Page 2
"That's it," Mrs. Pierce said. "Start at the bottom."
I rubbed the first six inches of leg above her foot.
"Massage it," Mrs. Pierce said. "Make the muscle work."
So I started massaging Mrs. Pierce's leg, slowly working my way up until I was squeezing and releasing the muscles of her entire right calf. Mrs. Pierce rewarded my effort with encouraging sounds and it was with confidence that I moved to her right leg without prompting and received similarly pleased sounds as I worked on that leg too. Mrs. Pierce kept her eyes closed the whole time I worked on her legs so I cast my eyes above her knees to admire the back of her taut thighs as I let my fingers automatically find the muscles of her calves.
When Mrs. Pierce had first turned around on the lounge, the little skirt had ridden up her legs but her thighs were too close together for the pale blue panties to show. As I worked her lower legs I tried to push them apart, and succeeded, but Mrs. Pierce's knees stayed together, thwarting my plan. Slowly, I kneaded her legs less strenuously, allowing my fingers to stroke more than massage, similar to the way she had scratched her leg herself. My eyes and mind kept wandering under Mrs. Pierce's skirt and my strokes became more and more like light caresses. I was startled when she spoke.
"Go higher," she whispered.
"Pardon me?" I replied, not sure what she meant, moving my hands to the upper part of her calves.
"Work the muscles above my knees," Mrs. Pierce whispered.
I slid my hands onto the back of Mrs. Pierce's knees and then above, onto her lower thighs. Mrs. Pierce sighed contentedly and her knees relaxed, creating a gap between her legs. A narrow band of pale blue panties appeared through the hem of her skirt. I started massaging Mrs. Pierce's thighs, near her knees, the way I had started near her ankles with her calves.
I took my time working my way higher, leery of making a mistake, of taking a liberty beyond what was intended. Eventually, I tried to move her legs further apart and this time they responded to my urges. A greater expanse of panty now greeted my eyes, encouraging me to deliver the best massage I could manage. My eyes roved over Mrs. Pierce's entire body but especially on her red hair and the side of her freckled face which was contentedly serene. That is, when I wasn't staring lovingly at her sleek thighs and peeking under her skirt at her panties. After a long while my fingers were kneading the most tender part of the inside of Mrs. Pierce's thighs. They even ventured into what I would have thought would be a forbidden area under the hem of her skirt, near the blue panties, in my mind responding to the invitation implied by her yielding flesh.
Suddenly, Mrs. Pierce lifted up on her elbows and looked at me over her shoulders past her arched back. My hands when rigid, freezing on her thighs upon the entrance to her skirt.
"Oh my," she said, looking at the back of her skirt. "It's a good thing Mr. Pierce didn't come home."
I instinctively jerked my head toward the back of the house and Mrs. Pierce laughed.
"Don't panic. He's not due home for a while yet. You did such a good job, I got a little carried away. I hope you don't mind?" she purred.
I shook my head. Not in the least, I tried to say but the words wouldn't form in my throat.
"Maybe you should let me turn around now," Mrs. Pierce smiled, looking at my hands still inserted between her thighs.
"Oh... of course," I yanked my hands away from her legs as if they were burning.
Mrs. Pierce laughed and turned around on the lounge. She picked up the pitcher and topped up her glass and then mine. "Cheers," she said, setting the pitcher down, then picking up her glass and holding it out to me. I picked up mine and clinked her glass. Mrs. Pierce sipped hers and looked at me. After I matched her drink she said, "I trust you don't have a loose tongue."
"No. Of course not, Mrs. Pierce," I assured her.
"Good. This is the kind of thing that could easily be misunderstood."
I nodded my understanding and took a large gulp of gin. I needed it.
"We have an understanding, then?"
I nodded.
Mrs. Pierce smiled and sipped her drink. As she did, her right knee slid up higher on the lounge and her pale blue panties appeared under the green skirt. This time, it was the front of the pale blue panties that showed. There was no way I couldn't look right at them. No way. When I came to my senses, I looked up to find Mrs. Pierce looking at me, amused.
"Drink up," she said.
She raised her glass to her lips in concert with me and took a small sip. Mrs. Pierce smiled and I looked down between her legs, then up her thighs and under her skirt, latching onto those sexy blue panties. My eyes may have overstayed their welcome because Mrs. Pierce prodded me again.
"You better finish your drink, Paul," she said, rolling my name around with a wonderful lilt. "Mr. Pierce wouldn't like it if he found a minor drinking liquor in my back yard."
