She was ready for fucking and my cock had begun to grow once more. I wasted no time, determined not to spoil the magic moment as I stripped down my fly and pulled it all out. She saw, and for one moment there was something new in her eyes, not fear exactly, more a helpless resignation to her fate. She was going to get it too, because after all I’d been through there could be no more holding back.
I mounted her, and the ecstasy as I slid my cock in up that wet, willing pussy hole was beyond anything I’d ever experienced before, not just physical ecstasy but hot, singing triumph, and as I began to fuck her I could have shouted for joy. She was limp, at first, lying abandoned to her own needs, but as I picked up the pace in her cunt her arms came up and around me. We kissed, our mouths opening together and we were making love, properly, lost in our mutual passion as she lay spread-legged beneath me and I pumped my cock into her, harder and faster, lubricated as much by her own juices as the come on my shaft.
Only I’d just come, and I couldn’t make it in that first flurry of passion. When I started to get dirty with her she just let it happen, too high to even think of her dignity. I fucked her on her knees and I rubbed my cock in the slit of her bum. I made her suck me and I fucked her between her tits. I had her mount up on top of me and told her to play with her cunt while she pleasured my cock. She did it. She did it all. She made herself come and she cried out my name in her ecstasy, and when she was done she knelt on all fours at my command and let me spunk over her bottom. That was perfect, to have her kneeling to my orders, her beautiful little bottom turned up under my cock, her pussy agape and soaking, her bumhole twitching as I spattered her lovely cheeks with hot white droplets, that really was perfect, the perfect ecstasy and the perfect revenge.
That was near the end of summer and it never happened again, but I’d broken her spell and after that we were friends, if a little wary of each other. Just over a week later I went back to university, and that would have been that, but for a chance wrong turning that took me past the farm the other day. I stopped, telling myself I’d buy some strawberries, and maybe get a glimpse of my strawberry girl, or find out what had happened.
And there she was, ten years older but still beautiful, her perky breasts now full and heavy but still held up in a tight red shirt, her hips wide and her bottom just nicely chubby, and still packed into tiny blue denim shorts. Her husband was with her too, his massive bulk still alarming, but not his ready smile for a wealthy customer, nor the fringe of sandy-coloured scruff which was all that remained of his hair. They’d had children too, six of them, three little girls and three little boys, all blonde and healthy like their parents, except the eldest, a dark-haired boy with a thin body and intelligent eyes not entirely unlike my own.
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Confessions 2 Page 5