Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
“Do you remember our wedding day?”
“Sex in the cloakroom you mean?”
“You’re thinking of somebody else, I’m sure…”
Though of course, she wasn’t. My bride had always been the randy sort, and we had indeed consummated our vows in a disused storage area while the cater arranged the cake cutting staging. I had initiated the tryst by reminding her of our first kiss, eight years old, in the cloak room of our public school, an ancient edifice where the students stored their outer gear behind a set of floor to ceiling sliding partitions. Perfect for Halloween haunted house games, and, as it turned out, kissing.
She had been the initiator on that first occasion, and not just because girls mature faster than boys. My love was always a randy girl, which had not changed forty years later, at our daughter’s wedding. She had initiated lots of firsts – first time touching my cock; my first time touching her nipples; first oral sex; first sixty-nine. She had even been the one to want to try anal.
We were still technically virgins then, just turned nineteen. Odd perhaps that we had not fucked, given our long standing status as an exclusive couple. However, the last thing we wanted was a teen pregnancy and birth control was tough when her Mom is the town doctor and my Dad ran the pharmacy. So we held off, making out but never consummating.
College took us away from home, and it was rough, listening to my room mate fucking one – or sometimes two – of the seemingly endless stream of co-eds that he seduced by ignoring them until they threw themselves at him. I took to sneaking into the women’s dorm and sharing her bed, snuggling tight together in the narrow space. Her roommate dated a football player, and was often absent overnight. Knowing that they were fucking did not make it any more comfortable.
The flesh pressing against flesh often resulting in my eighteen year old cock becoming erect of course. Fortunately, we were connected enough that she never objected when I engaged in self-help, and often she lent a hand, or a mouth. All of which was fine and good, until one night during finals, just after I turned nineteen, when no amount of effort would make my wood retreat, and she was complaining about being poked in the ass.
“I have my chem exam in the morning, I need sleep,” she sighed.
“Well, what else can we do? I jerked off an hour ago, and it came back.”
“I know, it’s not your fault, but my arm is tired from stroking you.”
“A blowjob, maybe?”
That led to a long silent pause. Her fingers curled around my shaft and tugged gently, making even more blood flow into my organ.
“Welllll, I was thinking,” she started, then paused again. My cock pulse in her fist, and I reached around to massage one of her firm round breasts, making sure to tease her extremely sensitive nipple. Her hips twitched, grinding her rump even harder against my cock head.
“Thinking what?” I asked. Part of me hoped she would suggest that we finally fuck, but I knew the risks, and was just as leery as she was about parenting while in school.
“Well – if you’re going to keep poking me in the ass, maybe you should just put your cock right up in my ass. That should get you off well enough that we both get some rest.”
My whole body froze, her nipple distended, grasped in my suddenly motionless finger tips. She however had decided what she wanted, and just like that long ago kiss in the cloak room, she was determined just to take it.
“I saw how your pecker twitched when the actress took it up the butt in that porno we watched last week,” she said.
I could not deny that. The way my already swollen cock throbbed even harder as I recalled that scene would have proven me a liar.
“First though, I need to be wet enough that you can use my fluids as lubricant. I don’t know much about ass fucking, but I bet it really hurts if we do it dry.”
Back then, college dorms seldom had tubes of lube lying around. But regardless, I loved eating pussy. Very quickly once oral had become an option, she had insisted on reciprocity – we never kept score, but roughly I went down on her about as much as she swallowed me, allowing for the fact that anatomy allowed her a few extra opportunities in places like movie theatres. Even then, I usually returned the favour soon afterwards.
So I twisted and contorted as she raised a leg and I slid beneath the covers, my hands warming her inner thighs before I started working my tongue up from each knee, teasing her by stopping just short of her honey pot, which I quickly noticed was already pretty wet just from her thinking about what was about to occur, or perhaps from the way that my cock had been jabbing her.
I slid my left hand up and across her lower belly, gradually even lower, until my finger tips brushed slightly against her moist lips. Her body tensed momentarily, but then she moaned loudly as her hips thrust upward anticipating my touch. I began stroking her outer lips slowly, down one side, then up the other, then the opposite direction. Soon my finger tips were Kadıköy Escort coated with her moisture, but I knew that I needed more before I could lubricate her anus, and I sensed that she wanted more as well.