I took a bigger drink and Mrs. Pierce laughed softly but she moved her left leg, exposing more blue panty. I drained my glass, all the while straining my eyes toward her skirt. Mrs. Pierce's light laughter tinkled one last time as she got up. We walked back to the house and just before we got there Mr. Pierce appeared, poking his head through the glass doors.
"I'm home, dear," he said, ignoring me. "I'll be in my study until dinner."
Mrs. Pierce acknowledged her husband, asked him to wait a moment and then, in his presence, turned to face me.
"Can you come again on Saturday?" she asked in an officious voice.
"Yes ma'am," I responded in kind.
******
By the next Saturday, my little monkey had been spanked numerous times. I wasn't sure if Mrs. Pierce was giving me the come on or just having fun teasing me. The more I thought about it, the more I became convinced she was setting me up for a fall, waiting for me to do something inappropriate so she could get Coach to kick me off the team. Paranoia, what a wonderful thing. But that didn't stop me from fucking Mrs. Pierce many times, in my dreams.
Mrs. Pierce was sitting in the same place in the yard on the lounge. A pitcher and a single glass stood on the small table. I stopped beside her, ready to massage her legs. She was wearing shorts and a simple white blouse instead of a halter top that would show her bare midriff and a skirt that would let me... well, you know. She was reading a magazine. Several more were piled beside the pitcher on the table.
"You're early," Mrs. Pierce admonished me. "Well, you can start gardening anyway."
Disappointed by her demeanor, I picked up the trowel and began weeding around the flowers. I turned often to check out Mrs. Pierce's legs but her feet were always held demurely together, blocking any view of the backs of her thighs. Damn!
She moved the lounge herself when I shifted further along the garden to stay behind me. I checked her legs again but the story was the same: a blocked view.
"I better see if Mr. Pierce needs anything. I'll be back in a minute."
Ah, so Mr. Pierce was home. I was both relieved to know the likely reason for her cool behavior and severely disappointed by her husband's presence. I surely wouldn't be doing any leg massaging now until next Wednesday.
I was so busy with my negative thoughts I didn't realize Mrs. Pierce had returned until she sat behind me again though my ears had registered the patio door closing. Since she hadn't remarked on the current location of her husband I assumed, with regret, that he was still in the house. A few minutes later, another chair shift along the garden toward the house shrank the viewing angle from the patio doors sufficiently that Mr. Pierce would have to step outside to see us and even then his view would be blocked by the back of the lounge chair. I shoveled a little dirt and then turned to look at Mrs. Pierce.
Mrs. Pierce had changed skirts! She was not wearing a black, knee-length pleated skirt that, while covering her knees on top of her thighs, was open across the bottom. It was loose and the rear hem drooped low enough that I could see her lacy black panties without straining my neck. I put my hand on the ground behind my hip and rested on it while I gazed at Mrs. Pierce's delicious thighs, easily seen through her widely spaced lower legs. When she leaned her knees to one side to look at me, I brazenly didn't turn away to pretend I was gardening.
"Would you like a drink, Paul?" she asked.
"There's only one glass," I said.
"You can use mine while you take a break," she replied, picking up her gin and tonic and holding it out to me. I took the drink and brought it to my lips. "Just don't let Mr. Pierce see you. He wouldn't appreciate me giving alcohol to a minor."
Mrs. Pierce swung her knees back into place. He'd like it even less if he caught me staring at your panties, I thought. I tipped my head back for a long, slow drink, my eyes remaining between Mrs. Pierce's thighs. As the cool mix trickled down my throat, Mrs. Pierce's knees parted and a gap appeared between her thighs. Caught staring at her panty-covered pussy, I corrected myself.
I took my time with the drink and Mrs. Pierce didn't make a single comment or motion to hurry me. The only sound in the backyard was the swish Mrs. Pierce made as she flipped the pages in her magazine. I couldn't see the tiny hairs on her thighs under the shade of her skirt but there was enough light to notice the puffy rise of her pussy and the faint presence of a vertical groove running through the lower front of her panties. Her hole is in there, I thought. Her cunt. I stifled a groan and twisted my hips to ease the pressure on my burgeoning cock. I swigged the rest of the gin and stretched my hand around Mrs. Pierce's knees to give her the glass.
"Would you like some more?" she asked.
"No thanks," I croaked. I was afraid if I kept looking up her skirt I'd pull my cock out and start wanking it in front of her.
