Titillation Rumination

"Fuck me with your tongue," I whispered with a vulgar insistence that nearly spit the word "fuck" out.

It was a reference to my words when teaching him how to French kiss a few minutes ago but I didn't give Brandon a chance to wonder if I meant that or something else as I pushed his head off of my chest downward toward the place that my husband would never have put his tongue after fucking me. He stopped briefly to dip his tongue into my bellybutton and I giggled when he did but pushed again to put his tongue in contact with the virile cream that matted my trimmed pubic patch.

I was going crazy with anticipation as he cleaned the heart-shaped hair and the top puffy crease of my shaved camel-toe with his tongue but didn't go any lower until I nudged his forehead once more with the palm of my hand. Then we made eye contact and he seemed to understand as he made two electrifying swipes across my clit to clean it off and then slithered his tongue into my sloppy crack to start lapping out the contents there. I smiled at him and, looking sort of like a crocodile, his eyes smiled back even though he didn't realize that I was amused by his boyish ignorance of where I wanted his tongue.

As if he was doing what I had asked him to, he kept scouring the swollen membrane of my pussy until I finally decided to teach him how to finish the act. I was ready to let another man bring me off with his tongue and I had paid too high a price so far to not see it happen so I pointed to the spot with my painted fingernail and I winked when he looked up like the eager student he was.

"Right here, sweetie," I cooed and then moaned when I diddled the little bud for him to see.

If he was embarrassed by missing the mark on the first attempt he didn't show it as I felt his coated tongue curling up the front wall of my vagina and follow the path to my finger and promptly turned on the switch to my sexual abandon.

"GAWD!" was all I could manage and grabbed his ears to pull him tighter to my crotch as my hips started to rock.

Licking it then sucking on it and then licking it again, he discovered the key to every girl's heart that he might service from that day on and I began to howl in an ecstatic laughter of lust.

Unfortunately, the door from the sunroom into our master bedroom where Brandon had started at as a Peeping Tom was still open and the unmistakable sounds of a bliss-filled woman escaped into the backyard where our neighbor, Stan, sits every Sunday morning reading the paper before heading to church. He's a harmless, fat, balding guy our age who knows me as the respectable but usually braless neighbor wife who's forgiven him several times when he gets caught looking down my shirts. He's the type of neighbor who just knocks and then walks in so he has seen me streaking by the bedroom door wearing only underwear before and occasionally gets to see more.

One of my most flagrant teases of a person we know happened one evening when my husband arranged for Stan to stop by with a garden catalog for us to order from. I had been in a playful mood all day so, in the privacy of my own home, it didn't take much for me to agree to wear a peek-a-boo and crotch-less teddy that we usually only use for hotel room "accidents" in cities where we don't know the pizza delivery men. With my heart-pounding, I let him arrange the lacy fabric around my nipples and the petals of my pussy as I sat Indian-style facing the door, reading a magazine that would help me look unaware of the obscene view Stan would have as he approached.

The sunroom sits a little higher than our backyards so it looks innocent on my part to dress like that and by the time he climbed the two steps to the screen door, there wasn't much he could do but watch me jump up in "surprise" and jiggle my way into the bedroom as I sacrificed a plain view of my naked nipples so that the magazine could cover the pussy he had already seen. He made a comically feeble attempt to not stare at the pink areolas that danced past him as he opened the door while my husband apologized for forgetting that he had made the invitation.

Stan's one of those overly friendly types who doesn't have the decency to leave after something like that and, after a polite grace period and an insistence from my husband that we needed to get plantings ordered, I came back into the room wearing one of his shirts that would hint at the lingerie still underneath. Stan apologized and I forgave him as we laughed nervously about it before letting the small-talk turn to gardening and he found himself looking down my shirt again while I filled out the forms.

