“Hi, Steve. It’s Donna. If you have no plans for Thanksgiving, John and I would love to have you join us tomorrow. It will just be the three of us. Both our families have other plans this year. You don’t have to bring anything but you and your appetite.”
“Sure, Donna. I’d love to. I have what is probably an amazing pecan pie I’ll bring if that’s okay. It’s way too much for me alone, but I got it to support a sweet little bakery and it was made by someone who is a wonderful cook.”
She said that would be great, gave me the time and her address and we hung up. Well, that was a surprise, the first of many I was to find out. Donna is a life coach steeped in woo-woo. I first noticed her (her amazing rack, actually) at a psychic fair, introduced myself, and discussed her business throughout the afternoon between folks stopping at her booth. That was about ten years ago and through that time we’d gotten to know each other pretty well. I’d met her husband, John, and one of his sons.
John and Donna met late in life after each had been in some rather undesirable relationships. From what Donna said, they were perfect for each other, which I thought odd since she was so heavy into spiritual metaphysics and he had been an Evangelical preacher. Donna had taken Reiki training and I’d volunteered as a subject to help her meet some requirements. During a session, she said she’d felt I needed some human touch. The next few sessions, she’d given that “touch” in the form of handjobs. Once she received her certificate, those sessions ended. I figured that would be it.
They ate later than most folks on Thanksgiving, around five-ish, so I arrived about four-thirty. It wasn’t an elaborate spread like most folks, either. All the usual traditional dishes, but not a huge amount of any. No fancy centerpieces and we ate with the daily dinnerware, paper towels folded for napkins. I loved it. No pretense, minimal waste, just friends enjoying some time and good food together. Well, not entirely.
Donna met me at the door. She was dressed in jeans and a button-up blouse that wasn’t buttoned up all the way. I could see the swell of her breasts resting in her bra and was reminded of the cleavage I saw at the psychic fair that originally attracted me to her. Over the almost decade I’d known her, they had become somewhat smaller, it appeared, but they still looked quite fuckable to me.
She took the pie to the kitchen and told me to join John in the living room. There was something about the look on her face and tone in her voice that struck me as odd. When I got to the living room I learned why. John was drunk as a skunk. I was shocked. I knew Donna would only have a glass or two of wine, and that was to be social. I had no idea John, old-school preacher, liked beer so much. He met me with a clumsy hug (Jesus Christ, dude, don’t breathe so close to me) and we settled down, him in his recliner, me on the couch. Pregame for some football game was on the TV. I have no interest in football, but John was into it. We launched into a rather half-assed conversation about the teams, him doing all the talking, me making gestures and sounds I thought would go along with what he was saying.
Thank God dinner came soon. They had a bit of a spat before it. John wanted to eat in front of the TV; Donna was having none of that. Donna won, but through the whole meal John kept watching the TV. She insisted it be muted, though, so she and I were able to converse with John mostly oblivious. Cracks in Paradise, I saw. I wondered if those cracks enabled her to give me the handjobs.
The food was delicious, and I had to seriously rein myself in to keep from overeating more than I did. Soon as it was over, John grabbed yet another beer (he had two during dinner) and bolted for the TV. I helped Donna haul everything into the kitchen, where she insisted that I pack up whatever I wanted to take home for leftovers. We unloaded the cleaned cooking utensils from the dishwasher, and I rinsed the dinnerware while she loaded it all into the dishwasher the way she liked. Neither of us said much throughout these processes beyond what was necessary to get the jobs done. The game blaring from the TV was a bit annoying, I thought. I mentally shook my head; this was not what I’d expected.
All the chores done, hands washed and dried, Donna glanced toward the living room and said, “I’m sensing you don’t want to hang around.” She placed a hand on my arm, “That’s okay. I don’t blame you. I’m really grateful you came. It was nice having someone sane to eat with.”
Hmmm, those cracks widened.
