Kinky Mature Sex - Erotic Stories E-Book

Gloria Hole

• Herausgeber: Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Seitenzahl: 204

Beschreibung

MILFs always have better sex Mature women always have the best sex. With their life experience MILFs seduce their lovers. In bed, the older ladies convince with their sexual love arts and their open-minded nature. Enjoy reading my sex stories.

Leseprobe

Kinky Mature Sex - Erotic Stories

Kinky Mature Sex - Erotic StoriesAn Older Lady Is SeducedShe Sees If He Has What It TakesLife Long Dream FulfilledDivorcee Gets A Sexual AwakeningSuccess On A Dating AppYoung Stud Bangs MILFA Divorcee Rents A RoomGets A Rude AwakeningRunning To The StoreMeeting With A Younger StrangerCopyright

Kinky Mature Sex - Erotic Stories

All characters are at least 21-years-old.

MILFs always have better sex Mature women always have the best sex. With their life experience MILFs seduce their lovers. In bed, the older ladies convince with their sexual love arts and their open-minded nature.  Enjoy reading my sex stories.

An Older Lady Is Seduced

Hello, I'm Sarah and until recently I'd never slept with a 'young' man. When I married my husband Patrick he was already forty two, while I was only seventeen; the reasons behind that are a whole other story and not one I wish to repeat here, or indeed dwell upon.

Despite everything, I like to think of our marriage as a success; we raised four children, all sadly now scattered due to work and/or partners to the four corners of the earth, two in Australia, a third in Japan and our youngest daughter is in Canada.

When Patrick retired we moved full-time to what had until then, been our weekend cottage in the Yorkshire Dales, but once his health began to deteriorate ten years later, we returned to our home town near Leeds, leasing an apartment in a, Seniors Community; I was still only forty-nine!

The age difference with my neighbours wasn't an issue; that was something I was long used to accommodating, so I've quite enjoyed the place. With a warden always on call and easy access to public transport -- Patrick never permitted me to drive -- I was able to get out and about secure in the knowledge that Patrick would be OK.

What I did especially miss from living in the Dales though, were Clara and Tom: It was Patrick and Tom who'd met first -- both members of the Rotary Club -- but when Clara and I met, we got on like a house on fire from the very start. Clara and I were of an age, with Tom being rather older, though nothing like the age-gap between Patrick and I, but that was never relevant, we all seemed to just 'click', regularly socialising and on a couple of occasions going on holiday together too; I consider Clara to be the best and closest friend that I've ever had.

Like ourselves, Tom and Clara have a now grown family -- four boys, how did she cope? - though they've perhaps been more fortunate than we, in that all of their boys, along with their partners and now grandchildren live locally. That's not entirely true; their third son Christian and his wife Nicoleian were abroad, though even they visited for two or three weeks each year to catch up with family and friends.

Daniel and Nicole have no kids, so after both had acquired the professional skills and reputations which allowed them -- for outrageous remuneration! - to work wherever they could find a decent internet connection, they simply 'travelled'; working freelance and on-line for a few days or weeks whenever their coffers need to be refilled.

Just during the years that I've known Clara they'd travelled widely through SE Asia on a motorcycle, then seemingly everywhere between Alaska and Panama in a motor-home -- the inevitable motorcycle on a trailer towed behind -- and finally aboard a yacht on which they sailed to the Pacific Islands and on to Australia; even that had small scooter aboard! Two carefree vagabonds whom everyone seemed to love, despite the envy that they must have undoubtedly garnered; I'd met them only twice, but I could easily understand why.

Christian's tall, slim and even to my jaundiced eyes, a very good looking young man; washboard stomach -- OK, I've only discovered that more recently-- burnished tan and flowing locks of sun-bleached hair; perhaps unsurprising given their lifestyle? And of course, those eyes; expressive and a deep brown; I once overheard a young woman suggest quite accurately, that 'you could drown in those eyes'.

But it's more than skin-deep with Christian, he's very intelligent, well spoken and old-school polite, as indeed are all of Tom and Clara's boys; only latterly have I become 'Sarah' rather than Mrs Price. He possesses a wicked and charmingly flirtatious sense of humour, irrepressible optimism and seems always to see the best in everybody and everything.

