On that particular morning, I woke up with a massive hard-on.
So it was quite convenient that my cock was deeply buried in Patty's throat at the time.
Chicken or the egg?
I had been "dating" Patty, if you can accurately categorize marathon sex sessions as "dating", for about six weeks now. During that time, my dick was usually buried in some orifice, crack, or crevice of Patty's torso and head a great majority of the time. Her eardrums might have been safe, but pretty much every other hole was fair game.
Patty had, um, selected me, from a profile on a "dating" (there's that word again) web site, and less than a half-hour into our relationship, she was on her knees in front of me, performing the same oral magic that she was currently utilizing on me. Patty was recently separated, and she craved cock the way that the Kardashians craved attention.
I propped myself on my elbows on the downy pillows in our room in the Del Mar Hilton, made myself comfortable, and enjoyed the show.
Her head swirled around my genitals like a bobble head caught in a Pacific Ocean breeze. Patty kept her hair close-cropped, and it was highlighted to the tint of a platinum blonde. She graciously swiveled her body around so that she was perpendicular to my body, providing me access to her, and I began to gently stroke and caress her world-class buttocks.
Patty wasn't much in the tit department (that feature went to her twenty-year-old daughter, but that's a whole other subject), but for forty-three years old, her ass was sublime. Taut and tight, with supple thighs and a washboard stomach.
And, oh, how she took to cock, have I mentioned that? I was seven years younger than Patty and experiencing the wonders of Cougarville for the first time, and it was a very pleasant place.
My finger leisurely traversed its way down to her anus, and I began to lightly circle the light pink, puckered bum hole that I knew my cock would be in sometime soon enough this morning. Patty loved anal almost as much as she loved oral, which, isn't a bad daily double.
Since we were heading to the legendary Del Mar horse track later today, I couldn't help but to make the analogy. I only hoped my luck would be as good at the betting windows as it was in bed. Because, this was one frisky filly.
She moaned huskily as I started to digitally penetrate her, her sky-blue eyes never leaving my own eyes, her mouth never leaving my cock, now the approximate size and wood-like texture of a furlong pole.
Normally, since Patty derived her own genuine pleasure by simply giving head, I would have sat back and relaxed and given her my hot sticky seed, and then dozed back off to sleep, since it was still barely eight AM. However, inspired by the thoughts of what may transpire during our five-day vacation, I was feeling a bit frisky myself.
So, I raised my head so that it rested against the headboard and sat up almost at a ninety-degree angle to the mattress. I placed my hands on her slender hips and maneuvered her onto my face, like a copter gently coming to rest on the heliport landing. Her head never stopped whirling, like a propeller, as we assumed a sixty-nine position, my tongue sliding into her always saturated pussy, my finger still spelunking her vice-like ass hole.
Patty's anal channel tightened around my finger at the same time that her labia flaps fluttered over my probing tongue. Small spurts of honey-like moisture spurted from her cunt, which pulsated in spasms every few seconds, one small orgasm after another, which only evoked a more determined sucking pressure on my dick.
Using all the willpower I could muster, I desperately held back my own release as I greedily lapped at her milky cum, splashing foam from her cunt like an overflowing mug of draft beer.
She gasped in a combination of surprise and disappointment as I extracted my tongue from her volcanic-like tunnel of love, spewing female lava all over her thighs and trickling into her gaping anal channel as I flipped her on her hands and knees.
When she was appropriately plopped in a doggy-style position of submission, I stabbed her lubricated sphincter without pretense or announcement, sticking my shaft about four inches into her back door with the first thrust.
Patty peered over her shoulder, her eyelids now half-moons, and I quickly grabbed her skull and swerved her neck back so that she could only face forward.
"Eyes front, you fucking slut," I barked at her, slapping her ass with repeated sharp, stinging slaps that echoed throughout the darkened room. "Who told you that you could watch the privilege of having your ass hole fucked?"
Patty moaned and ducked her head between her legs, still trying to sneak a peek backwards at the sight of me banging her butt. I chuckled as I heard her low, guttural wails of glee.
Patty liked it rough, the rougher the better. The dirtier I talked, the more degradingly I treated her, the more turned on she became. I had discovered this in these last six frantically erotic weeks, and I still hadn't pushed the envelope yet.
I didn't know how far I could take her, but in these next five days in Southern California, I was going to find out. I wasn't going to hurt her, but I was certainly going to capture her emotional trust, while pushing her lithe, sex-hungry body to its limits.
