I am male, and i confess that when my wife is out, I love to crawl around the house with a dildo up my arsehole and a heavy weight hanging from my balls. Tomorrow I am going to walk out to the shops with the dildo up my hole just to see how it feels. Anyone else done anything simiar?

I really like this Real Spankings video featured here on Motherless.

The mistress’ jeans are nicely fitting to show the folding around her pussy area. It would have been lovely if the naughty girl was made to take down the mistresses’ jeans after her hand strapping to lick out her pussy.

The mistress also appears to be using similar to a Wide Type Heavy Strap. This strap is made from a supple, heavy hide that is a minimum of 15/64" thick. It is 24" long and 1 1/2" wide, and has the same handle shape as a three tail Lochgelly tawse. It has the makers stamp and the letter H for heavy weight.

"You may take off your blouse."

My hands moved to my top button and I did as he said. One at a time, the buttons were shakily undone. Sitting a little, I slid the blouse right off my shoulders and dropped it over the side of the bed where it landed in a pile on the floor. I lay back waiting.

"The bra."

Oh God, was this never going to end? I sat up and reached behind me. I made sure I looked anywhere except at him. Damn, I'd forgotten it wasn't a back opening bra. I moved one hand to the front centre of the bra. Pushed against the clasp. As the bra undid, I distinctly heard a sharp intake of air from the end of the room. I looked up at him but he showed no signs of being alive, little own having taken a deep breath. I hid my surprise by quickly looking down. I held both sides of the bra and gently pulled them away from my body. My breasts bounced freely and I slipped the bra off my shoulders quickly and threw it to the floor. I lay back waiting.

He kept silent.

The chair creaked. I stilled. He crossed the floor to the end of the bed and stood looking down at my body. I closed my eyes, I didn't want to look at him. I didn't want to see what he thought of me.

"Open your eyes."

Damn him to hell and back. I obeyed.

"
I jumped. Cold solid ice against my right nipple. Pain sliced through me. I kept my eyes shut tight and bit down on my tongue. The ice moved all over my nipple, all around it. Another piece on the other nipple. More pain. My breasts felt so heavy, aching badly. My nipples were so hard they hurt.

He kept rubbing the ice around and around. I felt it melting, my body numbing to the sting. Cold liquid ran down the centre between my breasts, and pooled in my belly. Trickling down the sides of my breasts. He let it drip.

"Did I permit you to move?" he demanded angrily.

I shook my head, no. "Then don't move!" I nodded acceptance.

"For moving you will be punished," he spoke quietly, but deadly.

"Put your arms above your head. Keep them still. Do not move them."

I felt him move away from the bed. Something exquisitely soft barely touched my belly. It moved slowly upwards. The throbbing increased and I bit my lip until it bled. It almost tickled it was touching my hot flesh so lightly. Like a spiderweb, a definate touch, but not easy to see or feel with a fingertip. I quickly stopped myself from letting my finger move.

My whole body was completely in tune with what he was doing. My breathing was in time with his. My throbbing pussy echoed my thundering heartbeat. I ached to be allowed to move. I wanted to watch what he was doing. I wasn't allowed to speak to ask. Frustration was building.

Wet warmth smothered my nipple. He was suckling me and the soft thing moved low, stroking my belly. Then lower, rubbing my thighs. Noisy sucking. God if he keeps that up I wont be able to stop myself from cumming. The softness moved higher and lightly stroked my pussy. I moaned. He stopped and moved away from the bed.

I thought about what he'd been doing to me. The way he'd touched me. I was at the peak of arousal. Nipples so hard I thought they'd burst. My breasts ached and I longed for them to be held and massaged. My pussy was throbbing and I'm sure I was dripping my juices onto the bed by now.

If I stayed perfectly still and didn't respond physically to him, would he let me cum?

Another three minutes passed.

"Bend your knees."

I slid my feet upwards.

"Spread your legs wide."

I moved my feet wide apart.

His breath against my hot pussy. His mouth closed over my clitty and he sucked hard. I didn't move, just breathed deep and slow. Sudden sharp pain on my nipples as his tongue drove deep inside me and began moving in and out. Clouds of pain swamped me. Nipple clamps. Cold, hard and tightly pinching my nipples. Wet tongue fucking my pussy faster and faster. I cried out as I came hard on his tongue. He kept pushing his tongue in and taking it out, and I kept cumming. My juices oozing out and covering his face. Noisy squelching as he tongued me deep and then licked me lightly. He sucked at my pussy, drinking my nectar. He lapped at me. With one last shudder my body began to calm. My breathing deepened.

His weight lifted from the bed. He stood and I could hear he was breathing heavily too. The clock ticked as I waited.

