7 More MILF Stories (17 page)

I'd hate to think what you'd do if you knew
he'd given me his blessing for today, Mrs. Cherry.

I straight myself and look properly
solemn.

“
Things have a way of
working out. I'm sure he just wants you to be with a good
man.”

“
Know any?”

“
A few. I happen to think
I'm a pretty nice guy.”

She slaps my hand and dips her finger in the
cookie batter to lick and smile at me in a knowing way.

“
You don't look so nice.
Those eyes of yours – they've seen a lot of girls naked, haven't
they?”

“
College is a man's
adventure.”

“
Yet you never settled
down?”

“
None of them were what I
wanted.”

“
What kind of woman do you
want?”

I run my finger around the
edge of my cup and pause for effect. She's leaning on the breakfast
bar with her eyes twinkling.
She doesn't
know. Not yet. Not just yet. Soon though. Then how will those eyes
look, I wonder?
It's a very adult thought
for a young man of 25.

“
Sexy.”

“
Oh? How?”

“
She has to have a sultry
look to her. Eyes that can smolder and set a man
alight.”

“
Sounds like a romance
novel character.”

“
Kinda.”

She waits.

“
And?”

“
Kind, caring, loving. I
don't want some hardened slut or over-confident corporate slugger.
She's got to be a woman and know it. That's important for
me.”

“
Wow. You have some
standards for a kid your age.”

I stiffen.

“
I'm hardly a
kid.”

We lock eyes. She looks away.

“
Guess you aren't.
And?”

I want to tell the truth, but I hold myself
from it.

“
Honest.” It's what I
should be. “She's got to speak her mind and not hold anything back.
If my life has been anything to go by, honesty leads to trust and
if a man can't trust his woman then he can't trust
anyone.”

“
You want so
much.”

“
Not so much.”

We stand in silence. The cookie timer goes
off. Mrs. Cherry shakes herself from her thoughts and starts
working the batter onto the tray. I sit there and sip my coffee.
The warm smell of the cookie batter cooking on the pre-heated tray
is welcome. A homecoming for the boy that left and the man that
returned.

“
Mrs. Cherry.”

“
Yes, Michael?”

“
I got a thing I want to
tell you.”

Her hands shake on the tray as she places it
in the oven.

“
I knew you did. I saw it
in your eyes the moment you entered my kitchen.”

“
Then you'll know that I
can't be turned.”

“
But you must. Thomas
wouldn't allow it.”

I spread my hands.

“
We men have our own ways
of settling things. He doesn't disagree with my
intentions.”

“
But I do and your mother
would too.”

“
Perhaps. But mother knows
that a man has to follow his heart.”

She looks away.

“
And my heart is here in
this kitchen.”

Her hands grip the bench she's standing
at.

“
I can't.”

“
No,” I say. “You can. You
just don't think it's right, me being 25 and you nearing
47.”

“
48.”

“
You don't look a day over
40.”

“
Thank you, Michael.”
There's silence then she speaks. “I really have to refuse
though.”

“
On what
grounds?”

“
I'm out of a
relationship. How would you know it was real and not a rebound or
something?”

“
Silly concerns. There are
ways that men can know the difference.”

Her eyes meet mine.

“
You have grown
up.”

“
I needed to.”

I stride to her and reach for her cheek. Her
hands block mine. We fight for it for a time and she ends up giving
it when it is clear I will not be thrown off so easily from my
desires.

“
My
17
^th
birthday was the
day. Did you know that?” There is no reply and I continue. “I was
walking to that makeshift pool that you used to have for the summer
and I happened to look in through the window. You were dressing in
your swimsuit. It was tame, but the body under it – what I saw with
my own two eyes – was nothing but that.” I draw up her chin. “And
it hasn't changed. Matured, but hasn't changed.”

I lean forward to her and bend my lips to
hers, nearly touching.

“
That day I fell in love
with a woman named Mary Cherry, my friend's mother and an angel
among angels.”

“
Oh, Michael, you
shouldn't. These things you are saying, they are going to my
head.”

“
As they should,” I
whisper. “As they should.”

Her lips are soft and full. Woman's lips.
Mature lips. I suckle them, peck at them and then consume them. The
kiss I give, she returns in full. No lust is left on the table. We
want each other and we shall have each other.

I break and run my hand down her dress.

“
I'm not looking to make
you a dirty woman, but I'm not going to stop here, if you get my
meaning. A woman needs to be tested and her man-to-be should have
the same treatment.”

I run my fingers through her hair and feel
the shy softness of her blond locks.

“
I'm going to take you to
the limit, Mrs. Cherry. All the damn way to there and
back.”

Her arms wrap around me and we kiss for the
longest time.

“
Don't you think you
should call me Mary?” she asks.

“
Not until you are good
and mine,” I whisper back. “Good and mine.”

Our tongues twist around each others and our
hands roam free. Her breasts are huge. Ds for sure. These have been
suckled on by a baby and have grown full and large. They satisfy me
with their softness, their realness, as I caress them and go
lower.

“
Oh, Michael! You can't
touch there, you bad boy. I'll get excited.”

My finger works in the soft wetness
below.

“
I want to be a very bad
boy for you, Mrs. Cherry. So, so bad.”

Down on my knees and her dark red dress over
my head, I pull her panties aside, inhale her womanly must and bury
my lips in her pussy to find the hard rock of her clit fully out of
its hood and ready for my attack.

And attack I do.

“
You taste so sweet,” I
murmur.

“
So soft.”

“
So sweet.”

Her hands grip my head and her jaw is throw
back as her eyes hit the ceiling and a wail of a orgasm burns
through her.

