7 More MILF Stories

by Sophie Sin

  Almost as soon as it closes the door swings open once more. This time it is my other child Gemma. Now this one might not be quite the beauty that I was at her age, but the young woman has a lot going for her. Long sexy legs, a fine tight little ass and a flat stomach but, sadly, not a devious bone in her entire body.

  My little princess stops beside me and gives my choice of refreshment a single long disgusted look which I believes is an attempt on her part to communicate to me that I should be more motherly and less rich socialite (as I see it) in the middle of the day..

  I have come to understand that Gemma has somehow grown into what most would consider a responsible young woman. The rumor mill says this is due to her having such a irresponsible mother, but I choose not to hear such words of discontent from whores who could not have found more faithful men.

  I raise my glass and toast her as she watches her young man at work.

  It comes to me as I admire her that, if I'm honest, Gemma, for all it is worth, is someone I could love if she wasn't far too sweet for words and far too prudish for comfort. It shames me to say it, but – clearly – none of my better traits have passed on to my children. This is something that is more saddening than I like to admit.

  “I'm going to Kimberly's.”

  I wave my martini at her, nearly losing an olive.

  “Lovely, deary. Shall I tell the young lad?”

  My daughter's eyes crinkle around the edges. Her lips then curl up and her nose rises an inch or two in what I believe might well be a hateful glare.

  Startled at this sudden change in demeanor, I sit up a tad straighter and raise both eyebrows from behind my black lenses.

  My first thought: Could there be trouble in paradise?

  If her expression is anything to go on, it seems so and, my-my, wouldn't it be interesting if there was. So many opportunities would...

  “No,” she interrupts, her voice crackling with annoyance. “Kim and I are going to have some girl time.”

  Oh. my-my-my! So there is some kind of trouble. That's interesting. VERY interesting...

  “Oh, I see. Well, have fun, dear, and do say hello to Mrs. Hobbs for me. I know she's been suffering since Luther left town.”

  My little girl confirms that she will and strolls off to the garage to collect her bicycle. As my eyes follow her, I think to the aforementioned gentleman.

  Luther was such an easy one to seduce. Pity he was so moral. The man wanted to marry me. There being no way I could I have that, I seduced his foolish fatso of a boss and had him shuttled off to LA and out of my life.

  Unfortunately – for him – the fool had already told his wife he was leaving her and had departed the family home in hopes of convincing me to do so also. That didn't work out so well for poor little Luther. He wasn't much of a man in the end. However, his credit account was very open minded. The gold hoop I am wearing on my left middle toe is testament to it's large limits.

  “Mrs. Johns.”

  I blink. Oh, it's the boy. He's standing there making eyes with my breasts like he wants to tear the slim light blue fabric of my scandalously small bikini top from my body. Probably some of the sweat on his brow is him holding back from it.

  “You are sweaty,” I note with a cat like purr entering my tone. “It must be hot working in that t-shirt.”

  His fingers briefly pluck it away from his washboard abs. The fabric is sticking to his muscular frame in a way that is positively revealing. I shuffle my thighs one over another in appreciation and note quite offhandedly that his shorts are peaked in similar enjoyment of my womanly curves.

  He is straight to the point when he replies. “It is. Was that Gem?”

  I smile widely with a flash of dentistry that has charmed many-a-man. Of course, he misses it completely as his lovely blue eyes are are on my breasts and them alone. This is fine, though. As they are each as large as his head. Rarely does a woman have this quantity of flesh naturally. I can proudly confirm that they are 100% natural and, if he is a good lad, he might get to confirm that too.

  “Yes. She is off for the evening I believe. Staying over at a friend. What was his name? Bruce, was it? I've heard he goes to university with her. A Classmate, perhaps?”

  The boy's skin colors – as it well should on hearing that his woman is staying at the house of another man.

  “Bruce?” he stutters.

  “Hmmm... I believe that is his name.”

