Sylvia’s Mother pt. 1

This is the story of a family. A close family. A loving family.

Try again.

She called him a homewrecker, a cuckolder, a fox in the henhouse. She said her daughter would regret ever having met him. Then she really went to town on him.

Oops, too fast.

Thursday afternoon. Cool, drizzling. Sylvia had taken the kids to the movies, and mama was enjoying the first bit of privacy she’d had since she’d gotten off the plane from Nebraska. A long, hot bath was what was needed. Maybe even sneak one of that no-good son-in-law’s lime-flavored wine coolers. Maybe two. Oops, better be careful; don’t want to be a souse like he is. (Yes, she knew the word was ‘lush’ but that was too nice a word for someone like him.)

Soaking, lazily masturbating, her eyes fastened on that hanging shower massager, and her eyes gleamed. Rhythm picked up. Eyes glazed over, she floated, directing the spray to much-neglected tissues, purring as she adjusted the pulse. Harder now, cheeks flushed all the way to the roots of her greying bun, coming undone slowly, damp tendrils escaping.

Maybe a little less heat.

Eventually.

Oh…! eventually. Her toes curled and a smile stole over her stern features.

She sighed, whispered the name on her lips, languorously reaching for the faucet.

With a start she sat up, as the water seared her tender flesh, and the word was wrenched from her aloud. “DaaANNNNN…!”

Immediately, she choked it off, aghast. Running steps outside the bathroom ended as the door was flung aside, and there stood THE SON-IN-LAW.

Her face flaming, she struggled to pull herself up out of the steaming stream of water, then as her buttocks cleared the water, she sat abruptly back down and flailed at the faucet, her hands turning instantly pink.

With a sudden dip, and twist of his wrist, the water was silenced.

“I’m sorry. This shower is hard to get used to. I should’ve warned you.” He stood silently for a second or two, then reached for her hand. “Let’s see if you’re hurt.”

She demurred, pulling away. He stared at her in amazement, as she slid further back into the soapy water, lapping at her chin. “Oh, for Pete’s sake, Winnie. Get over it. You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before.”

She colored deeply, and looked away. “You just walk into a lady’s bathroom… when she’s… nak…indisposed…” She stopped. “Why… the door was locked…”

He waved his hand in irritation. “My bathroom. Door’s broken. You called me. Twice. Now, don’t be silly. Let me see if you’re burned.” He held out his hand again.

“For Christ’s sake, Winnie! If you’re so uptight, wrap a towel around you.” He glared at her, his bare chest heaving. Why was he half-dressed? He tossed her a towel, and turned as she wrapped it around her quivering breasts. She made sure he was looking away, then rose unsteadily from the tub. He put a hand out to steady her, and she flinched.

Gently, he guided her to the toilet, and she sat, her knees jerking. He held her hands a moment, as her breathing eased. Then he asked gently, “Where did you burn yourself?”

Immediately, she jerked away. “I’m okay. Just let me be!”

Looking her squarely in the face, he asked. “Then why did you call me?” Dumbly, she shook her head. Shrugging, he pulled her back down, and proceeded to look her over. Chin trembling, eyes tearing, she began to shake violently.

He pulled the towel away, and she felt his hands, gingerly touching her stomach, ribs, and breasts, then parting her thighs, checking for marks.

She groaned as the oily, animal scent filled her nostrils. She heard his sharp intake of breath, then her fingers were working up into his wiry black hair, pulling his head down to her breast. His fingers pressed inside her, and she knew it was over.

Damn it, then. She slid to the floor, and the bathmat pressed patterns into her buttocks, as he undid his shorts. She held her breath in anticipation, her eyes scrunched closed, and soon was rewarded by the blunt, sudden intrusion she craved, coming like a blow to her cervix, filling her and withdrawing to fill her again and again and again, his breath rasping in her ear, and the name she’d murmured earlier rose and burbled from her in a flood, as her tender flesh was once again seared by scalding liquid.

Too soon, always too soon.