Then she glanced in again and frowned slightly. “Shit,” she muttered. Heading quickly into the living room, I followed, curious. John was stretched out on the couch. The beer can in his hand had drained out onto the carpet and he was dead to the world. Donna threw up her hands in frustration, then placed them on her hips. “Well, he’s gone for the night. I’ll be right back.” She left for a moment to return with an afghan, with which she covered him, and a towel that she used to sop up as much of the beer from the carpet as she could.
Kneeling there with the beer-wet towel in her hands, she looked up at me with a quizzical look. John was snoring heavily now. “Pat says you really know how to make a woman feel good,” she said point-blank. Patty was a mutual friend I’d fucked a couple of times. Her husband had painful back problems, which made it difficult for him to perform, so I acted as a “surrogate husband.” They had chosen me because they were sure I would keep my mouth shut. Apparently, someone did some talking, though.
I was taken aback with this sudden comment, especially directly in front of her husband, even though he was obviously passed out. She stood, walked to the kitchen where she dropped the towel into the sink and washed the beer off her hands, then came back to the living room to stand directly before me, about half an arm’s length away. Somewhere along the way another button had come open and more of her cleavage was showing. It was all I could do to not stare down there, but I managed to look her in the face.
“Go ahead. Have a good, long look. I’ve seen your glances over the years. It’s okay. I want you to.” She reached up and pulled the fabric of her shirt back to show even more. I glanced toward John. “He’s in his drunken stupor, gone for the night. Don’t worry about him.”
I looked back at her face, then let my gaze drop to her breasts. What I could see looked delicious. Her skin had just a hint of coloring belying her Native American side, smooth, with tiny goosebumps across the surface. I thought of my dick sliding between them and it hardened slightly.
“I’m busted, pun intended,” I said with a smile, not looking up. “Can I see more?”
“Help yourself,” she replied. I glanced at John again. “Don’t worry about him,” she said with a hint of frustration. “We could fuck on top of him and he’d never know.”
Well, shit, that ended any question I might have had about where this was leading. I reached out and finished unbuttoning her blouse, sliding it down off her arms. Then fighting the urge to check on John again, I reached around as she lifted her arms out of the way. Her bra was quickly off, and she stood before me, arms at her side, those breasts I’d so long wanted to see hanging naked in front of me. There was a lot of sag; she’d had two daughters and was closing on sixty years of age. There were also some stretch marks, but they didn’t show much. Her nipples and areolas were dark brown, and her nipples were erect. It all rose and fell rhythmically with her increased breathing.
“All I imagined and more,” I said. Reaching out, I cupped them in my hands, lifting them to test their weight, squeezing to test their firmness. When I passed my thumbs over the rubbery nipples, she gasped.
She lifted the hem of my t-shirt and I bent over slightly so she could pull it off. Then she came in for a long, tight hug. Damn, those tits had always felt good against my chest, and flesh to flesh, they felt even better. Her head tilted back and her mouth opened, so mine joined hers as our tongues engaged in a sensual dance. I massaged her lower back in small circles. My dick began hardening and she pressed herself against it in response.
I’d all but forgotten about John, snoring loudly in his drunken stupor. Ignorant fuck. I’d be glad to help out his wife while he lay there in oblivion.
Breaking our embrace, I lowered my head as I lifted her breasts to my mouth. First one, then the other, then back again, I sucked the nipple, areola and as much of each breast into my mouth as I could, flicking and rolling the nipples with my tongue. A low moan escaped her throat as her hands trembled on my shoulder blades. Her legs bent as she lowered herself to the floor. I was in no position to follow, so I straightened up, releasing my grasp on her breasts.
My intention was to join her once I wasn’t in such an awkward and off-balanced position, but instead she knelt and began unfastening my jeans. OK, whatever. Hooking her fingers into my jeans and underwear, she pulled both down together. My dick sprung free and stuck out like a flagpole on the side of a building. John snored on as she removed my tennis shoes and I stepped out of my pants.