Glancing upward, I saw that her fingers were caressing her own nipples. I slid my free hand up and pinched her left nipple.
“Ohhhh,” she groaned, but it was pleasure more than pain, because her hips jumped off the mattress in response, and I saw up close how her clit was swelling. I worked one, two, three fingers into her opening, slowly and gently, but gradually increasing the tempo, until I was finger fucking her deeply. My thumb found her clit and I flicked it with each thrust of my hand.
I released her nipple and slid that hand under her bottom and lifted her mound to my lips. Her ass wriggled in my grasp as I licked around her labia, my flattened tongue tasting her arousal.
“Yessss,” she moaned as my tongue bobbled her pearl. I closed my lips around the base and gave her flesh a taste of my teeth, and started to draw her bud into my mouth, all the while drawing little figure eight movements with my tongue.
After a few moments, she began thrusting her loins uncontrollably against my face, grunting and groaning unintelligibly, her fingers grabbing my hair and holding me in place. [Text Wrapping Break][Text Wrapping Break]I thrust my whole hand in and out of her cunt as fast as possible, my mouth just trying to keep contact with her bouncing clit, until she exploded into a screaming climax, releasing my hair and throwing her legs wide, gasping for breath. I could see and feel the after shocks vibrating through her entire body.
“Fuck, I’ve never come so hard.”
“Well, you sure are wet.”
“I know – wet enough for you to fuck my ass, now, please.”
Without awaiting a response, she deftly threw a leg over my head and shoulders and twisted around so that she was raised up on her elbows, her rump just in front of my face. Instinctively, my tongue darted out, but not to taste the nectar flowing from her labia. Instead, I licked up the curve of a buttock, and then poked my tongue deep into that cavern, feeling her rosebud spread and yield to my probing mouth.
My face was surrounded by her soft, warm flesh. I licked slowly, rimming her. My cock never stopped being hard, and soon my balls started aching. Her tight puckered hole relaxed, inviting me to probe deeper as she groaned and quivered in anticipation. I buried my tongue deep in her anus, aware of her juices dripping onto the mattress. Her moans of pleasure turned first into whimpers and then she started softly sobbing, her entire body shaking, but mostly particularly, her hips rotating from side to side.
“Ohhhh, fucccck…” she exclaimed.
She came hard right then, her incredible warmth surrounding my face. Her sphincter clamped around my tongue as waves of orgasm made her body quake.
My fingers were still free, and as soon as her thighs were still, I ran my hand along the inner surfaces, coating my fingers in her nectar. Swiftly my hand travelled along her taint as I eased my face back, allowing room for my fingers to find her rosebud. Her anus yielded easily, welcoming the invasion. I moved slowly, deliberately, spreading the moisture all along and around her rear entrance. Soon my fingers were sliding effortlessly, so I rose up onto my knees and positioned myself behind her. Slowly, carefully, but deliberately, I leaned forward, my lance leading the charge.
When she felt my cock head press up against her rosebud she moaned and wriggled her hips encouragingly. My fingers kept probing, coating her opening with her own juices. I knew that I could not fuck her virgin ass until she was well lubricated, no matter how eager she seemed.
Soon she was good and wet, perhaps wetter in her back passage than her pussy had been. I shifted my hands, removing my fingers from her forbidden passage, which caused her to moan a teeny complaint.
“Don’t worry, wait for it,” I whispered in her ear, using my hands to pull her buttocks further apart, while slowly leaning forward.
My cock head pressed against her tight but wet butt hole and then I entered her ass, just a tiny bit. She responded by gyrating her hips, drawing me in deeper with little effort.
“Ohmigawd, so nasty but so great,” she moaned.
I pressed further forward, entering deeper about an inch at a time, receiving encouragement not just from her moans but also from the exquisite way that her muscles were already clenching around my meat, milking me. Then she rocked back, her butt burying itself in my lap, forcing my entire length to enter deep into her bowel in a single stroke.
My hand travelled around her glorious glutes, searching for her clit, wanting her to climax with me. Except, I found her hand already there, her fingers skillfully stroking her sex in the most familiar fashion.