* * * *

For his part, Dan was having trouble assimilating the fact that he’d just poked his mother-in-law. It was bad enough that he’d been obliged to treat her politely, since she’d been super-rude to him from the day he’d been identified as the other man in her daughter’s life, and kept it up even after her divorce and the subsequent wedding; now he’d have to compliment her, too? Especially after having seen her in the nude?

He had to admit that, since her arrival, he’d been getting a kick out of hearing her try to masturbate in the next bedroom at night. She was so incompetent; like a pubescent child taking her genitals for a test drive, she’d freeze if anyone rolled over in bed. He could always tell when she was doing it, because her room was below his, and the vents for the two rooms were connected. Also, she moved her whole arm instead of just her wrist, and the whole bed squeaked.

So, just for the hell of it, he’d roll over loudly and cough a lot when she was about to get into gear. Sylvia, who’d laughed over it with him at first, got really irritable when he kept it up for a few weeks. “So she’s horny!” she mumbled tiredly. “She probably doesn’t get much at home. Dad’s too old and too fat.”

He’d snorted with laughter at the thought of his three-hundred-pound father-in-law mounting Winnie’s slight frame. “Maybe she could be on top?”

“Don’t be crude. Besides, it’s not just the weight. A big belly gets in the way. Remember?”

Uncomfortably, he changed the subject. “Maybe she could have an affair.”

“Maybe you could just leave her to her finger.” Sylvia yawned. “Mom loves Dad too much to hurt him. Their generation doesn’t do affairs when they’re in love. It’s more than just sex when you’re sixty.” She poked him. “Go to sleep, you perv.”

Twenty minutes later, he heard the bedsprings below start up again. “Eeeannch…. Awnnch….” Automatically, he cleared his throat. The noise stopped.

When he got home from work Monday, Sylvia’s car wasn’t in the garage. No kids came to greet him, and he’d have thought the place was his, except for the hum of that infernal water heater. Sitting in the corner of the garage, instantaneously heating water when it was turned on, it alerted him to the presence of another person. He soon guessed who it was.

Letting himself in softly through the kitchen, he immediately heard the sound of a shower massage set on Maximum Throb, and he chuckled to himself. Her Royal Dryness was getting it on in the tub, eh? He tiptoed closer, unsure of what he was going to do. Clear his throat loudly, letting her know for certain, finally, that he knew what she was up to? Yell Hello? Knock loudly? Or just let her go about her business as Sylvia said. Maybe it was time to lay off, and let the old bag have her fun.

Maybe not.

His ears caught a hissing, whispering sound, and he wondered if she were perhaps not alone. Would she actually…?

He moved closer, his ear to the door.

Then he understood, with a sudden jolt, what she was whispering. “Da…n… you ba….stard…. Daaaa…”

“….AAAAANNNNN!” He jerked his head back, unbelieving, as the last syllable screeched up at him, tortured, and subconsciously, Dan recognized the cry of pain, a call for help. He jerked the door open, and blundered into the room.

Sylvia’s mom, her naked, pink body partly obscured by soap suds, sat flailing helplessly at the faucet, the showerhead still pounding its steamy rivulets into her reddened groin —

“Grey!” his mind screamed. “Her pubic hair is grey!”

— her sagging breasts stiffening in fear, her eyes wide and uncomprehending. As he moved into the room, she dropped her hands to cover herself, then slid back into the water, mewling as the hot water splashed her flesh.

Quickly, he turned it off, and reached for her. “Let’s see if you’re hurt.”

She shook her head, and slid further under the water.

The bitch thought he wanted to see her old ass! Geez. He turned and handed her a towel. After a minute, she took it and stepped gingerly from the water, staying as far away from him as she could.

Finally, she sat in the chair, and he tried again to examine her.

She still pulled that “Leave me alone” shit, but eventually he did manage to check her for burns. That was when he smelled the alcohol, and remembered with shock that she didn’t drink. Then she opened her legs, freeing the powerful scent that resided there, and closed them around his hand, and her stench rose up and pulled him onto the floor with her, next thing he knew he was rock hard inside her, tight as a drum, oily and hot like a furnace, riding as if life depended on it. His name spilled from her lips like a curse, drawn out and twisted, a dark, malevolent monstrosity.

Ain’t love grand?