Because it turns me on to think that my body turns other guys on, I let my husband "victimize" me like that sometimes, even with guys we know, as long as we don't talk about it. Whether he alerts Stan to opportunities or not, we all know that on certain nights neighbors are apt to be moving their garbage cans from the backyards out to the street and walking between the houses can't be avoided. I just ignore the bottom six inches of the blinds in our bedroom that are raised on those nights when I come in naked from a bath before bedtime and notice that my husband conspicuously refuses to take his shorts off. I've played the unsuspecting wife who rubs lotion onto her body before the lights go out and I've been on the receiving end of a magnificent tongue in the dim glow of late-night TV that I'm pretty sure Stan is watching us by. Before Brandon, my orgasms were an intimacy that I saved for my husband only so I always turned off the TV with the remote before cumming. But when the window is open I've never cared that he could hear what he was missing.

Between that and the strategic positioning he does to get views into my shirts when we chat in the backyard, he is pretty familiar with my bare skin but is a sort of self-righteous church-goer that wouldn't dare incriminate himself by making any advances. Besides Brandon, he is my favorite to tease.

While Brandon buried his face between my legs, Stan was probably figuring my screaming to be the work of my husband who would also be too distracted to notice and I'm sure that he just figured he could step in for a quick peek and pray that we didn't catch him. He's an opportunist with that built-in excuse of a relatively open-door policy in our house but I don't think that he would have ventured in to disturb our affair had he known how sordid it was.

The sight before him must have been unbelievable. Even as a victim of my exhibitionist teasing in the past he knew me best as an otherwise faithful, middle-age wife whose forgiving spirit had given him license to exploit my careless dressing. What he had found that morning was me holding the neighborhood paperboy's face into my naked crotch by his ears while my husband sat watching the kid proudly demonstrate his ownership of me.

It was a panic-stricken spasm that suddenly gripped my loins as Brandon's slurping took me over the brink at exactly the same time that a chortle of shock from Stan slipped out to give away what should have been his hiding place. I couldn't have stopped even if I wanted to and in that split second I welcomed the indulgent paralysis that numbed whatever shame I should have felt. I wanted the world to see the pleasure that I had earned by courageously letting my body be used to make a boy into a man.

"Jesus, Stan!" I shrieked and he couldn't help but dart his wide eyes away from my crotch to look with a guilty surprise at my face.

My hands instinctively moved from Brandon's head to cross my bare chest in a ridiculous attempt at modesty considering my hilarious grunting while I did nothing to resist the rapturous tongue that kept eating me out. My words startled Stan and he abruptly glanced at my husband and then turned in a half-stumble as he rushed back toward the sunroom door to avoid a confrontation.

"Oh, my God," I managed to sigh heavily between euphoric giggles when I turned my face the opposite way toward my husband who was grinning widely at my wide eyes and the helpless predicament that fueled a wicked craving in me that he had never seen.

I don't ever remember feeling so desirable and deserving of the attention that was being given to my hungry clit as a teenager's tongue found the way to trigger every lust-filled nerve in my body. It's hard to explain how uninhibited I had become but there was nothing in me that felt fifty-years-old as this boy worshipped me as a sex kitten in those few minutes and everything from my reputation in the community to my marriage vows were momentarily forgotten while I used him for my sinful gratification.

When the glorious pulsation became unbearable, I pushed Brandon's forehead away and he rocked back slightly to watch me writhe in a painfully orgasmic convulsion. Except for the back of my head and the balls of my feet that still made contact with the mattress, Brandon supported my weight on his elbows as his hands cupped the cheeks of my ass and his thumbs pulled the lips of my pussy apart at his eye level.

Even though I didn't care who watched, I squeezed my eyes shut and clenched the sheets as I shamelessly grunted or laughed or screamed - I'm not sure which - with the crash of each wave of orgasm that I couldn't control.

"AGH...AGH...AGH..." my screams echoed in the room and to the outside where I suppose Stan still listened.

I wanted to turn on to my side in a fetal position and squeeze my thighs together to ride out the erotic beat galloping through me but Brandon's grip was too tight and there was something about having him watch me in that depraved pose that caused me instead to put an index finger on each puffy lip and press them against my clit. He must have seen it as a raunchy invitation of some kind because my butt started to drop and his hands slid up the insides of my thighs to spread my knees apart further.