Her ass was shoving itself back against me, clenching hard around my cock. I countered by ramming my meat forward in a counter tempo. Soon, she was groaning Ataşehir Escort passionately, beads of sweat flying off her flesh all around us. After a few moments of this, I felt my cock buried as far as humanly possible in her hot wet ass, her buttocks pressed tight to my belly. That encouraged me to pump even more fiercely, grabbing her shoulders to start a see saw action. We exploded together, her climax triggering, or maybe triggered by, the great gobs of goo flooding out my mushroom to cream her bowels. Of course, she lasted much longer, a series of orgasms shivering from shoulders to toes even after my last spurt of seed was shared.[Text Wrapping Break][Text Wrapping Break]Finally, she gradually subsided, and then I slid out of her and we collapsed in a tender hug on the mattress, spent.
That was our first, but far from our last anal sex. In fact, I suppose in hindsight that we could have had conventional sex much sooner, after all, my Dad did not own the pharmacy in our college town, and her Mom was not a doctor at student health. However, once we shared the joy of anal sex, we were both content to indulge passionately and frequently in that past time, interspersed, of course, with oral and manual explorations, and toys, lots of toys.
Somehow, on our wedding day we were both technical virgins, never having had vaginal sex.
Which brings us to that long ago incident in the cloak room, the one my wife chose to reminisce about just as our daughter was getting married.
The reception was at a hall, not a hotel, which had the downside that there was no proper “retiring room” where the bride could rest, or change out of her dress before leaving for the honeymoon. Our sexual desire was at a peak. We had not seen each other before the ceremony, and most of the week prior she had been busy with gifts, hair appointments, all the last minute stuff. I kept busy shuttling out of town relatives from the airport, and mixing endless rounds of rum and coke.
After the rehearsal, I had grabbed her by the hand and dragged her into the tiny bathroom behind the sanctuary of the chapel. I pressed her up against the one bare wall, the porcelain of the sink digging into my leg. My hands found her hips and I lifted her, her skirt rising to reveal dainty pink panties. Her feet locked behind my knees as we kissed passionately. Our tongues wrestled like kittens in a sack. My hardness pressed against her belly. I could feel her heart beating rapidly as her chest heaved against mine. Her warm breath bathed my teeth in soft dampness as she panted.
“Hello, who’s in there? We’ve lost our bride and groom, and it’s time for dinner,” my mother was already slurring her words. Afternoon cocktails with her family tended to end that way.
“Just me, Grace,” my soon to be bride avoided giggling as she answered. “Be right out. How about you go find your son?”
I reached across and flushed the toilet, the water muting the noise as we readjusted clothing. My mother’s sensible shoes clattered across the hardwood as she wandered away. Still, we peeked both ways before leaving the room separately. I found my mother, who swept me into my uncle’s Cadillac for the short ride to the restaurant. My fiancee rode with her parents.
As these things go, the rehearsal dinner was long and drunken. Though we were seated beside each other, there was zero opportunity for intimacy. Every incidental brush of her hip against mine made blood flow from brain to groin. It was increasingly hard to follow the toasts and remember to play my part. I longed for her to slip one stocking clad foot from her shoe and run it up the back of my calf, but of course that would have been too risky.
After dinner, my family went back to our house, where more drinking was on the menu. The next day, I needed lots of orange juice and bacon to attack the hangover. My Dad, the pharmacist, even gave me a quick shot of B12.
I still distinctively recall the vision of my bride as she entered the chapel and walked down the aisle. The rest of the wedding was a blur. If the world had ended at that moment, I would have died as the world’s happiest man. However, by the time we were in the back of my uncle’s Caddy, shaking confetti out of our hair, my hormones were taking over.
Why brides must balance the virginal white colour of the dress with slutty displays of bosom, I have no clue, but my bride was displaying considerable cleavage, skillful cantilevered to tantalize any male’s eyes. Sitting beside her, our hands intertwined, I admired the depths of the valley between her tits, and imagined I could make out a hint of aureole. My cock started to swell.
My tongue darted out and caressed my wife’s ear lobe, dancing down the slope of her neck and my teeth nibbled the exposed curve of her shoulder.
“Not here, darling, this isn’t like limos in the movies, Uncle Fred can see and hear everything,” she whispered, but in a confusing signal, her fingers danced across my bulge and then her palm settled atop my throbbing erection, warm even through my tuxedo pants.