And that was what SHE requested on the plane ride out here. So, who was I not to acquiesce to a recently separated woman's fantasy to be a completed sub for 120 hours? Give the woman what she wants, right?
I focused on the rose tattoo on her right buttock as I savaged her ass, the heat from her bung hole now searing over my dick, staving off my ejaculation. My thick shaft had found its way deeply into her tunnel in past anal exercises, but never this deep, nor for this long.
Sweat cascaded off my forehead and dripped into her ass as my cock churned in and out of her anus. My heavy, cum-filled balls whapped against her cheeks. To change the rhythm, I grabbed her by the wrists and pulled them roughly behind her back, and lifted her up so that her back was against my chest.
With my free hand, I reached around to diddle her twat, first teasing her clit, and then shoving my index and middle fingers into her sopping gash. This pushed Patty over the edge, her cunt squirting and spraying a torrent of warm moisture, that quickly puddled on the mattress in a small, shimmering pool.
That was more than enough for me. With a final, mighty gyration, my cock exploded, one, two, three, and then less violently now, smaller gushes of cum. Patty's battered ass hole could not contain all of the semen, and as I withdrew, white suds of cum ran out of her ass, a veritable anal cream pie.
I admired the sight as my cock began to wither slightly, trying to catch my breath between gasps. Patty collapsed onto arms on the mattress, her ass still conveniently pointing straight up towards my face, seemingly inviting yet another invasion. I gazed at the fascinating sight of my cum oozing from her ass, and for a brief second, considered leaning down and licking my cum from her hole.
Instead, though, I sort of compromised. I reached over with two fingers, collected the cum from her ass like an ice cream scooper, and grabbed her hair and spun her around to face me.
"Eat your ass and my cum, you married whore," I snapped, pushing my fingers into her quivering lips. I morbidly enjoyed reminding her that she was still legally betrothed. Somehow, it made the sex nastier for both of us, the forbidden fruit.
Patty trembled in post-orgasmic bliss, her bright pink nipples distended to the size of thimbles, reveling in the filthy way I addressed her. She lapped at the cum cocktail like a kitten drinking mommy's milk.
I pushed her forehead so that she fell back onto the bed, and hovered over her menacingly. slapping my cock on her flushed cheek. "Now, clean me, taste your ass on my dick, you cock sucking slut!"
Patty obligingly complied, her eyes ablaze as she sucked me like a high powered vacuum.
Once satisfied that her chore was complete, my shaft whistle-clean after a 60-second oral shampoo, she rose on her elbows, kissed me passionately, and fell back once more onto the bed, laughing almost uncontrollably.
"OH, my fucking GOD! That was intense!!"
I grinned down at her, cradling her pretty head tenderly now.
She curled into a fetal position. "You are so much fucking fun! I love being your slut, your sex kitten, I fucking love it." Her face was aglow, radiant, the photo model for post-sex coital bliss. She motioned for me to lay down.
"Now cuddle with me, darling. I want to talk about some other fantasies I have."
I went to the bathroom first to clean myself up, and as I did, I heard Patty's cell phone ring.
She stretched her body over the edge of the bed to reach her purse, providing me with a sensational view of her just-fucked gorgeous ass, still bright pink and dripping cum.
"Hello, babydoll!" Patty squealed as she hit the keypad. She cupped her hand over the mouthpiece.
"It's my daughter, Meg, back in Ohio," she said to me, just before I found a washcloth to cleanse my cock with soap and warm water, preparing for the inevitable next session with my mature nympho.
"She wants to know how the vacation sex has been so far with my hung, handsome new boyfriend. Would YOU like to tell her?"
She flipped me the phone and giggled that wicked giggle of hers. I froze for a just a second before hesitantly speaking, wondering to myself, "Did she really discuss her sex escapades with her college-aged daughter?"
As I was about to find out, apparently so. In detail.
"Hi, Meg," I began simply, watching Patty roll over on her side on the mattress, staring at my flaccid cock as I stood on the side of the king bed. I had met Meg only twice, and it's fair to say that she had one of the most desirable bodies I'd ever seen. I imagined Patty twenty-some years ago, except with an extra helping of curves and tits. And thick, curly honey-blonde hair.