Christian's now in his mid-thirties - younger than all of my own kids! - but one flash from those eyes as he delivers some flirtatious complement can still give rise to a shameless shiver in an old crone like me, so I can imagine how it effects the younger girls. Nicoleian knows it too and guards him jealously; I can't say that I blame her, she's got herself a catch and gives short-shrift to any young woman who to tries to trespass or even looks too closely in Daniel's direction; thankfully, we older ladies are given a little more leeway.

Then 2020 arrived, upending everyone's lives, including Christian and Nicole's. They were back in the UK for a visit when the world locked-down and couldn't return to their boat -- and yet another motorcycle! - in Australia. My own tribulation -- though already long expected -- was the death of Patrick; he didn't go to Covid, but the pressures that virus put on the health service perhaps accelerated his demise?

More shocking and even to me more upsetting, was Tom; in his late-sixties, admittedly, but as fit and healthy as many men half his age. He contracted Covid early on and died within a week; in some respects it was perhaps fortunate that Christian and Nicole were back home and staying with Clara, so able to afford her some support in those days of lock-downs,

Barely a day passed during the following weeks when Clara and I didn't speak on the phone, to offer mutual support and sympathy. Then on the first day that restrictions eased, Clara came to visit; we chatted for a couple of socially distanced hours in the garden beneath our umbrellas. Clara doesn't drive either, so it was Christian who'd brought her the fifty miles by car, though I didn't see him beyond a distant wave and smile through the rain-smeared car windscreen as he waited patiently for his mother and I.

It was during that conversation when I discovered that Christian and Nicole were back for the duration: They were already arranging the sale of their yacht and the motorcycle, negotiating to buy a small house for themselves near to Clara's and both back working to pay for it.

Both Christian and Nicole were as ever working remotely and at hours to seemingly suit themselves; so it was generally one or the other, on a couple of times both, who drove Clara across for her weekly visits. Even when restrictions eased and overnight stays were permitted, it was still far easier to have either Daniel or Nicole drive one of us back and forth to stay for a few days, rather than trust to public transport.

Neither seemed to begrudge providing this taxi service for us, indeed Christian seemed to delight in making the trip across the hills and it was during those journeys that I fully discovered his boyish and flirtatious nature; Oh God but he was dishy!

I soon finished mourning for Patrick -- did I ever really start? - and found myself more often than was perhaps decent, contemplating Christian as I lay in my lonely bed at night. Hell's Bells! Christian was married, barely half my age and the son of my best friend in the world; so contemplating him even once would've been indecent!

What Christian thought I'd no idea; I'm past sixty but clean-living and a big win in the genetics lottery has stood me in good stead; even though I say it myself, I don't look my age. I've always been 'elfin' and having remained slim, nothing droops too noticeably, my fair hair disguises the encroaching grey and I've retained -- or at least Christian drew out -- a still youthful outlook.

On the good days -- and most especially those nights! - I was sure that Christian found me attractive too, but on others I felt that I was just imagining it and that he actually saw me as some ancient harridan to whom he ought to be polite in deference to his mother. But he did touch me:

We invariably greeted and parted with a gentle kiss to the cheek and on those drives across the Dales he'd often lay a hand gently upon my shoulder or thigh to emphasise some point. That was why I began to eschew slacks in favour of a skirt over bare legs for those journeys, if said skirt 'just happened' to ride up my thighs as I got into the car, then Christian's touches would be flesh upon flesh.

If that wasn't enough, those greeting and departure kisses -- or mine at any rate -- became a little heavier, lasted a little bit longer and strayed a little closer to Christian's own lips; how could he not realise? He must've thought me a salacious old whore, even before my clumsy invitation:

On the way back from Clara's one day in late September 2021, Christian mentioned that he and Nicole often passed close to my apartment on their way to a motorcycle club -- yes, they'd bought another one! - that they'd begun attending. I immediately suggested that they should 'call in whenever you're passing - no need to call ahead -- my door's always open - you're welcome any time'.

All well and good you're thinking, but when Christian then said that with autumn approaching, Nicole would probably not be going there again before the spring, as she didn't like going out on the bike once the weather turned cold. That was the moment of my Freudian slip: "Even better, just come on your own and I'll soon warm you up..." during the pregnant pause which followed, I felt my colour rise, before I stuttering out "I... I... I could turn up the heating... or perhaps make you some cocoa."

Christian was giving me his flirtatious smile as he pushed a hand toward me and replied: "Or I could just hold my hands close to your cheeks and warm them up on those?" I didn't respond and my eyes lowered before his teasing grin; Christian's hand lowered too, directly onto my naked thigh, where it rested for far longer than it ever had before, gently stroking it, before returning to the steering wheel.

