The Pastor's Wife
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Ma/ft, mt/Fa, Fa/Fa, Consensual, BiSexual, Heterosexual, Incest, Mother, Son, First, Clergy, Teacher/Student,
Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Agatha Wilcox, a 52 year old Pastor's wife has an unlikely weeklong, simmering affair. Finding a a new appetite for sex she has an affair with her daughter's piano teacher and then a member of her own family. This leads to an awareness that her three best friends--all pastor's wives--are having the same troubles at home. Aggie shares her knowledge and the of wealth of her experiences with her friends.
Agatha Wilcox wife of Reverend Phillip Wilcox, having recently celebrating her fifty-first birthday is spending a week at the shore by herself while her husband is attending his annual conference. Still a vibrant, attractive woman Agatha is going through a late mid-life crisis. Sex with her husband is unsatisfying and nearly nonexistent. She has grown tired of the fishbowl she is forced to live in as a pastor’s wife and is desperately seeking some kind of a change in her life. She hopes this week at the beach will give her some clarity as to how she will cope with her demanding role.
Lying on her back on the orange and blue striped beach towel Agatha’s body had molded an impression into the sand. Having undone the string of her bra like so many of the younger women on the beach she shimmied her chest while turning to lay on her stomach. Displacing the cooling sand beneath her body her breasts formed a different impression of her womanhood in the sand. She enjoyed the sensual feeling and wished for a better way to enjoy her sexuality.
As a pastor’s wife she lived in a fishbowl where people judged her every move. Alone for a week, away from people who expected her actions to be saint-like, was the kind of therapy she needed badly. The sound of breaking waves had a restorative effect that nothing else in Agatha Wilcox’s life could match. Lying on the beach soaking in the sun she listened to the joyful sounds of vacationers and their children. It made her feel like she was part of something magical.
The sun’s rays that were baking her skin gave her a toasty feeling, a feeling of warm detachment from the intensity of her world. Though her figure had once been a perfect hourglass the birth of two children and the onslaught of middle age thickened it more than she would have preferred. Yet her flowing curves were still attractive enough to capture the eyes of leering men.
When she walked on the beach they gawked at her shapely legs which disappeared beneath the electric blue fabric of her bathing suit, coming to an end in the hidden cleft of her mature bottom. Though she knew vanity was a sin she had spent enough time modeling before her mirror to know the visual value of her assets. Her opinion of herself was confirmed when, as she walked past the lifeguard tower, one of the guards, a blond, blue eyed, buff young man smiled and said “Hello.” She laughed out loud when he grinned and held his finger to his ear and his thumb to his mouth in the traditional sign that said, “Call me.” I only wish I could she thought as she walked beyond the tower. There was no doubt in her mind that the young man was ogling her behind which gave her a naughty kind of pleasure. She giggled at the thought of the vibrant young man mentally undressing her, a fifty year old woman.
Her auburn ponytail brushed her neck just below her shoulder blades. From afar everything about her suggested a vibrant woman who was young and perkier the she knew she was. No one who didn’t know Agatha Wilcox’s I am a coed she thought then laughed aloud at her foolishness. But she was enjoying her fanciful thoughts.
A closer view of her face revealed classic lines with few wrinkles, with the exception of fine crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes. A scar on her cheekbone was nearly invisible but when she smiled it formed a dimple. She’d been told by more than one of her husband’s parishioners such as Elliot Grinnell, the man who made the cottage available gratis, that the dimple made her appear girlish. Her c-cup breasts were not perky like a coed’s but they still held themselves at an alluringly acceptable level. Her tummy, although slightly pooched, was toned and firm. Agatha new how old she was, nonetheless she was pleased that at the age of 51 men still turned their heads to look when she walked past.
Although she maintained the austere standards of a preacher’s wife she was becoming concerned with her increasingly rebellious thoughts. I wonder, she mused, what these people would think if I simply sat up and let my top drop? She chuckled at the image of the pastor’s wife waggling her boobs for all to see. Through the years she had fantasized illicit pleasures with other men, thoughts that had been laced with guilt. Masturbation provided shallow release but it was never accomplished with peace of mind. “I’m stuck,” she said to herself. Unless her husband Pastor Phillip Wilcox underwent a sexual epiphany what she had was all she ever be able to expect.
The afternoon sun baked her back and legs, soaking through the thin fabric of her blue bathing suit and toasting her bottom. She wondered if Phillip, when he would see her naked at the end of the week, would even notice that she had no tan lines on her back. He never seemed to notice anything she did to make herself more attractive for him. If he did notice he more than likely would have castigated her for acting like a Jezebel. But I have such a nice body, she thought, lamenting the fact that no one else would ever see it.
Resting her chin on the backs of her hands she watched children splashing in the surf, screaming and throwing sand, digging and making sandcastles. Couples walked on the beach, many hand in hand. Her peripheral vision caught a young couple strolling toward her. Shifting her eyes she noticed the cute brunette woman’s lithe figure and ample breasts. The man, in tight electric blue Speedo trunks, was about six inches taller. He was bronzed and muscular with six-pack abs. His hairy, athletic legs flowed all the way to his bulge. The sight of it made Agatha tingle between her legs. I should be ashamed of myself.
The couple passed by close to her head. His arm was draped over the girl’s shoulder. Unable to stop dwelling on the image of the bulge that was still etching itself on her brain Agatha thought, Lucky girl. She imagined how the package beneath the Speedo would become elongated and rigid as he became sexually excited. Her eyes followed the movement of his tight buns and captured the girl’s bottom, watching as the two swayed side by side. She visualized their coupling, moving and wiggling their tight asses to the metronome of his glistening, rigid shaft which would be plunging and withdrawing in the girl’s tight young body.
She thought of her own wedding night and her honeymoon. A virgin, she nervously anticipated what Phillip would do to her. When he finally pushed that formidable giant of a “thing” inside her fear was confirmed by a sharp pain. But it was quickly replaced with an ecstasy that was more sexual joy than what she had pondered as a high school girl, at the time going steady with the sex challenged Garven Milroy. Having once handled young Garven’s erect phallus she had been pleased that she had waited to consummate sex. That was the gift she had given Phillip, the gift of herself in such a joyful and accepting way that made her feel special. When after maybe six strokes, he exploded inside her on their honeymoon night: she was pleased that he cried out so excitedly. But when he rolled off and turned over on his side, going to sleep without so much as a “goodnight,” she felt hurt. For the next ten days they made love three and four times a day. Each time the newness of having him inside her was thrilling. Each time though he came so quickly that she felt a growing lack of fulfillment.