"Open your eyes."

I blinked and squinted against the sudden brightness.

"That will be all for today.

ROUND THREE / UNEXPECTED DAY THREE

Continuation of my Minnesota adventure: May 2024 [another very long post]

To recap:
I was visiting T, my 52-year-old long-time red-haired FWB, for the first time since October 2021. In the interim, she’d had major female surgery, put on some unwanted weight due to the anti-depressant meds she’d been taking (although she still looked amazing to me), and dumped a 20-y/o lover because “he came too fast, didn’t have a decent job, and couldn’t eat pussy to save his life.” I’d made the drive from Denver to her small town, located a couple of hours southwest of the Twin Cities, with the intent of doing what we always did. That involved catching up on news since the last time we were together, taking in concerts, museums and other attractions while spending the weekend in the Twin Cities, and having sex – lots and lots of sex.

I woke up around 7:30 Tuesday morning, following another three-hour fuck session that had wrapped up around two a.m. Because T babysits her two-year-old grandson every weekday afternoon, I had only planned to sleep over for two nights and then come back for her on Friday. She was dead asleep alongside me, with the covers pulled up over her head, so I left her alone and got dressed in the living room. Her car, a Ford Focus, had been running on fumes the previous evening, so I filled it up at the nearest gas station and then stopped off at a drive-thru for a bagel. Culinary note: I asked for the bagel to be toasted, with cream cheese on the side. Who the fuck toasts a bagel without slicing it first??? Sheesh.

Anyway, I returned to her place and was having my breakfast when T came out of the bedroom and plopped down beside me. I noticed she’d put on yoga pants and a loose-fitting sweatshirt, which clearly indicated she was officially "not in the mood." She is NOT a morning person, and that includes morning sex. I offered her half my bagel, which she declined. She’s also not a breakfast person. “Are you sure you want to leave today?” T asked. “I thought we settled that on Sunday,” I replied. “I’ll be back Friday afternoon and we’ll spend the weekend in St. Paul.” She gave me one of those inscrutable looks that leave guys like me clueless. “Well, Donna is coming over for dinner. We do this every few weeks and, besides, she wants to meet you.”

Donna was one of T’s former coworkers, a tall Nordic blonde who’d succumbed to T’s bisexual charms during a blizzard in February and was apparently still infatuated with my red-haired Viking princess. “You can leave if you want,” T teased, “but you’ll miss out on a fun dinner.” Something told me that dinner wasn’t the only thing I’d miss by heading north, so I agreed to delay my drive by a day. Hey – I may be clueless when it comes to women, but I like to think I’m not an idiot!

We spent most of the day pretty much the same as on Monday, watching TV, reading, and having light-hearted conversation. After homemade bean burritos for lunch, I agreed to help her sort through her massive clothes collection that took up most of a second bedroom. It was a claustrophobic environment dominated by two huge dressers her grandparents had left to her. Piles of clothes occupied every flat surface, but the drawers were nearly empty. Our task was to divide the wardrobe up into Donate and Keep. I suggested the latter category was likely to include “fits me now” and “I hope it’ll fit again someday.” That remark earned me a not-so-playful punch on my arm, followed immediately by an offer to “kiss and make it better.”

For about two hours, I pulled out articles of clothing as T passed judgment on each item’s future. It was really humid, even with the a/c running, so she'd changed into a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that had been cut down into shorts. Occasionally she felt compelled to try things on to see if they fit – some did, but many did not – which meant she was regularly showing me her tits while putting on blouses, and turning around to show off her lovely ass with each skirt or pair of pants we came across. There was hardly any floor space, so we were constantly bumping into each other. T was also being very tactile – stroking my arm, smacking me on the ass when I didn’t move out of her way fast enough, and delivering a series of random kisses. Finally, I got up the courage to ask about her behavior.

“You know,” I began apprehensively, “I can’t help but notice how affectionate you are. It’s like the old T has returned.” During past visits, she’d regularly initiated public displays of affection, but I never felt comfortable asking about this behavior – mostly because I didn’t want it to stop. “Why now; why me?” She froze with her hand halfway reaching for a hanger and turned to face me. “You really want to know?” she asked quietly. “Always,” I said. “I used to behave like this a lot, because I’m an affectionate person, but my actions kept getting taken the wrong way. Nearly every guy I’ve been with assumed I was coming on to them sexually, as in, I wanted to fuck them right then and there. You, on the other hand, never give me that vibe, because I know you truly care about me as a person, not just some sex object.”

