Cooking, Control, and Everything in Between
Author's Note: This story is based on a real encounter -- unfiltered, unedited (except the grammar 😉), and unforgettable. Dennis, if you ever read this... yeah, it's about *you*.
They say women come alive sexually in their 40s -- but I'd say that's not necessarily true. Despite all the not-so-great things that have happened to me, I've always had a very healthy sexual appetite. The problem? I've never had anyone who could truly match that appetite... until Dennis.
Dennis meets me with ferocity, passion, and intensity -- every damn time. And for a man in his 50s? Let me tell you: he always leaves me wanting more.
We don't have a conventional relationship. In fact, it's not really a relationship at all. But we're never far from each other. No matter who else we might be with, there's this undeniable pull -- always has been.
It had been a couple of weeks since I'd seen him when he invited me up to his place. It's always the same: the door is unlocked, and he's waiting for me on the couch. That day, my pussy had been wet all day with anticipation. I knew what was waiting for me.
Dennis sat there with his jeans unbuttoned, his cock already hard and pulsing -- just for me. I walked in casually, gave him a teasing "Hi," and ignored the obvious invitation his cock was making. Pre-cum was already glistening at the tip. Yummy. I love the way Dennis tastes.
He gave me that "what the fuck?" look -- the one that says he was expecting more than a casual hello. He doesn't like too much teasing up front. That comes later. What he wants right away is to know I want him.
I couldn't help myself, though. He'd made me wait two weeks before asking me up. So, I lingered. But when he gave me that look, I gave in. I landed on top of him and kissed him hello.
Mmm, that kiss... he knows exactly how to kiss me. One of his hands pinned both of mine behind my back while the other cupped the back of my head, pulling me in closer. Let's be honest -- he loves having control, and secretly, I love giving it to him.
He let go of my hands and pulled us into a sitting position. My legs naturally wrapped around his waist. I was wearing a dress, and, as always, I was commando -- so when we moved, his cock slid up against my smooth, wet pussy.
He groaned, "Fuck," and I could feel his frustration and arousal. He always tries to play it cool, but I know the effect I have on him.
I pulled away just a little, smirking, raising an eyebrow -- teasing him to see what he'd do next.
It didn't take long. He wrapped his arms around my waist, stood up, spun us around, and pinned me against the back of the couch. One hand slid up under my dress, brushing the side of my body until it reached my phoenix tattoo -- the one he loves. The other hand found my nipple and pinched it hard.
"Fuck, that's hot," I moaned, my pussy tightening at his touch.
Then he brought his mouth down on mine, hard -- like he was starving for me. I met him beat for beat, tongue to tongue. One of my hands slid down to push his jeans further, to stroke his thick cock, swipe some of his pre-cum, and bring it to my mouth. I love tasting him -- and he loves watching me do it.
He groaned into my mouth as his fingers found my slick pussy.
I pushed him back onto the couch. "We should eat something," I said. I hadn't had supper, and neither had he. But I was half-naked, stroking his cock, and he looked stunned that I wanted to pause.
Still, he pulled his pants up and dragged me into the kitchen, his cock still poking out -- long and thick, reaching his belly button when hard. It's the perfect cock, and it doesn't know how to quit.
