand tiny lines around his eyes and mouth, like grain in a dark, rich wood. God, he must have been quite the catch in his day. Even now, I could feel myself wanting to melt under that smile, my cheeks growing suddenly warm.
“Did you...want a cup of coffee? I mean, another cup, since you…” I gestured vaguely at the back yard.
“Sure, that’d be fine.”
For a second, I didn’t move. We stood there in my kitchen, just smiling at each other from opposite sides of the sink. My morning admirer, mere inches away.
“Right!” I turned, fetching a mug and placing my hand briefly against the carafe to make sure it was still warm. It was, but only barely. I poured, already starting to apologize. “It must have turned off a little bit ago, but I can heat it up if want--”
I almost turned right into him. He was close, close enough that I could pick up the scents of sawdust and warm cigar smoke on his clothes. I was eye level with his chest, and had to crane my neck back to find him, still smiling down at me.
He took the coffee cup from my hands and placed it delicately onto the counter.
“Since I’m here now, I can think of something else that I’d like a bit more than coffee.”
My mind raced. Whirled. I knew what he meant, wasn’t that naive, but I couldn’t quite believe it. He liked me, that much was obvious, but it was all so innocent, wasn’t it? He was just so much...older than me.
Kevin’s admonitions came back to me, suddenly seeming a bit less crazy.
Checking you out. Like a piece of meat...
“Oh?” I managed, my voice small and breathy.
He nodded and leaned towards me, reaching out and taking hold of my chin. Something had changed in his eyes. A fire had been kindled there--maybe it had always been burning, and I just hadn’t noticed it. It twinkled and sparked. Hot, blue embers.
His hand slid down over the flat of my stomach, rough, sandpaper fingers against the soft skin of my belly and then drifting onto the tight, smooth cling of my yoga pants. He didn’t pause there, those searching fingers quickly finding the already aching nub of my clit and pressing it, sending a chill throughout my entire body.
In my mind, two warring factions raged.
He leaned closer to me, his breath hot on my neck, making the tiny hairs stand at attention. “You know, when you first moved in, I thought this would be harder. The way that you and that little wimp of a husband of yours looked at each other…”
His hand slipped under the waistband of my pants and suddenly his fingers were on my flesh. Those rough pads, calloused from so many years of hard work now parting my lips, his middle finger sliding into me easily. Fuck, I was already so wet.
“But you’re nothing but a little whore, aren’t you?” he said, lips only inches from my ear, that finger inside of me curling.
I tried to breathe, but a shaky, shuddering kind of moan escaped, giving him all the answer he needed.
The hand not at work between my legs moved up my back, grabbed onto my ponytail, and gave it a sudden, hard yank, making me look up into his weathered, grinning face.
“I asked you a question.”
No, I wanted to say. I’m not a whore, I’m married and we shouldn’t be doing this and--
A second finger joined the first, and my reaction was answer enough for him. Mr. Hill pressed his mouth to mine, swallowing my sob of pleasure and kissing me, tasting of strong, black coffee and hot desire. I kissed him back, giving in with a feeling of relief so strong that my knees almost buckled. My hand went to his cheek, feeling the stubble, delighting in how different it was than my husband’s, who shaved every morning.
Mr. Hill broke off the kiss as abruptly as it had started and gave my hair another yank to be sure that he had my attention.
“Get on your knees.”
He released my hair and pulled his hand out of my pants. If ever there would have been a time for me to leave, to take the three quick steps across that sun-dappled kitchen and out the back door to the safety and sanity of my married life, this would have been it. Instead, I did as he instructed, kneeling there on the linoleum and looking up.
“That’s a good girl,” he said and began to undo his belt. I could feel my cheeks flush at his words. I wanted to be good.
I watched with some fascination, focused especially on two fingers that were wet and shiny and thinking that those had just been inside me.
“Now, I think we’re going to need to get a few things clear, alright, Jess? First, I come from a generation that believes in showing your elders and figures of authority a certain amount of respect. Given that I’m now both to you, I think it only right that you refer to me as ‘sir’. Is that clear?”
I looked up from his hands. The morning sun coming through the kitchen window backlit his head, throwing his face into shadow and twinkling in his grey crewcut. Looming over me like a drill sergeant, expression unreadable.
“...yes...sir.”
He nodded, drew down the zipper of his jeans, and pulled his cock out. Even flaccid, I was shocked at how big it was--not just long, but thick. It could have been that I was only used to my husband, but it was fairly clear that Mr. Hill was in an entirely different weight class. Seeing it set a flock of nervous butterflies loose in my stomach even as my pussy gave a sharp twinge of desire.