I must have had a weird look on my face while trying to process what she’d said, because she stepped over the huge pile of clothes still on the floor and bumped up against me, wrapping her arms around my neck and planting a seriously hard kiss on my mouth. The phrase, “You know I adore you,” escaped my lips before I could even think about what I was saying. In return, T took half a step back and countered with, “Well, if you must know, I really DO want to fuck you, but that’ll have to wait because it’s almost time for me to go be with my grandson.” With that she giggled, pushed past me to climb out of the room, and called back in my direction as she was putting on her sneakers, “I’m watching him over at their place, because I don’t want to inflict him on you two days in a row. I’ll be back around 4:30.” And with that, she departed.

At 5:00 there was a knock on the door, so I hopped off the couch and went to answer it. T had previously texted me to say she wouldn’t be home until six o’clock but offered no further details. I opened up to greet a tall, slender woman with close-cropped blonde hair and a narrow face, carrying a grocery bag in each hand. I said, “You must be Donna,” at the same moment she said, “You must be Zac,” and we both laughed. I grabbed the bags out of her hands and took them straight to the kitchen. Since T lives in a double-wide trailer (err, “manufactured”) home, the counter was a mere three steps away. I explained that T was running late, and Donna countered with, “Yeah, she called to tell me that while I was at the Hy-Vee (the local supermarket), so I should just get dinner ready without her.” I offered to act as a backup chef, so we both did food prep. The menu included cucumber salad with onion, sliced tomatoes drizzled with olive oil, beer cheese soup, a baguette of French bread, and strawberry ice cream for dessert.

As we worked, we chatted amiably. I was curious about T’s experiences while working alongside Donna, and she confirmed that the stories I’d heard about harassment were true. “She just seems to attract asshole guys,” Donna said with conviction. Then, as she realized what she’d said, added, “Well, not you, obviously.” I laughed and countered with, “The jury might still be out on that one,” but she was quick to disagree. “Oh, no. T says you’re the sweetest guy. She told me you filled up her tank yesterday.” I couldn’t resist the double entendre. “You mean her car’s gas tank, right?” Donna burst out laughing. “Yeah – that, too.”

But before we could delve into additional semi-smutty talk, T returned and gave Donna a big hug and kiss. “Did you rope Zac into helping you with dinner?” she asked. “He volunteered and did a great job cutting up the vegetables,” she replied. I’d suggested we do the salad Hungarian style, dressed with sour cream, vinegar, and a dash of paprika. Lacking a dining table, we took our plates and bowls to the living room – five steps from the kitchen (!!) – and ate at the coffee table. I parked myself on T’s leather recliner, while the ladies sat on the couch.

After dessert, I gathered up the dishes and offered to do clean-up, to which there were no objections! While I was washing, drying and putting things away, T dragged out her cannabis paraphernalia and the two of them were soon “dabbing away.” Donna asked if they should save some for me, but T put the kibosh on that. “He’s got too much of a tolerance for pot,” T explained. “We split a tube Sunday night, and he didn’t even get high. I don’t think it affected him at all.” I chimed in with, “Well, it made me horny.” T responded with a laugh. “Geez, Zac, you’re hornier than any guy I know, so it clearly wasn’t the pot talking.” Naturally, Donna had to come back with, “So, how horny was he?” There was some whispering that followed between the two of them, and I was too far away to hear the conversation, except for the part where Donna said out loud, “How many times?” and then followed with “Oh, my god.”

I wrapped up my KP duties and started back toward my seat when T piped up with a request. “Zac, honey – can you go pick up something for us to drink? We’re too wasted to drive.” I reminded her we still had that Smirnoff swill from the night before, but T said, “Oh, I poured that out. It wasn’t very good.” That was the understatement of the week! Donna suggested a bottle of wine so, after a brief discussion of white versus red, they agreed “red” was the best choice. I grabbed my car keys and left the two of them puffing away on the couch.

The same woman who’d helped us the previous evening was back behind the counter. “How was that Smirnoff?” she asked. “Looking for another bottle?” [That's the issue with small towns; everyone knows your business!] I told her it was the worst stuff I’d tasted since that shot of vodka I’d sampled in a Bratislava grocery store decades earlier. That got a laugh out of her, and we chatted for about ten minutes about our respective overseas adventures, until I suddenly remembered why I was there. Two minutes and $15 later, I was on my way back to T’s place with what was reportedly a halfway decent bottle of California Cabernet.

