A Stroke Story

"You'll really like the second kiss, Tricia," I whispered. In one quick motion, I pushed her against the side of the car, knelt down, lifted her right leg, threw it over my shoulder, and tucked my head under her skirt.

I couldn't see a thing, complete darkness, but the musky, honey-like aroma of her saturated pussy served as an impromptu GPS system. I heard her gasp and felt her shudder, her calf digging into my back, as I flicked my tongue until it found its steamy destination. Jackpot.

With at least one of my tactile senses rendered utterly unserviceable, I had to make the best of my remaining somatosensory system. From the sounds of Tricia's groans and the clenching of her vaginal muscles stroking my fingers which were impaling her gash, it appeared I was wildly successful.

My tongue greedily lapped at the humid, sticky flaps of her labia and my mouth found the small pea which I correctly assumed was her clit. There was no doubt that I had indeed navigated myself to ground zero when her screeches echoed throughout the quiet Ohio hamlet's neighborhoods.

She was still stifling her moans when I extricated my head about ninety seconds later, savoring several squirts of warm, milky ejaculate that had streamed liberally from her swollen, overheated folds as I had made love to her pussy. It was incredibly erotic to pat oral homage in the dark. I made a mental note that I would have to try it again sometime. There's fun, and then there's FUN.

I smoothed her hemline as I raised my head to kiss her, our third kiss, this one covered in her juices, which we enjoyed together.

"Holy Mother of God," she moaned, licking her nectars on her lips. "You are so fucking bold. Right in broad daylight." I laughed at this remark. She realized her mistake and whacked me on the shoulders.

"You know what I mean, dammit. Give me a break, I'm drunk and just had the most unexpected, fantastic cum of my life. Jeezus, oh fuck, oh my God...." Her voice trailed off as her head went into my shirt, her body still trembling in small post-orgasm after-shocks.

I opened the door for her so we could escape without facing indecent exposure charges. It was just a guess, but I doubted Granville, Ohio had a lot of displays of public cunnilingus. "By the way, Ms. Price," I said softly. "Did I miss something or were there no panties on down there?"

She slid into the seat and grinned. "I couldn't decide on a proper color, there were so many options. So I chose none at all. Didn't think you'd mind."

"My favorite color," I replied, shutting the door and walking to my side. "Goes with everything."

I finger-fucked my mature vixen to at least two more pussy explosions during the short ride home, one hand on the wheel and the other buried in her cunt, her skirt pulled up to the belly button, which had a gold ring inside, her wetness soaking my upholstery. I gently whacked away her repeated attempts to stroke my cock.

"In due time," I chastised. "Don't want to be swerving all over the road. Let's get us home first." Mind you, I'm all for the mobile blow job or hand job, safety standards notwithstanding. But I was willing to be patient. I was getting off on seeing her reaction to the pleasure I was bringing her. I knew it would be more than reciprocated shortly enough.

When we approached her house, there was a Honda already in the driveway. "Caryn's home," Tricia said, pulling down her skirt. " Her bedroom is upstairs. We'll have to be quiet." Since Tricia had just undoubtedly violated Granville's after-hours sound ordnance, I was skeptical that she would be able to keep the decibel level low enough not to wake her daughter. Or her granddaughter for that matter.

She opened the door to the darkened house and gestured for me to sit on the couch. "Be right back, want to check to see if everyone's in bed already." My hard-on and I did as instructed, with him leading the way, as always.

When she returned, she finally unbuttoned the conservative blazer that had covered her body for the evening. Slowly, very slowly.

She gently folded the blazer and laid it on the chair next to the couch. Without saying a word, she next unhooked the clip that held her hair in its bun and let the curls loose, spiraling down onto her shoulders. She reached to take off the glasses, but I shook my head. "No, leave them on," I insisted.

She smiled. "Kinky. I like that."

She next spread her sinewy legs about two feet apart and ran her fingers along the side of the zipper. Inch by inch, her long fingers teasingly made the southward descent until she kicked out of the skirt with a flourish.

Her completely shaved and glimmering cunt, still seeping the residue of her cum down her muscular swimmer's thighs, was indeed uncovered. Two midnight blue straps held up the garters of the same color on either side of her pelvis, but she eschewed panties or a thong.