Time should heal all wounds, if cliches were true, but one wonders how much time it takes to heal when you tell the wife you’re fucking her mother, whom you can’t stand, or tell your daughter you’re screwing her husband you despise.

For Dan’s part, the idea itself was revolting enough, and he could hardly admit it to himself, much less anyone else. He maintained it had been a bizarre slip, and would not be repeated.

But, as a man who was used to slipping out for extra-domestic sex, he did not have the same problems with it as Winnie was experiencing. For her part, the fact that she’d had sex with anyone other than her man — or her hand — was a moral crisis. She’d condemned Sylvia for her adultery, and now she herself was guilty of it. She’d assumed that Dan was a lower life form because he’d been the cuckolder, and now she was down there in the muck with him. Literally.

Nonetheless, after Sylvia and the kids returned, had dinner, and went to bed, Winnie’s hand found its way down to the scene of the crime, and Dan and Sylvia heard their first uninterrupted session. Dan, for once, did not have to be coaxed to hold his peace. In fact, the background noise served as the impetus for Sylvia’s oral assault on him, and they made love to the sound of mother’s rasping breath.

Dan excused himself shortly, and went down to take a bath. This time it was he who was surprised, as he filled the tub, to feel a light hand on his shoulder. “I think we need to talk.”

Without a word, he pushed Winnie out the door, and led her down the hall onto the deck. “Now,” he began. She put her finger to his lips, and led him off toward the woods. As he followed, he wondered about the scent which clung to her fingers. Intoxicating, vaguely familiar, yet maddeningly just out of reach, it brought memories of his first sexual experience, his deflowering at the hands of a younger woman.

When Winnie felt they were safely out of earshot of the house, she turned to him, and sighed. “Dan, you know I …” her breath caught, for her son-in-law was looking at her strangely, his eyes glassy, and she followed his gaze as it swept past her into the distance.

“Winnie,” he murmurred, “Is..that you I smell?” Her eyes dropped guiltily as she put her hand to her face and her own rich scent filled her nostrils. Her hands fell to her groin as she recalled. With a groan, he thrust her hands aside and his fingers sought the source, pulled aside her thin skirt and pressing inside her underwear, into her folds and finding the bud of her clitoris. “No, no, no….” she moaned. “Not again.” But she made no move to stop him.

Dropping to his knees, he traced her with his tongue, and she froze, her eyes tightly closed. For the next five minutes, all that was audible were the choked sounds of her mounting lust, and the soft liquid sounds which produced it. Then from her, suddenly, a squealing peal of laughter as she reached her peak, and collapsed as her knees buckled beneath her.

Dan fell with her and lay, his face pressed into her, drinking her scent. Then, with a groan, he rose, and unbuckled his pants, and prepared to mount her where she lay. She eyed his reddened organ and moaned with despair and anticipation.

As his turgid penis parted her, she was amazed to find she was having yet another orgasm, before the waves of the first had subsided. Filling her, he pressed and pulled, buried deep within, and she clasped his buttocks tightly, molding him to her as she rode the heady gush of her climax, up and up and up, her voice groaning a wordless stream of vowels.

After a time, she stopped him with a word. Then, with a sudden lurch, she rose to her knees, seized his penis, and engulfed it with her mouth.

Her greasy scent filled her nostrils and she wondered if it was proper to do this after the act, which she still wouldn’t call fucking. An oral novice, she’d only read about it in books; never even seen it on film. Dan’s reaction, though, decided for her. Eagerly, he pressed toward her, his cock swollen obscenely huge in anticipation. She gulped, then took him in again.

What to do? Where does one’s tongue go? How to breathe? Encouragingly, he pulled her head toward him, and she came slowly, hitching as his phallus pressed into her throat. How…?

Pulling back, she tongued him experimentally, and he responded with a twitch and grunt. Then he thrust into her mouth again, and she sucked on him like a lollipop. His motion increased, and then he was rocking in and out of her throat faster than she could keep up. His penis thumped uncomfortably into her throat and she gagged, but gamely tried. He seemed to approve, as he lunged, grunting, even further into her mouth. Furiously, she licked, hoping it would be over soon.