As I walked into her place, the lights were off and no one was up front. I set the bottle down and slowly felt my way forward. The bedroom door was closed, and the rest of the place was nearly pitch-black. Because of the harsh Minnesota winters and the lack of decent insulation in her place, T keeps all the windows blocked year-round, because “it’s too much trouble to always be redoing them.” It’s like a goddamned cave in there; you can’t tell whether it’s day or night without opening the door and looking outside. I had my hands outstretched to aid in moving ahead, but thankfully it’s a very narrow hallway with no obstacles. I put my ear to the bedroom door but couldn’t make out any sounds. I thought about calling out, but instead I retraced my steps to the living room, stripped down to just my boxer briefs, and returned to where I’d just been standing.

As quietly as I could, I twisted the door handle and pulled the bedroom door open. The first thing I noticed was a pile of women’s clothes lying on the floor. Peeking around the corner, I saw two naked women erotically positioned and illuminated by the dim bedside lamp at the far side of the room. T was lying on her back, her thighs spread wide and the fingers of her left hand making slow circles around her clit. Donna was sitting on T’s face, grinding away, while the palms of her hands were pressed flat against the bedroom wall, since T’s double bed has no headboard. Neither woman was being particularly vocal – Donna was breathing hard, but quietly, whereas whatever sounds T was making were being directed straight into Donna’s vagina. I took off my boxers and began to stroke my cock, which was quickly at attention.

I was being quiet, but Donna turned her head and caught me out of the corner of her eye as I was standing at the side of the bed with my cock in my hand. “Guess—who’s—back?” Donna managed to announce, in between gasps for air. T mumbled something that I couldn’t understand, but Donna was apparently skilled at interpreting mouth-to-pussy speech. “She wants you to go down on her,” Donna translated, so I wasted no time climbing onto the bed and hopping to it. I pushed T’s hand aside and wrapped my lips around her little button-clit. I sucked on it hard, which really sets her off, and then I shoved two fingers deep into her pussy.

Eighteen months earlier, when T had the first of two back-to-back vaginal surgeries, she was worried they would affect her “pleasure parts,” as she called them. But for the past two nights, I was a witness that she was as orgasmic as she’d ever been. Meanwhile, Donna was raking her crotch up and down T’s mouth, and I looked up just as T took the hand she’d been using on her clit and stuck her middle finger deep into Donna’s ass. “Well, that’s an interesting turn of events,” I thought to myself. T was not a fan of anal play on herself, although she occasionally enjoyed it when I moistened my index finger and rimmed her butthole while simultaneously circling her clit with my tongue. She calls it “the double roundabout.” This was the first time I’d seen her finger-fuck another woman in the ass, although she’s never been shy about pounding a girlfriend’s other hole with her fingers. It didn’t take long for me to get T bucking and moaning, and I stayed with it until she exploded into a thigh-quivering orgasm.

After lifting myself up to catch a breath, I decided not to continue with more cunnilingus but instead mounted T, shoving my cock into her ultra-moist pussy. She made a half-hearted effort to push me away, but my 225 pounds was no match for her 140, so I stayed put. With Donna’s firm ass staring me in the face – she hadn’t dismounted from T’s face, despite already having had at least one orgasm – I balanced precariously on top of T and used my hands to grip Donna’s buttocks and spread them apart. Seconds later, she had the experience of two tongues on her, with one at each hole.

T mumbled something, with Donna apparently understanding her query, because she replied, “He’s got his tongue in my ass.” I sure did! But while focusing my attention on the shapely tush in front of me, I’d stopped fucking T and simply left my cock motionless, albeit balls-deep in her pussy. She seemed miffed by this lack of attention, because she responded by wrapping her legs around my thighs and humping up against me, fighting to attain yet another orgasm. Donna came with a grunt and a shudder, moaned, “Ohhhh, gawd!” and rolled off T’s face to collapse on the far side of the bed. Unfortunately, her unexpected dismount caused her knee to smack against the side of my head, and I think I might have lost consciousness for a few seconds. When I regained my senses, I’d rolled off T, having ended up on the same side of the bed where Donna had landed.

“Are you OK?” Donna asked, with concern in her voice. “Did I hurt you?” I pressed my hand to the spot where her knee had made contact with my skull. “No blood, no foul, I guess,” was my flippant reply, which was enough to elicit a hearty laugh from both women. It seemed like a good time to take a break, so I slid down to lie across the bottom edge of the mattress and laid my head on my outstretched arm. T said, “I think we could all use a drink,” and for once, I agreed that was a good idea. She climbed off the bed and slipped quickly into the kitchen, where we could hear her cursing because she couldn’t immediately find a corkscrew. I was torn between remaining in the bedroom and watching Donna play with her clit, which she was doing absent-mindedly, and following T into the kitchen to lend a hand with the wine. With the cry, “Zac – come here. I need you,” the decision was made for me.