Donna straightened up on her knees, gently placed her hands onto my cock, and began stroking it lightly. Looking up, she said, “Pat’s described you quite well. I’ve never had an uncircumcised cock before.” With that, she stroked down, pulling the foreskin back. For a moment, she moved it around, inspecting what had been previously covered, then slid it back into place, as best as it would go. Moving her head forward, she slipped the covered head into her mouth, teasing the tip of her tongue into the foreskin to flick against the glans. Then she pulled her hand back, sliding the foreskin off the head and swirled her tongue around it a few times before sinking my full length into her mouth, her nose burying into my pubic hair. I could feel my dick pressing at the back of her throat. Damn, that was nice.
Pulling her mouth off, she looked up at me. “Unlike Pat, I don’t mind cum in my mouth. I might even swallow,” she said with a sly grin. My dick twitched and her mouth went back to work on it. John snorted and snored on.
After a few minutes of her wonderful sucking, I wanted more. “Here,” I said, pulling out of her mouth and lifting her slightly by her head. She stood again. Eyeing her breasts, I knelt in front of her, unfastened her jeans and pulled them and her panties down. After stepping out of them she stood there in front of me, legs spread enough I could see her inner lips peeking out and smell her scent of woman in heat. Leaning forward, I rubbed my nose in her pubic hair before letting my tongue slip between her labia and slide against her clit. At the contact, she gasped, and her hips twitched. Continuing the light stroking of her clit with my tongue, I trailed my fingertips up the inside of her thigh until I reached her pussy, where they gently stroked the length of her slit, feeling the moisture forming at her woman’s well. She placed her hands on the back of my head, pulling me tighter against her as her legs spread open a bit more. I could hear her now-ragged breathing between John’s snores.
She sighed quietly as my fingers slipped between her nether lips, becoming wet with her nectar as I explored her opening. Spreading the hot liquid silk around, I well-lubricated her entire slit. I needed better access. Moving my head back, I grabbed her hands and pulled them gently down. She sank to the carpet and followed my wordless guidance as to how I wanted her positioned: on her back, legs spread wide.
I placed myself between her legs and began to work on her pussy with my lips and tongue. She grabbed the back of my head as her knees went up and her hips tilted her pussy to allow me freer access to all of it. I began by running my tongue from well to clit and back, each time slipping slightly into that delicious source of her nectar. Her hips jerked and she let out a soft grunt each time my tongue crossed her clit. After a few minutes of this, I spread her open with my thumbs, and went to work fully on her clit, not just flicking it, but stroking it with the flat of my tongue. Her hips began to grind her against my tongue as her breathing became labored and the grunts turned into a series of moans and gasps. I could feel her juices wetting my short chin beard.
Her fingers tightened on the back of my head, digging in against my scalp and gripping my hair as she pulled me harder against her. “Oh, God, yes,” she groaned just before her body spasmed. I thought she would pull out some scalp, she gripped my hair so hard as her hips ground her pussy against my mouth and tongue. I felt more of her liquid heat flow onto my chin as she emitted a breathy, ragged sigh. After several seconds, her grip relaxed as the tension in her body eased.
Then she gripped the sides of my head, urging me up on top of her. “Fuck me, Steve.” I crawled up over her, glancing briefly at John as he let out a loud snort. His head shook slightly, then he went back to his snoring in total drunken oblivion. I almost laughed.
I felt his wife grasping my cock, positioning it at her woman’s opening, wrapping her legs around my waist, pulling me toward her, and urging me with another, “Fuck me.” I slowly slid down into her until I was buried as deeply as I could be. She whined quietly as I did, placing her arms around me and lightly stroking my back with her fingernails. “Fuck me.”
I began a slow, steady stroking, pulling almost out then sinking back to the hilt to grind myself against her clit. Each bottoming brought a sound from her, a groan, a moan, a gasp, or some comment: “Oh, God,” “Yes!” “Fuck,” “God, this is good.” I didn’t feel her flooding my balls, but she was quite wet, causing delicious squishy sounds with every stroke. Her hips moved in time to me, tilting up on my downstroke, tilting down on the up, fucking me back. We kissed deeply and her chin was wet with her nectar from my beard when it ended.