  A little settling in of what is implied occurs. I sip my martini and enjoy the cool burn in my throat. A flick of my tongue draws the olives into my mouth. I swallow them whole with his eyes locked on mine with a passion that I quite enjoy.

  “Well, I need another drink... ummm... Micheal, isn't it?”

  That gorgeous furnace red color that is burning so brightly on his face chops it up a notch or two in the heat department. If I needed any more confirmation that he is interested in me then this was it. Men burn red when they are fearful, but also when they are in heat. With how is shorts are reaching the limits of what the fabric can stand, the young man must really want to be very friendly with me. As an irresponsible mother, I feel that entertaining that is the perfect way to create a solid relationship with my daughter's boyfriend.

  “Frank,” he says. “My name is Frank.”

  “Lovely,” I purr. “Would you come and have a drink with me in the study, Franky-boy? Such hard work as yours requires a more appropriate reward, I feel.”

  My eyes lock with his in a way that leaves no doubt of what I mean. He gulps several times and I smile more widely. Could it be more easy?

  Moments later young Frank is gentleman enough to open the door for me when I stand and simper to it. To my enjoyment, not once does his eyes leave my butt.

  Hard In The Study

  Back to Frank Henderson, shocked, horny and hopeful

  “Mrs. Johns! Are you trying to seduce me?”

  The carpet crinkles a little as she shifts about on her knees and purrs “Perhaps...” in her husky liquor strained voice as her petite expensively manicured hands cup and caress my raging hard-on between them to feel the firm weight of my cock, which I'll say is forcing out against the fabric of my shorts so hard that the seams are cutting into the tip of my dick painfully and is fine proof that I'm plenty hard after having been on the weaker side of things in bed with Gemma for a few days now.

  My mind can't take in how this situation came about. All I can think about is how much sexier she is than Gemma, how much hotter her body is – so much more womanly – and how those huge-huge-huge breasts wobble about with her every movement, teasing me and taunting me at the same time.

  Quickly the urge to touch them becomes too strong to fend off. I grab at their softness with uncharacteristic haste, like a child grabbing at a lolly pop in a candy store after his mother takes it away from him, but am shooed away promptly.

  Mrs. Johns was quicker to react than I thought she would be. Her hands skirted mine away with casual ease, seemingly ignoring them from then on, and her eyes flashed up to mine in a warning before returning to the bulge in my pants where she is now continuing to slowly working the lump in my board shorts around in easy short circles, which are making me stand up a little higher on the ends of my toes.

  I stifle a moan. My index finger caught the side of the left one. The skin was so smooth, soft and free of blemish that my digit slid straight off. It was incredible.

  “Do you want to see them?” she asks in amusement on seeing my wide eyed and lusty expression.

  I nod.

  Slowly, ever so slowly, she works one strap of her bikini top down and then the other. For an instant I think that she's going to trick me and keep them covered, but just as my desire becomes too much, Mrs. Johns drops the covering down below her breasts.

  I gasp.

  “You like their size?”

  “It's amazing,” I murmur. “Truly amazing.”

  I knew that they were big, but from the moment that she slipped them out of that bikini
top, the small item of fabric now hidden under their base of her breast, I was finally able to understand just how big they really are.

  “Ah...” I groan in restricted pleasure. I want to touch them so badly, but I know that she'll brush my hands away before I can really begin to enjoy them.

  A single drip of hot sweat slips from my brow and lands between those two huge rounds to slide down between them to be lost forever in the cavern that exists between them.

  I stands there uncomfortably as she continues arousing me with a little light playing of her fingers over the hardest part of my manhood. My shirt has long ago absorbed a lot of the water that has ran from my body in the heat that pounded down on me out in the yard, but it seems like it's getting sticker – uncomfortably so – under this new kind of heat.

  Reaching up to the neckline of my shirt, I yank on the edge. Her blue eyes jerk up sharply to mine from where she seems to be measuring the size of my dick with a wicked smile on her face. They take in my situation.

  The left side of her lips turns upwards a little. “You can take that off if you want to.”

