tagMatureNo, Not A Schreibtischtater

No, Not A Schreibtischtater


The two of us, her a middle-aged divorcee, me much younger, were coupled amidst muddled sheets, wrapped in murky shadows skulking about her bedroom in a tropical vacation bungalow near a white sand beach. Her ruby cum fuck me pumps unshackled, on the floor; my young man's practical, proper, in fashion shoes nearby. Her red lace panties, the crimson balconet bra, the spaghetti strapped cherry sheath, my trendy duds piled on the floor.

She, this smoothly contoured older woman formerly from France on her back, me, a bony, sometimes broody, tow headed lad in front, on top. My background was German. I was no Schreibtischtater, a writing table perpetrator or in Texas parlance all hat and no cattle. I freely plied my long, large, fat cock into rich, mature women's bodies, their beds. I had them aboard luxurious boats, sprawled across granules of sand at the beach, on the lush leather back seat of chauffeur driven limousines and a host of other erotic, exotic play fields. In plundering their eager, earnest pussies, pleasuring them wherever they deemed desirable, I found my own pleasure and a great deal of financial reward to boot.

Her red painted toes tethered by flexed tendons, five shallow hillocks rearing across each foot like surging sand dunes. The two of us joined together, feminine bare feet, and masculine ones curled as apostrophes. My cock, a nearly bursting, ballsy based rod buried in her womb, my yang soon to be milked once more in her soaked through and through container of yin.

Her long lithe toes, the longitudinal file of mounded tendons under skin feverish with balmy heat, the sensuous gentle ascent topping her feet, was to my foot fetish fascinated peepers, a dreamscape of bi-pedal delight.

Her round ankles, hard bulges firm as petrified wood, not bouncy, spongy like her bounteous, blue veined breasts, silky soft cavities behind her knees or the supple outline of her slim, cock guzzling throat.

My cock stationed in her shaved slit, my post juvenile paws stroked, seized her bony humps of ankles. These knobs the point of departure, the place where her shapely runner's legs embarked, journeyed to bundled calves, bended knees, tapered thighs, finally the Promised Land, the juncture at her seasoned Y where my cock was happily snared in her wet through and through nest. In the past, the present, the future, at least for twelve days, I would enjoy this auburn haired wanton wench. When on vacation, she frequently induced, seduced or even salaried young men, never less then 18 years old, into her sumptuous sex fiend's bed. This season's playground, a four poster bed sitting on lathed struts, its firm mattress resilient to our hammering one another. The hard fact of our twined bodies, the undulating motion of our coupling, and the exhilarating sensations in these moments played out on indefatigable and noisy springs. Squeaks accompanied by Sinatra's voice on the CD, the world outdoors eerily silent. Surrounded by blond rattan furniture and bamboo accents, a ceiling fan circled lazily above our disturbed fun filled bed.

Perfume scented, clean smelling, the sweetest disposition, not one hint of superiority or manor born attitude, her warm voluptuous body charged me with such desire, this was not work but an amusement ride. Always the professional though, I still felt obligated to pleasure her, please her fetish frolicking with newly matured studs, not let her find fault with a male member of my generation, utter disparagements to fellow females of her ilk calling on her in the plush digs on San Francisco's Nob Hill.

A tangle of muscled legs, stiffened tendons, her feet held high, legs spread in wide V. My arms angled back, each hand purchased on one ankle.

Loins against loins my swollen pole plummeted deeper into her sodden crypt. My prick anchored in her pussy, we were furiously humping animals.

She opened her mouth sucked my tongue in the same torrid manner she earlier fellated my cock. In doing that delicious act, she wore her cum fuck me pumps, the red short shift, squatted on the springy foundation of her bended knees. I looked down; saw her unabashedly taking me fully in her mouth, breasts nearly unbounded, cleavage as I like seeing, the whole package charging me with a surfeit of eyeball ecstasy. She sucked me dry, drained my semen. Gave me ecstasy that way too. Compliments of youth, yearning for more, my yield of sperm, and my erection soon clambered back with extraordinary swiftness. I was like one of those curved bowl based inflatable clowns you smack down, it immediately bounces back.

Several hours earlier in a wide open outdoor pavilion, I had first fixed my blue eyes on this tanned lady in red. The scents of jasmine and hibiscus were chock-a-block in the sultry night time air. Alone at a linen covered table, she drank a sparkling ginger colored cocktail. In the glow of a nearby flaming torch, flickering with romantic warmth, her hair huddled about her head in glossy waves, her green eyes glowed like back lit emeralds. She licked her lips; laved what seemed like drops of dew about her mouth. Her breasts thrust forward in the low cut dress, an abundance of cleavage marred by too much shadow. I could not see much of her legs or her feet but I had little doubt of their allure. What I seen already had stiffened my cock to its fullest proportion.

In the privacy of her rented, lavishly appointed quarters, before she gave me such good head, I got my lean fingers inside the lusty, lasciviously inclined lady, gratified her with some efficient and effective manual dexterity. My pseudo cock, an arrangement of a single or a bundle of digits was no less successful then my bona fide penis in bringing her to the periphery of ecstasy.

She said something Gallic. I imagined these French words conveyed her impressions of our fucking, my cock, and the impending rush of my semen into one of her orifices. I wished my name was Pierre or Francois so I could translate her lingo. The language of lovemaking said in French sounded sexier.

This voracious and voluptuous woman in profile, head on, from the back was rounded curves, stacked tits, flaring hips differing only in incidences of angles, my assorted viewpoints of her lush boundaries. Pert nosed, golden-brown hair, silken cheeks, her pink pillow lips yielded in the same effortless manner rose petals give way.

Her age was three decades beyond mine. Her body was an ingénue's, her beauty was breathtaking and her boldness was no different then a buccaneer's audacious demeanor. This woman was a well oiled, experienced fucking machine giving pleasure, relentlessly campaigning to achieve the same.

Her wringing wet gash wound about my member, held me firmly in place.

I fucked, she fucked; we fucked through the too short night. Heat, fluids and favors readily exchanged, fluid in our body movements, we bump, grind and slap one another.

Prizes of sperm, numerous orgasms are my gift to her.

Her buxom and bawdy presence in our shared bed is a true treasure, worthier then a Midas mint.

The presents she presented to me with such zeal: a sopping wet pussy, her out of control sexual hunger, sensations, copious sums of it, launched and landing in me. Most of all the series of micro deaths inherent to the orgasms she relentlessly flung my way.

Me the alleged professional, she the reputed amateur, she nearly fucked me to death. I, the supposed courtier skilled in satisfying any woman's sexual hankering barely curbed her licentious appetite.

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