I found T leaning back against the sink, the wine bottle in one hand and a fairly elaborate corkscrew device in the other. “I think I’m too high to figure this out,” she admitted, so I relieved her of both items and managed to extract the cork without damaging my hand, or my male ego. T looked absolutely delicious, nude with her pale pink nipples at full attention, her flushed skin accentuating the freckles on her chest, her red triangle down below curly and enticing, and the tang of pussy juice in the air. We stood there, wordlessly, for a few seconds – each checking out the other person’s body – until she reached out and wrapped her hand around my semi-tumescent cock. Then, she uttered a sentence any red-blooded male would love to hear in that situation: “I want to watch you fuck Donna, and then I’ll clean you both up.”

She and I have performed this act before, but the last time was old-COVID. Back in 2019, while spending a fuck-filled four-day weekend in a St. Paul Airbnb, she’d picked up a waitress at the neighborhood pastry shop. We’d gone there for breakfast two days in a row, where during each visit T got more and more flirty with the young woman behind the counter. On Day Three, after telling me to pay the bill and then scram, she somehow talked Simone into coming over to our place once her shift ended at noon. Awaiting her arrival, T told me Simone was only interested in girl-on-girl sex, which was OK with me. And true to her word, Simone showed up on time, stripped off her clothes, and dove into T’s pussy as if she hadn’t had sex in months – which turned out to be the case. I sat on the sidelines, stroking and watching, as they both worked each other into multiple orgasmic frenzies. Taking a break, T said to Simone, “I’m thinking about sucking Zac’s cock, because I love the taste of his cum, but I’d like it even better if it came dripping out of your pussy.” Simone seemed more than a bit skeptical, until T told her that I’d do her doggy-style so she didn’t have to see me fucking her, and that I’d do my best to ejaculate quickly. Given the stroke job I’d been doing on myself the previous 30 minutes, that last part wasn’t going to be a problem. Simone agreed, somewhat reluctantly, and I took her from behind – a deliciously tight 22-year-old pussy that needed only half a dozen pumps to get blasted. T fulfilled her part of the bargain and even managed to make Simone orgasm one last time as my man-jizz ended up all over T’s face and then down her throat.

On this evening, however, there was no reluctant acceptance on Donna’s part. I carried three full wine glasses into the bedroom, distributed them accordingly, and then T announced the next stage in our hours-long fuck-fest. As soon as T explained what she wanted us to do, Donna and I looked at each other and asked, nearly simultaneously, “How do you want me?” That got all three of us laughing, but T had her own idea. “Do her missionary, Zac, so the cum won’t leak out before I gobble it up.” Thankfully I wasn’t drinking from my wineglass at that moment, because I would have probably done a spit-take onto her lovely striped cotton sheets. Instead, I drained the last of the liquid and handed my glass to T, who set it down on the nightstand closest to the bedroom door. Then I dove forward to shove my face into Donna’s crotch.

I’d caught her by surprise, but she didn’t voice a single objection, instead sliding her butt forward so she could lie flat on the bed. I tongued her slit for a minute or two – she tasted really good – and then hopped up onto my knees and guided my dick into her pussy hole. Donna reached up and pushed against my shoulders. I thought she was doing that to get me off her, but she only wanted to create enough room to pull her knees up and press them against my chest. This was actually a very effective fucking position for me, because her legs acted as a sort of spring against which I could thrust and retract. She supplied at least half of the motion, and I was able to hang onto her knees for leverage instead of having to use my arms to bear the weight of my body.

We built up a good rhythm, with lots of heavy breathing on both our parts. Meanwhile, T was sitting cross-legged on her side of the bed, finger-fucking herself with an in-and-out motion that matched my own pussy pounding. Just as T said to Donna, “Don’t be surprised, but he sometimes takes a while to come,” I froze on the downstroke as my cock pumped three or four streams of cum deep into Donna’s pussy. All she said was, “Done?” and when I could only nod my head, she used her legs to push me off her while holding her ass up off the bed. T swooped in and dove for the gusto, first licking up the drops of cum that had dripped off my cock as I withdrew, and then using her fingers to dig deep for the rest of the load.

I managed to stand up at the foot of the bed, knees sagging a bit against the edge of the mattress to maintain my balance. T was really slurping up what I’d left for her, and I jacked my dick a bit as I watched. Having completed her task on Donna, T spun around and licked me clean. “Fuck, that was fun!” she exclaimed, and then guzzled down the rest of the wine in her glass.