We barely spoke for the rest of the way home, but when we arrived Christian's farewell kiss too seemed to last longer than usual; when I returned it -- aiming indecently close to the edge of his mouth as ever -- either I misjudged things, or Christian moved, whichever, our lips met and I felt Christian's tongue tease at my mouth before I could withdraw -- Oh my God! A kiss like the youngsters share! I kept my eyes lowered as I stumbled from the car and rushed away; I didn't even make the usual invitation to 'come in for a quick coffee'.

A couple of weeks later it was Clara visiting me and I saw Christian for only a few minutes and in the presence of my best friend -- his mother! On my next trip over It was Nicole who came to collect me and while Christian took me home afterwards, Clara came along too 'just for the ride out'. Had Christian been playing games, giving the old granny a bit of a thrill; but now felt that things had gone a little too far?

He was probably right! Christian hadn't been gone five minutes on that fateful evening before I'd been on my bed, knickers around my ankle, with legs spread and fingers positively plunging into the soft and already wet channel that lay between them. My mind reeled with dreams of his tongue pressing deeper between my lips, that hand on my thigh sliding ever upward, rather than it returning to my knee as my own hand tugged at the buckle on the heavy belt which Christian always wore...

That was as far as I got that first evening before my world had exploded, but there hadn't been many nights -- and indeed quite a few afternoons -- since, when I hadn't similarly pleasured myself. It was always Christian in my thoughts and those pictures which I painted in my mind became more graphic with every canvas. I frigged myself most especially silly on those nights that I spent at Clara's; the bed which I slept in there being the same one that Christian and Nicole had used until they moved into their own place.

It was very early afternoon on a mid-November Tuesday, when the intercom from the outer-door buzzed; I'd just settled myself onto the bed with some recently purchased toys handily arrayed. With dreams of Christian already clouding my mind, I tried to ignore it, only yielding on its fourth insistent ring. I reluctantly pulled up my panties and trousers, scooped my armoury of toys into the bedside drawer and went to answer its call.

I knew it would most likely just be a friend from an adjoining apartment block, but as all were elderly they might possibly be in urgent need? Notwithstanding, I was pretty pissed at being disturbed and all but snarled into the intercom: "Sarah here, who is it?" before I'd even glanced at the video screen.

"It's me and I'm cold." My eye's were now locked on the tall figure in full motorcycle gear; he still wore his helmet, but that didn't matter, I would've recognised that voice in my sleep.

My heart was racing as I pressed the door release and called "You know the way." As Christian stumbled through the door my eyes remained locked on the video screen: No Nicole! He was alone! My heart rate went into overdrive.

I had the apartment door open as Christian arrived -- the helmet and gloves at least had been removed -- I ushered him inside and then helped, or perhaps hindered, as he peeled off the heavy jacket, waterproof trousers, and boots; all were soaking wet, so I took them straight into the bathroom.

Only on returning did I realise that all Christian wore beneath was a thermal base layer, sort of like long-johns and long-sleeved vest; written here that sounds rather banal, but in the flesh, hugging tight to his muscular frame, the sight sent a tremor through my belly. I just stood there, spellbound until Daniel eventually spoke and broke the spell: "What... no kiss to say hello?"

Snapping out of my daze, I stepped forward, grasped Christian by his upper arms and leaned in to kiss him. I wasn't sure how things stood between us, so my intention was a gentle peck on his cheek... perhaps steering just a little closer to his lips? But in the instant that we touched, I discovered just how genuinely cold Christian was; he felt frozen to the bone!

Pulling Christian close I wrapped my arms about him and vigorously rubbed them up and down his back in an effort to warm him through. I didn't even think, it was something I'd done for my own boys a hundred times before; but Christian wasn't my own son and neither was he a 'boy', but a fully grown, indeed very nicely grown, man! When that thought dawned I immediately retreated a half-step, my eyes downcast with embarrassment.

When I finally dared raise them to meet Christian's gaze, I discovered that I couldn't; his eyes too were now lowered... staring fixedly at my nipples! Those are perhaps the only thing about me that can't be described as 'petite', so when in public I invariably dress so as to... minimise their intrusion.