It was. In a minute or so, she felt him grow harder, and then her throat was filled with warm stickiness. She choked, unable to swallow properly, and his seed spurted out around his pistoning prick and ran down her chin, onto her breasts. Hitching, she held on ’til he was done, then slid slowly to the ground. Her throat afire, she nonetheless perked up when she heard his voice, husky with emotion. “What?”

“I said, you’re great. You give great head. What other secrets have you been hiding from the family, mom?” He smiled and placed his cock back in her mouth. Hesitantly, she obliged by licking him clean, swallowing all the ropy stuff  which clung to his shrivelling penis.

She shivered. Two weeks ago, she could not even form the word penis in her mind, much less on her lips.

Wordlessly, they walked back to the house, where her daughter and his wife slept.

Ruby in Green Lace

They were bulky, older-womanly, almost matronly, but somehow she hoped he’d still find them fetching. These were not the boobs of a girl.

The thighs, too, were less than the imaginary ideal; they were shapely, but thick. Calves better, harder; her job made sure she ran around a lot, chasing all over the state to contain new threats as they were found. But they would need a smooth shave, first time in years she’d shaved her legs two days running.

She held the green teddy in front of her, stepped through, pulled it up over her thighs. and studied the effect. Wondered how he would see it. You could see her bush through the sheer satin, she noticed. Her natural response was to be embarrassed. Should she trim a lot and hope for the best? She’d heard some men these days liked *that* completely shaved, too, and some women. It felt sort of sexy, they said.

She wondered how it would feel to touch herself with it all bare. She shivered, but couldn’t be sure if it was excitement at the idea of having it all slick and smooth down there, or the fear of touching her tender parts with a blade.

On the other hand, it might be considered sexy to have it framed by secret intimate hair,  some men like a wiry, naughty thicket to wade through. She must’ve seen that in a magazine somewhere, maybe the waiting room at her office.

Both made sense, but it had been so long since she’d considered such ideas, she was completely clueless as to which was likely to be true.

She sat on the bed, half-tempted to call the evening off. Was it hopeless? I mean, a woman just about to hit 50, cute once, sure, maybe even sexy, but now graying and frumpy, a stereotyped female scientist. Could there be any way to make such a thing seductive? It was probably best to admit defeat rather than risk mortifying failure. How she hated to look ridiculous.

But she remembered how it made her feel to have him around, how it made her blood effervesce in her veins to get the familial hugs that never seemed completely innocent even though there was nothing overtly untoward in his touch. How she glowed and yearned for hours after, the bright detail of the daydreams she had over the next few weeks. How it felt to touch herself and pretend it was his hands doing the caressing.

How sometimes touching wasn’t even necessary.

The chance to do something about it was finally here, and she knew she had to give this a shot.

She drew a bath, something she rarely did, trailing her hands through the water as it filled. Lowering herself into the water, warmer than usual, she felt its moist heat first on her sensitive vaginal area. Wow. She felt herself moisten from within as well, lowered herself down into the tub, following her groin with the shower head.

She reached for the shaving cream, lathered herself up slowly. Took the razor in her hand, slid it up her leg, taking off the minute frizz that had reasserted itself since last night. Should she move the blade on up a bit…? She lathered her groin and inner thighs. Again, wow. The cream was cold on her warm body, delicious. She sank her fingers inside, peeled her clitoris for the shower’s stream, and gasped.

Should she save her libido for her date? But God, she couldn’t wait. Besides, there was so much of it these days, plenty to go around. She ground the shower head against her pubic bone, summoning him up from her memory, that one not-completely-innocent kiss they supposedly both regretted. Oh, God, Oh God…!

Later, she rose shakily from the tub. Was it only ten minutes, by her watch? A third wow. Dazedly she reached for the teddy, pulled it on, and covered it quickly with a dress. one she hoped wasn’t too dowdy. She had wanted to wear nylons, because her legs looked better that way, but how does one wear hose with a teddy? In the end she went barelegged, daring to showcase her best assets.

It was just a dinner,  nothing incriminating or scandalous; still time to back out and make it as innocent as it looked. But… she hadn’t told her family she was meeting him while she was in town for the conference and she hoped he hadn’t either.