We’d easily passed the three-hour mark, and I was exhausted. The ladies climbed off the bed and headed to the bathroom, while I flopped down onto the mattress with the aim of slipping off to dreamland. T had other ideas, however. “Hey,” she called out, which awakened me from my near-slumber. “Donna’s staying over, so you’ll have to camp out on the couch.” I began to object, but my argument fell on deaf ears. “There’s just no room, Zac. Sorry. You’ll find an extra pillow and a blanket in the room where my clothes are.” I passed Donna on my way down the hall, pillow and blanket in hand. She’d stopped off in the kitchen for a glass of water and patted me on the ass while I was setting things up on the couch. I straightened up and gave her a kiss on the cheek, but she put her hand gently on the side of my face – coincidentally, the same side where she’d kneed me earlier – and gave me a deep kiss on the lips. “I’ll see you in the morning, OK?” she whispered. I thanked her for an amazingly fun time, which got a shy smile from her before she returned to the bedroom and closed the door.

I’m sure I fell asleep within minutes of stretching out on the couch. At six-foot-zero, I had just enough room to lie on my side (my preferred sleeping position) with my knees slightly bent. Even so, my head was pressed against one arm of the couch, and my feet rested up against the other one. Many hours later – I had no idea of the time, since the windows were blocked and my iPhone was in the other room – I was awakened by something stroking my lower leg. Forgetting where I was for a moment, I imagined it was my cat, Jemima, since she rubs up against me every morning as if to say, “Hey, human. It’s time for my breakfast.” So, when I opened my eyes to see Donna perched on the edge of the couch, as naked as she’d been the night before, I regained full consciousness damned quickly.
She put her finger to her lips and motioned for me to slide over. As skinny as she was, there was still hardly any room to accommodate her lying next to me, so she ended up mostly on top, one knee between my legs, her well-trimmed crotch pressed against my hip, her breasts against my chest, and her mouth a mere inch from mine. “I know T isn’t into morning sex,” Donna said in a very low voice, “but I hear you’re quite the fan, right?” I agreed and lifted my head up so I could give her a good-morning kiss. She slipped her tongue into my mouth while reaching down and wrapping her fingers around my rapidly rising cock. “Mmm, morning wood is the best wood, don’t you agree?” she teased. She squeezed me gently, and we continued to make out as she ground her pussy against my hip bone. Once she determined I was sufficiently erect, Donna threw her leg across my body and straddled me effortlessly. “You were on top last night, so now it’s my turn,” she said. Before I could object – not that it even occurred to me to do so – she had my cock all the way inside her pussy and was rocking back and forth on it with gusto. I reached up and tugged on her small nipples, which were like rock-hard cherries, and she worked her way into two very quick and enthusiastic orgasms.
Donna climbed off after her second orgasm but recognized I hadn’t had one. She teased me a bit with her tongue on the very tip of my cock, pushing my hands away as I tried (unsuccessfully) to engage her mouth more fully. “Be a good boy and put your hands behind your head,” she instructed, “or else I’ll leave you to take matters into your own hands.” At my age, I wasn’t sure how much cum I could muster, given the prodigious amount I’d pumped into her pussy just six or seven hours earlier, but any blow job was better than no blow job. [I think I read that saying needlepointed on a pillow, once.] Donna continued to tease my twitching cock, using only her tongue and resting her hands on either side of my body for balance. She must have toyed with me like this for 10 or 15 minutes before finally relenting and taking my dick all the way into her mouth. Her tongue action continued to be amazing as she bobbed her head up and down only slightly. Still, it was enough of a turn-on for me that I managed to ooze out a bit of cum as I orgasmed. Donna gave me a pretty smile, climbed off the couch, and said she was heading to the shower. “You could probably use one, too,” she insisted, so I joined her under a thin stream of warm water and soaped up her body as she returned the favor. We didn’t get into anything more sexual, but I truly enjoyed the mutual contact.

T climbed out of her bedroom about an hour later, already dressed for the day in a t-shirt and yoga pants. Donna and I were sitting on the couch, a respectable distance away from each other, as we watched a local TV news show. T greeted each of us with a kiss and then went into the kitchen to brew herself a cup of tea. Upon her return, she squeezed in between us and stretched out her legs so her feet rested on the coffee table. Looking at each of us in turn, she asked, “So, did you two have a nice morning fuck?” Before either of us could answer, though, she leaned over and kissed Donna on the mouth. “Thanks for taking one for the team,” she giggled. “You know I’m not into old-noon dick.” I shot back, “I guess I'll set my alarm for 12:05 then.” T stuck out her tongue at me and said, “You’re leaving for St. Paul as soon as you get packed, and Donna will help me with my clothing once you leave.”

