Horse and Ruth - Sex Stories

Horse and Ruth

... wood. # Ruth is waiting at the kitchen door. The room smells of coffee. “No bread this morning?” she says like it’s just the same old day. I have a lump in the throat something fierce. I can’t talk. My hands are shaking. “Horse?” She says and her eyes well up huge. “You ok?” I say. “Are you?” she says. “But you… with him… you…” “Oh sweet love.” She makes me sit down. “There are worse things in the world than fellating my husband, as creepy as he likes to make it.” “Lizzie told me, about the orphanage. He was... he is a monster” I say. She presses her lips. “He is. Lizzie, bless her, she never lets him near the kids. I do what I can. Curbing his… appetites. Between us we keep them safe. The church won't replace him till he's dead." His face fills me for a flash. My hands cracking his thin neck. I hope Ruth can't see it in me. She sighs and I'm glad, she's thinking about something else. No more monster. "Poor Lizzie, " she says, "I think she has feelings for me, and I can’t resist her once she-” “I have feelings. For you.” It just comes out. The way it should. “I know." She smirks, eyes sly but glittering. "Why else would you steal my knickers?” I feel like a stupid child. But she’s laughing. She knows I’m not weird. Or if I am it's a weird she likes. She leans forward, pressing her hips to my chest. She strokes my head like a pet. I want to hold her, but the only place to put my hands is on her bum. So I do that. She bites her lip and rocks a little. “You know, last night,” ...

... Again the whisper. I like the whisper, her voice husky and all for me. “When I... did my husband? All I wore was what you brought me. Just my dress, just air beneath it. My secret rebellion. Then imagined I was doing you. I could hear you chopping wood and I timed myself to match your chops and got so excited that when he came, so did I. Out of thin air. Just the thought of you.” My hands are up her skirt, the soft skin of bare cheeks against my palms. Ruth trembles. She chuckles. “I wonder if that’s a first?” she says, leaning down. “Both sides of a BJ imagining they were with the same other person?” But I don’t care, because I’m kissing her. Everywhere. In a blink she is on the kitchen table, throwing off her dress and yanking at my clothes and making a dumb ‘horse’ joke and I’m kissing and licking her toes. The backs of her knees, her stomach and bottom and breasts and neck and back down again. And I’m on the table too, and she’s splodging patches of wet on me and I don’t know which end of her makes them but, finally, I’m kissing between her spread thighs and she’s laughing and screeching obscenities they will definitely hear in church, half way through morning service. And I’m spinning as we top-to-tail, mouths loving each other up and dizzy at how, just yesterday, I had been sad because she did this with someone else and now she was in my mouth and I was in hers. She shudders and cums and wedges me hard at her bits, deep nasal moans on my manhood and it’s not enough and ...