Alone on the beach with her sexual thoughts Agatha realized a cooling sensation between her legs. Fearing that the wet spot had become so pronounced that someone might be able to notice it shadowing in her swimsuit it troubled her that while this “condition” should have been blissful, Phillip had always complained about her copious wetness, calling it “off-putting.” Always though, like a rebellious, naughty girl who liked to pee her pants, she enjoyed the feeling.
After leaving the beach she went back to the cottage, showered and read a few chapters in her book. At 7:10 she was seated at the railing of an outdoor restaurant by the boardwalk. The sun was on its downward arc. Since her skin was tingling from overexposure to the afternoon sun she was pleased to be in the coolness of the shadows. Dressed in white Capri’s, a low cut white and blue, striped T-top that showed a demure offering of her sun-coppered cleavage, she felt so relaxed. Her auburn ponytail hung through the hole of her dark blue baseball cap. Blue canvas wedgies on her bare feet completed her outfit, its hue drawing out the indigo color of her eyes. Her full lips were elegantly colored by coral lipstick, lightly applied.
As she took another a sip from the sweat-beaded glass of chardonnay she heard, “Excuse me.” It was a young male voice. Certain it wasn’t for her ears she didn’t look in the direction from where the voice came. “Excuse me ma’am,” the voice came through louder.
She looked across the railing. No more than a few feet away stood a gorgeous young man. His fit and muscular body of about six feet was bronzed. He was wearing blue boxer swim trunks and a blue tank top, both with red trim, both with life guard insignias. His clear, cerulean eyes gleamed below a mop of curly blonde hair; his white teeth seemed to sparkle in the waning sun. She realized that it was the same young man who from the lifeguard tower who had signaled, “Call me.”
“I hope you don’t mind Ma’am,” he said, “but I’ve been watching you all day. If you do I apologize.” Without smiling Agatha raised her eyebrows. “You look just like my aunt ... my mom’s younger sister. I ... I couldn’t keep from looking at you ... to make sure you weren’t my Aunt Carol.”
What a line she thought, trying not to be obvious that she was scanning his body. “And just how old is your mother’s sister?”
“38,” the young man replied, “its wild how much you look like her.”
She blushed. Wanting to look like she was only 38 she knew he was just being kind. She smiled, causing the fine lines of her crow’s feet to crinkle the corners of her eyes. “Well young man,” Agatha said, “that’s quite a compliment.” Holding him in her gaze she smiled almost laughing at the impossibility of such a fantasy. “Ahem,” she emphasized, “I’m old enough to be your mother.”
“Wow,” he replied, “you’d never know it. You look much younger ... like my aunt Carol.” Seeing that she was blushing he said, “I-I’m sorry ma’am, I guess I’m kind of a dweeb when I talk to girls. I’m sorry.” He backed up as if to leave.
He was so young and so incredibly sweet and his words made her tingle even though she considered them naively insincere. It had been so long since Agatha had flirted. “Don’t be sorry for the compliment,” she said. “You’re sweet.” Cocking her head she grinned and asked, “And um may I ask just how old you are?”
Shuffling his feet the young man said, “I, I’ll be nineteen in October ma’am.”
Nineteen, she thought, just a year older than Malcom (her son). “May I know your name?”
“ ... name’s Bart ma’am.” Chucking she extended her hand. “I’m pleased to meet you Bart. I’m Agatha Wilcox.” The young man took her hand and shook it. Smiling, he looked around as if he was trying to find somebody. “Am I holding you up Bart?”
“Nah, it’s nothing like that Mrs. Wilcox.” She corrected him to call her Agatha. “It’s just that I was looking to see if my buddies were around. I guess I, I must have acted kind of rude.”
“Oh, if they’re expecting you, go on. I understand.”
“I, I’m sorry Mrs. I mean Agatha. I pointed you out on the beach to them ... told them how much you looked like my aunt ... thought, if they were around I wanted them to let them get a closer look.” With a foolish smile he blushed and said, “Is that dumb, or what?”
Feeling a small thrill in the pit of her stomach Agatha’s cheeks tinged a deeper pink. The young man wants to prove to his friends what an attractive woman I am. What an incredible breath of fresh air that is. She giggled and said, “So Bart, where are your friends?”
“Dunno Mrs ... Agatha, they could be along anytime soon; or maybe they stopped somewhere, or met some girls. Ya know how it is with guys in college.” His smile was disarming.
Yes, she thought, Malcolm’s just starting his freshman year. Charmed with Bart’s youthful enthusiasm, his lack of sophistication and his proximity to the age to her own son, she coughed, trying the ruse of covering her mouth to hide her reddened face. Feeling like a young girl she giggled but felt the need to dismiss him. “Go on Bart, go on and find your friends. You have better things to do.”
“N, No. I mean really Mrs ... Agatha. It’s good for a change to be away from them. Actually I’m kind of a loner. I just thought they would get a kick out of seeing what a knockout my aunt is, is all.” His face reddened again. “I mean...”
Thrilled with his compliments Agatha felt guilty that she was flirting with such a youngster. My, my, my, she thought, if I were only 30 years younger. At the same time she didn’t want him to leave. “You seem to be quite taken with your aunt Bart. How much older is she than you?” He had already told her that she was thirty eight, twelve years younger than Agatha. But just for fun she wanted to extend the conversation.
“Nineteen years,” he volunteered, a wave of prideful pleasure rippling over his face. “She’s an airline flight attendant, still not married. She’s hot. I mean...”
This is just too silly for me to carry on. “So Bart, you should probably be looking for greener pastures. You’re young and should be with girls your own age.” She chuckled and said, “They’re probably at the same place as your friends.”
Bart smiled and shook his head. “If you wouldn’t mind Mrs ... Agatha I would prefer to stay with you.”
Feeling that she was about to make a complete fool of herself, something he would yuk up with his buddies she figured what the heck and offered, “If you have nothing else to do, maybe you’d like to keep this old lady company ... for dinner I mean.”
His eager response caused her heart to quicken, you silly old fool. “You’re a poor college student Bart so I’m buying.” Shuffling his feet and rocking back and forth the young man’s eyes penetrated hers as if to say ‘I don’t want you to do that, ‘ she thought that’s a nice trait—just the way I would like Malcolm to act.
“Are you sure Agatha?” he asked. “Are you sure that you would want to spend time with a kid like me?”
Not giving a verbal reply she looked at him with a compelling gaze. The dimple in her cheek deepened when she heard him say, “Sure Agatha, I’d love to.” Like the brash young man he was he didn’t bother with door, merely vaulted the railing and sat down.
Embarrassed by his impulsive act Agatha looked around. Seeing the stares from a group of single older women she shrugged her shoulders at them saying loudly enough from them to hear, “I should teach my son better manners than that.”
They talked about Bart’s family, his studies in college, did he have a girlfriend?
“I date Agatha but haven’t hooked up.”