With a clarity that shouldn't have been at that time, I knew that he was going to fuck me again and I couldn't think of a reason to stop him from it. It's what my husband always did and I was conditioned to feel a cock fill that throbbing space for the minute it would take for his balls to slap against my ass as he emptied himself.

I was gasping for air between my grunts and euphoric laughter and Brandon was grinning from ear-to-ear when I lifted my head off of the mattress to see him on his knees aiming a less angry looking cock than what I had seen before at the opening he knew too well. Thick veins still bulged along the bloated shaft but the skin wasn't stretched as tight and his fingers needed to support the weighty mast that had previously stood at attention as he squashed the meaty tip against my clit to create an electric pulse that made me squeal like a giddy schoolgirl.

"God, not there," I warned laughingly with the full knowledge that it would still be too intense if he were to play with it too much.

"Sorry," he moaned breathlessly and flopped it onto my bucking pubic mound for only a second as he repositioned his knees. The leaky slit in the head of his cock disappeared as he pulled back to let it drop off the ledge toward my sex and it brushed by my clit as he timed his push to wiggle the soft flesh easily into my sopping cunt.

"Oooh!" we exhaled in unison a throaty approval as he sank into me and landed with his thick, sandy-colored pubic hair pressed against the small patch that looks like Hitler's mustache adorning my shaved pussy's lips.

My orgasm was cresting and flashes of inhibition threatened to remedy the dizzy lust that otherwise justifies risk taking and might make me wonder what sort of a whore I had become. But surges of wicked contentment also kept washing through my loins before receding and then rush in again to hold me captive to the pornographic sideshow I wanted to be. Like a salacious Jekyll and Hyde, my libido betrayed me with climactic pulses that made me want to perform for both of them until shrinking back for a micro-second of decency during the wane of orgasm and then overpowered me again when the next wave hit.

Brandon wasn't fucking me as much as he was trying to stay connected to a slippery target with a shorter spear and it fell out a couple of times on his over-zealous backstrokes, making him whimper as he feverishly pushed it back into me before I had time to reconsider my permission. His cock was softer than the first two times he fucked me but he still had enough girth to force the genetic soup of two men out of my adulterous cavity with each plunge that then squished it as a sticky slurry between us.

As the intensity of orgasm started dropping off, I felt detached from the delirious giggling that I was surprised to hear coming from me. I was simply submitting to him like an exhausted rag doll with a vagina while he pounded away at the sinful prize I figured he had earned. My senses were returning as an uncertain memory and the erotic urges that make taking chances feel right at the time were replaced by awareness that I was spreading my legs for a kid younger than my own son. It took him a long time to have another orgasm and my bruised pubic bone served as a reminder for the next two weeks of the indulgent assault as he grunted and bumped into me hard enough that even my little titties quivered like Jello.

The novelty of having sex with a teen-ager faded with the pimply faced contortions that he snorted over me and the magic of having his tongue dance with mine a few minutes earlier vanished as the sharp taste of his semen filled my mouth when I let him do it again. Luckily, neither of us could catch our breath while French-kissing so he contented himself with alternately raising up to watch a couple of careful full-length jabs into my swollen pussy while whispering compliments of my body as he did. That seemed to energize him and he would start banging me without mercy before collapsing onto my chest so he could whisper obscene instructions that i didn't obey but also didn't make him stop asking if it would help him to cum.

I looked over at my husband only once who was resting his elbow on the chair and his chin in his hand to watch me waiting expectantly to be inseminated again by our neighbor kid's cock that had gradually grown stiffer. It was an unsettling, dream-like state that I was in as the anesthesia of desirability had been replaced by indifferent fatigue and my obligation to let Brandon have me one more time eventually became a boredom that I had never previously known sex to be.

It wasn't until his body stiffened and he groaned a warning of boyish triumph that I found a reserve of energy to go along with the sense of relief that I was nearly done. As his hot cum started squirting into me I reached under my knees to draw them back so he could drive his throbbing shaft to the bottom of my cunt and we locked eyes in wordless determination as his young seed streamed into my womb with less intensity than the other two times.

