Chapter 2

Some days later

“Oh fuck!” exclaimed Shoran as her huge hooters slammed together. “Jesus! Keep it up lover.”

In doggy style, she knelt on the bed, her feet over the edge, wrapped close to her fuck partner’s legs as he rammed hard and fast into her sluicing cunt. He grasped handfuls of her buttocks, levering himself into the fat rear of the 52 year old Grandmother, always amazed at her appetite and her stamina keeping up with one so much younger than her.

The usual secret approach to her house, over the wall where he had found some gaps, after passing across wooded waste ground soon to be developed, through the rear garden shrubbery and finally in through the patio doors. It was much better when she visited his place, that was several miles away and she could drive there uninhibited for their hours of pleasure based on big woman sex. He hated this secrecy, but was bound to continue with it, due to the sensitive if indeed volatile nature of their relationship.

The way that he had found Shoran was so convenient and daringly exciting, that it stimulated his lust, which grew and grew for her massively overweight body. The fact that she had passed her menopause so easily and so early, made their sex safe and had no need for condoms, jellies or pills. Her inherent experience made their sex life even more fascinating, with her lurid stories of lovers and her deceased husband.

“I’m cumming Shoran,” he gasped, his speed into her now a blur of slapping flesh.

“Give it me hard. Make me wee with desire all over you darling,” she grunted, her head on her forearms, supporting herself from the youthful onslaught from behind.

The thumb in her arsehole poked in time to his cock as the climax wracked through him, pumping gallons of young fertile jism into her dormant cunt. As he staggered against her, exhausted and stooping over her bulk, grasping at the huge bags of her hanging tits, he heard her sigh and felt the hot shower spraying his groin and legs.

“It always makes me piss,” Shoran giggled. “Bitch style.”

He knew the bitch would say that. She always did.

Shoran let her piss flow freely, not bothering about the sheets. The laminated timber floor was easily wiped and she didn’t care as the waves of her urinary relief dribbled over his feet and seeped into a puddle around him. He pulled out sharply and bent to let the yellow piss hit his face as it fountained horizontally from the sagging flaps of her open snatch. He drank it hungrily, the bitter metallic taste exciting him as he watched her cunt and anal muscles work to try and exit as much of her bladder capacity as possible. He parted the soaking folds from where the waste water exited and unearthed the florid pinkness of Shoran’s inner membranes, spotting her urethra. The spring deteriorated into a dribble and he watched drops of piss trickle down over her cunt aperture and onto her wobbling thighs until it ceased.

Finally Shoran sank onto the bed and he laid alongside her to rest. Two happy satiated bodies at one with each other. With a final glance out of the picture window that gave a magnificent panoramic view – in the gathering dusk, over Shoran’s extensive and neatly manicured lawns and flower beds to the popular sailing resort, where yachts and cruisers of all shapes passed silently by, he laid his head to sleep.