But today, slobbing around at home alone, I was wearing only a light sweater, with a silk blouse and non-padded brassiere beneath; the circumstances had clearly... raised their prominence. Hell! Who am I trying to kid? My nipples were standing out like a pair of truck wheel-nuts!

When our gazes eventually met, Christian's flustered expression was no doubt matched by my own; this he tried to hide and he glanced away as he stuttered: "Ah... sorry... erm... it appears that I've gone and made you cold now too?"

I knew that this was the moment -- one way or the other! - for our long-running coquetry to end: "Not at all Daniel, in fact I'd say that you've done just the opposite." Leaning forward, I kissed him again; it was my usual peck, but this time I placed it full on his lips; for a few moments Christian was too stunned to react and even when he did, it was warily, allowing me every opportunity to resist... or object, if he'd... misunderstood:

As Christian returned my kiss with a more protracted one of his own, his hands went to the hem of my cashmere sweater, rucking it up a few inches and taking it clear of my waistband. A pause, as our eyes locked together, before Daniel kissed me a second time while tugging and teasing my blouse free from that waistband. I again returned Christian's gaze, but neither moved nor spoke as his hands slipped beneath my blouse to settle against the bare skin of my midriff.

That elicited a gasp and a tremor from me, Christian's hands were certainly cold, but that wasn't the only reason! A final pause before they slid slowly and very deliberately upward, my only response a light tremble and a hum of obvious delight when they eventually reached and encompassed my bra-clad breasts.

That was the end of any prevarication. Christian's thumbs hooked beneath each cup of my brassiere, tugged firmly upward and my small breasts popped free to be scooped-up, flesh against flesh in his hands; my humming became a febrile growl, which I concluded with a far far from ladylike: "Oooohhhh fuck, yesssssssss."

Christian kneaded my breasts firmly, his thumbs and forefingers rolling the nipples between them as he kissed me once again and then responded in a now more confident tone: "I was rather hoping that we might."

In keeping with my 'no more games' approach, I turned away, grasping Christian's left wrist as I did so and dragged him along behind as I headed toward the door growling: "And about bloody time; the bedroom's this way." I didn't look back, but felt no resistance, Christian was following behind.

Once we arrived I remained unambiguous, releasing Christian's hand I all but tore my own clothes off and had rolled backward onto the bed with legs invitingly splayed before looking at him again. He hadn't moved, open mouthed and staring, still in his thermal underclothes: "What are you waiting for? I... want... fucking!"

That broke Christian free from his trance, in seconds he too was naked and climbing onto the bed as I parted my legs yet further in lewd invitation. Christian knelt between them and his face dropped instantly to my breasts, his mouth engulfing each nipple in turn as I growled out my delight.,

For perhaps the first time in my whole life I gave thanks for having inherited my mother's dainty boobs, they might well be small, but even at sixty-one they were still full and firm rather than the burst balloons that most of my friends now carried around; most importantly... Christian clearly loved them!

Christian worked on my breasts with lips, tongue, teeth and hands for several minutes before slipping downward planting a line of gentle kisses across my ribs and over my belly; these sent a further series of tremors through me and obviously addled my brain, so it was only when his lips passed below my navel that I realised his intended destination.

Patrick had never done that for me -- no doubt too far beneath his dignity -- and there had never been anyone else in my bed; my heart rate soared and my pussy seemed to palpitate with anticipation, but still I grabbed Christian's head in both hands and hauled him back upward as I screamed "No!"

Did Daniel's expression say 'embarrassed' or 'crestfallen'? Perhaps it just said 'ouch' as I'd caught him by the ears, poor love; whichever, I was quick to reassure him: "Sorry. I would like you to do... that, but not right now, maybe next_ sometime in the future..." - To have said 'next time' felt just a little too presumptuous - "What I would really like... in fact need... and right now, is sex. Just straight up and down sex; you between my legs and... and fucking me; we can do... other things, if you want... later."

I was relieved to see Christian smile as he nodded in assent, though that feeling of relief quickly morphed into something much more improper when he slid back up the bed between my open legs and it was my own hand which gripped his cock and guided it between the soft folds of my labia as he approached.

Christian felt of a similar size to Patrick, though that was a distant memory I was comparing to; what was different was Christian's rigidity, his prick felt like a hammer shaft in my hand! Patrick hadn't been this stiff when he first... took me and as the years had passed things - even with the assistance of his little blue 'friends' -- steadily worsened; it was a bitter reminder of what I'd missed by accepting and tolerating marriage to a man of Patrick's age.