When he asked about her family he was shocked when she said her husband was the pastor of a church. “Ya mean you’re really religious, like one of those holy rollers?
“My goodness no Bart,” she laughed, “We’re not Holy Rollers. Those folks are extremely conservative. We’re Methodist’s who are rather moderate. I can’t help but live a spiritual life.” She caught Bart’s look of avoidance. “As the wife of a Pastor I certainly support my husband. Besides Bart I’m a woman of faith as well, and would be regardless of whatever my husband’s profession would be.” She looked resolutely at Bart for emphasis. “But I’m a human being as well Bart; make no mistake about that ... probably just as much a human being as your aunt.” As she tried to imagine what a thirty-eight year old flight attendant might be doing she blushed. Catching herself she said, “Oh Bart I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned your aunt.”
With a broad smile Bart replied, “Don’t worry about that Agatha, Aunt Carol wouldn’t mind. I GUARANTEE you.” With a wink he added, “She’s definitely a human being.” His face turned crimson. “I’m sorry Agatha, I, I didn’t mean...”
Even though a bit shocked at what Bart might have been suggesting she held up her hand and said, “Don’t worry Bart. I have a son your age, I understand.” She asked the young man if he liked being a lifeguard. He told her it was an easy life, “sometimes kind of boring, other times exciting, particularly when I get to make a rescue.”
“I bet girls make themselves available to you,” she said, wishing she hadn’t said it. At the same time, though she couldn’t explain why, she was glad she did.
“Yeah,” he said, “that’s one of the perks.” His eyes came back to Agatha’s. “You know what though?” She bit on the question. “You wouldn’t believe the number of older women who come onto me.”
Agatha didn’t know what to do with her hands. She wiped them on her napkin then brought it to her lips, dabbing at the corners. Putting them into her lap she looked away and said, “I’m sorry Bart, I was being nosy, I don’t know what got into me.” An awkward quietness caused them to look out at people passing on the boardwalk. As Agatha sipped defensively on her chardonnay and Bart sipped on his coke each scanned the restaurant while avoiding each other’s eyes.
She was startled when Bart asked, “Aggie?” Her eyes snapped to his. “Does your husband call you Aggie?”
The question caught her off guard. “Nobody has EVER called me Aggie, Bart. I’ve always just been called Agatha.”
“If hope you don’t mind me saying so but you just don’t look and act like an Agatha. She looked at him askance. “To me you look like an Aggie. I would think everyone would want to call you Aggie.”
With and amused smile she asked, “And just what makes you think of me as an Aggie, Bart?”
“From what I have seen so far it appears that you love life. You have a wonderful sense of humor and you seem to be an adventurer. To me that’s an Aggie. I would like to call you Aggie if you don’t mind.”
I should really extricate myself from this young man’s presence she thought. But she was thrilled with his assessment and was enjoying the harmless flirtation. As she smiled broadly she felt the beating of her heart in her lips. “To be honest Bart, being called anything but Agatha seems strange to me. But just for fun I’ll try it for a bit.” He’ll be gone soon enough anyway.
“Can I ask you a personal question Aggie?” Being a pastor’s wife never allowed her to be completely honest to any of her husband’s parishioners. Most of them didn’t want honesty. They just wanted her to act any way other than human. The only opinions they wanted from her were good ones.
Impressed with the mature way the young man was handling himself and the fact that she’d been having such a refreshingly wonderful time she decided to be daring. “Feel free to ask any question you like Bart. Whatever it is I’ll try to give you an honest answer, as long as your question is not inappropriate.”
Through his intense gaze she could see his Adams apple moving like he was silently clearing his throat. He cocked his head and asked, “Can a minister and his wife have sex like ordinary people?”
The question hit her in two places, like a punch in the stomach and a knock on her funny bone. As she struggled to catch her breath she thought, my word he must not consider that this question isn’t appropriate. She wondered if Malcolm would as such a question of a woman of her age. With a feigned laugh she said, “We-he-I have two children Bart.” She could never understand why people had the impression that ministers and their wives had no sex life.
Bart’s face reddened but he pressed on, “I-I’m not talking about biology Aggie.”
This youngster wants to know if the good Reverend and his wife frolic in bed. At the same time she found it refreshing to be with someone—young or old—who was willing to treat her like a normal human being. “My goodness Bart, I didn’t expect your question to be THAT personal.”
His eyes never wavered. “But Aggie, you said you would answer any question.”
“If it were appropriate is what I said young man.”
“Why would you consider it inappropriate Aggie? Youth wants to know, ya know?”
Though she admired the young man’s candor she was intimidated by the question. At the same time it was all she could do to keep from giggling. Besides there had been no one she had comfortable confiding her frustrations to. “But do you really think it is an appropriate question Bart?” It was as if she was having a conversation with her son Malcolm and she was fencing with him about not remembering that he was a Wilcox. But she didn’t have to worry about being a parent to Bart. And he was treating her like they were on an equal plane. When have I ever had a confidant?
Realizing he was more mature than his years she took the chance. “I’m sorry Bart,” she answered, “the question just caught me somewhat by surprise. Not accustomed to this kind of directness from someone so young she glanced to the side and brushed back her hair with her palm.
Recognizing her discomfort he said, “Maybe I was off base Aggie. Maybe we should talk about something else.”
She silenced him by reaching over and touching his lips with her finger. “You’re asking me Bart, if my husband and I enjoy...” She could finish the sentence.
“Sleeping together,” Bart offered.
“But you were referring to more than sleeping, right?” He nodded, his eyes piercing hers.
“Goodness Bart.” Lost as to what to do with her hands she lifted her glass, laid it down, fumbled with her napkin then wiped the residue of dampness on her thighs and finally folded them back in her lap. “I’ve never talked with anybody like this before.”
Nibbling on her lower lip she looked away. There were so many things she wanted to know about this boy. She thought of her son Malcolm, a young man the same age as Bart. But in her mind he was nowhere near as sophisticated. She considered how inappropriate this conversation could become. But she realized that she was enjoying being “Aggie” with him. How perverted can this be? Surely I’m misreading him. This is just an innocent conversation.
She wanted to reach across the table and take his hands in hers—like a date. The way he pressed the issue of sex with her husband reminded her of Malcolm’s curiosity. She had tried to broach the subject with her husband but his closed mindedness made such a conversation taboo. I could have instructed Malcolm that it was alright to treat a woman romantically. But I was afraid that Phillip might find out and start lecturing me. Focusing on Bart she wanted to answer his question. But she needed time ... time to build a better bridge. Throwing an obstacle in his path she hoped she wouldn’t be sorry.
“Were you bragging when you said that older women made themselves available to you Bart?”