“
You young men, is this
how you treat an older woman?”

I turn her, push her feet apart with one
foot and yank her dress up over her hips.

“
I'm going to treat you
much worse than that, Mrs. Cherry,” I promise. I take my dick,
which is fat as a slab of long sausage and swollen in girth and
slap it deep into her cunt. “How does a young dick feel,
baby?”

“
Like the biggest I've
ever had,” she returns.

I bash away at her. She's wide of hip, so I
know that she can take it. Every strike is harder and harder as my
own orgasm starts riding high. To stop myself from cumming I have
to pull out and take her to the kitchen table. She mounts me and
rides my cock in the light of the nearby window. I yank open her
white blouse and pull her bra down. It's a little plain and I make
a note that when she's fully my woman to make her wear only sexy
lingerie when I'm around.

Her breasts bash out and flop in long
circles. They are huge and the nipples are just like I remember
them.

“
Fucking naughty woman,” I
moan. “You want me to cum in you, don't you?”

The thought of impregnating her doesn't slow
the woman's pace for an instant. She pumps down harder and harder
and starts telling me to cum in her deep. I throw my head back and
do just that.

Mrs. Cherry takes a long coating of cum in
her pussy. It whitens the pink walls and leaves her dirty.

“
You need to clean me up.
I don't have time for a shower.”

I come out from under her and stands by the
table. She crawls to the side and sucks off my hard dick in long
slow strokes.

“
How's the
taste?”

“
Filthy.”

I turn her and spank her twice.

“
For being a naughty
woman.”

Bringing her back around, I lay a long kiss
on her lips.

“
That's for being the
woman I love.”

“
Naughty but
loved?”

“
A man should have many
tastes.”

I pull her up off the table, carry her to
the oven, which I flick off, and then stroll down the hall to her
bed. There we cuddle and kiss and remind each other that this is
real.

“
Will you have me?” I ask
eventually.

“
Thomas really said it was
fine?”

“
He said I could ask. The
rest is up to you.”

She smirks at me.

“
What if I say
no?”

“
Then I say that you
haven't had enough sex.”

Her smirk changes to a grin with a mean
glint in her eyes.

“
No.”

Six no's lead to a yes. A good woman takes
convincing. I believe I convinced her just fine today.

Bang Bang Express

Dear Reader of This Letter,

My name is Penrose P.
Smith. It is Penrose with an P and a dot, not a period, nor a full
stop or any other fangly-dangly item of weird punctuation that one
can come up with from many of the languages of skulduggery or other
malarkey that one might call British English, or, worse, anything
South of Texas, West of the sunny shores of California or
suburbianly placed in the heart of New York with all its disgusting
channels of masculine and semi-masculine post modern 21st century
masochism. It is P with a dot and it stands for
PERVERT
.

Now, dear reader, you might wonder why I
have taken the time to scribe those letter with such force into the
parchment that you are reading right this very moment, but I assure
you there is good reason. Since the day that I sucked upon my
nanny's breasts I was a pervert; from the moment my sister's
closest friend flashed a hint of a petticoat my way in a youthful
girilish attempt at flirtation I was a pervert; at the very second
that my first love screamed "Hawh!" in the heat of my oral
pleasuring of her lowest regions – not frontal but rearward bound –
I was a pervert. With that clearly established let me go onwards
with what I must tell you.

First, there is a train that is known as the
Bang-Bang Express. It runs from the deepest reaches of that filthy
city one might know as New York, or the Big Apple, or something of
similar distasteful sound to the ears, all the way over to the
charming city of Chicago – no properer place on this Earth exists
for a man to lay his head in rest on the wide and large breasts of
a Southern woman of vintage brown chocolate color. It is a trip
that takes the stretch of some days and is worth every dollar and
cent that one might spend on it.

My trip began with a bang. Just as promised,
I suppose, but most certainly not expected.

At 8:00am I board the platform with my tweed
luggage being pulled along by a hired man servant whose name is so
irrelevant that it escapes me right at this moment. His broad
shoulders were a useful tool to disperse the filth of the Ugly
Apple and for that I was pleased at having him along.

We came to the doors leading in when a
perverted urge came upon me. Seeing the large ladder that lead up
towards the train's large wooden double doors, I knew that
something lewd must be done as standing only 15 yards or less away
was a gaggle of young woman of college age wearing the crude long
dresses of those who undertake the most religious of schooling – a
crippling curse to all men everywhere who seek not a wife but a
harlot in a good woman's form.

Sending the young buster up the stairs with
orders to be gentle with my goods, I head down the train some and
find a spot to jump down onto the tracks Now, some might call this
foolhardy, others quite brave (perhaps in that way that indicates
they still think I am not fully there), but I am at this point very
caught up in my urges and I have found that holding back leads
to... shall we call it 'social discourtesies'. These have landed me
in under the jailer's eye several times and only good fortune, an
excellent lawyer and considerable resources have saved me from
further incarceration. Hence, I follow my need, being a creature of
it in so many ways.

The women approach the steps and begin their
prancing past. Blue panties are the first that catch my eye. Let me
describe them for you: Blazing blue, slightly too tight, full and
round at the rear as the owner has a well toned pair of buttocks –
perfect for spanking I might add – and with a little cross in the
center created by her wonderful tunnel and the press of having such
tightness jammed upwards and inwards. Next is virgin white and I
can say for certain that the one wearing them is most certainly
that. Her legs are long and smooth and make me uncomfortable
downstairs in my gray heavy fabric trousers – adding a extra crease
at the front. After comes red and then yellow and, finally, the
icing on the cake, so to speak, in the form of a pearl white
pair.