After that comeback, I had nothing more to say, so I placed my pjs and my shaving kit into my suitcase and headed for the door. T forestalled me as I passed through the kitchen and wrapped her arms around me in a sensuous hug. “I’ll see you on Friday, lover,” she breathed into my ear, and moments later I was in my car. My final, fleeting thought as I drove down Broadway toward the highway was, “Well, I think my tongue AND my cock can use the three-day break.”

In mid-May, I took a road trip to SW Minnesota to visit my long-time FWB. We've spent long weekends together in the past, going back to the fall of 2013, but this was the first time I'd be staying at her place -- a double-wide trailer outside a small Minnesota town of about 15,000. It was our first meeting since October 2021. In the interim her dog had died, she'd dumped a "boy toy" 30 years her junior, suffered a hysterectomy, and was taking medication to help her cope with her agoraphobia (fear of public places). In past years, we'd always met at a hotel or Airbnb in the Twin Cities, about a two-hour drive from her place, so this would be quite a departure (venue-wise) from our standard weekend fuck fest.

She's exactly 20 years younger than I am (minus four days!), a natural redhead (my Scandinavian princess!), extremely bi-sexual (her words), and clearly the hottest woman I've been with sexually. I'm constantly amazed at her interest in me, since I'm a lot older, not particularly good-looking, about 25 pounds overweight, and definitely NOT hung. But every time we're together, she's really happy to spend time with me. On more than one occasion she's said, "I feel smarter when I'm with you." I guess that's a good thing.

I got to town on Sunday morning and came by her place at 10:00. T was dressed in a t-shirt and yoga pants, with bare feet. She's a night-owl, whereas I'm definitely a morning person. In fact, one of the first things we talked about when I got to her place -- just outside town in a fairly rural area -- was our circadian incompatibility. As I was making buttermilk pancakes for us (from scratch!), I said, "You know, we'd never be compatible enough to live together, since you're up 'til all hours and I'm in bed by 10:00." It was a nonsense issue, anyway, since she'd never move to Denver (her daughter and grandson are 10 minutes away), and there's no way I'd willingly move to where she lives. Oh -- and another complication involves the fact that I'm married (although she thinks my wife is actually my lesbian roommate, and thankfully they've never met).

Interestingly, she countered my "couldn't live together" statement with a surprising suggestion. "Well," she said, coming up behind me and pressing her braless breasts against my back as I was mixing pancake batter. "We could always compromise. You could stay up until 11, I'd get up at 8, and we could have sex at night, instead of in the morning when you seem to be at your horniest." I followed up with, "Every night?" She replied, "I suppose, five out of seven."

She was unnecessarily self-conscious about her appearance, which is why she spent most of the time we were together in fairly baggy tops and long pants in place of shorts. At 5'5, she'd always weighed around 110-115 pounds, but after taking anti-depressants to help with her agoraphobia, she'd gained about 30 pounds. "One bonus, I guess," she declared ironically, "Is that I'm a 36C or D instead of a 32B, but now the only bras that fit me right are sports bras." I told her multiple times during my visit that I thought she looked as desirable as ever, but she wasn't entirely buying it.

We spent the rest of Sunday checking out the town (such as it is) and had dinner at an Italian restaurant before going to a newly opened ice cream shop for dessert. Back at her place, she fired up a bong with some home-grown ganja (it's legal in Minnesota) and enticed me to take a few hits as well. One thing about T -- getting high means getting horny, and she didn't spare the smoke. It was my first foray since college, and she thought it was HILARIOUS that I hadn't indulged in close to 50 years. However, it seemingly had no effect on me, which she found equally funny. We ended up watching a PBS special on the life and times of Richard III of England, which apparently was much more entertaining for her in her altered state.

After a shower, I put on some short summer PJs and climbed into bed. She joined me about 10 minutes later wearing a different baggy t-shirt and long-leg pajama bottoms. She again expressed her displeasure with her weight gain, explained she hadn't had sex since New Year's Eve (the boy toy's final campaign, as it turned out), and stated she wasn't ready to "do anything" with me. I knew she'd consumed a fair amount of silly smoke, but I truthfully told her I was OK with that and didn't want to pressure her into anything. She switched off the light, and I figured that was that.

After about five minutes, she asked, "Are you asleep?" At the moment I was semi-hard and trying to figure out how I could jerk off without disturbing her. When I told her I was still awake, she asked, "Would you like a hand job?" Naturally I said yes, stripping off my PJ bottoms and tossing back the covers to give her all the access she required. She reached over to the bedside table and grabbed a tube of lube, spreading it generously on my cock-head and down the shaft before taking a firm grip and stroking me with precision. After a minute or so, she asked, "Does that feel good?" I said, "T, my love, whenever a woman has her hand on a guy's dick, that is a question that never needs to be asked!" She laughed and rested her head on my chest as she continued to stroke earnestly.