He nibbled on the corner of the nail of his little finger, scraped his tooth below the fingernail and rubbed the saliva dry with his thumb. Inspecting it he said. “I wanted to see if you were like any of them.”
“Like them in what way Bart?”
“They hit on me all the time Aggie. Most of them do it right on the beach. Some of them ask me to come to their rooms. Sometimes they invite me to dinner, just like you have.” He seemed to be back tracking when he said, “But you haven’t hit on me.”
“Were you expecting me to?”
“Kind of...” Stopping in mid-sentence he reformed his answer. “I was um kind of hoping but wasn’t expecting...” With an apologetic smile he shrugged his shoulders.
She was shocked but realized her shock was pleasant. How can this young man, not much older that a boy see fifty year old Agatha Wilcox as a woman with whom he would want to have sex? At the same time she sensed a “perverted” thrill. I wonder how many women he’s done it with. He’s such a BABY.
“Goodness gracious Bart, I-I have never had a conversation like this before.” She wondered if Malcolm had sex with girls his own age; if so, how many times? She tried to put it in perspective. I’ve been married for twenty five years and have had sex with only one man. I fondled Garven’s penis once when we were in high school but that all seemed so innocent. She felt a surge in the dewy moisture between her legs. Guilt overwhelmed her. I’m a sick person to even think of lusting after this young man. She knew she had to extricate herself from this conversation. I’m a pastor’s wife after all! But she couldn’t stop the question, “Are you disappointed that I haven’t uh, hit on you Bart?”
With his head cocked to the right he was silent for what seemed a long time, “No Aggie,” he said with doe eyes...”actually, I’m sorta glad you didn’t.”
She was afraid that he said that to make an easier to escape. He knows I am too old. Twisting the thin gold chain of her bracelet she was afraid their conversation was coming to an end. She felt compelled to forge ahead, “Why is that Bart?”
He did the nail thing again with his teeth then put his hand on his knee. The muscles of his jaw rippled. He exhaled then captured a piece of his lower lip between his teeth. Thinking that he was struggling for the right words she was afraid he didn’t want to hurt her feelings. But he surprised her when he said, “Those women are sad and desperate Aggie. They make me feel cheap, like a gigolo.”
Feeling that she had been given a reprieve she asked, “And you don’t like them hitting on you?” The term hitting on seemed strange coming from her mouth.
Lowering his eyes he cleared his throat. It seemed to Agatha that he might be embarrassed. His answer surprised her. “A young guy like me would be crazy to say that he wasn’t turned on by a woman, particularly an attractive woman who was hitting on him. Fidgeting with his hands he said with a sheepish look, “I-I love that they want me Aggie. I love what they want from me and...” He cleared his throat, “I love doing it but...” He blushed. “Geez Aggie, lots of guys would fight me to be in line for women who throw themselves at them the way they do me.” Embracing himself with his arms he rocked back and forth a couple of times before going on. “But mostly, I don’t want to be with them for long.”
She noticed the childlike relief that crossed his face. It reminded her of the way Malcolm looked when he thought he was in trouble but found out that he wasn’t.
“You’re so pretty and nice Aggie. I just didn’t want you to be that kind of sleazy woman.”
She had read enough romance novels to recognize that the subject was fanning her libido. But it seemed strange to her that she was actually being turned on by the fact that this young man might have actually been having sexual encounters with older women. But is he telling the truth? Or is this just youthful braggadocio? She knew that she wasn’t desperate enough to be blatantly seduced by a young man, not much more than a boy. To lower herself in that way would be beyond belief. However, being pursued by a young man the age of her son... Desperate, she thought, can I possibly be THAT kind of woman?
As the young man’s eyes delved into Aggie’s indigo pools her thoughts both shocked and thrilled her. What shocked her more were the thoughts that had been going through her mind, the same kind of thoughts she had when seeing an attractive man in the supermarket, I’d go down on your cock if I could. The vision of that man along with her thoughts emboldened her. “So Bart, what is it that you would like this Aggie woman to be?”
He pondered her question for a moment then said, “When I saw you on the beach Aggie, you reminded me of my cousin. I wasn’t bs-ing you about that. I even mentioned the resemblance to my partner on the tower. All day I fantasized that you would hit on me. But I didn’t expect it, not from a woman like you. When I saw you sitting here by yourself I just had to come over. I wanted to see you closer, to talk with you.” He shrugged his shoulders, “I never expected that we would be eating together. And...”
“It’s the weirdest thing Aggie but this feels like we are actually on a date; crazy, huh?”
Yes, she thought, crazy indeed. What was crazier though was that she wanted to do more than just sit there with him. Chuckling, she reached over and put her hand on his, giving it a squeeze. “Yes Bart, it is crazy. And if I were the kind of older woman you have experienced I would, as you say, probably have hit on you.”
“But you haven’t hit on me Aggie; you’re not like those other women at all. You’re uh ... classy.”
Blushing she thought Classy huh? I just want you to fuck my brains out; that’s how classy this prim and proper pastor’s wife is young man.
Noticing the redness rising in her face Bart put his hand over Agatha’s and squeezed it. Searching her eyes he said. “I’m sorry I’ve embarrassed you Aggie. I wish I hadn’t said anything to you about those women. It makes me look like some kind of uh; some kind of gigolo.”
“I didn’t think that, Bart. I’m a grown woman who knows it’s not unusual for young men to sow wild oats.” Do I really think that way? Am I allowed to? I’m sure Phillip would go nuts if he knew I was thinking this way. Reaching across the table she brushed his cheek with the backs of her fingers. “I have a son your age Bart. I don’t know whether he’s sowing his wild oats, so to speak, or not but (God help me for saying this) I hope he is. And if he is I just hope he doesn’t get some girl into trouble, or contract some kind of STD.”
Thinking about her husband’s sexual ineptitude she considered how she had originally thought they would learn sex together. She remembered how bitterly disappointing it was to her when he didn’t seem to care. If Phillip had been seduced by an older woman maybe he would have looked at sex differently. Maybe, if Malcolm could be seduced by an older woman, perhaps his wife won’t suffer the disappointment I have. She was shocked at what crossed her mind next, Maybe I could be that woman, and blushed at the thought, castigating herself. But knowing she wanted to understand what THAT kind of woman could feel she patted Bart’s hand and said, “I’ve never been with a man other than my husband Bart.”
“Aggie,” Bart said, “On the beach you looked just like my aunt; I wasn’t kidding you about that. I stared at you all day. And I’ve been walking around town hoping I would see you. Would you be offended if I told you that I’ve been fantasizing about you since I first saw you?”
Her hair stood up on the back of her neck. “Do you mean?” She couldn’t complete the sentence, nor did Bart, though he was discreetly nodding his head. What, between her legs had previously felt dewy, now felt like a flood. As the young man’s eyes were holding her captive she silently exhaled a long breath through her nostrils. Not believing the words that came out of her mouth she said, “So Bart, what are we going to do about this situation?”