She turned her back to me, giving me a birds-eye view of her taut ass cheeks. My immediate thought was that it was an ass that would have made a twenty-five year-old proud, much less a woman a half-century old. She took her time taking off her blouse, reveling in the fact that I was now stroking my bulging cock in appreciation through my khakis. Pre-cum had already begun to seep through the slit in my boxers, resulting in a small pool on my lap.

"Looks like someone's almost as wet as I am," she purred, clenching and unclenching her sublime buttocks. I had only seen such an exhibition in a strip club. It made me wonder why I hadn't actively pursued the wonders of older women before. "This is the 'show' part of 'show and tell', John".

She turned again to face me, the blouse now dangling off her shoulders. She was wearing a bustier that she had unlaced to expose her firm tits, and she cupped her palms over each one and caressed them. I couldn't help myself, I had to release myself from my Dockers' prison. As I lifted my ass off the couch to lower my pants, Tricia the Lioness pressed upward on her left tit, raised it to her mouth, and began to lick the root-beer colored erect gumdrop nipple.

One sparkling cat-green eye poked out at me from beneath a lock of hair as her neck contorted awkwardly. She continued to circle her areola with her tongue. I stood and undid my belt, and my pants fell to the carpet. My engorged purple cock head flopped through the slit in my boxers. "Oh, yeah, baby, show mommy that big cock."

If anything, her voice had lowered another octave or two. I was no longer making comparisons. Rather, I deduced she should be the voice-over actress that Hollywood vixens should aspire to emulate.

She walked towards me without saying a word, her perfect orbs jiggling with each sexy stride. It was apparent that there was nothing artificial or enhanced about Tricia's breasts. Like her buttocks, they were fifty-year-old perfection.

In one motion, she pushed me backwards. My pants were still bundled around ankles, so I stumbled down onto the couch. She knelt down swiftly, the predator attacking the prey, and slipped off my shoes and tugged my pants off in a flash. With two hands, she fished the rest of my shaft through the slit and began to fist the base while corkscrewing just below the head.

"I knew you'd be a big fucking boy," she hissed as she began to lick a path along the vein on my lower shaft. "Mmmm, so fucking thick. Look at that big purple lolly-pop of a cock head. Can mommy suck it?"

If you googled 'silly question', that might have come up as an example.

Tricia's tight mouth encircled my head and her lips formed a perfect oval. Her left hand continued to stroke my shaft down by the root, pushing and pulling it into my belly just above the testicles, causing my public bone to reach a hardness that I couldn't ever recall experiencing.

Her mouth would only surround my cock head, and she would release every few seconds with a 'pop'...'pop'...'pop'...'pop'. Tiny firecrackers echoing through the room.

"I don't know how I'm going to get my mouth around this pop can. I can barely get my fingers around it. And I've got big hands. God, you're SO fucking thick. Gorgeous cock."

I learned during my brief tenure in the Buckeye state that the natives referred to soda as 'pop'. The analogy that she used was ironic since it was the identical sound that her oral administrations were causing.

She took a deep breath, almost as if she were preparing to submerge. Which, in a way, I guess she was.

"I have to take my glasses off for this, sorry, baby." She placed them on the coffee table next to the arm of the couch. "I have a feeling I'm going to get carried away. This will be my first blow job as a fifty-year-old and I'm going to do to you what you did to me. So hang on, you big-cocked bastard."

I've been the fortunate recipient of enough blow jobs that I've begun to develop a sort of categorization system.

There are what I call the 'eyeballers'. Women who look you in the eye while sucking you, deriving pleasure from the reactions that their oral magic can evoke.

There are the 'head tossers'. Women who swirl their head around wildly, like a bobblehead caught in a rinse cycle. This takes on even more panache when a woman has longer hair, as Tricia did. The 'head tossers' usually have a technique that is flamboyant and reckless.

There are the 'prop artists'. Women who creatively take a rather arcane object and turn it into an accessory item for their fellatio experience. In Tricia's case, she had taken the strand of pearls from her neck and wrapped them tightly around the base of my shaft, essentially using it like a cowboy would rope a calf. She playfully lowered the shaft farther and farther down until her nose was buried into my balls. 'Prop artists' who are also 'deep-throaters' are the rarest of this species.

Then there are the 'slobberers'. Women who lavish enough saliva on and around your cock to cure summer droughts. The most unabashed of the slobberers are the 'spaghetti stranders'. Women who recycle their saliva prudently for re-use by sucking their spit back into their mouth in a "Lady and the Tramp" -like scenario.

