by Sophie Sin
“You're here,” he states, getting to his feet and almost grabbing her up in his arms before noting the people watching.
“I am,” she whispers.
Barry slaps the man on the shoulder and gestures to the table.
“How about me and you have a little talk about things, Harry? There's something I need to say to you. Let's leave these two to whatever they plan to get up to.”
Harry nods his head and sits down. They are soon in heated conversation and the lovers are forgotten.
“I know a place we can talk,” Jake says, pulling on her shirt sleeve. “We won't be disturbed.”
They are down the hall and into a supply closet in no time at all. He pushes her up against the wall to give her a long kiss then an even longer hug.
“I missed you so much,” he tells her. “It was terrible thinking that we wouldn't see each other again after what happened for another 2 years.”
“Yeah, I know. I want to do something about that if you don't mind.”
Jake glances around.
“Here.”
She nods.
The man's lips turn up again.
“If that is what you want.”
He leans his head down and kisses her, one hand running through her hair tenderly. The sensation of his rough, firm fingers tickling her chin, drawing it up to bury his lips in more deeply, compressing them back with the force of his passion, sends shivers down her spine, arching it upwards, as she brings her hands to his strong square jaw and feels the lightest sensation of his stubble against her finger tips as his wet lips circle pleasurably on her own.
“I missed you,” he pants.
“I missed you too.”
Running his hands down the long green multiple dark colored camo shirt that she is wearing, shifting upwards and over the large, full expanse of her womanly breasts and down over her trim stomach, he comes to the center of her military issue pants and rubs his fingers there vigorously to the point where her body is cramped up against the arm he has extended there. Jake keeps on laying soft kisses in her hair as she moans that she loves him in the small, well organized space of the small supply room just down from a mess where just under a hundred soldiers are located.
Jake pulls at her zipper, but she is not going to be taken so easy. There last meeting was heated, but certain things weren't able to get hard enough to truly enjoy a solid play session – or at least one that left either of them satisfied. She heads to her knees on the hard, steel floor and works his zipper down instead. His manhood pops out – swollen with blood and very aroused. Kate grasps it in her small hands and jerks it forwards and back with both. Her lover is big, long and has a huge knob that has caused more than a few dramatic entrances in the past. She works her tongue around on the end, pulling back the flesh and exposing the pink eye, which the woman works on until the faintest hint of gooey pre-cum hits her lips.
“I won't let you go soft on me this time,” she states in a whisper, her hands still rubbing his length up and down and her eyes on his.
Her man moans as she runs her tongue down the side, going lower and lower towards his rounds. She knows that there are two weak points on his body. One is his testicles and the other is...
“My ass...”
Running her fingers around it in little circles, she pushes her middle finger into the hole slightly. He groans and throws his head back against the shelving he is leaning against. His blond hair hangs back and his eyes are wide as she exploits both of his weak points with her tongue and her fingers.
“Today is special,” she says. “Because of that, I'm going to do that thing you always ask for.”
“Really?” he whines. “You don't have to. I'm hard now.”
Kate shakes her head. A hand runs through her hair.
“I want you to remember me and this moment forever.”
Turning him around, she widens his firm buttocks and brings her tongue to the brown hole at the rear where women fear to go and some men fall in love with. She whips the pink flesh around and delves deeply. It is salty and earthy, but not as bad as she thought it would be. Kate continues to play with his rear to the point where he is begging her off. The proud upwards tilt of his manhood, so aroused that it seems like it will break the skin, is exciting for her. Already her juices are flowing down her thighs, wetting the inside of her camo pants, and her pussy is wide open for his use.
Jake is quick to have her pants off and her light blue g-string panties out of the way. He pushes his dick to her pussy and slowly slides it through the warm layers of flesh with a very pronounced squelch that increases to a slight sticky sound as his hot man flesh enters her wet womanhood.
“Baby...,” he groans. “You are so tight.”
Edging back and forward to get some momentum, it's not long before Jake is hammering her as hard as he can. The door, fortunately, is solid steel so no one can hear what they are up to. She briefly wonders if there is anyone else on the ship doing this. Considering that many people are probably feeling quite lonely, it wouldn't surprise her if that were true.
Kate grabs at his hips and pulls him in as deeply as she can. He smashes her rear in the small enclosed space. The scent of her arousal is strong and the feeling of his manhood rubbing up and into her hole is ecstasy.
“I'm going to cum,” she whines.
Juices pour down her thighs. Jake, as always, has no mercy and continues right through. This is something that she likes about him and so the additional sensation is welcome. She falls forward to the shelves that she has been holding on to up to this point and shakes her head.
“I can't take much more. Cum in me.”
“Are you sure? You aren't on the pill.”
“I don't care. I want you to mark me as yours.”
The tall man slaps home his manhood and smiles.
“Whatever you want.”