It was after dark when Aggie got back to her cottage. The anticipation she felt was excruciating. At the same time she thought that the young man might not be able to make it, hoping maybe he has changed his mind. At least that would let a portion of her bruised conscience off the hook. For about fifteen minutes she paced the kitchen and living room. Then, considering what had transpired was just a middle-aged woman’s attempt at make-believe, she went into the bedroom and drew the shades.
This is SO wrong she thought. But the fantasies and desires refused to disappear. She felt like a school girl whose parents had gone away for the weekend, whose boyfriend was coming to spend the night. What if someone were to see Bart coming in here? Remembering their conversation she thought, but we covered all that. The street was poorly lighted. If Bart were to spot anybody he would just keep walking. She went back to the kitchen to make sure she had left the back door unlocked. I’m being so unrealistic. He’ll never come.
She was in the back bedroom when she heard the hinges on the kitchen door squeak. Her heart fluttered as floorboards creaked with his steps. When Bart’s body filled the bedroom door Agatha’s heart was racing. “I wasn’t really sure you would come,” she said breathlessly. As he approached she held out her hands to him. With a mother’s instinct she wrapped the young man in her arms. Her voice was husky when she said, “You must think this old woman is terribly wicked.”
Ignoring her comment he kissed Aggie’s cheek then covered her lips with the warm softness of his. The move was mutual as their enveloping arms moved to their waists and pulled their middles together. As his hands cupped her bottom they both arched their backs, gazing into the depths of each other’s eyes. With opened mouths Aggie’s kiss was hungry. Their tongues, tentative at first, whirled in primal need, discovering the salivating darkness of their other’s mysterious mouth.
She wanted to feel his penis in her hand. At the same time she wanted him to feel the wetness of the excitement he was causing between her legs. It was as if it was a forbidden place here husband never touched. Flattening her palm against his belly she worked her fingers between it and the elastic waistband of the young man’s shorts. Her fingertips brushed the patch of coarse and curly pubic hair, finally bumping the top of Bart’s pulsing erection.
When she felt the excitement of a different male’s fleshy member she was surprised how thick he was. Having known only one man in her life she had no reference for a difference. But she remembered her high school sweetheart Garven and remembered how huge he felt when she touched his. One stroke told her that Bart wasn’t particularly long, just very thick.
The young lifeguard fumbled with the top button of Aggie’s Capri pants finally zipping them down. Inside her panties the palm of his hand pressed on the soft prominence of her hairy mound. She winced with pleasure as the tip of his middle finger skated in her slippery groove.
Letting go of Bart’s stubby cock Aggie wiggled and peeled her Capri’s, along with her panties, over her curved hips and well-shaped bottom. As they dropped to the floor Bart’s finger slid inside her sex and hooked it against the front of her vagina. Keeping a steady pressure on the front of her tunnel as his finger moved in and out he was sending jolts of excitement to her nipples, her knees and even her toes. In a flash she realized that the young man’s technique was light years ahead of her husband’s, if I could call any of Phillip’s moves technique. Writhing with the pleasure of Bart’s moving finger she kicked off her blue canvas wedgies. He kept moving his finger, pressing on her g-spot but, though Agatha Wilcox was a mature woman she was impatient for more intimate knowledge of his magnificent girth. “I want you Bart,” she gasped in a ragged voice.
The young man thrust his left hand into his pocket, pulling out a foil package containing a condom. Taking his finger from between Aggie’s legs he tore open the package. It was an entirely strange act for a woman whose tubes had been tied long ago. As infrequently as it happened Phillip always entered her bareback. She wished it could have been the same with Bart. But for both of their benefit she loved that he was being so careful. As his palm pushed on her chest she fell backward, bouncing on the mattress then settling as she watched him roll the delicate latex membrane over on his swollen phallus.
Settling on her back she raised her legs hopefully and spread them. Quaking with shivers of anticipation she felt the blunt tip of his glans exploring her groove. When it found the threshold of her core Bart pushed forward, stretching the opening wider than Aggie could have imagined any man doing. As he lodged his incredible bulk solidly inside her pussy she felt like her eyes would pop out. Good Lord, she thought, it’s like he’s shoving SALAMI inside me. Grunting at the tight discomfort she moaned as her vagina did what it was designed to do, accommodate this new and larger standard. Father in Heaven, she marveled, this is DELICIOUS.
Naked from the waist down she was still wearing her blue and white vertical striped Tee. His blue trunks were bunched around his ankles, his sandals still covering his feet. Aggie trapped Bart’s waist in the vise of her legs. Hungry for romance or at the moment any kind of sex, the voracious fifty-one year old woman held the young man’s smooth cheeks between her hands. Capturing his eyes she brought his face close to hers. Their lips met. She wanted to lose herself in the wet kiss. But at the moment she just needed the raw sex she had been forever denied. As she squeezed her tight pussy on the young man’s fat meat she relaxed her legs. Breaking the kiss, saliva stringing between their lips, she panted, “F-fuck me Bart.”
Pressing his knees against the side of the mattress he hunched his back, withdrawing his cock to the rim of its head. He marveled at how tight this fifty plus year old woman was. Most of the older women’s he had known were loose. To him it seemed that Aggie’s was like a virgin’s; her body had not yet to begun breaking down. At the top of his stroke he saw her eyes close. When he leaned forward, forcing his bulk inside, her eyes opened wide and, as if she had seen a ghost, she opened her mouth with a shriek, like she was being penetrated by some kind of monster.
The fantasy of being penetrated by another man had been with her for over fifteen years. That it was actually was enough at the moment, she expect no more. But as the huge presence of this vibrant young man’s thick sex penetrated once, twice, three times ... ten times, she expected that he would come. Phillip always did. But it kept thrusting inside her, exciting internal endings she had never known to exist. She couldn’t believe that after five minutes or so he was still drilling. What she was feeling was rapturous her body shuddering in an uncontrollable climax.
The condition that Phillip had always castigated her for—squirting—had her pussy so well lubricated that Bart’s log-like cock was sliding inside her with greased ease. Each time he withdrew she bit her lower lip and sucked air through her nose as she anticipated this next plunge. Each time as he slammed home Aggie’s legs frog-kicked and she gasped another version of her pleasure. Each time he drove to the center of her core her eyes bugged out and she would cry, “YES Bart,” or “FUCK Me,” thinking I can’t even believe I am using this forbidden word. But oh how I LOVE it. “FUCK. FUCK, FUCK.”