Finally, there are the 'moaners', the true connoisseurs of cock sucking. The ones who truly love it. They may be trying to actually articulate something, but they are genuinely so into the act themselves, that their utterances come out as garbled mumblings, like the Papa Bear character in the Berenstain Bears cartoon. These moaners also have not the slightest idea that they are generally so loud, Marlee Matlin would cover her ears to escape the noise of their enthusiasm.

When you discover each of these characteristics in one single woman, it is like a fisherman finally hooking "The One". Don't throw her back, don't let her get away. Bring her back to her own aquarium and let her swim the day away happily. You have found the dream blowfish.

So discombobulated was my thinking, one hand was gripping the back of Tricia's skull, attempting to face-fuck her while shooting my seed into her womb. Yet the other desperately gripped the pillow, trying to prolong my release, wanting this white whale of blow jobs to never end.

I was right on the verge of exploding so ardently I was afraid I would drown my All-American swimmer/cock sucker in an ocean of sperm. Then we heard three letters that put the emergency brakes on this runaway oral locomotive.

"Mom?"

Tricia's head snapped around sideways, although I wasn't so quick to react. My hand was still super-glued to the back of her skull, in semi-shock that we had been interrupted. Tricia had to slap my palm off of her, like she was swatting a mosquito that had imbedded itself in her mane. "Caryn! I......"

Caryn was standing on one of the bottom steps of the staircase, wearing a robe that was loose off of her shoulders, and exposing more than a generous amount of healthy cleavage that I hadn't quite noticed in the food court. What I did notice was that Caryn was staring directly at my cock. Her gaze honed in on it like a scud missile.

There were a few seconds of collective freeze-frame silence, everyone seeking for the right response when a daughter happens upon her mother kneeling in front of a semi-strange man's dick while wearing an outfit that would make Mae West blush.

Finally, Caryn let out a wry grin, averting her gaze from my cock to see the saliva still hanging from her mom's lips to the tip of my dick. "So, he's not my type, huh, Mom? No fun?"

Tricia stood up, unconsciously wiping spittle and a gob of pre-cum from her chin. "Honey..."

Caryn waved her off. "I'm going back to sleep, don't worry about me. Try not to wake the neighbors, though, mom, Jeezus. It's a miracle Amanda is sound asleep. Gosh, you're loud."

Caryn turned and disappeared from sight, trailing the words, "Such a slut........"

Tricia, always a woman of action, stood up, seemingly unaware of, or oblivious to, her condition and her attire. "Stay here, don't move," she barked at me.

The irritated feline had not yet consumed her meal. She pointed down at my cock and addressed it as a schoolteacher would a petulant child. "You neither!"

She ran upstairs. Muffled animated voices could be heard. Still, miraculously, Amanda remained beddie-bye.

The two of us, me and my cock, sat stock-still for about ten minutes, staring forlornly at each other, frightened too much to disobey. In fact, so determined were the pair of us to comply with our orders that my cock remained fully erect when Tricia could be heard coming down the stairs.

Her face was still flushed, but of course, being a guy, despite the uncomfortable family quarrel that had just ensued, I couldn't help but also notice that her puffy vulva was still pronouncedly swollen.

"She's OK, but I promised we'd make it up to her," she said simply, without further explanation.

"Tricia," I began to reach for my pants. "I feel bad, maybe I should......"

She wagged a finger at me and leered a sinister smile when she saw that I was still more than hard. "Shut up!"

I shut up.

"Don't you fucking dare speak."

I didn't speak.

She climbed on the couch, straddled me, locking her strong thighs around my own, and pulled her labia apart with her fingers.

She growled at me, a reminder warning in the event there was any duplicity in her prior commands.

She pulled my head to her bustier and let her breasts fall free from the silky material. "I'm going to slow-fuck you to an inch of your death, young stud."

I felt her cunt gradually expand to accommodate my girth. The smile returned to her face, she was glowing in that glow that only great sex can bring to a woman's face.

"Actually, I might let you live. Just let me use your cock for my pleasure. Deal?" She leaned in to kiss me and for the next untold minutes her talented kegel muscles simultaneously massaged and tortured my cock.

"After a few moments, she spoke. "Mmmm, this is my first fuck as a fifty-year-old, too. There are a lot of firsts tonight." I nodded, now emboldened enough to thrust my pelvis up at her to match her rocking-chair gyrations, rotating her hips on me like a belly dancer in slow motion.