The small talk flowed well at dinner; she’d been worried that they’d have nothing to say to each other, but he seemed at ease, and not much of the conversation was about family or other people she didn’t want to think about right now. But it was over far too soon; somehow she’d assumed it would last longer. The band was just setting up.

She felt silly, having chosen this place with some lame idea that they would linger hours over dinner. To make it last a bit longer, to give her time to decide what to do, she ordered dessert, something she almost never did. A lemon tart. A tart for a tart. Instead of coffee, she asked for a dessert wine, and he raised his eyebrows. “Didn’t know you drank, Ruby,” he said.

“There’s probably a good deal you don’t know about me,” she said, then flushed as she realized how daytime TV that probably sounded. “I like a drink after dinner, but I don’t do it at home, at least when the kids are there. Not a good example and all that,” she added quickly.

He smiled, gave no sign that she’d said anything unusual or out of place. “Well, in that case, I’ll have a sherry.”

The band started just as they finished, a soft, lazy jazz song. He was helping her on with her coat when it started, and then without a word he took it off again, laid it across the chair, took her hand and led her to the floor. They were the only couple out there, which should have made her hugely self-conscious, but he seemed serene and unruffled about it, taking her in his arms gently and leading her around the floor. She relaxed and laid her head on his chest, letting him lead. The song lingered on and on, and the wine — and his arms — made her feel wonderful. She felt his muscled torso under the jacket, his hand resting lightly on her hip, and snuggled in a bit.

When the song ended, he led her back to the table, and collected her wrap. He held it open and she slipped in. “Shall we go?” he held his hand out and she took it.

In the elevator, she checked her voice mail; as he did the same, she looked at him in the mirror, checking for any sign that would give her direction. Catching her eye, he smiled, but didn’t wink or give her anything to go on, one way or the other.

At the door, it was decision time. She screwed up her courage. “Come in a minute? I want to show you something.”

He smiled. “Sure.” Took the key card from her hand after she dropped it the second time.

Inside, she waited for him to help her off with her coat, but he made no move to do so. She moved into the kitchen and opened the bottle of brandy she’d bought, poured him a  finger or two. “Have a seat,” she said with exaggerated casualness. “I’ll be right back.”

In the bedroom, she ripped the coat and dress off, smoothed the teddy in the mirror, and then replaced the coat. It would have to do. As she walked back in to the living room, she noticed he’d moved from the kitchen to the couch, turned on the cd player she’d had on the coffee table, but not the lights. “What did you want to show me, Ruby?” he asked softly.

She stood for a moment, then walked to his chair. “This,” she whispered, and dropped the coat from her shoulders. It landed in a puddle at her feet.

“Well, well,” he said, setting his drink on the coffee table. Looked her over slowly, appraisingly? Stood and walked to her, took her chin in his hand and kissed her.

My God, that kiss. It fulfilled everything she had dreamed of since that first little innocent one, everything she’d imagined a real kiss to be. It had been years. Not one of those awkward too-much, too-swift tongue kisses she’d tried to navigate as a teenager, the man knew how to use his lips, touching lightly, nibbling, pressing hot and hard… and his hands…on her chin, her hair, touching her breasts, slipping down to cup her buttocks. The kiss went on forever, until finally she pulled away, panting.

He sat, smiling, reached out, pulling her back to him, kissing across her breasts, and hands all over her body, setting off a chain of sparks under her skin wherever he touched. She closed her eyes and trusted him to lead her. As the music changed to a Latin number, his hands moved to her hips, moving her to the beat. “Dance for me, sexy Ruby,” he whispered in her ear.

Just like that, she felt sexy. Why not? She found the beat, rotating her hips and swaying her upper body, shaking the straps off her shoulders and feeling the teddy slip down across her breasts, a sexy, silky motion. She refused to open her eyes or fret about how she might look.

“Very nice,” he said in a low voice. “Very sensual.” She heard his voice from somewhere low in front of her, then felt his hands on her, leading her in a circle, fingers touching her inner thigh, pulling the teddy aside. She felt the backs of her legs touch the sofa and realized he’d turned her around. What he was doing, she didn’t know exactly, but she suspected she would like it.