Bart was shouting words like, “God!” and “Fuck!” his cock like the piston of an engine, moving over and over in in her well-oiled cylinder. “AGGIE, Aggie,” he would cry, “FUCK ... OH GOD.”
For Aggie it was like an out of body experience, as if she was looking down from above: Two bodies, the male in a blue shirt with his blue trunks bunched around his ankles, his muscular legs and tight buns rising and falling on top of the woman, waggling her head with each stroke. Anticipating each thrust the woman’s eyes closed and opened. It was as if she were seeing a miracle. Each time her lower lip was pulled in by nibbling teeth before her mouth opened into an oval of ecstasy. At the same time her legs kicked like a dog paddling swimmer’s. She heard the slapping of two bellies, clapping like an appreciative audience ... heard the clapping increase and then frenzied whines that she realized were coming from her own mouth.
The exquisite sensation of his penis moving inside her had just sent Aggie over the edge of another orgasmic cliff. With her fists she beat on his back, bucking hard to meet his thrusts while Bart, with his arms stiffly supporting him on the mattress, began to quiver. His grunts, holding back the zenith of his explosion became urgent and more primal. “Oh BABY,” he yelled, the flood of semen having finally cracked the dam. Shuddering ecstatically he continued humping until, gasping for air he slumped in exhaustion on top of Aggie’s body.
With his deflating penis being clutched in her pussy Aggie bound him with her arms and legs. To her his cock even in its shrinking state still felt substantial. Though wanting more she had already experienced more orgasms than had happened in her entire life. Thinking that he had dozed she was both surprised and pleased when he asked, “Aggie, can we be naked together?”
Longing to feel his naked flesh against hers, the way a man and woman were supposed to be in bed, she responded, “Mm hm,”
She opened her arms and smoothed her palms to the bottom of his shirt. He held his arms high and she pulled it upward and off, the odor of his sweat wafting in her nostrils. Ordinarily this strong male smell would have disgusted Agatha Wilcox. But the emergent Aggie, while being ravished by this macho young man, while finding the odor objectionable was also stimulated by the primal nature of it. Looking at him standing with his shorts around his ankles she said, “Take off your trunks and shoes, sweetie.” It struck her odd that as she eyed Bart standing naked in the pool of his dirty clothes her maternal memories brought forth the image of her son as a young child getting ready to climb into the bathtub. That’s strange she thought, is this a wicked?
Sitting up Aggie stripped off her T-top, reached around and deftly undid her bra. Wiggling it off she smiled at Bart who was standing naked before her, his thick penis dangling limp covered by the semen-filled condom. Tickled at how bizarre he looked, she chuckled, “You’re so damned cute Bart.” Her grin formed the dimple that sank into her cheek. “You need to let Mama wash you in the shower.” The minute she said it she felt strange. Why did I refer to myself as Mama?
When she stood up her generous breasts slumped to their natural position. Belying that she was fifty-one they were not very saggy, just flowing. Her areolas were large pinkish brown circles. Pimpled with bumps they were as soft as the softest kid leather. Her large nipples were almost the size of dimes, protruding nearly a quarter of an inch beyond her breasts. When Bart’s gawking approval sent warmth throughout her body she felt like a newlywed. Smiling she took his hand and led him into the bathroom. Reaching down she pinched the end of the condom and said, “Let’s get rid of this, shall we,” slipping it from his flaccid penis. Dropping it into the toilet she flushed it then pulled the young Adonis into the shower.
After soaping the washcloth she said, “Hold your arms up sweetie.” She scrubbed under his arms and down his body: across his abdomen, up and down his chest, through his sudsy pubic patch and over his slightly swelling penis. Tenderly she washed the doeskin sac that held his balls. “Turn around baby.” She did his neck, back, down his legs and feet. Spreading his cheeks she washed behind his balls and around his anus, probing just inside with her finger in the washcloth. Phillips anus had been strictly off-limits to the pastor’s wife. Exploring Bart’s, though even tentatively sent tingles throughout her body.
“You do me now sweetie,” she said, handing him the washcloth and turning her back to him.
He mimicked her movements exactly, even probing her anus, which triggered a thrilling shock. “Turn around,” he said. When she turned her eyes captured what was now a full erection. This time she was able to get a more permanent picture of what it truly was like—a plump bratwurst, though pink with a purple head.
He washed her cheeks, her shoulders, around her arms and breasts. The washcloth on her nipples sent jolts to her clitoris and toes. He made suds in her pubic triangle and very gently washed between her legs then down her legs to her feet. Standing up again he put his arms loosely around her waist and pulled her gently forward her pristine labia sliding over the top of his rigid shaft, caressing it with her large lips.
As they kissed and hugged, naked chest and breasts discovered new sensual pleasures. Closing her legs she squeezed his hardness, seating its top between her parting lips. Sliding his cock from the tight prison between her legs he created and opening to allow his finger to search the point where her labia came together.
As Bart titillated her trough Aggie’s hand went to his stumpy erection. She pulled his loose outer skin as far forward as it would go; partially covering his violet colored head then settling into a slow, sliding stroke.
Finding her clitoris, Bart pressed with his fingertip. She winced as it moved, skating around the circumference of the swelling node. Their lips melted like heat-softened butter, their tongues dancing in a sensuous waltz. Unlike the primal wildness of their first kiss this was deliberate and purposeful. Each explored the slickness of inner cheeks and velvet-like tops of their lover’s tongue. Gingerly, they breathed to avoid having their nostrils flooded by cascading water.
To Aggie it was surreal, her clitoris being caressed by Bart’s pinkie felt swollen to the size of a cashew, its movements driving toward another orgasm. While lips pressed and tongues flailed wildly, air flaring their nostrils was symbiotic as they inhaled through Aggie’s and exhaled through Bart’s. Both lovers’ hands moved faster while both bottoms wiggled and clenched. As one warm glow dropped from her brain toward the one rising from her feet they collided on her clitoris, sending her body into another spasm causing another gush of clear ejaculate sagging down her thighs.
Turning Aggie’s back to the warm shower Bart let the soothing water caress her as her jacking of her hand squeezed his penis in her grip. He held her tight under the pelting warmth as she shivered her climax.
“Oh baby,” she gasped in words long since forgotten, not realizing the tenseness that had taken years to build. “OH BABY,” words she hadn’t used since her early in her marriage. The sobbing release caught her too off guard to stifle. Feeling like a foolish child she managed between sobs to say, “Oh baby, baby I’ve needed that so BADLY.”
It was hard for the young lifeguard to believe that the attractive woman in his arms was fifty years old; she seemed so much younger. But he’d been with enough desperate, mature women to know that she was special—toned yet supple. In awe he said, “You’re a marvelous woman Aggie.”
