Notes Found In a Box

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Brunette

(After my mother passed it became my duty to look through her possessions and to discard or to distribute to siblings what I found. This seems to offer insights into her relationship with Father that would surprise me if I didn’t know she wrote it for him. As a woman I paused at some of the language and perspective but believe is explained as an offering to their mutual intimacy. After all, she kept it until the end.)

My husband and I rarely make love. It’s become a once- or twice-a-year thing. Don’t feel sorry for us, it’s our mutual agreement and we are both quite happy with our relationship. We are affectionate and tender with one another and the emotional part of our marriage has never been better. I’ve never been so much in love or felt so loved in my marriage.

Also by mutual agreement we share our peccadillo’s with one another. He knows every time I step out and with whom. He enjoys that when we’re alone, if he asks, I’ll give him every detail of any encounter. He finds these quite exciting and it’s not unusual for him to caress himself or to ask me to caress him while I share.

Other times, we play ‘interrogation’ and I lay nude on our bed or a wooden table in his workshop. He binds me with scarves if we’re upstairs, or with handcuffs or coarse ropes on the table and he questions me roughly with play-torments to elicit my confession of my adulterous ways. (I hate/love being tickled as only he knows how.)

These confessions are usually interrupted by him ‘forcing’ me to satisfy him orally while he caresses my body or fingers me intimately in mock punishment for holding back details or forgetting some nuance of my encounter.

After being treated so coarsely we enjoy a sweet warm shower together and collapse into bed. He’s guilty for being cruel even knowing how much I love his handling me this way so he’s extra tender and sweet and holds me protectively all night.

Yesterday he had a meeting in a nearby town and was gone all day. I called a sometime lover from work with whom I flirt obsessively. He’s quite young and I find him useful when I want some vigorous intimate attention. He’s capable of sweet, slow, tender lovemaking but I have other sources for that. Yesterday my itch was for a quick bang – what’s that ugly word? -a quick fuck, rough-and-tumble, rip my bodice type of thing. Probably some film I’d seen recently.

One call, that’s all – Tim didn’t ask ‘when’ he just hung up and got in his car. That he’s cuckolding an older man just excites him more. He’s told me he finds my body ‘enticing’ and ‘sexy’ and I buy work clothing fitted just so as to show him what he enjoys. My breasts are still plump and enjoy attention but again, Tim will pay lip service to them literally then get on to his manly business. My poor bottom has sagged a bit, I fear, but that doesn’t stop him from parting my buttocks from behind and mounting me roughly and shagging away from behind. I wiggle myself like a cat for him, teasing and tempting and get his young efforts in return.

He hardly closed the front door before he wrapped me in his arms and kissed me passionately. I tried to tell him silivri escort we were safe, that hubs would be away until early evening but he didn’t care. I’d worn a top that showed my cleavage and he was kissing on my breasts so vigorously it took my breath away. I remembered how wonderful it is to feel used by a man, to be fulfilled emotionally by the savage desire of a young stallion.

Fingertips soon found their way under the hem of my dress and danced playfully up my thighs. I wore some pink panties that were feminine but comfortable. I’d endured sexy French panties but their appeal would just be lost in rapid snoggery – they’d just end up on the floor so I might as well be comfortable waiting for him to arrive. His kisses hot and wild on my lips, his fingertips slid under the elastic and found my pussy. I take some time to excite but I don’t bother troubling my young man with the vagaries of older women, I’d prepared myself for his assault as soon as I hung up the phone. A bit of anticipation, some self-tickling, and a cunning preparation supplied by my gynecologist had me hot and wet for Tim’s naughty fingers. We found the couch somehow and he had me laid back, my legs spread, and two fingers frigging me fast as a whirlwind. I realized my back was arched in pleasure, the stimulation pleasing me and anticipation of a thicker intruder in my mind.

Esme’, the owner of the salon I frequent, thinks it’s funny I like my pussy waxed but she does it herself. She coos and calms me and tells me each time it won’t hurt then she laughs as she does each snatch. We’re great friends and share a lingering kiss after our session. Esme’ prefers younger girls but we enjoy our flirtation and the thought of lovemaking with one another. I must have her book an afternoon for me soon…

The couch Tim and I share is elaborate and expensive, a gift from my husband to complete the living room just so. We’ve not made love on it though we’ve shared long kisses there before he takes my hand and leads me upstairs. Tim mounted me and thrust himself fully within. My puss was ready and I cried out in surprise and delight at his confident glissade and once again knew the thrill of passion and sensation being filled by Tim’s throbbing cock. He stayed once I was fully impaled and chortled with pleasure. I giggled in return and begged him not to withdraw, it felt so good so naturally he pulled away and began a full onslaught of rapid fucking as I moaned in mock frustration, secret delight.

Our property is large enough I may be quite vocal in any room of the house without fear of disturbing our neighbors so I cried out like a cat in heat as Tim fucked me. I marked his back with my nails, freshly done yesterday in anticipation of my husband’s trip. Tim expects me to scratch him and would be disappointed if he didn’t have something to show his friends over drinks tonight. He tells them I’m a ‘wildcat’ and that I come over and over as he flogs me with his young man’s dick. An orgasm would be nice but I don’t worry about it. The trick is to enjoy the fucking in it’s own right.