“Dance on, sexy Ruby,” he said.

A moment later, his cool finger touched her shaved skin, and she caught her breath with the deliciousness of it. Then his wet tongue touched her vulva and moved inside. She gasped and tried to dance as he’d instructed, but it was hard to concentrate on what movement her hips might be making when he was causing all manner of chaotic sensations below. God. Is this what people did now? She was glad she’d spent so much time on her genital hygiene earlier in the evening.

Then his tongue began to circle, across her clitoral wings and she stopped thinking, She’d had no idea….ahhhhh….

The speed and power of her orgasm took her by surprise, abrupt and all-consuming, like a wildfire racing up her body. She gasped, pulled the air deep into her lungs as if preparing for a dive, and threw herself into its embrace, moaning his name as it took her body over. Wave after wave rolled over her, pleasure like she’d never imagined. Her knees shook with the tension and she sank down, down, his tongue following her, into a pool of ecstatic sensation.

As the orgasm receded, she lay panting on the sofa, and heard him chuckle softly. “My God, I love the way you come,” he said, his voice further away, above her.

She opened her eyes and saw him rise to stand, pulling off his shirt to stand before her half nude. God, that was hot, like he was the one being pursued. Which, in a way, he was. She took a deep breath, reached for his pants and unfastened them with shaky hands. His penis jutted out from his abdomen, thick, stiff, red, and she gasped at the sight.

He smiled, and touched her again, stroking her, opening her with his fingers. “Oh, my Lord,” she said as he lowered himself toward her, kissing her neck as he sank into her. She felt his thick penis open her, pressing deeper, ever deeper. Then he pulled out and thrust in again, more firmly, his penis getting ever harder.

The orgasm, receding, came back with a roar. As he slid his rigid cock deep into her soaked vagina, she began to sob. “Oh, please, oh, please, please…”

“Please what?” he said, gently teasing.

“Please… make love to me,” she choked out. “Please … make this okay.”

He cupped and caressed her buttocks, then drove himself deep inside her, claiming her in a way she’d never felt, taking control from her utterly and irrevocably.

As she felt him stretch and lengthen inside her, she decided her conscience could afford this one luxury. The guilt would come later, but now was not the time…

She’d never felt this young.

The ages of things

She would meet me at the old house, slipping out when her mother was occupied with her own lover, or she would come up with excuses, something that didn’t require a car; visiting a friend who lived close, a basketball game, something that could be an excuse for slipping out and walking a few blocks in the wrong direction before doubling back and streaking through the woods over to the old house. The house where we used to live chastely together, me as her father’s guest, a friend from out of town come to stay for an extended period, she as his dutiful beautiful underage daughter. The house was somehow still empty, years after her dad and stepmom had moved up the coast to Nimbin and joined a community of pseudo-hippie-hedonists like themselves.

She looked every bit the voluptuous hippie girl herself, buxom, bursting with health. Her body was near perfection, with a rounded hour-glass aspect, clearly a woman’s shape animated by a girl’s vitality; a bit of baby fat lining the lush, graceful curves, but it just made me even more molten for her. Especially in the days before, when I looked only from afar.

She has these sultry, pouty lips, with a line of fine muscle around the border, full expressive lips that you just need to kiss, softly, gently, taste them like they’re a delicacy, an appetizing morsel to tempt you before the coming feast. And then after a bit, you press harder against them, tickle them with your tongue, then move inside and explore her mouth, engage her tongue, withdraw and then meet again, harder, then catch the corner of her lip softly in your teeth as you separate, nibble softly along the ridge until you feel her breath speed up.

Lips you bite lightly when she’s highly excited, so hot she’s about to crawl out of her skin, when light pain gets all mixed up in your brain with pleasure.

Her face is an oval, almond-shaded, framed by dark pixie hair, her nose aquiline yet soft, with a lock of her hair always hanging not-quite-across one eye, curling alongside her nose like an accent, her skin feathery to the touch almost like it’s been powdered with sugar. It tastes just as delicately delicious.

