Forward -- and forewarned:
One of the biggest complaints I get from readers is the criticism of too many orgasms by hands and mouth for the women in my stories, so I've gradually cut these down. However, like most writers, there are pieces of me in almost all of my stories, and the orgasms are one of those pieces. No one seems to criticize other writers for their male protagonists cumming three or four times every time they have sex, but I'm getting killed for my women having six to 12 orgasms by hands and mouth. You can look this up folks, but it's much easier to get a woman off 12 times than for a guy to come three times. If you know what you're doing and have the desire to do it, getting a woman to orgasm by hands and mouth isn't that tough. Total truth here, many times I have gotten more than 20 orgasms out of a woman in the span of several hours, particularly when the women are younger. And, as a woman ages, the intensity of her orgasms increases, but the frequency drops, probably a homeostasis kind of thing.
So for this story, I've gone back to factual. I apologize to those who can't keep up.
That said, I hope you enjoy the following.
*****
Chantel was riding me cowgirl with wild abandon, bouncing up and down on my hard dick like a Russian gymnast at the Olympics. Her eyes were closed, the look on her face appeared to be a combination of pleasure and pain. Her soft moans intensified into an animal-like, shrill squeal as orgasm overtook her body, making her writhe like a marionette being controlled by someone with palsy.
She collapsed on my chest when she was done, breathing deeply, while I lay there smiling, moving softly inside her, still buried hard and deep. After about a minute of recovery, she sat up on my dick, smiled contentedly, and resumed sliding up and down, with my hands on her waist. Super-excited by her orgasm and the resulting flailing, I lasted only about two more minutes before I came, squirting my load up inside her wonderfully tight, young pussy.
She rode me until I got soft enough to slip from her pussy, then she laid back down on my body, with her head on my chest. She was a little bit of a thing, maybe 5 foot, 110 pounds, with porcelain skin, shoulder-length dirty blonde hair and pretty good size tits for a little woman.
She was also 24 years old, almost young enough to be my granddaughter.
We had started off the evening with me putting lotion all over the upper half of her body, slowly rubbing it into her tits and nipples. She loves the feel of me playing with her nipples, and they showed their appreciation immediately, pointing out like arrowheads. I then trailed the lotion down her stomach, stopping just above her completely shaven pussy. I found her hard clitoris with my thumb and index finger, and 15 minutes later she was three orgasms deep and had four fingers from my left hand deep inside of her. I brought her off three more times with my hand, then straddled her stomach and started rubbing my hard cock on her slick tits. I then moved up further and stuck my dick into her waiting mouth, and she sucked on my hardness for about five minutes before I pulled out of her steamy mouth. I moved back down to her hot slit and resumed my attack on her clit, bringing her to four more hard, noisy orgasms. I then slid further down the bed until my mouth was aligned with her pussy, and I had an ass cheek in each hand.
At that point I drove my tongue into her for everything I was worth, licking first deep inside of her opening and then finishing up with a lick and a suck on her clit. That's when the screaming started in earnest, as did the bucking. She kept trying to buck away from me, but I had handfuls of asscheeks, and wasn't letting her go anywhere. Six more orgasms later we were both exhausted, so I flipped her over, set her on her knees and took her doggy, which earned me yet one more orgasm of appreciation before I blew my load.
I came about as powerfully as I can these days, not being a kid anymore, and after half-resting on her body and half on the bed, I slowly slid out of Chantel and cradled her against me in my arms, giving her a passionate lip-lock as I did so. My nose was a little sore from her literally banging my face, and I could feel that my lips were swollen for the same reason. Chantel had a look of exhaustion and bliss on her face, and I knew that my efforts were more than appreciated.
"Life is good," I thought to myself as we both drifted off to sleep. "Sometimes you do find the light when you head into a dark tunnel."
++++++++++
Let me introduce myself. I am Mickey Olerud, 60-year-old divorced average guy, father of two grown children, grandfather of two who are a little younger than my partner of the other night.
About that partner ... Chantel is the youngest of my regular sex partners. I'm not bragging ... well I guess I am ... but I've got four women whom I sleep with on a regular basis. There's nothing serious with any of them, although I know of at least two that would like to get serious, but it's just good -- no make that great -- sex, no strings attached, almost any time I call and want a date, or they call me for the same. I know, it sounds too ridiculously easy and uncomplicated, but that's because it is. And I owe it all to my cheating ex-wife, Traci, for opening up the door to this great life.
Fifteen years ago, I was a happily married man with a kid having graduated from college and one a sophomore in college. My beautiful wife, Traci, and I were still getting used to this empty-nester thing, and at 45 we were enjoying a sexual renaissance, if you will. With no kids around, we were free to fool around whenever the mood struck us, like we did before we started having children, and we never had to worry that Traci might get a little too loud, which was always a concern because she was a bit of a screamer. With no kids around she started to really turn it loose, and once encouraged, I tried even more to pleasure the woman I loved. For the last 18 months or so we had to keep the windows closed and the air running in the house during the warmer months because we didn't want the neighbors to think I was killing her.