As Christian gently, almost carefully penetrated my womanhood, I reconsidered that size comparison, either I'd contracted -- from lack of use? - or Christian was better endowed than I'd given him credit for; it certainly wasn't a problem of lubrication, I was awash, even my inner thighs were damp! It took Christian a half-dozen firm thrusts to fully penetrate my tight channel -- the first man to have done so in a dozen years!

The instant I felt the tell-tale bump of his balls against my perineum and heard Christian's grunt of conquest, my stomach flipped in delight. Be it right or wrong - and it could hardly be the former - I no longer gave a damn! My fantasy had been fulfilled and this gorgeous young man, younger than my own kids! And my best friend's son to boot was inside me; in that moment I began climbing toward my orgasm.

Once fully home I accommodated Christian more easily and he stroked into me with a firm, steady rhythm; no longer gentle, but not aggressive either; just purposeful missionary sex. One could've described it as 'vanilla' but that wouldn't have done it justice; Christian perhaps sensed that this was how I'd envisaged our first coupling and he pandered to it. It wasn't protracted, two dozen, or at most thirty strokes and Christian was gasping out a series of 'oh yesses' the volume increasing with each one, as he came inside me.

I was delighted at Christian's loss of control. My heart-rate and temperature were through the roof, I was bathed in sweat and must've been as red as a beetroot; my own climax having been noisily announced several seconds earlier. Those powerful streams of semen which hosed into my channel were another sensation that I'd never experienced with Patrick and my own climax re-ignited as it met Christian's

Having collapsed atop me, Christian quickly rolled off to the side and we lay in sweat soaked repletion; each with their own thoughts over what we'd just done together; the Rubicon had been crossed and no mistake! What Christian was contemplating I'd no idea, but I was certainly satisfied, yet at the same time still excited... eager for more.

I was also reassured, perhaps even elated, by the abruptness of Christian's orgasm, he must have been as hot for me as I was for him; surely that boded well for his wanting to visit again sometime? Another downside from my having wasted my best years with an older man, meant I never even considered the possibility that Christian might not yet be finished for today!

Stretching out a hand toward Christian, it found his arm and I discovered that despite what'd just occurred, he was still cold to the touch; I was reminded that he'd arrived here frozen to the marrow and my maternal instincts kicked in uninvited. I was on my feet without further thought:

Grasping Christian by the wrist and dragging him after me: "God you're still frozen! Get yourself into the shower right now and thaw out before you catch your death of cold." Christian dutifully complied, smiling indulgently as he allowed me haul him to the bathroom, where I set the shower going and pushed him beneath it.

For more than a minute I watched through the rising steam as Christian lathered his muscular and still tanned body; then the incongruity of the situation hit me: The concerned mother had once again disappeared, usurped by the... the... the what...? An ageing harpy, or perhaps salacious old whore; who was standing naked, with fingers now raking through her pubic hair and teasing at her own pussy

No! She was a dirty old slut, fingering her wet cunt, as she ogled a married man barely half her age! Christian had noticed too, perhaps seen my expression change as that realisation dawned? He was grinning like a Cheshire-cat in the moment that his hand flew out with the speed of a striking cobra, grabbed me by the wrist and jerked me rudely into the shower beside him.

I yelped as I went, squealed like a young girl when his left arm wrapped around and pulled me close, then uttered a far more feral groan as his left hand pressed presumptuously between my legs, two fingers penetrating straight into my pussy. That groan was quashed by Daniel's ferocious and searching kiss, one which I perhaps failed to respond to as completely as I ought, being distracted by a shameless thought of 'ooh, they're nicer than my own fingers.'

The next few minutes were hot and steamy -- and not just from the water! - Christian's hands roamed everywhere, my own too if I'm honest, but it wasn't often, or for long that one or the other of Daniel's wasn't between my legs. We did lather and wash each other after a fashion, but both saw that as being a secondary consideration and within minutes I was enjoying my second and perhaps even noisier orgasm of the day.

In that moment I found -- finally! - some benefit to my life with Patrick: Due to his infirmities, the shower was fitted with several grab rails; I hadn't had them removed, having thought pragmatically that I'd be needing them myself someday. I hadn't anticipated it being this soon though, in the moment my climax hit, it was those that I grabbed for support, my knuckles turning white with the strain; without them I suspect I would've fallen to the floor; my legs having buckled completely!