Her eyes are soft brown one minute, gentle, then black-purple the next, almost dangerous looking, a change that alters her every feature, making her seem an almost-constant mystery, a stranger that you somehow know without really knowing, need even when you can’t recognize her.

Even when I am the one making all the moves, doing all the seducing, while she silently — or not-so-silently — registers her surprise and pleasure at all the new things I do to her, it still feels like she’s somehow the one controlling everything.

I dip down, kneel, and explore under her soft white cotton skirt, and her sighs and whispering cautions show her appreciation and inexperience, and the novelty of sliding my tongue into that subtly sweet, tangy, sticky slit and knowing I am in all the likelihood the first tongue to ever taste her, the Columbus of Carnal Knowledge.

I make my tongue soft and broad and slip it gently across the opening in her softly-furry mound, up, up and then slowly inside at the tip so softly, it’s like a whisper. She grabs my head, her fingers entwining into my hair, vocalizing but saying nothing, soft liquid sounds issuing from her mouth. I set a steady, gentle pace and she starts to undulate slowly, her hips describing a soft determined semi-circle, the intensity of her thrusts slowly building until she’s rubbing herself against my lips, my tongue, my chin, moaning softly.

I suddenly make my tongue go stiff and clenched, pointed, and thrust inside, darting swiftly into her gooey center before resuming the gentle vertical swipe. She goes rigid for a second with a sharp intake of air, and then grinds herself against me. “Do that again,” she gasps. “Please?”

I take off then, launch all my skills and technique, all the things her gender across the country and the world have painstakingly taught me over the years. In minutes, no, seconds, she’s coming, moaning, sobbing, grinding against me, her hands clasped tightly to both sides of my head.

“My God,” she says shyly when she can speak again. “I had no idea it could be like this. Jeez.”

I stand, sliding up her body to her perfect breasts, touch her perky nipples each in turn, then lean in to taste each, my hands gripping that perfect meaty, shapely butt. She groans and presses herself against me, her sticky cunt suctioning to my thigh. I nudge it with my knee and she murmurs approvingly. “I guess there’s some compensation for being my age,” I say softly. She smiles, nods.

I often think back on that, the way it was at first, as she stands before me these days, her face defiant and full of scorn, disgusted at my continuing physical decline, yet she comes when I call her, grudgingly unwilling, moving across the room in that strange splay-legged gait that looks like her thighs are scraping together.

I know the signs, and I know them well. She’s the only woman I have ever met who needs sex as much as I do, her body signaling that need as clearly as if she had a neon sign on her head – or a bulge in her pants. Her labia suffuse with blood when she’s in need, and push out, rubbing against each other, making her walk bowlegged, until she needs to scratch it like an actual itch. If she doesn’t get what she needs, she’ll go home and masturbate in her strangely violent way, scratch herself until she comes. She does that out of spite, not pleasure. She only wants me, but it’s not personal – her cunt likes my cock. It’s not like she desires me as a being, or even likes me very much anymore. In fact, most days she says she hates me.

But the sex is every bit as mind-blowing; every time is like the first time, if not always in the same gentle style, it matches that first time in intensity. She still needs me to take over and dominate, even as she loathes me, hates that she needs it. Some nights she sobs while she rides me, cursing me with her eyes while out of her mouth tumble tiny, surprised mumbled words of effusive praise, helpless in her gratitude for what her body is getting from its melding with mine.

It’s a mutual need, an addiction for both of us.

The first time I parted her with my finger and thumb and held her apart while my penis entered her, it was like an explosion of emotion and sensation, grabbing us both and throwing us into each other’s orbit, trapping us with the centrifugal force, making us cling to each other and gasp with wonder at what had been unleashed. It seemed an awesome, fearsome thing, capable of life without our consent, and of fierce destruction if it should decide to — and it still does.

That day, we moved slowly, tentatively yet somehow deliberately, tenderly meshing our bodies, learning our parts, interlacing my suddenly-rigid cock in her soft tissue-paper-like tensile wetness, lest we break something, start a chain reaction, initiate a meltdown. But the energy spooled up anyway, spilling over us, heating our thighs and flushing our faces and limbs with racing blood, even as we moved slowly, deeply restrained even as we buried my most impressive erection ever inside her innocent babe-flesh.