Lifting myself on my outstretched arms, I gazed down on her. Her eyes were closed, head slowly rocking side to side, lips parted where I could just see the tip of her tongue behind them, chest rising and falling with her breasts out on either side, nipples hard and erect, belly slightly extended to press against mine. It was then I noticed some stretch marks and cottage-cheesiness there. Her pussy wasn’t very tight, but I could feel her muscles grasping at my cock.
It was somewhat surreal, us on the floor fucking, naked, the smell and sounds of her heat, the wetness of our crotches, John’s snoring and snorting on the couch just a few feet away in plain sight. By then, though, I didn’t care a whit about him being there. I just wanted to give his wife pleasure. I wanted to fuck those tits. But first, I wanted her to cum again. Lowering myself onto her again, I whispered that into her ear, “God, you’re a good fuck, Donna. You feel so good against me, around me. I want you to cum again. I want you to cum on my cock.”
She whimpered. “I almost never cum twice. It’s okay. It’s wonderful. You’re wonderful. God, this is so wonderful, you feel so good inside me. You made me cum so good with your mouth. I can’t ask for more. Fuck me until you cum, Steve.”
“I want to fuck your tits. I want to cum fucking your tits.” She paused in her fucking me back. John snorted again.
She giggled softly, then said, “Only if I can lick your cock while you do.”
I pulled out and moved up, straddling her, placing my cock between her tits. She lifted them up, wrapping me in them, pressing them together so the nipples almost touched. I began stroking myself between them as I’d been stroking in her pussy.
“Put the pillow behind my head,” she said, lifting her head as I complied. This placed my dick almost to her mouth on the forward strokes. She began licking me whenever I was close enough. I moved my hips forward a little, causing my dick to just touch her lips with each stroke. A drop of precum clung to the tip on one emergence from her cleavage. When the tip touched her lips, her tongue snaked out to lick it clean.
This happened a few more times, then she looked up at me and said, “Cum for me, Steve. Just like this, cum for me. I want it in my mouth.” It had been building, and that was all I needed. I lengthened my strokes more, moving the head fully into her mouth each time.
Faster I humped her tits, feeling the feeling begin. More precum came out, falling off, spreading on my dick and her cleavage, some making it to her mouth. The pressure built. My body began trembling. She gazed up at my eyes through her lashes.
“Cum for me,” she said on the backstrokes. “Cum.” Oh, God, I was close. I closed my eyes and focused on the feelings of her breasts wrapped around my cock, her lips and tongue on the upstrokes, the memory of being buried to the hilt in her pussy, her scent, the squishy sounds she made, her whimpers and groans, her insistence I cum for her, the idea of my semen blasting into her mouth.
“Oh, fuck,” I said, not crying out as I wanted, but muting because of the snoring slug on the couch. I drove forward once more, sliding my shaft about halfway into her mouth as my body spasmed and I began pumping semen into her. She closed her lips around the shaft, working her tongue along the bottom and around the head as my seed spewed out, coating everything inside her mouth. She sucked as she released her breasts and grasped my cock with thumb and index finger, gripping tightly as she moved them from the base to her lips, squeezing it all out. As my climax subsided, she continued this motion until, I guess, it produced nothing more.
Releasing her grip, she pushed me gently back, sliding my now softening cock from her lips. I squatted there, straddling her belly. Looking up, she worked my cum around in her mouth, then swallowed, worked it around some more, and swallowed again. Then she opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue with a giggle. Hmm, seems she must watch porn sometimes.
“Oh, my God, Steve, that was wonderful.” John snorted again. She glanced over at him. “See, we could have done all that on top of him and he’d be just like he is now.” There was a bit of annoyance in her voice.
“I’m thankful he’s such a drunken buffoon. You’re a hell of a woman, Donna. He’s a fucking idiot.” We got up and began dressing.
“He is who he is. Steve, I hope you’ll visit again. I’d like to explore more of you.”
“I’d like to explore more of you, too, Donna. Just give me a call any time.”
We hugged and kissed goodbye. I could taste myself slightly on her tongue. Then I grabbed my leftovers and left. The last thing I heard as she closed the door was John’s snore.