Timmy #20 - The First MILF

The First MILF

Prisha

I stepped inside Prisha’s home, looking around the open, wraparound layout of white marble floors and painted white walls decorated with vases and greenery. Prisha slowly backed away from me, her robe still hanging open and her yoga-fit, tennis-trim body slipping into view as she stepped away from me.

I licked my lips as her movements bared her tits one at a time, her dark nipples sticking up long and thick, forcing a reaction in my cock that brought a rise to my shorts, the fabric stretching upward and outward in near slow motion. Prisha’s caramel skin complemented her darker-than-dark hair, which she wore up, and the small rectangle of vertical hair centered on her plump mound sent my heartbeat up a notch. A man can only have so much hairless pussy before he wants to rest his cheek on some downy softness.

“I didn’t think you had any pubic hairs,” I said. Why the fuck did I say that? “I mean, I couldn’t tell in those tiny bikinis that you ... ladies ... wear around the team.”

“You mean your ‘mothers’ wear around you?” Prisha smiled. “You young men seem to like those little bits of cloth.”

“We do.”

Prisha raised her right hand and held her thumb and forefinger up with the tips opposite each other in a vertical line. “I like just a little bit of hair,” she said. “I know how young pussy wants to stay young forever, but I’m a woman.” She reached behind her head and let her hair down, its length dropping down her back. “Does your mother have hair between her legs?”

Fuck me. How in the hell was I supposed to control a woman who talked like that? My eyes slid past her to her coffee table, where an open bottle of chardonnay sat next to a half-full crystal glass with a long stem and a shallow bowl.

“Pour me a drink,” I said.

“You’re allowed to drink?”

“I didn’t ask you for a drink.” I walked forward, sliding past her as my cock bobbed in my shorts, and the blood-pumping muscle beneath my chest grew to twice its usual size. “I told you to pour me one.”

I let my left hand drift to the side and caught Prisha’s hand. My momentum forced her to turn with me. She followed, a shaky breath leaving her as she moved toward her coffee table. I sat on her couch, and she grabbed the chardonnay bottle and refilled her glass, then handed it to me with an extended arm, her robe now covering her nipples but sweeping away from her flat tummy, soft mound, and firm thighs. I could see her caramel pussy folds hanging between her legs, its centerline dividing her tender folds as they curved away from me.

I took the glass, fit the rim to my mouth, and drank from it with a deliberate slowness as I tried to compose myself without appearing as if I was calming myself down. Prisha stood between my open knees, looking down at me as I looked up at her, admiring the delicate lines of her face and the small signs of age at the corner of her sloe-eyes and the edges of her lips. As I drank my wine, I used my left fingers to sweep her robe apart, revealing her entire body. She shrugged her shoulders as I touched the silk covering her skin, and the robe fell to the floor, leaving this MILF naked in front of me.

How old was she? Late thirties?

I finished the wine and leaned forward with my right arm extended. My lips touched Prisha’s stomach below her belly button as I set the empty wine glass behind her on the coffee table. I opened my mouth and licked outward with my tongue, the tip grazing her flesh and catching the upper wall of her navel. She sucked in a breath, her stomach pulling inward as visible goosebumps rose across her skin.

“Have you ever cheated on your husband before?” I asked. What the fuck kind of question was that to ask—again? I should have practiced with Diana.

“No,” Prisha whispered, her flat stomach rolling as she drew in a shaky breath, her big tits shadowing my head.

“But you want to.” I pressed my forehead against her stomach; my eyes cast downward along the line of her landing strip. I brushed it with the side of my left forefinger. As she quivered from my touch, a thick, musky scent from between her legs bloomed, her sexual need unmistakable as it filled my nostrils and watered my mouth.

“Is sharing my pussy with family cheating?” Prisha asked.

“Am I family?”

“You’re gonna help me fuck my son,” Prisha whispered. “You’re earning this pussy today.”

I moaned.

I lowered my hands to her ankles, sliding them upwards and pressing my fingertips into her calves. I raised them over the back of her knees and thighs, curling my fingers between her legs from behind. My fingers continued upward, her flesh growing warmer and damper, the scent of her sex growing hotter and stronger. A throb of desire raced through my shaft as I breathed in Prisha’s pussy-aroma.

“I’ll make it happen,” I said.

I stopped moving my hands, the swell of her outer labia a breath away from the touch of my forefingers. Her nectar had dripped onto her thighs by then, and I sensed those plump crescents pulse as if reaching for my touch.

“Have you fucked your mother?” Prisha whispered. She put her hands in my hair and smoothed her palms over my head. “Does your sister think that’s cheating—oh, boy!”

I had cupped her pussy from behind with my right hand, grabbed onto her meaty MILF ass with my left, then lifted her into the air before she could finish her question. Prisha tangled her hands in my hair as her body rocketed upward, her weight nothing but a feather in my arms. I turned her onto her back as I laid her on the sofa’s soft cushions and moved between her legs.

She brought her knees up and wide, calves to hamstrings, and my mouth landed where her mound sloped into her pussy lips, where I swallowed her clit whole. I waved my right hand to the side and brought it back in, my fingers open and pressed together. The stinging slap of my palm spanking the side of her left cheek filled the living room.

“Oh!” Prisha gasped.

I tasted her freshness, along with the vanilla lotion she had used on her pussy, and the inner sweetness of her taboo-craving cunny. Beneath her brown pussy lips, she was a bright, buttery pink color, and I wanted to eat it all up. Prisha’s body bowed as I tongued the pinkish gem capping her lips, and she growled when my tongue slid between the caramel curtains hiding her inner wetness.

I spanked the side of her ass cheek again.

“Mmm,” Prisha moaned. “Yeah, spank my ass, you nasty man.”

Spank.

“Yeah!”

Spank, spank, spank.

I slid my hand between her legs, palm up, my middle finger feathering her perineum before slipping into the steamy puddle of cum between her thighs.

“Oh, fuck,” Prisha sighed. “Oh, fuck, that feels good!”

The inner swells of her pussy closed around my finger as I sunk its length into her warm tunnel. Fuck, she was hot and wet in there and so slippery, her juices thick and slick. I ground my cock against her couch, moaning into her cunny, and I licked downward from her clit. My tongue parted her pink curtains, finally hitting my finger where it lay buried up her hot slot. Right on top of my finger, I pushed my tongue into her pussyhole as far as it would go, then licked all around, making sloppy wet noises as I pleased her small opening.

“Fuck, your sister taught you well—fuck!”

I spanked the side of her ass hard.

“Your sister and your mother,” she gasped, “have taught you how to eat some pussy, baby.”

“You like that?” I asked, pulling my mouth away from her cunny. “You like it when mothers take their sons between their legs?” I pressed my tongue against the gleaming gem peeking out from her clitoral hood.

“Yes,” Prisha humped her hips at me. “God, fuck, yes—I love incest! My father, and my brothers, they used to share me—god!”

Holy shit, I thought as I fastened my lips around her pussy pearl and sucked. She quivered, her whole body shook, and her big tits swung from left to right, their weight heavy on her chest as they buoyed side to side. I moaned against her twat as I slid a second finger into her tight pussyhole. Prisha threw her right leg up, hooking her ankle over the back of the couch. Her left leg swung outward at a lewd angle as she opened her labia to me.