Cuckolding for the Cause

by realoldbill

Copyright© 2017 by realoldbill

Sex Story: The mission fails but there's a lot of rogering anyhow.

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Ma/ft   Consensual   Historical   Cuckold   .

The mature woman coupled beneath me smiled up at my face, held my shoulders and somehow raised her hips again as I arched above her on extended arms. We were both dripping sweat by then. She sucked in her breath, closed her eyes and sighed, “There, right there,” and then she spasmed and creamed once more while I stroked my engorged member repeatedly over the deep and sensitive place she had indicated and ground our bellies together. She arched and I brought my mouth again to one of her already-tortured breasts and sucked the extended nipple deeply.

“Oh, that’s wonderful” she gasped when she had subsided, trembling, and let her legs slip off my back and down on the bed, wide spread but inert, rather frog-like I thought.

I continued to throb and thrust into her lush body, touching the bottom of her velvet quim with its fluttering muscles. We had been hard at it for nearly an hour, and her large rope bed was still creaking and popping with our joint efforts, the dark headboard thumping the wall. My back ached and my legs were on the edge of cramping.

My goal, other than sexual pleasure which I had surely achieved beyond any man’s needs, was to make a cuckold of her beastly husband and so disgrace him that we could assassinate him with impunity, a ploy we had used at least once before successfully. It had been Madam Von R--’s devious plan, and I, as usual, was just a pawn who need not know all the end-game moves, a pawn with a thick cock.

At that point, I did not care. I lifted the totally-limp, well-romped lady up on her shoulders, got her to grab her legs, and rose to drive my thick phallus almost straight down into her well-worn twat while she squealed in time with my thrusts. I rammed and rotated like a post hole digger until I was behind her and then lowered us both back toward the sheets, staying on my knees to hump deeply until I came again, jolting us both. Considering that the woman was nearly twice my age, she certainly was durable and she burrowed, head down into the covers, while I plowed the bed with her.

I pulled it out with a squishy plop and let her fall. Then I sank beside her, well satisfied and thoroughly spent, sure she had had enough. She turned toward me, opened her dark-brown eyes, gabbed my pigtail and pulled my face to hers with a growl, jamming her tongue down my throat.

“How dare you leave me, you filthy boor?” she demanded. Her other hand found my still-lengthy member. “This tiny thing still has a bit of life in it, does it not?” She smacked it and then cupped its sore head. “Do your duty, sir,” she demanded, stroking me back toward rigidity.

I mounted her once again, lifting her legs up on my chest, and gave her all I had while she writhed and jumped beneath me until she climaxed once more, flailing about and crying out wildly in syllables untranslatable. The noise was part of my uncertain goal.

I eased her legs down beside me, got my elbows by her ears and finished with very long and slow strokes that nearly folded her in half, ending fully extended in her dripping quim, my ram still jumping and flexing with a will of its own, my stones thoroughly emptied. She sighed with contentment and smiled. I kissed her nose and rolled off her lush body, my limp cock lying on my belly, flaccid and sore.

“I might have been fifteen, the last time I was so well swived,” she whispered. “He was just a stableboy, but he had a tool much like yours, not as thick of course, but nearly as long, and the endurance of youth. I think he came six times in an hour. I can still see his grimace and smell his sweat. Father sent him away, poor lad.”

“Ah,” I said, counting my stones and surprised to find both still present.

“Now,” she said, “I need my rest. There’s an empty room just down the hall. The door is open.”

Obediently, I rolled out and found my clothes.

She put her finger to her lips and smiled as I left her room. I doubted that we had made enough to noise to wake the dead, but I was sure that the servants who slept in the attic had been able to trace the progress of our congress and count the many peaks it had achieved.

I was asleep almost at once, and awoke, fully rested and highly aroused, some seven or eight hours later. I listened. A few noises came from below suggesting the kitchen was warming so it was time to get back to my assignment. Wearing just my shirt, a silently crept down the hall and entered the lady’s large bedroom. Her long hair lay spread across her limp pillow and her bed looked as though a typhoon had passed by during the night. I shed my shirt and climbed in beside her, my long spear aching for fiction.

