There isn’t a single living soul around — just the two of us, hand in hand. My icy fingers are intertwined with hers, protected by thick gloves, and her head rests gently against my shoulder.
It almost feels like the first date of a young couple, even though, truth be told, it’s not that far from reality, since this is the first ti Mrs. Lunsford and I are actually going out on a real date.
Even so, I didn’t expect the evening to take such a romantic turn. But then again, mature won want more than a pretty face or a big cock. They want to be pampered, desired, spoiled — things that put them in the right state of mind to do sothing irrational, like cheating on their rich husband, the very man who supports them and allows them to enjoy that dream life without ever having to work.
And Mrs. Lunsford is very much in that mood right now.
Her fingers slip free from mine and her hand slowly slides downward, gently resting on my thigh like a butterfly landing on a flower. Just that — a simple touch — is enough to make my cock hard instantly.
The bulge obviously doesn’t escape Mrs. Lunsford’s languid gaze, despite the darkness of the night, broken only by the faint glow of streetlights barely filtering through the thick blanket of fog. And imdiately her hand slips past the elastic waistband of my sweatpants — now you understand why I prefer them to jeans?
And then... nothing. We simply keep walking, as if nothing were happening — her fingers greedily wrapped around my swollen, throbbing erection, and with my hand buried between her thighs, ward by her hot, wet pussy that I easily reach through the slit of the long black dress she’s wearing under her coat.
«Oh, we’re really daring tonight, Jace. You’re making feel twenty again,» she murmurs in a playful voice, broken by moans and ragged breaths while my fingers are already teasing her lips — and to my complete surprise, I only now realize that she’s been without underwear the entire evening, and that thought drives crazy.
«Why? What were you doing at twenty?» I ask with genuine curiosity — stories from the youth of mature won always turn on like crazy.
«Oh, things you can’t even imagine, my dear Jace,» she grins, covering her sly little smile with her right hand, while her left remains firmly gripping my cock, stimulating and massaging it now and then to keep it hard — as if there were really any need for tricks like that. «But we’re talking about things that happened more than thirty years ago now, and I certainly don’t want to bore a young man like you with the stories of an old mummy.»
«I insist,» I reply firmly, sliding my index and middle finger into her soaked pussy and teasing her clit just enough to encourage her to open up to about her experiences as a young slut, but without risking getting her too excited. For now, I have no intention of breaking the perfect yet precarious balance this unusual walk is resting on. Chatting pleasantly while walking outdoors with our hands in each other’s private parts is far more exciting than simply fucking like animals in heat. Sure, of course our night will end with a nice load under the moonlight, but as they say, the journey matters just as much as the destination, and I intend to enjoy it as much as possible.
«Oh, it’s quite embarrassing, to be honest,» she murmurs, pretending embarrassnt. «But if you promise not to judge , then I’ll tell you everything in every little detail.»
God... this sounds like one of those erotic stories that make you co just from reading them. I just hope it’s not too exciting, otherwise I’ll end up cumming in her hand.
«Don’t worry — you might not believe it despite my young age, but I’ve got my own skeletons in the closet too, so feel free to tell whatever you want,» I reassure her with a shrug — I an, I’ve been fucking my adoptive mother since I was twelve. Whatever she tells , it can’t possibly be more perverse than the story between and Veronica.
«All right, I trust you.» Then she takes a deep breath. «Jace, how old were you when you had your first crush?»
«My first crush... well, we can say twelve, almost thirteen.»
«Yeah, that’s more or less the age of first crushes,» she comnts nostalgically. «Mine, though, was at fifteen. A bit late for a girl, right? They say females, especially as teenagers, are more advanced than n, but let’s say I can be defined as the exception that proves the rule. Up until that age, I never really cared about having a boyfriend or even just living all those first experiences my friends bragged about so much. And it’s not like I didn’t have the opportunity — on the contrary. Not to brag, but back then I had a certain charm. I still rember like it was yesterday all the boys staking out outside my house trying to court , and my father chasing them all the way down the driveway with a broom,» she lets out a light, amused laugh. «Yeah, my father was always overprotective, but I guess all fathers are, especially when it cos to their daughters, and even more so when it’s your only daughter.»
Mrs. Lunsford lowers her gaze slightly, more lancholy.
«Yes, his only daughter... even though my father would have wanted a house full of kids. But unfortunately fate was cruel, taking my mother away when I was still so little that I don’t even rember her. They t when they were just kids themselves, and my father loved her deeply from the very first mont — so much so that after her death he completely gave up on won. He was an incredibly charming man, and I’m not saying that just because he was my father — it was the truth. He too had his fair share of admirers, but he always rejected them all, having eyes and heart only for my mother...»
Mrs. Lunsford suddenly stops walking. She slips her right hand into the deep pocket of her coat, pulls out her wallet, and opens it in front of my eyes, showing a small, yellowed but well-preserved photograph of a beautiful woman in her thirties with long blond curls and ice-colored eyes.
«Incredible. You’re truly stunning...» I murmur, genuinely amazed.
«I’m sure my mother, if she were still alive, would be thrilled to receive a complint from a handso young man like you,» she replies with a bitter smile.
«She... she’s your mother?! Incredible — you look exactly alike!»
«Yeah,» she comnts with a note of pride, slipping the wallet back into her coat pocket.
But it’s right then that sothing in her suddenly begins to change. I feel my hand, firmly resting on her intimate parts, instantly get drenched — warm rivulets of her juices trickling between my fingers.
«My mother and I really were like two peas in a pod...» she continues, panting, almost moaning. «...and my father thought so too.»
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