The thankful woman, compelled to show this liberating young man her appreciation unlocked her knees and yielded to gravity, sliding down his chiseled body. Her face slithered past his chest to his stomach, her chin raking his sodden thatch of pubic hair before touching the top of his peg-like erection. Indigo eyes looked up into his downcast gaze to confirm his acceptance of her intentions.
Leaning back she inspected his amazing bulk, eying its light purple, tight and shiny gizzard-like as she thought, I wonder how it will feel in my mouth? The slit on the end looked like two sideways lips that drooled an aloe-like precum from the bottom corner. Touching it with the tip of her tongue she tasted his sweetness then opened her mouth and took it inside.
Even though his girth stretched her mouth she was surprised that there was enough room for her tongue to lap his hulking head. Licking the oozing sweetness she wiggled the tip of her tongue, flicked and licked the lobed bottom of his glans worrying I hope he doesn’t think I’m an amateur.
At the sensation of his cock going into this beautiful, mature woman’s mouth, Bart sucked the humid air. Looking down he watched three inches of his five inch shaft disappear into the elegant lady’s face. With her mouth plugged the woman looked up with gleeful eyes, her tongue fluttering around his tingling phallus. She took his scrotum in her fingers and gently rolled the balls inside. He felt, more than heard her grunts as her soft lips: her warm, wet mouth and the pebbled top of her tongue waggled his rigid shaft on its soft, velvety platform.
While he winced, wiggled and squirmed he laced his fingers in the gorgeous older woman’s wet auburn hair, coxing the back and forth movement of her holstering mouth on his excited rod. He watched his cock disappear then appear, pumping into Aggie’s face while his knees turned to Jell-O.
Phillip Wilcox’s denial of oral sex had layered decades of disappointment on his wife’s sexual enjoyment. With this young man’s swollen organ moving in her mouth Aggie was exhilarated. Sensing the nearness of his ejaculation she was torn between forestalling it and experiencing the shots of warm seed that she had been lusting for all of these years. Both wanting to watch him ejaculate and curious about what it would feel like squirting into her mouth she decided on the latter. Taking his shaft back into her mouth she cupped his muscular buns and plunged, bobbing on it as fast as she could.
When his muscles tightened and his body tensed she knew he was on the verge of his explosion. It was hard to hear the sound of his blissful moans above the pounding of the water. But when his hard, pulsing organ recoiled in her mouth she felt his warm semen splashing against the back of her throat and pooling on her tongue. Bart’s pleasure overrode the pelting sound of the water, “AHHHHHHHHH,” squirting again and again, filling her mouth with millions of wriggling sperm.
Thinking he was finished Aggie pulled free but spied the spiraling, pulsating stream from his slit the was hurtling at her face. The thick, warm line lay across her nose and cheek and washed down with the running water. Letting the semen in her mouth settle she squished it between her teeth and rolled it over her tongue before swallowing it then cuddled her cheek against his still plumped cock like a little girl with a doll. With a wisp of a smile, her dimple drawing deep into her face, she kissed his deflating cock, hugged his bottom in her arms and pulled his sex tightly against her face.
Out of the shower Bart wrapped her in the large bath towel. While patting her dry he said, “Aggie, you must know that one of the most exciting things for a man is to cum in a woman’s mouth and her swallowing it.”
Puzzling at what he had just said she asked, “Don’t most of your women like to swallow your sperm?” His women she thought, giggling silently at the likelihood that this young man might actually have “women.”
“I don’t think so,” Bart answered. “Some of the older women like it; lots say they do, to please me. But I think most women really don’t.”
She pondered his answer worrying that he might think her a tainted woman. “You probably think I’m crazy Bart but the thought of having those millions of sperm swimming in my mouth, knowing how much pleasure it gave you, made me feel ... made me feel um ... powerful. And there is something about all those fertile little critters (she chuckled), having them in my mouth like that made me think how masculine you are.”
“When I saw you on the beach Aggie I was impressed at how elegantly you carried yourself. At the time I thought how nice it would be just to be with you. I fantasized that we might be able to get together ... thought you might be fun to be with ... to have sex with of course. But I had no idea you would be this hot. You’re an amazing woman Mrs. Wilcox.”
Still wrapped in their towels Bart directed her back to the bed. “You’ve done something for me, Aggie,” he said, “Now I would like to return the favor. I’m not used to your taste yet but I know I’m going to love it.”
She looked up into his eyes, not quite sure what he was talking about. She had never experienced cunnilingus before and hoped that he would do it.
Puzzled by her expression he was sure that Aggie at fifty-one was a fully initiated woman. He had no idea that such a common act could be so foreign to this woman. Removing her towel he took her in his hand and backed her to the edge of the bed. “Sit down Aggie,” he said. “Sit with your bottom about twelve inches on the mattress and just lay back.”
She sat, trying to gauge an exact twelve inches. Still holding her hands Bart eased her back to the mattress. Taking her ankles in his hands he positioned her feet on the edge then reached for a pillow. With his hands under her bottom he lifted and with her help raised her hips, slid the pillow under her bottom and dropped to his knees.
As she watched the wet, curly mop of hair close the distance between her mound the excitement alone brought her close to a butterflies-in-the-stomach orgasm. She felt his thumbs opening the lips of her vulva and winced as his, the first tongue on her pussy, sent myriad pleasure waves throughout her body. Closing her eyes she felt the dreamy pillows of his lips against her labia ... his soft tongue probing her furrow. As he found her hole his tongue tip penetrated as far as it would go, rimming her vaginal ring a number of times then gliding upward, upward, upward. Her midsection clenched and she felt warm ooze seeping from deep inside.
“Holy Moses Bart,” she gasped. I can’t believe what’s happening to me. In a panic she felt like she was peeing. But she had squirted a few times before when making love. What have I done? She wondered.
At the same time Bart exploded, “JESUS, Aggie.”
Raising his head from her pussy, the clear ooze dripping from his nose he said, “I’ve never had that happen before!” He licked the ejaculate and chuckled, “GOD, this is so fucking hot.”
Aggie felt like Eve waking up from being created from Adam’s rib. Her voice was totally filled with awe. “The feeling of your mouth and tongue on me that way Bart was INCREDIBLE. She was embarrassed that she had made a mess and right in his FACE. She didn’t know what to say. When it had happened with Phillip he said that her squirting was disgusting. The same thing seemed to turn Bart on. And for a woman who never used curse words she was thrilled at his use of dirty words, when we are doing this, they’re so much FUN. She had never heard Phillip us such a word as “fucking.”
Watching Bart’s head lower again she felt the pleasure of his mouth vacuuming her parts. She felt the sensations of his licking, kissing her through the slippery ooze and making slurpy noises. She felt the tip of his tongue on her clit which caused shocks to shoot through her body. Moaning she wriggled. Closing her thighs tight on Bart’s head she bucked, squirting again to the sounds of Bart kissing and swallowing her offering. She was on fire.