That's how the morning ended for me. My knees pinned almost to my shoulders with a close-up view of an eighteen-year-old cock pulling out of my married pussy and him pausing to consider the two inch strand of potent jizz that mysteriously wed me to him, too. But in a way he couldn't have known.

As I watched the glossy tether of reproduction snap between us I could already feel the embryo kicking that he had fertilized. I was pregnant but not with a child to hold. Growing inside of me was an untamed animal that had discovered the salacious thrill of being bred by a young stallion that needed help finding a mate and the indecent wish to escort another virgin into manhood. I wanted to feel more of the innocent power that I had felt escaping from a cock that seemed to transfer all of a young man's anxieties into my moist haven of soothing flesh.

I didn't want to have an affair with Brandon or any other man and I wasn't looking for somebody else to give me an orgasm and I certainly didn't want to become known for fucking other men. Instead, I wanted to be the mother with the body of the daughter who can attract the interest of a guy that will discreetly dip his rigid cock into a woman just to add to her sperm collection. I wanted my husband to join me in prowling for guys old enough to be seduced by a cougar's charms but inexperienced enough to make unprotected sex safe for both of us.

I had started to breathe a little harder again but Brandon was a heaving mass of flushed adolescence as he hovered over my naked body until I said, "You had better go now."

He nodded and rocked back on his knees briefly as he used the bed sheet to wipe off his cock. In a strange act of courtesy, he then lightly tucked the sheet into the splayed lips of my oozing pussy and I shivered when his hands ran up my sides to cover my breasts as he pushed himself away and stepped off of the bed.

For some reason, I pulled a pillow over my chest as I lazily watched him pull his sweatpants over his cock and shook my head with a mature smile when he politely thanked both my husband and me. What do you say at a time like that? "You're welcome" sounds like we might do it again and I didn't want him to think that so I just hugged the pillow and said, "You'll do fine with the girls," as he gave a tired smile back at us and walked out looking pleased with the delivery he couldn't have known he would make when he arrived with our paper that morning.

I spent the next hour soaking my sore pussy in the tub with mixed emotions as my husband leaned against the vanity assuring me that he wasn't mad and that Brandon was too much of a follower to be any sort of a threat. It turned out that he was right, as after about a week of me avoiding Brandon's delivery times, I gradually resumed dressing to tease and only the first time he had to stutter an embarrassed apology when I reacted to him lifting my shirt to fondle my braless breasts that he assumed I was offering again.

I'm more careful about not being alone with him now and that makes my resistance to entering into a risky affair with him seem more genuine when I can explain it with my husband in the room. We still talk about his girl problems and he still gets to see more of me than anybody else does but he has accepted the fact that it must remain a charade.

It's not that he hasn't gotten his hair-trigger cock into me again as a way to meet both of our needs. It's just that we have gone back to pretending that I can't tell it's his young erection pulsing inside of my stretched pussy as he quickly takes me from behind about once a month while my husband stands off to the side watching the fruitless breeding of his panting pet.

Since I have flirted with the sensual for so many years while letting society force me to maintain a respectable wife image, having Brandon's virile sperm coat the walls of my vagina every so often feeds the naughty ego that I'm not allowed otherwise. It's a liberating exercise that has turned up my sexual temperature and loosened inhibitions I didn't even know I had.

After Brandon fucks me, I'm sexually energized but my husband won't have anything to do with my pussy until the next day - and then only after a douche. With my vagina filled with young sperm, I become a restless vixen that fondles and sucks him as many times as he can stand it while wondering if he knows that I'm in danger of doing the same for any man as long as teenage cum is dribbling out of my cunt.

Well, probably any man except Stan.

We were neighborly in an unnatural way for a few days after my encounter with Brandon but the forced small talk really just exaggerated the awkwardness. Whether in the yard or in my own house, his creepy staring at every part of me but my face left me feeling almost stalked and I wondered how long it would be before one of us was just going to have to admit to what he had seen.