"Hi, John," came Meg's faux-demure reply. "Do you plan on letting my mother out of bed anytime this week? It IS Southern California, after all. You can't have sex ALL week." She hesitated and giggled a playfully sinister giggle that sounded just like her mom's. Then she turned it into an inquiry. "Can you?"
I did my best to deflect the question so that Patty wouldn't have an inkling what her daughter was asking. "No, we're going to the race track today, it's right across Jimmy Durante Boulevard. I'll bet you aren't even old enough to know who Jimmy Durante Boulevard, are you, Meg?" Hey, I tried to put the conversation on a G-rated level. But Meg wasn't biting.
"C'mon, John, are you wearing my mother out? Or is it the other way around?" Meg's lilting laugh hung in the air. I moved the receiver to my other ear. Patty's gaze was still fixated on my cock, which was beginning to rise in response to the audible stimulus more so that Patty's burgeoning hand job.
Meg didn't wait for an answer. Patty cupped my balls and licked her lips like a panther admiring her next meal.
"My mom tells me she has NEVER had sex like she has with you. She says you're an animal, a machine. I need a man like that. I am sooooo jealous."
Thank goodness Patty was now leisurely stroking my hardening shaft, because hearing Meg's words, opening up the possibility of a liaison with Meg someday, was enough to turn me into an instant flagpole.
"You are, Meg?" I asked, as casually as I could. Patty now wrapped her palm around my shaft and tugged on it, increasing my length with each pull. "Um, why's that?"
Meg took the bait, playing along, clearly enjoying the banter with mom's bed partner.
"Mom tells me you take complete control in the sack, Most of the guys I've been with are boys, they seem too scared to take command. That's what I want, John. A REAL man."
My dick had reached the texture of a steel bridge support. Patty purred and began to lick around my bulbous, purple-tinted cock head. But I wasn't going to miss this golden implied invitation by perhaps the hottest twenty-year old in Central Ohio.
"Well, when we get back, Meg, remind me of that, please. Now, I'm going to put you back on with your mom, OK?" Patty sucked a few inches down my shaft. I stifled a moan. Patty didn't.
Meg answered quickly. "Wait, John, wait a minute. Two more questions. I can hear Mom in the background. Is she giving you a blow job right now, I'm guessing?"
"Good guess, Meg, that's right." Patty looked up, trying to smile naughtily with a mouth stuffed with cock.
"I knew it. She told me she can't get enough of you. Now, last question. Have you imagined me giving you a blow job, John? Tell the truth."
Like George Washington, I could not tell a lie, even though this was no apple tree we were talking about. I didn't stutter.
"Oh, yeah, Meg. Absolutely. Now here's your mom. Bye now."
I almost fell backwards, in full retreat, amazed at the conversation that had just transpired. Patty pouted as my cock escaped her always ravenous lips with a "plop". I sat back on the recliner on the other side of the room as Patty stretched out on her tummy and resumed the talk with her diabolically sexy daughter. I barely listened, picking up only a few words her and there, my head spinning.
"Yes, honey.......yes, we will get outside.......remember it's only nine o'clock here, you're three hours ahead of us...we have all day, and four more after that.......I will, promise......OK, sweetie, love you, see you soon, be good...what's that....?"
I focused on Patty again, realizing she was waving at me, vying for my attention. "Honey, Meg says to blow you a big kiss for her. MMWWWWAAHHHH!!"
Patty dramatically put her palm to her lip and extended her arm, like the final scene from the old TV series Love Boat, which I realized Meg would have not been old enough to remember.
Patty clicked the phone off and walked to the window, opening the drapes slightly, allowing bright SoCal sunshine to enter the room. There is no sunshine like San Diego sunshine.
She peered out the window and the sun made her torso into a silhouette. Her slender, muscular thighs were perfectly parted to permit the triangle of her pussy visible to me from behind. I almost didn't hear her question.
"What's the weather going to be today, lover?
Now this was the easiest question I had fielded all morning. "It's going to be the same today as it was yesterday, and will be tomorrow, baby. Seventy-five, low humidity, mild ocean breeze, and not a cloud in the sky. Best climate on the planet."
She seemed to not have given my conversation with Meg even the slightest analysis. She was oblivious to the fact that her daughter just asked me if I fantasized about receiving head. Oh, well, I mused, don't ask, don't tell. If it was good enough for Slick Willie Clinton, it was good enough for me, at least for the time being.
