Fantasies?

He is drop-dead, panty-wettingly gorgeous! Shame about the wedding ring, and equally a shame I know them both. He’s 48 and his wife a little older at 52. They have no children, and I gather this isn’t by choice. Some anatomical reason prevents her from conceiving. (So far, this is true) 

I wonder what their sex life is like, or if it’s dwindled to nothing? She must be in the menopause by now, and I know things can slow down around then. They don’t seem to be physically affectionate when I’ve seen them. No hand-holding, or intimate little kisses on the cheek. I am sure, in my own mind, that his right hand is his best friend. (Again, absolutely true so far.) 

And yet, here I stand, enfolded in his arms and he is kissing me. Oh, how he’s kissing me! I have never been kissed like this before. Not ever. In fact, there is a serious risk that I will cum in my panties if he keeps this up. How can anyone kiss like this? I feel the ghost of a touch on my right breast. Instinctively, I know it’s a ‘consent’ touch…a mere ruffling of the material rather than contact with me. I respond by pressing myself into his warm sensitive hand. When his fingers start to caress my breast and lightly play my nipple, that feeling of an imminent orgasm becomes all the more real. 

I’m not even aware of when, or even how he removed my t shirt. Honestly! A fucking t-shirt. How unromantic could I have possibly been? Yet now I stand with him, naked from the waist up and his hands….oh my God in heaven, his hands……

He leans down to kiss my right nipple and I feel a pulse in my vagina. I’m not really going to cum am i? Surely not from just this, yet here he is, using his lips, tongue, and teeth with well-practised ease on my sensitive skin. I feel his hand move from the small of my back around by hips, then down my right thigh until it’’s level with the hem of my skirt. I’m sure I feel two fingers on the skin of my thigh. He gives the slightest upward movement taking the skirt with it….again….permission? 

My hands are busy ruffling his hair and my nose is inhaling the maleness of him. I can’t speak, so I moan as I pull his head more firmly against my boob. His hand leaves my skirt and travels up underneath it. For a moment, the cold light of day intrudes. I know I am soaking wet. I know he will, in a few seconds time, find that my panties are drenched. But by then, it’s too late. He is using my excessive wetness to slide his pianists fingers over my slit through my panties, and it’s as if he has radar…he finds my hole and presses slightly, but then he finds my clit and flicks four fingers over my little sex bean that makes me gasp. 

Leaving his hand where it is, he straightens up. He kisses me again and says “I’d love to lick your cunt. May I?” His voice is cultured, educated, and somehow, even the use of the obscenity doesn’t seem obscene. I absolutely adore dirty talk, yet this doesn’t seem like anything I’ve heard before. I nod….honestly…is that the best I can do. 

He leads me by the band and sits me on his couch. He kneels before me and effortlessly removes my skirt and panties. He holds my panties to his face and inhales. “You have no idea how long it’s been…..” He leaves the sentence unfinished, but I can see a world of regret in his eyes. A world of unfulfilled longing. He parts my knees as if I was an unknowing schoolgirl and kisses with almost painful slowness up my thighs. My mind is racing with things I should tell him. I squirt. Sometimes, more than squirt. I can’t find the words. They simply won’t come. 

So, he kisses my sex. I expect I will cum, but, surprisingly, I don’t. Instead, the intensity builds…and builds…..and builds more. I can’t just  lie here. I realise he has shed his shirt, and I smell the maleness of him in the heat of his body. Fumbling with his belt slows my progress, but soon, I have him as baked as he has me. Now I take his hand and guide him onto the couch. It is my turn to kneel. I take him in my mouth and his hardness fills me with a deep visceral longing to have him inside me. I don’t taste his wife’s vagina on him.. in a way, it’s a pity, but I’m not surprised. I suck him harder and run my tou]genie under that little ridge around the head of his penis that seems to have been designed for the tip of a tongue. He groans, and my reward is a mouthful of pre-cum. 

I can’t wait. I pull him down onto the floor and on top of me. Like the gentleman he is, he supports his weight. Then with an experienced lunge, he pushes inside me. This isn't the desperate penile prodding of a teenager intent on getting his rocks off. He knows exactly how fast to do this to make me feel filled to the limit. He begins to fuck me, but it isn’t for him. Every thrust, every movement, is designed for my pleasure and mine alone. He has learned The Great Secret. The Great Secret of sex is to concentrate on the giving, not the receiving. For it is in the giving that pleasure is derived. He fucks me in ways I have never imagined. It is as if he is reading my body, every response of mine provokes a like response in him. I want to devour him, to become one with the organ he has buried deep inside me. 

He seems balanced, poised, waiting for something, and then I realise, he is waiting for my orgasm. When it comes, I am not the one who triggered it. No dirty thought, no erotic fantasy, not even the thought that I a, fucking a much older married man. He senses my orgasm hit and at precisely the right nanosecond of it, he unloads inside me taking me to new heights of ecstasy. My world shatters into shards of colour and light. 

Afterwards, I lie utterly spent in his arms. I want him again. I want him to  make love to me…to fuck me….and I don’t care how. In that moment, I am his whore to do with as he pleases. I feel him stir to life under my touch, and he rolls me onto my side facing away from him. I feel him nudge against my bum hole, and I realise that I am about to visit a zone of pleasure that few ever experience. My last conscious thought as I press back against him and relax to allow him entry is that his wife doesn’t know what she is missing.