His pace is startling. The huge width of his piece hammers home again and again. She knows that he will make her sore for days to come with this kind of treatment, but she'll have a long time to recover during his two years of absence. Kate groans loudly as he lets his juices flow straight up – hard and strong – into her womb. That wonderful full sensation that she gets when a man pours his cum up inside of her sits well in her belly. It's a mild comforting sensation that she always enjoys.
“I love you,” he whispers in her ear, “and now I have marked you as mine.”
She groans. He has.
Kate and Harry stroll down the docks, watching the large ship heading out to sea, taking Jake and his fellow marines to a war that will not end as the American government hoped that it would. They stop and watch it for a time before continuing.
“Are you and Jake going to be ok?” Jake asks. “It'll be a long time before you see each other.”
The young woman rubs her belly, which is full of her man's juices and shrugs.
“These things are difficult, but I think that it will all work out ok.”
Harry smiles and turns his eyes to the morning sun as it gently rolls up over the buildings, casting a long red shadow across the cloudy sky.
“Barry gave me his blessing,” he says out of the blue.
“He did?”
“Yeah. Looks like he's known how I feel for quite some time.”
“I see. What are you going to do?”
Harry grins.
“I already sent her a text message telling her how I feel. Your sister said that she needs time, but when she's ready, I'll have my chance.”
Kate pats him on the back and grins.
“That's awesome. I'm so glad for you.”
They walk on towards the sunset. A good future is ahead. They are both happy to be in the midst of it.
Sophie's Book Note For Round Back With A MILF
We are getting a lot of these MILF books done these days, aren't we? I never really thought of myself as a person that would make a niche out of writing about the sex lives of older women, but that's what I'm doing.
Is it that older women are more sexually free? (Meaning they can do more.)
Or is it that older women are somehow sexier than younger women? (I'd like to think so as I'm getting older too. Hehe.)
Who knows why I write about them, but I have to admit I enjoy these books more. Out of Tied To A Chair, Three Can Play, Cheating Wives, and More MILF, I have wrote the most books in the More MILF and Cheating Wives series and it would be a hard guess to which I like writing better.
Maybe my destiny is to write about cheaters and older women. Who knows?
Sounds like a fun destiny to have.
Much love,
Sophie Sin
Late September 2015
Cheating With Her Mum
(More MILF Series)
If only it could have been someone else. If only another woman – not her mother – could make me feel this crazy, this insanely obsessed, like she does. A boyfriend with an obsession, a devious mother who likes to cheat and the girlfriend/daughter who must never find out what happened when her back was turned. Secrets, lies and cheaters in the first book of the MILF reboot.
Soft Cock City
Frank Henderson, 25 years old, currently having the worst night of his life.
Every man knows that the day his dick goes limp when fully and deeply in the wetness of a gorgeous woman's pussy is the day that his life has officially turned to crap.
The gentle rolling shift of her trim hips are both arousing and soothing. There's the faintest swish of the naughty little red and black patterned skirt that she hasn't bothered to take off in our haste to get to the fun part. It licks over the skin of my thighs each time her hips roll forward towards my navel.
Up top, things are bouncing in a delightful fashion. Her breasts are not small by anyone's measure of the word and the faintest hint of sex sweat is pungent in the air as a drop or two of clear liquid dribbles lazily down between her breasts to cross the trimness of her flat stomach to join the moisture at her crotch on this midsummer evening's night in my apartment in Florida's south.
This gorgeous young woman of no less than 25 years of age – only a month younger than myself – is my girlfriend Gemma and, my-my-my, is she one hell of a hotty.
I mean, five-two, light brown eyes the color of cream-brown shoe polish, perfect white teeth and the genetics to be a super model (if a somewhat short one). She's everything a guy my age would and could want.
Sad thing is: I don't want her.
Not like she wants me to anyway.
Her rocking slows and my double bed's creaking ceases for a fraction of a second. The faintest crinkle of her brown-blond tinted eyebrows signal that the game is up.
I quickly bring my hands up to try and appease things by circling the finger tips of my middle and index fingers in long gentle strokes over her little button-rounds.
For such big breasts, she sure does have tiny nipples. I push them slightly inwards, maybe a few millimeters or so, and those brown questing eyes of hers go to the white plastered roof – all sign of that considering frown gone – and a low restrained cry slips from between her red flushed lips.
If only she wasn't who she is and was...
I stifle the thought with rough efficiency. No point pining over something I can't have – something so forbidden, yet something I so desperately want, that even the thought of it sends little butterflies of desire through my firm lower stomach.
Unfortunately at this point, down where it counts, I've finally crossed the point of no return. My dick has lost so much firmness that it's becoming truly obvious to all involved that I've successfully become a limp dick loser, as I'm sure my friends will call me if they ever hear about this.
I'd always imagined myself as having a dick that was solid, strong, firm, upward pointing and masculine: All the good things that a dick should be. Today it's not living up to all that hype.
