Matilda's return - Sex Stories

Matilda's return

Southerly winds last night sprinkled a new thin layer of snow on the brooding mountain. Matilda is glad that she is looking at it from under the warm doona, on top of the electric blanket that has been keeping her ample bottom warm. Matilda’s thoughts are with her most recent lover in the tropics. She wonders what he is doing now. But she can imagine it. Her incorrigible rice field man is probably ploughing some new earth to sow his aging seeds, ready for the new monsoon rains. But she is relieved to be away from him. Just now though, when he is normally very useful caressing her back, bottom and in fact all over, she is missing him rather. So in the supermarket yesterday, in anticipation, she bought some Energiser batteries for her little travelling lover substitute. She and her Asian beau bought this handy little red machine in a store in Salzburg, during their recent European travel. The Chinese vibrator was put to work straightaway in their little hotel room and soon her joyful cries were floating out into the cobbled streets to join Mozart’s music. After her rather torrid full-moon dreams that have left with tropical humidity between her legs this morning, Matilda needs the little red vibrating machine right now. With it inserted right in and working away on new battery, and her trusty experienced index finger also busy, the lonely woman is on her way to another shaking crescendo, with her thighs straining hard to arch her blond Venus mound towards the ceiling. The ...

... plumber is coming today. Only a day or two into this comfortable suburban house that she is house-sitting, Matilda finds that her plumbing needs to be done. Very soon after breakfast and precisely at 10am, he is here. The plumber’s golden wave of hair and tall and strong body spark a shiver of memory. “The down pipe under the sink is leaking,” Matilda tells the young man with a smile. “No problem. It should be easy fix,” says the man with an accent, while smiling back. Matilda has made herself a usual steaming cup of tea. She is then deep in her new book of erotic stories, just bought yesterday. But that made the last long winter night even longer. The boy’s arm is tanned and his muscles gleam as he loosens the pipe with a big spanner. His tradesman’s back is thick and solid. She would most likely see his strong muscular bottom and thighs in her dreams tonight. There have been many such masculine backs in her younger days in Germany, when she was as frisky as a young colt. Matilda shivers again from her memory of her many men, some being as Aryan blond and strong as an ox as this no doubt second-generation German-Australian youth. Looking above the pages of her book, the strong fingers of her hands are already digging into those muscles and pulling his solid brown body in hard between her open pale thighs. As she imagines that scene, the blond plumber looks back to her and smiles. “Jesus,” she mumbles to herself. The boy’s long hair catches the light as the plumber now shoves an ...