"How'd I do on that inaugural blow job, by the way?" She seemed sincerely interested in feedback.

"Um, it was pretty good," I purposely understated, feeling my cock snap deep within her as it reached her cervix. I could actually see the outline of my shaft inside the folds of her taut tummy. Her skin stretched as she bounced on me. It was a wildly erotic sight.

I reached my hand down her back and made a surprise attack of my own, wiggling my index finger into her anus, which was more than lubricated by the streams of moisture cascading from her cunt like a leaky spigot.

"Aaaah, fuck, "she groaned. "You're a back-door man, too, huh? How did you know I love my ass played with?"

Lucky guess, I thought. Gee, you're so prudish otherwise.

I next took a chance based on the premise that you'll never know until you ask. "So, are you ready for your first ass-fucking as a fifty-year-old?"

She stood up, and for the briefest of moments, I was worried that I had over-stepped my boundaries. But worry not.

Tricia was simply maneuvering herself into a reverse-cowgirl position, and she leaned back so that her back was pressed into my chest. "No ass-fucking on the first date, baby, we have to save you for more."

More? Yikes.

"Besides," she said rocking on me urgently. "What do you think I am?"

Silly me.

"Oooh, I love this position," she purred, fucking me eagerly now. "You can get soooo fucking deep in me. Start to fuck me harder, baby. Mommy wants to feel your cum in her needy cunt."

She craned her neck around to kiss me, and I lifted her up about a foot off the couch with each urgent thrust. One hand reached to flick those root-beer nipple nuggets while the other diddled her clit. Her own hand reached beneath us and she cradled my balls, filling with cum like two water balloons ready to burst.

And burst they did, flooding Tricia's hot gash with shot after shot of rocket-like sperm fuel. I was still cumming and thrusting when I felt my hot seed pour down her thighs and into my lap.

I collapsed with my head on the back of the couch when she straight up on the couch, hovering over my face, and squatted down like a landing copter on a heliport.

"Open wide," was all she said. My mouth parted like a tiny bird's and I saw her salmon-colored labia expand, and a huge glob of cum landed right on my tongue. She had literally given me a facial of my own semen.

"That was my first facial as thirty-eight year-old, I'll have you know," I told her.

She laughed, and pointed to a door down the hallway. "The guest restroom is down the hall on the left. Go ahead and take a shower, you're all sweaty, what HAVE you been doing? Did a fifty-year-old wear you out?"

She smiled the smile of a proud feline, conqueror of males, queen of Licking County. She dabbed at my cheek. "Besides, there's cum all over your face, you slut."

I emerged from the welcome shower about fifteen minutes later to see Tricia sitting contentedly on the couch, now wearing a pink puffy robe that covered everything. "This is the coral ensemble I talked about. Do you like?"

I took the towel from my waist and let my semi-flaccid dick swing like a pendulum. "What about the leopard skin?" I stroked my cock, indicating I was more than interested in being the recipient of her second blow job as a fifty-year-old.

I heard the creak of the stairs and saw a slim ankle coming down into the living room. The ankle was followed by another, and then a pair of toned thighs, and then a firm ass covered in a leopard skin thong, which failed to conceal the tattoo of a teddy bear on the right bun.

"Caryn and I wear the same size," Tricia said nonchalantly, sipping a refreshing post-coital beverage of green tea. Caryn came into the living room and I ogled a body that by anyone's measure, certainly did NOT carry any excess weight. Unless you counted the tits. They were bigger than her mom's, perhaps augmented by recent childbirth, and hung out of the bra like two chubby Cheshire cats.

"Well, I take that back. Caryn's tits are much fuller than mine. They seemed to serve as buoys when she swam, though. They served to slow her down somewhat. Did you tell John you were quite a college swimmer, honey?"

"Lafayette College. Easton, Pennsylvania. This wasn't our team's uniform, though. But our nickname was the Leopards."

Tricia rose from the couch and she and Caryn shared a hug. "Now that we've selfishly woken Caryn from her sleep, this is when we need to make it up to her."

My dick was rising again in involuntary salute, indicating my willingness to show my contrition in a proper manner.

Tricia stretched her arms over her head. "Well, I'm going to take a shower. You kids have fun." She gave my now-erect cock a playful squeeze. "He is your type, sugar. I just had to take him for a test drive. And he's a smooth ride."