So far, she had cum six times, once in the shower and five times on the bed. Then Bart did something completely new and unexpected. He raised her legs, spread the cheeks of her behind and rimmed her anus with his tongue.
Jesus, this is so fucking incredible she thought, reveling in her excitement as well as the excitement of using the J and f words. She chuckled as she thought of how Phillip would have had her doing penance for using profanity. As these thoughts swirled in her mind that she wasn’t even aware she was saying, “Ooh, oooh, ooooh.” As she stiffened and froze her tummy clamped and twitched. Electricity surged through her body, making her freeze then quiver in the most glorious, climactic fit.
Bart stood up and started to turn away from the bed. “Where are you going?”
“I need to get another condom.”
“No!” she insisted, “I don’t want you to.”
“But Aggie,” he implored, “it’s not safe.”
“I’ve never been with another man Bart, only my husband. I can’t get pregnant, my tubes have been tied.”
“What if I were to give you a disease?”
“Have you any reason to think you have anything?”
“I’ve always worn a condom Aggie. It’s been something I’ve vowed to do—until I get married.”
“But I want to feel you inside me so BADLY Bart—the real you—not your rubber covered thing. I want you to fill me with your sperm. I want to feel your thick cock slide through the gooey mess you leave in my pussy.” Having never used words like these before she celebrated their wickedness. Sitting up she held out her hands as if she were trying to draw him to her, “Please Bart, put it in me naked. I want to feel the real you.”
He had always wanted to go “bareback.” But upon the advice of his father he was adamant about not putting himself at risk. He’d been asked by some of the older women he’d been with to do it. As far as he was concerned those women might fuck any young stud. Like all men, he had always loved getting blowjobs and always got them bareback. But he’d always wanted to experience the feeling of his naked cock sliding home in a woman’s cunt, the natural place where it was supposed to be, gliding in his slippery cum as he climaxed so completely. True to his word he never did it that way. At the same time he never had the same feeling for any of those women that he had now for Aggie. She was too real. She has to be clean.
Grabbing her ankles he raised her legs and spread her large lips with his left finger and thumb. Holding his cock with his right hand he slid his glans in her slippery pink trough, finding the entrance to her core. As the squishy warmth of Aggie’s tight vagina squeezed the head of his cock he wedged open the hidden pinkness that massaged his length in its tight wetness. The look of ecstasy on Aggie’s face: her indigo eyes surrounded by a wide margin of white, her mouth looking like it was being readied to suck him again, and the soft, gratifying moans that emanated from the circle of those gorgeous lips, sent a kind of excitement to the core of Bart’s sex that he’d never felt before. “Jesus Aggie,” he murmured, “You are so fucking hot.”
The sensation of Bart’s bare, fat cock inside Aggie’s pussy was heavenly. She imagined her walls, which were now accustomed to his size, squeezing it like a farmer’s hand on a cow’s teat. And she imagined the slit in his tight, violet head oozing his sweet and slippery precum inside her. Once again she circled Bart’s waist with her legs. And she embraced his neck with her arms she pulled his lips to hers, pillowing them, parting them with her tongue and tasting it as it explored the inside of her mouth.
As his chest lowered to her tender breasts and flattened them against him she closed her eyes and allowed the entire illicit nature of their liaison to permeate her body. Her breath whooshed from her lungs in a long flow of words, “Oh God, oh God Bart, I’ve never imagined how good this could feel.” Filling her lungs again she said, “I’m a woman who’s been married all these years.” Taking another breath Aggie asked, “How can a man, almost a boy, know how to give a woman this much joy?” With a surge of sinful accomplishment she said, “Fuck me Bart. Fill me with your hot, young cum.” She was amused and excited at how gleeful she said these words; and how wickedly.
Realizing that that she was crushing, Bart’s head between her thighs she relaxed. He slid back, his feet touching the floor. Their eyes locked on the connection of their sex both feeling the pleasure of their thrilling copulation.
He pulled his glistening rod slowly from her sheath until the rim of his head was visible in the maw of her pussy. As he leaned forward Aggie hooked feet on the back of his calves and with the gentle pressure she made the slow and easy slide that ended in the meshing of their pubic hairs.
As his penis moved slowly in Aggie’s vagina she opened her mouth slightly to the length of each stroke, silently mouthing the word “fuck”. Bart’s large balls in his low hanging sac nestled gently in the cleft of her ass then pulled away, stretching his scrotum and releasing with a wet “click.”
Time was deliciously suspended. Neither Bart nor Aggie lavishing in the sumptuous banquet of their sex felt the need to stop. For her it was only her second extended fuck, even longer than their first. This time though she just enjoyed and relished the pleasure. Once again she thought of her husband’s short fuse and wondered how can this young man do this?
For Bart it was simply the ability to hold back, something he had learned through his numerous trysts with women who were patient enough to teach him that they, as well as he, deserved the enjoyment of long, delightful rides. While they humped and kissed, Bart fondled Aggie’s breasts. With her fingertips Aggie touched Bart’s slippery cock to feel the mysterious coating as it moved in and out of her body. Her clitoris responded by growing twice its size, throbbing with electricity as Bart petted and stroked it.
He let Aggie suck his fingers, wetted with their combined sex. Aggie glossed his lips and nostrils with the bounty she had gathered. With orgiastic pressure building in her body she said, “Fuck me baby, fuck me!” Her head waggled from side to side and her saucer-wide eyes watched the ceiling come closer and recede as she bounced on the mattress. As Bart slammed her over and over again Aggie’s toes stabbed at the ceiling. Both lovers grunted, snorted and shrieked, gasping and sighing their “fucks” and “ohs.”
When Bart screamed his final, “Aaaaah,” Aggie squeezed her lover in a scissor lock with her legs. Matching her lover’s frenzy she bucked and barked out primal howls. Inside her she couldn’t feel his ejaculation but knew by the contractions of his ensheathed phallus and the increased slipperiness of his strokes that he had cum indeed. They lay still in each other’s arms, their gasps coming further apart. Settling into lethargic breaths then finally relaxing and dozing.
It was 4:00 AM; their loving had gone on almost all night. The soreness Aggie felt between legs was a glowing reminder of how many times Bart’s oversized manhood had ravished her tight womanhood. It was as if she were remembering every stroke.
As Bart slept soundly his bare ass touched against her hips. She imagined that she was still savoring the taboo taste of his seed. The room reeked with the smell of their sex. It seemed to her like all the positions she’d yearned to try during the years of her marriage had happened in this one night. Looking forward to five more nights of her adventure Agatha Wilcox, the pastor’s wife, drifted into the arms of restful sleep...