After şirinevler escort some minutes of delight, bent under my young stud, I tell Tim it’s time to move our party upstairs. In exchange for the deferred pleasure, he gets the privledge of cuckolding poor Ben in his own bed and I promise him he can ‘do me doggy’. What man doesn’t love having his way with a willing female in this posture? The implied submission builds their self esteem and the offer to give yourself to them so fully excites them to epic animalistic brutishness. Always the gentleman (sic), he pauses at the door of my marital bedroom and kisses me passionately, Clark-Gable-style. I swoon for him, or my version thereof, and he spins me about and places me hips upward at the edge of the bed.

Intelligent gentlemen know that this posture offers the best stimulation for a woman’s clitoris, her hips supported by the edge of the mattress, the penis entering from behind resting just so, but Ben foregoes offering me that in his haste to have me in a more animal way. I move my knees up on the mattress and wiggle my dress-covered bottom at him to tease but really to proffer.

I just love the moment when a man pulls one’s hem up over her waist to reveal panties and bottom. The rush of cool air, the man’s hands on one’s waist or hips, the quick flick of panties down to one’s thighs – these are all delicious and arousing. There was no sound of a zipper as Tim had mounted the stairs with his hard cock bobbing up and down out of his pants. He did unbuckle his belt as he wanted the pleasure of my plump buttocks and thighs against his bare hairy legs. I heard his pants drop to the floor and arched my back as to emphasize the heart shaped gift I was surrendering to him.

Again Tim shot forward inside me, the head of his cock splitting my nether lips in a rush. Nerve endings there signaled the exquisite delight of his penetration. The cunning gift of science in the preparation I’d administered gave moisture, lubrication, a tingling heightening of sensation, and simultaneously made Tim’s nerve endings just the least bit less sensitive so he would last longer inside me. It’s only seventy-five dollars a tube and I’d do anything for my doctor in exchange for suggesting it. I’d happily pay ten times as much.

Tim knows I don’t call him for the romantic slow slippery snoggery of a Lothario or fuck artist. His muscles and broad shoulders and full biceps offer the advantages of fitness and youthful enthusiasm which he gave me fully. I call him ‘my stallion’ and ‘the bull’ and he gives me full service in return. I feel that faint climb to full satisfaction as he works vigorously at what he does best. I wiggle and twist and make the noises expected of a human female lost in coitus, her range of motion insufficient to escape off the pole of her tormentor. Were he beating me with a cat-of-nine-tails I couldn’t cry any more pitifully. Tears come to my eyes and yes, yes, there, that’s it,

Your narrator comes, throbbing around the young man’s hard cock. I’ve beat Tim to the end and my eyes close blissfully as he şişli escort fucks me to his finish and I feel the hot spurt of male essence deep, deep inside. I worry briefly, wistfully, wishing that I could bear this man’s child, my pregnancies in the long-ago past. I’m a grandmother, for goodness sake, I think and laugh out loud, startling Tim whose softening cock has settled, still within me.

We collapse together and his arms enfold me in soft caress. I delight that he remembers I love my neck kissed softly afterward and I coo for him, my eyes closed in pleasure and satiation.

I won’t let him sleep, though, I twist about, his cock finding it’s way out without my help, and kiss his lips and hold his cock in my hand. When his eyes open I’m grinning at him. He frowns but not really. He knows what I must have now and he shuffles up to standing position. I frown at him and mouth a ‘tsk-tsk’ which he correctly interprets as his direction to pull my panties back up. They are so comfy, I think, and take Tim’s hand and lead him to my husband’s walk-in closet.

I move Tim into position standing in front of a shelf and enjoy the smells of this man’s closet. Leather, musk, the odor of laundered things, a hint of the hamper outside the door. My father’s closet was the site of my de-flowering so a man’s closet excites me as no other venue for sex. Tim is happy to insult the husband yet one more way (Ben could care less) as I haven’t explained my delight in this location. I kneel before him and take his hardening dick in my mouth and looking up to him as a submissive innocent, begin administering what I’ve been told is world-class service. He hardens and I delight that I can make him come faster than a jet plane. I could ingest every bit of this second-issue but I let a bit drip down my lip just to excite my lover.

My goodness, it’s been such fun I still have my dress on. Tim hasn’t even seen the pretty bra I bought last week for just this occasion. It’s flimsy and decorated with lacy unicorns, the bra of a much younger girl but fitting just perfect on my ancient dugs, actually re-fitted just a year or two ago by clever practicioners that left me pert as a princess. Perhaps another time. I’ve an appointment with a masseuse and a long hot bath before hubby returns. I kiss Tim wistfully and shove him out the door by which he arrived. He laughs, having enjoyed his afternoon delight and gained a few battle scars and a long story for his friends.

The front door closes and I feel so happy and full of joy. Tonight hubs will get every last detail from me through kindness or the wooden table. I make these notes so as to prepare. After our time of sharing we’ll shower, he’ll rub me with moisturizer for bed, I’ll wear the pajamas he bought me for Christmas and we’ll snuggle down to sleep.

(Author’s Postscript to Ben) It’s all imagination, darling, the memories of good times and bad. How I Love You and feel fulfilled and delighted by Your Being. That you might find my narration unreliable brings a smile to the lips you kissed every day of our marriage. Your hand to my cheek My Darling, softly, kindly.

PPS by the submittor – It occurs the story begs for a description of the dress, particularly for female readers. I think Mother knew I’d find this and teases me by omitting this! I had to go through her clothing anyway and poured over the dresses particularly wondering which one. I could hear her laughing all the way from Heaven.

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