“Go ahead,” he said. “You know you want to.”
I took him in my hands, just holding it for a moment, like I wasn’t quite sure what to do with something so big, and then began to slowly tug up and down. At once, I could feel him responding, the beast waking and growing under my touch until it was jutting straight at me, hard as oak.
“Mmm, good girl.” He reached over and picked up his mug from the counter, taking a sip as I stroked him. “Now, I’m going to assume that on occasion, you treat that husband of yours to a blowjob. But I’m guessing that you don’t swallow for him, do you?”
I scrunched my face and shook my head. I did let Kevin cum in my mouth on occasion, but generally only if we were fooling around in the shower or somewhere that I could rinse my mouth out.
With the bright sunlight behind him, I still couldn’t quite see Mr. Hill’s face, but I could sense the broad smile on his lips.
“Well with me, you do. Again, a matter of respect. Understood?”
I nodded, surprised to find that the idea didn’t put me off. Quite the opposite, in fact. I...wanted it.
He tilted his head slightly, waiting. I remembered and quickly added, “Yes, sir.”
“Good.” He took another sip of coffee and then reached down, moving my hands away from his erection and taking control of it himself. The older man took a half step forward and pressed the huge, dusky crown against my lips. “Now, let’s put that mouth of yours to good use, shall we?”
His free hand came around to the back of my head and guided me closer. I opened my mouth to take him in, already feeling my jaw protest after the first inch or two. His fingers twined in my hair, moving me, showing me the rhythm, showing me how to please him. After a minute of this ministration, he let his hand fall away and grunted with approval when I continued on my own just as he’d taught me.
“Very good girl,” he said. “Just like that.”
The pain in my jaw had begun to recede and I was beginning to lose myself in the pleasure of the moment, when my phone, which had been on the kitchen table, started to ring.
I froze, panic seizing my heart, already knowing who it was.
Mr. Hill grabbed it, looked at the screen, and snorted in amusement.
“Guess who?” he said, turning the phone around so that I could see the contact photo of my husband smiling down at me. “Did I tell you to stop?”
I quickly resumed my service, looking up at him, pleading with my eyes. He tossed the phone back onto the table.
“I think we can let it go to voicemail, don’t you?”
The icy fist that had been clutching my heart relaxed its grip and I breathed a sigh of relief, which was slightly difficult with a cock in my mouth.
Mr. Hill began to move his hips, increasing the speed and pressing himself deeper, dangerously close to making me gag. He growled and said, “Get ready, girl…”
I tried to prepare myself, but when the first hot blast of cum hit the back of my throat a second later, I choked and pulled away. The next shot caught me right below the left eye and I closed them both as he coated me. Three shots. Four. Five. It was dripping off of me, rolling down my cheeks, spilling across my lips.
In the dark, I felt him rest his cockhead on my tongue, sending one last spurt of warmth into my mouth.
Mr. Hill chuckled and I could hear him noisily sip his coffee, smacking his lips in satisfaction.
“What a mess you are. Now you look like a proper whore.”
He pulled back and I tentatively opened one eye. The other was painted closed.
“Do you have anything you’d like to say?”
I thought for a moment, then tried, “...thank you, sir?”
He nodded. “Very good. Although next time, I’ll expect you won’t make such a mess, will you?”
“...no, sir.”
“Your husband leaves the house at, what? Seven-thirty?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Once he leaves and you finish your yoga, I’ll expect you on my porch by eight. Do a better job than you did today and I’ll show you some stretches you won’t forget. Is all that clear?”
I looked up at him from my place on the kitchen floor. A towering presence, more mountain than man, his every word demanding fealty, worship. My face covered in his seed. The taste lingering on my tongue like whisky. And my hands, pressed between my thighs where a deep, powerful yearning waited for release…
“Yes, sir.”
Mr. Hill smiled, put his mug on the counter, and tucked himself back into his pants. “You and I are going to be good friends, Mrs. Simmons. I can tell already.”
He let himself out and went down the steps back towards his house while I remained where I was, trying to make sense of what had just happened.
I knew that when tomorrow came, I’d do what he said. I’d gotten my first taste and was nowhere near sated.
I leaned back against the cabinets, slipped a hand into my yoga pants, and touched my aching clit, moving in slow, steady circles at the same pace with which I’d pleasured him.
On the table, my phone gave a soft, musical ding to indicate the voicemail that my husband had just left for me.
Gert
- 01.10.2020
- 12
- 0
- Category:
- Cuckold