Curled up against me as she was, I managed to reach down behind her and slide my hand between her thighs. I wasn't sure she'd let me continue to rub her PJ-covered crotch, but she shifted around to give me better access, so I kept up the pressure. One thing about T -- she goes from zero to 60 faster than a tricked-out Shelby GT. I had her squirming, humping against my hand, and moaning loudly in less than two minutes. Without warning, her mouth engulfed my cock and she was delivering a very satisfactory blow job. I slid my hand inside her pajama bottoms and discovered how wet she was. I quickly had two fingers fully inside her pussy, and her vocalization was suddenly louder and about an octave higher. After a brief minute, she declared, "You just HAVE to fuck me!" Pulling away from me momentarily, she stripped off her PJs and climbed aboard. I was rock-hard and slid inside her with ease. Despite her surgeries a year earlier, she was still as tight as I'd remembered. T loves to be on top, and she was soon grinding her clit against me as she rocked back and forth on my cock.

I wanted to take off her top, but she resisted by saying, "No -- don't!" Instead, I pushed the hem of her t-shirt up above her breasts and tugged on her nipples. That trigged the first of what would prove to be dozens of orgasms that night, as she moaned, grunted, breathed hard, muttered "Oh, fuck" about 50 times, and bent down to kiss me with a ferocity I'd rarely experienced with any woman. After she worked herself into a second orgasm, T climbed off and rolled onto her back. That was my cue to do what I do best -- eat pussy. For the next 60-75 minutes, I had her quivering, crying out obscenities, shaking like a leaf, and coming again and again. The next morning, when I questioned whether she'd enjoyed what was close to a three-hour session, she struck back with my own logic. "When a guy with your skills has his mouth on a woman's clit and his fingers massaging every inch of the inside of her vagina, that's a question you never need to ask!"

Following wave after wave of orgasms, T pushed my face away from her crotch and asked, "Zac, you still hard?" I'd been grinding my erection firmly into her mattress the entire time I was eating her pussy, and it hadn't abated. "You bet," I replied enthusiastically, which was a surprise since it was close to 2 a.m., well past my normal bedtime. "You need to fuck me some more. You can come inside, since I have no more womb." I reminded her I'd had a vasectomy decades ago, at which point she said, "Oh, that's right. Well, what are you waiting for?" She rolled flat on her back and spread her legs wide apart before tugging on my erection and saying, "C'mon, shove it right in." And so I did.

When I was in my 20s and 30s, I suffered from a fairly quick trigger, ejaculation-wise. Now in my early 70s -- and really for the past 10-15 years -- it always takes me a long time to come, but I rarely if ever have difficulty getting and staying hard. Such was the case that night, as I fucked her insistently. She wrapped her legs around me and crossed her ankles to provide some leverage as she tugged me toward her, stroke after stroke. My arms were tiring from propping up my 225-pound body above her, and I started to make a move to disengage so I could find a less stressful position and then re-insert. She sensed I was about to climb off when she pulled me down against her chest and whispered in my ear, "You're not heavy. Just keep fucking me until you come." Who was I to argue with that? At this point she was well into double-digit orgasms, and figuring I'd done all I could to make her feel special, it was time to look after my own release. I let my mind focus on one thing -- the feeling in my cock as it was being gripped by T's pussy. Something like a dozen thrusts later, I froze up and pumped her full of man-jizz (that's what she likes to call it). I was exhausted and let my body press fully against hers. "Get off me, ya big lug!" she called out, half-jokingly, and I withdrew and rolled onto my side of the bed. "I suppose you want me to clean that up?" she asked, scooping up a drop of cum from the tip of my cock with her index finger before putting it into her mouth. "Well," I suggested, "You clean me up and I'll return the favor." "Nah, it's too late," T responded. "You stay there, and I'll bring back a washcloth."

She returned a few minutes later with the promised rag, moistened with warm water, and proceeded to mop up my crotch. "I can't believe how much you came in me," she said. "What -- you were saving it up for a special occasion?" I declared there was no more special occasion for me than being in her bed, which prompted a sensuous kiss on the lips and a "Oh, you're such a sweet-talker!" I was out like a light in less than two minutes, I'm sure, and we slept in until 10:30 the next morning. I awoke before she did (that's almost always the case), and after visiting the bathroom to pee, I came back to bed and tried to get her in the mood for some morning sex. After putting up with my hand rubbing her snatch through the PJs she'd put back on after we'd finished, she pushed me away and said, "Don't! My pussy's sore and I'll need all day to recover." That sounded like a good indicator for what might take place when next we went to be, and indeed it was. To be continued -----