She opened one eye and croaked, “Horrid man, are you back?”

I bent and kissed her nose again, letting the blood-hot root between my legs bump her thigh and slide up toward her mounded groin, feeling a yard long and fence-post thick, its head a spongy cup big enough to hold a goose egg.

The woman was bare, just as I had left her, and she made several very odd sounds as my prod attempted to spear her all by itself, battering at her gates until they were very wet. She rolled to her back, spreading her legs, grabbed my prong, and I was quickly between her knees with my long instrument in her hand. She rose on her elbows and looked down between her soft breasts as we brought it to her trembling nether lips. I quickly pulled a pillow beneath her ample rump.

“S’bones,” she sighed as it began to disappear into her. I bent my head to watch it slide slowly and steadily beneath her curls. She gasped and fell back prone as I pushed her wide-spread lips into her, eyes clamped shut as I slowly impaled her on my mighty spike. She raised her knees and pounded her feet on the bed as she arched her back and took it in, every thick and throbbing inch of it.

It was a fierce, loud and lengthy coupling that finally left us spent when the sun was well up and the servants were about. By then the lady’s lips, both pair, were bruised and scuffed and her rosy nipples sore and distended. I could barely walk, but made my way back to my room and managed to dress and stumble down to use the privy and get some food, making sure many saw me. I got sly looks from the house servants and headed for the barn, satisfied that I had achieved my goal.

In the stalls the lady’s lovely daughter was currying her stallion and saw me pass. She ran after me and pushed me into a tack room, kicking the door closed behind her.

“Did you know,” she asked with a smile, as she unbuttoned the boy’s shirt she was wearing, her eyes bright with lust or anger, “That my room is right next to my dear mother’s?” With her shirt fully open and exposing the richly budding breasts with their cherry-like nipples, she perched on a bench and raised her booted foot toward me. “I heard you last night. That was my wall the bed was pounding.”

I pulled off one boot and she raised the other foot.

“I couldn’t believe it, at her age,” she said with a smile. She peeled out of her tight-fitting trousers, turned her back, bent at the waist and gripped the bench before her, looking back over her shoulder, shirt tail flapping invitingly. “And then this morning, ‘sblood, you were a beast. It was awful. I came just watching you ram that, that huge, filthy post of yours into her, poor woman. You were awful, just awful.

I stood, astonished, enjoying the sight of the lithe young woman with the rounded bottom standing revealed before me, her legs wide apart, bulging sex bared, wearing nothing but an open shirt and a wide smile. Her hands held her upper thighs, and she spread herself for me, her cunny a tight slit with pink and puffy lips. I unloosed my upright member, put one hand on her smooth buttocks, slid it around to caress her mound and brought my long bone to her dripping slit.

Tight, I can’t recall a tighter one just now. She cried out, came up on her toes and arched so that I filled my hands with her round breasts and squeezed out her hard nipples between my fingers as I took longer and longer thrusts up into her, meeting resistance and groans along the way and pulling her to me with her firm boobs. One at a time, she took her feet from the floor and hooked them behind my thighs, gasping out her breath so that she was posed like a ship’s figurehead, and then crying out as if in pain when she spasmed and climaxed on my still-sinking spear, then probably little more than half-way to its glorious goal but tearing her open, battering her flesh, thick and hard.

While she was bent over, trying to recover her senses, I slapped her butt, yanked my root out, turned her about and was back in her before she could complain, her knees up near my shoulders. She wrapped her legs about me and leaned back as far as she could, her shoulders on the work table, and I fully impaled her on my eager spike and jolted her repeatedly when I came, probably in her womb. We then held each other, moaning and sighing like lovers, coupled tightly, surging fiercely until we were spent.

“When will you be able to do that again?” she asked as she pulled on her britches and glanced at my sagging manhood.

“What month is this?” I asked, feeling at least a hundred year old.

She giggled as she buttoned up her shirt and stepped into her high boots, bending to yank them up. “Next time, I expect much more,” she said, “and stay away from my little sister. She’s randier than I am, and she was also watching too this morning when you were rutting with our dear mother.”

She skipped off for her ride while I tried to get my heart and lungs to work properly.

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