Deep within the cave of Gemma's immaculate pussy, it is slowly receding in size like a balding man's hairline post-40. Soon it will be relocating itself among the tuft of trimmed pubic hair that cup the base of my shaft, relaxed in its rest against skin that is always faintly scented with a hint of good quality soap. This dick of mine is reliable – scratch that WAS reliable – but lately things have changed. It's her mo...
“Are you getting soft?”
My girl is on top. Her firm buttocks pat down on my thick and muscular thighs with soft and comforting slaps at a one-two count. Inside the warm and slippery nature of her inner body is pulsing and tensing and contracting on the edge of what I know is her first orgasm of the night.
Yet my hardness is lagging.
Disappearing.
You see, a hot woman like this can't have an orgasm on a limp dick and, honestly, I'm already half mast.
“Ah... damn... it's the stress, baby.” The typical excuse of all limp dicked men everywhere delivered in a stutter.
Gemma's eyebrows come together in that cute way they do when she thinks I'm lying to her.
“Stress?” There's a telling pause. “... like what?”
An unfortunate shift of my hips has my dick flop out with a unattractive squelch to lie wet and moist against my hairless balls in a pose that I imagine is the fetal position for dicks that have done their owner wrong.
My poor return is more question than answer.
“Ah, work...?”
For a time Gemma sits there atop of me breathing slowly and staring directly down into my blue eyes with a sharpness that makes my stomach queasy. As the silence stretches on I wish she'd say something, but the young woman doesn't. Instead she presses her hands down into the mattress and swings off to sit with her back straight and facing away from me. If there were prizes for stiff shoulders...
I stifle a groan.
“Honey?” exits my lips in a last attempt to save things.
No reply comes. Gemma stands, her gorgeous ass popping right up in my face, and slips into the bathroom. 2 minutes later the gentle hiss of the shower wafts out the door. This is her way of telling me that I'm in deep trouble.
Wrapping my thick arms around behind my head on my pillow and fluffing a little of my dark hair, I stare up at the ceiling above. Right now I'm wondering at how cruel the world is for giving me this 'affliction',
You see, I'm hot for her mother. Not Gemma. Her mother.
It's a real problem for me and I'll tell you that and there is no solution – no way, no how, no where. Zero ways to fix this.
In a word: I'm screwed.
The Mischievous Mrs. Johns
Mrs. Johns, 45 years old, bored, horny and amused
This young man that Gemma has been fooling around with certainly has a nice ass.
That's what I'm musing to myself as he hoses down my bright yellow tulips with the long thick length of a his hose drawn around from the side of my large and stately home to the magnificent space of my backyard flower garden.
As I watch on, Mr. Cute Ass slowly sways his hose left to right, making especially certain that every part of the flower bed receives equal treatment, I can't help but wish that he would come hose me down with the fat hose in his pants while he's at it. It would certainly be refreshing.
The day is cloudless, blue and temperate for summer in these parts. As always I am enjoying my middle of the day martini, shaken with two olives and a tooth pick, out in our large yard while browning my curvy body on a fold out lawn chair.
A gentle wind from the south plays through my long straight blond hair. It streams out to the side and ruffles a few strands over the smooth surface of the large round edge designer sunglasses.
I pay it little attention.
Instead, underneath those ultra dark lenses, my brown eyes are locked on his wonderful buttocks.
“Such a fine ass,” I murmur to myself.
My pink little tongue slides out from my full lips briefly to wets them slow, soft and seductively until slick and glistening. If I didn't know any better, from the way that he's looking back quite regularly, durin
g his pounding of my tulips with their liquid nourishment from his long hose, I'd say he's interested in me.
That, however, comes as no particular surprise. I might be a mother of two but I know how to take care of myself (like every woman of over or under 40 should). Many men have felt the same way.
Unfortunately, just as the object of my attention is about to bend down to pick up a gardening tool from the pile on the ground at his feet, my concentration is temporarily ruined by my no-good, useless son stomping his feet into the lawn work with his usual dismal air of despair circulating freely like a dark cloud of sad that sucks the fun out of everything it touches from around the far corner of my stately home. He slides to a very sorry halt at the door and starts working through his ripped black jeans, which seem to always retain the must of wasted semen no matter how many times I tell the maid to wash them twice, and comes up with nothing.
“Nice day, darling?”
He mumbles something pointless about bad grades, a need to study and how mean some professor or another is being to him.
I sigh quietly in disgust and inform him that the door is open and the cook left dinner in the fridge. We are having packaged lasagna and vegetables again because I hate the prudish woman and always send her home earlier.
The waste of a good pregnancy slops off inside. The door clonks closed with finality and leaves me shaking my head in disgust. That one couldn't get a date if his life depended on it – much the same as his father at that age when we met – and will most certainly make a fine provider to some attractive, and devious, woman who knows the power of sex and how best to use it.