  It's a suggestion, but I treat it like an order. This is nothing like when me and Gemma do it. This woman's daughter never speaks like that – with such a husky, sultry tone that it has me dropping clothes quicker than if I had to so at gun point.

  “Mrs. Johns,” I murmur in near defeat. “We really shouldn't be doing this.”

  Of course, we shouldn't, but my words aren't really as sure as they seem on speaking them. Inside I'm wavering. My emotions are torn between my girlfriend, who is apparently staying at another man's home!, and my strong desire to taste the sweet sexuality of this older woman who has been occupying my mind for days on end since the first moment I took the job cleaning up the garden for her.

  Fortunately, I really don't have a choice. Her hands slip up. They take hold of my waist band and take my shorts and my boxers to my knees in one go.

  “You like my tits, don't you, Harry?”

  “It's Frank.”

  Her eyes twinkle. She's playing with me. I can tell.

  “Well, Frank, do you like them or not?” The topic of her question is squashed to my thighs. I want to grab the hot MILF and ravish her on the floor, but that's not how one treats a temptress like this and, even if I tried, something tells me that SHE has more sexual experience than I'll ever have. Best to play along and see where this goes.

  “I think they are nice.”

  “Just nice?”

  “Ah, REALLY nice.”

  “Oh? And when I press them to your cock like this? Do they still feel 'really nice' or something more?”

  Not matter how I try, I can't stop the moan that escapes my lips from exiting my mouth. Her grin is electric as she rubs their softness along the length of my shaft, caressing my pulsing flesh and streaking up to quite a pace before I can even get a real answer out from my pressed together lips.

  “Are they still just nice, Bobby?”

  “It's... Frank...”

  “Okay, okay, FRANK - are they nice? Is this only nice for you?”

  My eyes are on the ceiling. The room is large, lined with books and has a big wooden desk. Lots of trees died in the creation of this interior. It stinks of wealth and the power to use it. All I can think is how the hell is this happening? In the midst of that I totally missed her question.

  She stops.

  “I asked you something, Bob.”

  My eyes center on the desk. I breath. Finally.

  “Mrs. Johns, I believe that your tits are probably the most wonderful thing I have ever felt.” I get that out before I stumble a little and nearly fall to the floor in the exhaustion that passes over me after forcing out such a full sentence in my state of bliss right now.

  Her little laugh is sweet and arousing.

  “I see. It's good to know that you are enjoying this.” The woman raises one long slender finger. She points to the large leather arm chair near the window. “How about you take a seat and enjoy them some more? It seems you legs can't hold you up much longer.”

  I stumble to the chair and sit down. Mrs. Johns downs a few gulps of martini mix straight from the bottle that she has been drinking from since we entered the study 20 minutes ago then lays a sweet little kiss right on my lips.

  “I want you to know that this doesn't have to effect your relationship with my daughter. I'll never tell her about a single thing that happens in this room. Can you be equally discreet?”

  That's an easy question to answer.

  “Yes, ma'am.”

  “Good.” Her lips part in a seductive smile and she slips to her knees between my legs. “Because I'd hate to have to lie to her.”

  Before the words are truly out of her mouth I'm engulfed down to half mast.

  Warm, hot, sexy, gorgeous, passionate: So many words to describe this moment, but none able to really describe how amazing the experience actually feels.

  To the sensitive flesh of my cock the inside of her mouth is warm and sticky. Gemma never sucks, but her mother could tear the flesh off my dick with the suction she is creating.

  After only the most preliminary lubrication of my shaft with her tongue, Mrs. Johns' mouth sinks down lower than any other woman has ever gone. I cry out and drill my fingers into the arm rests to either side. This woman clearly does not have a 'slow' button. I only received a second or two of careful movement, which I assume was a warning, followed by all hell breaking lose. Her aim seems to be to take me to places that I have never experienced with any other woman – her daughter very much included – and so far she's been doing a great job.

  “Holy fuck,” I whine. “I'm going to cum!”