Traci and I met in college in our sophomore years. We started dating as juniors, and got married a few months after we graduated. I honestly don't know how I wound up being lucky enough to land her. She was gorgeous -- long blonde hair, blue eyes, about 5-5, 120 pounds with big firm boobs and a cute bubble butt. She was definitely above my pay grade, but despite all of her admirers in college, she chose me -- a skinny 6-footer with a mop of unruly hair who was majoring in electrical engineering.
I got a job with a major engineering firm on the East Coast soon after we were married and Traci, who got her degree in finance, went into management at an investment firm. We made good money and were living pretty nice. Lauren came along two years later, and then Molly was born two years after that. Since I was making pretty good money, we could afford for Traci to be a stay-at-home mother, which she was until both kids were in school. She then rejoined her old firm, and with two incomes, we decided to move to a fairly big house in a somewhat expensive neighborhood.
Life is what it is, and you deal with stuff and move on. As the kids got older life got more hectic because of their sports and clubs and what-not. I had my stuff like my golf group, and Traci had her stuff, like her theater group. I never kept close track of her comings and goings too much because I had complete trust in her, the way I assume she had complete trust in me because she never asked too many questions when I told her I was going to the bar for a couple of after-work drinks, or hitting the links with my golfing group.
How I found out Traci was cheating on me was cliché -- I surprised her by getting home a day early from a business trip. I didn't travel much, maybe three times a year, but for this one trip I was supposed to be on the West Coast for an entire week. But business got concluded a day faster than we anticipated, and my boss and I flew out of LA a day early, getting back into town at about 7 p.m. I figured I would surprise Traci so I didn't tell her I was getting in early. As far as I knew Traci didn't have any plans for the weekend, so I figured I'd catch her binge-watching NCIS or some other favorite show. She didn't tell me when I left she had any plans.
Before we headed for our respective homes, Bob, my boss, and I decided to stop at a place near the airport he was familiar with for a drink or two. Our trip had been very successful and should pay big dividends in the future, so he was buying. I was in for a couple of drinks.
We took a table near the center of the bar and we both ordered a Monkey Shoulder over ice. I had never been in the place before but Bob has, and he said they did a nice, quiet business catering to those who were on their way up and were trying not to be too ostentatious about it. Serving Monkey Shoulder told me they understood good but not overstated Scotch.
After about five minutes, I watched Bob's eyes get big as saucers as he looked at someone or something behind me. Not really in the mood to turn completely around, I asked Bob to tell me what he was gawking over.
He quickly dried the drool from the corner of his mouth and said, "Holy shit, Mick. This young guy just walked in with this babe who's probably old enough to be his mother, and she's walking around with her big boobs practically hanging out of her dress. I bet this kid's banging mommy seven ways from Sunday! Jesus!"
With that build-up, I just had to turn around and look. Bob wasn't exaggerating. She was built like the proverbial brick shithouse, and her big tits were falling out of her dress.
"I hope she's not banging that kid seven ways from Sunday," I deadpanned to Bob, "Because that's my wife, Traci."
I slowly turned back around in my chair as Bob literally spit up his drink.
"Smooth move, Bob. She's not looking over here now, is she?" I asked.
"No," he replied while reaching for a napkin. "You're not kidding, are you?"
"Nope."
"Jesus, Mick. What are you going to do? I suppose you could go over there and break the little bastard's neck. I think you can do that and get away with it in this state -- call it under extreme duress."
I work out lifting weights on a regular basis, and at least on the surface it appeared I probably could break the bastard's neck. But being an engineer, I'm more prone to analyze things carefully than react emotionally, and while a small part of me wanted to beat the guy to a pulp, a large part of me wanted to shake the shit out of my wife and found out what was going on -- and why. So I made Bob sit there with me and drink while the two of them had a nice meal. Bob could see everything going on at their table, and reported everything from hand-holding to an intimate kiss. When they finally got up to leave, Bob paid our bill, and I told him that I wouldn't be in tomorrow before I followed the lovers out at a safe distance.
"R-r-right. Gotcha," he stammered.
They had apparently come to the bar together, because Traci got into his car and they left, with me following in my car. They drove to what I'm guessing is his house in a pretty good neighborhood. I made note of the address as I drove on by and went to our house. It was 8:30 p.m.
Traci never made it home that night. Since she didn't expect me until around supper time tomorrow, she didn't have to worry about going home.
I obviously didn't get much sleep that night. I tried to sleep in our bed, but the more I thought about what I had just witnessed, the angrier I got, so I went downstairs to the family room sofa and slept fitfully there. Before morning, I took my car back out of the garage and parked it down a street a bit, knowing Traci wouldn't see it because she wouldn't be looking for it.
The garage entry into the house leads into the kitchen, so about 7 a.m. I made myself a big pot of coffee and some toast and sat down at the kitchen table, facing the doorway, with the lights off. I was three cups of coffee in when I heard the garage door go up at about 9, and Traci came waltzing in about 20 seconds later.