Not wanting Maltepe Escort to blow a load right there, I reluctantly moved her hand, giving the tips of her fingers a little kiss. I noticed that her other hand was softly caressing her own breast, rubbing along the edge where it emerged from the dress. I glanced up and saw Fred’s eyes wide in the rear view mirror. From my bride’s breathing, I surmised that despite her protestations, the thought of Uncle Fred watching was at least a bit of a turn on. If I had been smart, I might have asked Uncle Fred to take a slow lap through the town park, but then not much blood was left in my brain. I contented myself with planting a few kisses across my wife’s exposed chest, my head blocking my uncle’s view as my hand caressed down from her shoulder and dipped inside her bodice to tweak first one nipple and the other. She let out a little squeal and jumped up off the seat when I did that.
My hand slid under her on the seat and she tucked up her dress so that I was able to finger her sodden cunt, one digit at first, but soon two and then three easily sliding along her gash while my thumb found her clit. She rotated her hips causing her button to bobble in several dimensions at once. I kissed her deeply to swallow her cries of joy and partially shield her from Uncle Fred’s view. She came on my hand just as we pulled up in front of the banquet hall. With the rest of the wedding party and dozens of family members crowded outside to greet us, I only had time to quickly wipe the cream onto the inside of her thigh before she swept up out of the seat, her dress falling into place around her legs as she rose.
The first half of the reception went routinely. I occasionally sniffed my palm, to reassure myself that I had not just dreamt what had happened. Guests regularly tinkled their glasses to demand that we kiss, and each time, we locked together longer and my cock got harder. As we finished the main course, my bride slid her hand under the table and along the inside of my leg, rubbing my hardness through the fabric of the tuxedo pants. Soon I had visions of my somewhat virgin bride discretely disappearing under the head table to suck my cock – after all, isn’t that why they call it the Head Table? Of course, there was no real way to do that without the entire wedding party and most of the guests noticing, so it never happened, but over the years, my wife and I could bust each other into laughter just by saying “head table”, because she had similar thoughts, as she told me later that night in the honeymoon suite.
Just then the music began for the first dance, and for a half hour or so, we were back to playing out someone else’s script. Once I fulfilled the obligation of dancing with one final bridesmaid – some scrawny under-aged pimple faced kid cousin of my wife – I looked around to locate my bride, who still had a radiant glow, and was hotter than ever – or maybe I was just hornier than ever. I crossed the dance floor and took her hand.
“How much longer before we can escape?” I asked.
“Escape, or fuck?” she giggled softly so that only I heard. Her hand was warm in mine and her hip was pressed against me. She bounced slightly, rubbing thighs, and her fingers caressed my palm. If I hadn’t been stiff already, those gentle touches were all it took to make all the blood engorge my cock.
“I’m just as horny as you, but first we need to cut the cake,” she reminded me.
It was right at that moment when the caterer bent down to whisper to us that there was a delay in getting the cake set up – something about a line up caused by a broken down truck at the loading dock. I was only half listening, already hatching a plan in my brain as to how to best use the time.
“Well, I’m far too hot to dance any more,” my bride announced loudly enough so that not only the caterer but half the guests heard her.
“Perhaps…you could resume your seat at the head table,” the caterer meekly suggested.
“I think I need a bit of a rest…”
“It’s nice and cool out by the loading dock,” suggested my wife’s youngest brother, who reeked of dope. I had a good idea what he had been doing out at the loading dock, and so did my wife, guessing by how she wrinkled her nose.
“Darling hubby, I think I must powder my nose,” she declared.
“Should I come with…”
“Into the ladies room? Heaven forbid – that’s what a maid of honour is for. You should just wait outside and figure out where I can rest after I tinkle.”
I would have loved to run my hands up under my bride’s gown, and hold it around her waist while she peed, but instead I stood guard long enough that I fantasized about what the gals might be doing in the toilet stall. Was the maid of honour, that horny room mate of college days, fondling my wife’s ripe tits, tweaking or even licking those hard nipples? When she was wiping my wife’s wet cunt, did she decide instead to try licking it? Either way, I doubted that my horny wife would get very dry. That was the moment in my life when I realized that I was curious about water sports, a discovery I filed away for future exploration. My member became so fat that with each pulsating throb, I thought it might burst right through the zipper of the tuxedo pants. That motivated me to locate the silent store room filled with coats, and an empty attendant’s chair.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32