  It's hot and warm and lovely and like fire escaping my loins when it hits. I tense and throw my hips up and forward with my hands on either side of her head to force the woman to gulp down every single drop.

  “Refreshing but a little quick,” is her analysis when the last drop is drunk.

  My head slides forward onto my slim chest. I stare at my throbbing cock. Was that really an orgasm? It felt like someone tore my soul from my body and slammed it back in with enough force to make my head spin several times around my neck.

  “How about you entertain me while I wait for the main meal?”

  “Huh?”

  One hand takes my shoulder and, in my weakened state, quite casually biffs me to the floor. I crawl around to find her sitting in my place with her bikini bottoms pulled aside and the most lovely sight I've ever seen waiting for my inspection.

  “It's shaven,” I murmur. “Gemma just does a line.”

  Mrs. Johns runs her fingers through my hair. “You've never had pussy until you've had it bare.”

  Her meaning is clear. I part the ways and run my tongue around the hole. It's clean, lavender in perfume, and wet to the point of gushing. I reach between my legs and jerk on myself as I lick all up and around.

  “This is my clit,” the woman instructs, taking me by either side of the head, “and here's how you lick it.”

  Top speed: It's her only speed. I'm rammed into the gorgeous woman's clit. The soft flesh parts to my thick tongue as her hands guide my head left to right in a long figure of eight. I soon figure out what Mrs. Johns likes and run my tongue over and over her clit as I insert two fingers into her loose yet not too loose pussy. A moan escapes her lips and I throw my eyes up to find her biting two of her fingers in a sex kissed look of passion.

  “Boys of today are such hard workers,” she whispers, her voice heated. “They really do know how to fuck.”

  My hardness has returned as the last word exits my mouth.

  “Condom?” I inquire.

  “None needed. I like it raw.”

  Fuck, this woman is a wild cat. I stroke myself and put it to the hole. This will be the first time that I enter a woman without latex. I never liked the sensation, but Gemma and the half a dozen other woman that I have been with insisted. To have the opposite happen with a woman specifically de
ny any need for one is a revelation. I enter with that in mind.

  “Ohhhhh... That's thick.”

  The woman grabs my hips. My balls tap off the fresh leather as I lean forward with my feet pressed firmly into the polished wooden floor.

  “Don't take your time about this,” she whispers. “My husband will be home in 30 minutes and I'll need a shower.”

  Thoughts of Mr. Johns returning home to see his wife in this position has me striking inward and out with enough force to tire my hips quickly. I have to draw her up and take her from the rear – my hands taking hold of that glorious ass in the process – and power away until a little tightness indicates that the woman has hit an orgasm and taken it in her stride.

  “Harder, Bradley. Harder!” goes her blissful cry.

  I slam in with everything I have. When she cums for real it is shocking. Liquids burst forward and she rips into the leather with her long finger nails as they subside.

  “Minutes remain,” she pants. Her eyes meet mine. “Be quick to cum inside.”

  Everything I have goes into my movements. The burning in my balls is like someone holding a live wire to my scrotum. It intensifies to an explosion when my orgasm hits. I strain forward and lay six long shots in her womb without any thought to pulling out.

  “Mrs. Johns!” I cry.

  She falls away and grabs at the bottle wildly – her eyes wide, hands clawing and expression hungry. A long chug of martini mix later and the woman is composed.

  “I heard his car,” she states, throwing one leg over the other to hide the dribble of white. “You need to go.”

  I rush to my t-shirt without another word and yank it on. My pants go up around my waist and I exit quickly. Unfortunately, I find Mr. Johns in the hallway outside. He has the evening newspaper in hand.

  “Oh, hello, Frank. Are you lost?”

  The man doesn't look like he knows what just happened in his study.

  “Looking for the toilet, sir.”

  “Ah, it's down the hall to the right. Have you seen my wife? The chef left us packaged lasagna again. I really must insist that she talk to the woman about her meal choices.”