Sixty-five, But Who’s Counting (Ch 4) - Sex Stories

Sixty-five, But Who’s Counting (Ch 4)

... the attention she paid to my sensitive taint and anus; but I needed to cum, the sooner the better. I grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her mouth to the base of my cock. “Lick it. Suck it.”

Trish took over. She sloppily licked and munched the underside of my ear of corn, starting at the base and progressing to the head. She pulled my cock to the horizontal, looked up briefly, then slipped my velvety plum between her lips.

I really liked Trish’s technique. My first thought was that her husband was some kinda lucky guy. I suppose I’m a bad person; but I took perverse pleasure in seeing his engagement and wedding rings on the hand that was servicing my dick. As Popeye would say, “I yam what I yam.”

Trish used both of her little hands to jack my shaft up and down; plus, she employed the wring-out-the-dush-rag method. Her greatest skills, however, resided in her mouth.

She didn’t allow much of my sausage to penetrate her mouth, but she did give the plum a real work over. She bobbed her head and sucked. She slurped and made satisfied “mmmm, mmmm” sounds.

I was damn near ready to cum.

Trish had a sixth sense. She paused her sucking, wiped spittle off her mouth with the back of her hand, and queried, “Will you fuck me?”

Who was I to say no?

I reached down with both hands under her arm's pits and brought her to a standing position. Without my asking, she pulled one shoulder of her shift down and then the other. The garment fell to the floor.

Trish ...

... was beyond cute, almost elf-like. She was braless but was wearing a lacy brown thong. The small front triangle of fabric just barely covered her mons and labia.

Her breasts were creamy white compared to her dark tan elsewhere. Each tit was no bigger than half a Valencia orange. Her Hershey kiss aureolae and nipples were perched at an impossible upward angle. They telegraphed a clear message: “Suck me.”

I bent forward and kissed the left side of her neck and then her clavicle area. She place a hand on my head, encouraging me to move downward to her hardening nipple. She sighed as I licked, then drew it between my lips.

Trish whispered in my ear, “I said fuck me. It’s now or never,”

I didn’t argue. I caught on that time might be an issue. Trish clearly was watching the clock.

Taking care not to break Mr. Johnson, I hoisted all ninety pounds of her up, her legs circling my waist. Carrying her to the turned-down bed was no challenge.

I set Trish down with her ass just barely on the edge of the mattress. I dropped to my knees and pulled off her thong. Her camel toes and the tiny triangle just above were as white as her tits. And yes, the carpet matched the drapes. She had a small, black landing strip, no more than a quarter inch wide extending upward from a tiny pink clitoris.

Trish placed her feet down on the mattress, her toes just curling over the edge. She let her legs relax, spraddling as a clear come-to-dinner invitation.

I figured if time was of the ...