And besides, the thought of what may happen with Meg when we returned was intriguing, to say the least. As Carl Spackler, Bill Murray's character said in CaddyShack, "So I got that workin' for me, which is nice."
It was then I heard Patty emit a low growl as she blinked into the sunlight outside. "Now, that is worthy of one of those fantasies we were about to discuss, sugar. Mmm, that is a hunk of man."
The fantasy topics that we had discussed in general terms on the long plane ride west involved, in no particular order, a FFM, a MMF, or a foursome.
Since we were at a proverbial stalemate on what we would prefer to explore first, I suggested that perhaps we pursue each item on the menu if the situations presented themselves. But I could tell Patty had her heart set on more cock.
And so it was, as I walked toward the curtains and peeked out over Patty's shoulders, that I saw the object of her desire. A buff man, perhaps a few years younger than myself, had stretched out on a pool-side lounge chair, soaking in some mid-morning rays. he was tanned all over and had the physique of an athlete, perhaps a body builder. He had jet black hair and a chiseled chin that would have made Tom Cruise envious.
"Yum," Patty practically drooled in a voice a few octaves lower than her normal sexually-induced groans. "Mommy like. Mommy like a LOT."
Suddenly, I didn't feel bad at all about my lascivious thoughts of her daughter.
"Be right back, baby," Patty said over her shoulder, closing the drapes. "I think it's time for a swim." Her naked ass opened like a half moon as she squatted down and grabbed a tiny bag from her suitcase on the floor.
She disappeared into the bathroom and emerged no more than sixty seconds later (it doesn't take long to dress when you're already nude) in a tiny, sensational, pure ivory-white string bikini. It wasn't quite a 'Microkini', but it was close enough.
The top was bascially two triangular strips of fabric that appeared to be hanging by her thumb-tack-like erect nipples. The bottom seemed to be a size too small, held together by two small strings attached to her slender hips. The folds of her puffy labia were clearly visible. The rear clung to her tight just-fucked ass, with at least half of Patty's sublime buttocks exposed.
We're funny, us men. We can see a woman naked for hours, but then she goes and puts something on and we think she looks even sexier.
And, oh, fuck, she did. For forty-three years old, Patty rocked a bikini to match any LaJolla beach bunny. She slid on a pair of open-toed sandals with three-inch heels and did a pirouette for me. My cock rose in silent but sincere appreciation.
She bent at the knees to give my cock head a lick, and threw a towel over her bare shoulder.
"I'm going to tease Mr. Adonis for a little bit, baby. And I'd like you to watch, OK?"
Uh, yep, that's OK.
Our room was on the first floor, on the same level as the pool, so the click-clack of her heels on the tile echoed through the nearly-empty courtyard, announcing her approach. I thought Adonis' eyes would pop out of his head as my pet cougar walked directly towards him and plopped a towel on the chair next to his, even though there were dozens of vacant chairs.
I couldn't hear what was being said between them, but Patty's wicked smile and sultry body language said it all. If Mr. Buff didn't have a hard-on, he had superhuman self-control.
His eyes were riveted on Patty's barely covered ass cheeks as she strode to the pool. Instead of testing the water temperature with her tiptoes, she made a beautiful dive into the deep end and swam beneath the surface for about fifteen seconds.
When she emerged, she made a curling motion to the man with her index finger and gestured for him to sit on the side of the pool. Not surprisingly, he willingly complied.
The two of them talked for a few minutes with Patty in the pool and the Schwarzenegger wannabe sitting with his feet in the water. Every few seconds, as Patty tread water, she inched closer between his legs, until eventually, she was only perhaps eighteen inches away from the crotch of his blue and white board trunks.
From my perspective as a clandestine bystander from my perch in the room, peering through the drapes, it looked for all the world like she was going to suck him off right there. I wouldn't have put it past her, either.
The young man was talking now, with Patty coyly shaking her head. She put her hands on his muscular thighs and he lifted her from the pool easily, his strong hands suspending her in mid-air for a bit longer than was necessary. He brought her gently to a safe landing pad, and she kissed him on the cheek while running her hands over his tanned pecs.
The water from the pool served to make the sheer bikini cling to her body, which was almost transparent by now. As she walked back to our room, his eyes admired her as wiggling seductively for him, while I couldn't help but ogle her mound, the labia mejora and pudendal cleft framing a cameltoe worthy of The Cameltoe Hall of Fame. (Which, as everyone knows, is located in Arabia.)