When my orgasm came, there was no question of holding it back even for a moment, it blasted its way up and out like a geyser, flooding her insides like a firehose and then suddenly she was coming with me, her tiny cunt clamping ever harder, milking, and she screamed into my ear, a ragged bird-like cry, dredged from some forgotten part of the brain that humans had long ago abandoned. I felt the force of my spasm as a pressure in the fillings in my teeth, in my toenails, in my soul. With the rush of blood to my head, my ears began to hum, rumble, sing, and the world went blurry and indistinct, her cry of primal primacy sounding robustly feline and childishly fragile at the same time inside my head.

Back then, she would always lay her head down on my chest, her hair matting and bonding to my damp skin, and sleep, stirring with my every move, kissing my chest in her sleep, murmuring. Sleeping exactly an hour, then waking cleanly and departing with a secret backward smile.

These days she leaves as I lie, still gasping, not daring to call to her lest the pounding in my chest be accompanied by a sharp, lightning pain down my arms.

The first brush…

…Some time afterward, without discussion, he rolled her over onto her stomach and made love to her other side, his tongue tracing her spine from the tips of her ears down to the swell of her butt, where he paused for an extended time, rubbing, lightly tracing, kissing, licking between her legs, his tongue entering her soaked and aching vagina from behind, sending the blood gushing south again in a roaring torrent.

Gently he probed the crease of her ass with his slippery fingers, thumbing the bud of her anus softly, until she relaxed enough to let him penetrate her, holding still and stroking her shoulders, her back and cheeks reassuringly until she relaxed again and let him insert a finger. Soon, he added a second and began sliding them in and out slowly, softly, and her body followed the sleepy sexy motion, rising, falling as if riding a wave.

Then she felt his hardness brush her thigh and she tensed with the sudden premonition of what was to come. She was frightened, but she knew he would be gentle and he was.

She also did not know if he would stop if she asked.

The velvety head of his penis pressed between the globes of her ass and slid into the crease and nosed, gently insistent, upward into her body from behind. She caught her breath loudly and held it.

He paused, balanced above her, kissed her ear, squeezed her breasts, then slipped his hand under her and rubbed her sex with the heel of his hand until she released her shuddering breath and began to rock against his hand, gasping, begging. Then he resumed his motion, slipping inside her, parting the relaxed muscle, and when she had adjusted to accommodate his solid thickness in her forbidden place, he went further, a long way down inside. She groaned with the tension and the unexpected, darkly erotic feelings it aroused in her, unlike anything she’d ever imagined she could feel.

He rose a bit, pulling back, and she relaxed again. He reversed suddenly and pressed in anew, reached all the way inside her and claimed her, taking her last bit of privacy, her last vestige of virginity surrendered to him. Buried in her, his full testicles pressed against her rounded, tensed buttocks, he wrapped her in his body and held her tightly, molding her to him. She relaxed into him, her flesh pulling his deeper, wanting it to burn her, a feeling that she never knew until now that she craved.

Then he began to take her, thrusting slow and deep, filling her in a way she could not even begin to resist. Her body writhed against him like a wraith, her movements feeling out of her control, possessed by his spirit and his flesh, her ass pressing upward, meeting and welcoming his gloriously hard cock, which split her afresh with each powerful thrust of his hips. Pain welled and ebbed constantly, alternating with a taut, warm, bursting pleasure that made her light-headed, until she did not know what she was feeling, each wave more intense than the last.

Then he thrust deeper than she thought possible, she felt him graze her core, and she screamed, her body convulsing as she felt something inside her let go suddenly, as if a knot had abruptly come undone. Thick streams of steamy liquid burst from her inner depths, her own molten lava, emptying itself through her cunt, coursing down her legs and pooling on the bed beneath their bodies. She collapsed, gasping with the release, and he fell with her, lay beside her, still buried inside.

“I know you now,” he said softly after a bit. “And you are mine.”

She nodded mutely, biting her lip to stop the shaking.

“And there’s more.”

“What…What could there possibly be after this?”

For answer, he rolled her upon her back and …