Mrs. Pierce put the glass down and returned to her magazine. Flip... flip.
I didn't start gardening again. I meant to, but instead, I put my hand behind her foot and let it hover in the air near her ankle. I pulled my arm toward me until my fingers curled around the back of Mrs. Pierce's foot. She tensed, but said nothing. I moved my hand up and down and few inches, slowly, my fingers pinching lightly on either side of her Achilles tendon. I was so nervous I could hardly breathe. Mrs. Pierce remained silent, and still. I moved my hand higher, slipping up until the muscle of her calf filled my palm.
"Mr. Pierce is still home," she spoke quietly without a hint of any other sanction in her voice. I kept rubbing the back of her calf but didn't reply. A minute later, Mrs. Pierce repeated her comment. When I ignored her again, she said, "Did you hear me, Paul?"
"Yes," I replied quietly, letting my hand slip up her entire calf muscle and into the hollow behind her knee. She allowed me several more full strokes before she queried me again.
"Paul?"
"He can't see even if he comes out," I said. "Not unless he comes all the way here."
"That's not the point," Mrs. Pierce replied, her voice beginning to assume its officious tone.
"Does this help your injury?" I asked. Before she could say anything, I added, "Doesn't it make you feel better?"
"Yes, but..."
"Why should you be in pain just because he's home. He could help, but he doesn't."
Mrs. Pierce didn't reply. I continued stroking the back of her leg, waiting for a tensing muscle that would signal her decision to get up and leave. Five strokes, ten, fifteen. The muscles in Mrs. Pierce's calf seemed to relax rather than tense up. Twenty strokes. Cautiously, I raised my left hand up and brought it up under her knee. Telling myself not to do it, I ignored myself and moved my hand higher to connect with the underside of Mrs. Pierce's thigh and let my fingers curl around the bottom of her thigh muscles. I squeezed and pushed my hand higher, or rather downward, but further up her thigh.
The resigned but satisfied sigh was music to my ears. Within minutes, I was stroking the full length of Mrs. Pierce's leg. I twisted her lower leg to pry her thighs wider, increasing the yawning gap of her puffy lace panties. I was using the thumb of my left hand to rub the bottom of her thigh now, the fingers stretching up onto the inner side of that thigh. My fingertips were reaching to within less than an inch from the edge of Mrs. Pierce's panties. Perhaps getting a little carried away, I leaned way over and ducked my head under her skirt.
"I'm going now," Mr. Pierce's voice crashed into my reverie. I hadn't even heard the patio door open.
Mrs. Pierce's left hand slipped under her legs and grabbed my hair, holding my head in place.
"Do you want me to get you anything before I go?" Mr. Pierce yelled.
"No thanks, dear," Mrs. Pierce yelled back, her voice unsteady, unlike the firm grip she maintained on my hair.
"Has your young man left, then?" her husband asked.
He couldn't see me sitting on the grass in front of the lounge, hidden by the upright back of the chair and the long skirt stretched across her bent knees covering my head and shoulders. In that moment I made the most ridiculously dangerous move of my short life. I let my left hand fall to the apex of Mrs. Pierce's legs and, turning it over, let the back of my hand graze across the front of her panties.
Mrs. Pierce went rigid. Her legs started to close to clamp my hand in place but then widened as the skirt began to sink between her knees, stretching it back to its previous taut state covering my upper body. I twisted my wrist, rubbing my knuckles back and forth across those puffy lace panties.
"Yes," Mrs. Pierce coughed, then more firmly, "Yes. He's gone."
If Mr. Pierce approached now, all hell would break loose.
"How's he working out?"
"Quite well," Mrs. Pierce replied.
I applied firmer pressure and was sure that the knuckle of my longest finger briefly penetrated the intriguing groove I had spied when I first looked under Mrs. Pierce's skirt.
"Say what?" Mr. Pierce inquired.
"I said, yes, he's working out quite well."
I turned my hand around and cupped Mrs. Pierce's pussy, stretching my thumb over the bottom of her panties and into the base of her ass. Mrs. Pierce's hand tightened so hard I thought it would yank all my hair out.
"That's good. I'm off, then."
Mrs. Pierce's stomach muscles tensed and I imagined her nodding her head and waving her free hand to say farewell to her husband. The patio door snapped shut and Mrs. Pierce's grip loosened on my head. I let go of her ankle and pushed my hand under her butt as I stretched further onto the lounge, bringing my face in close proximity to her musky panties. I grasped the rear waistband of the lace panties and pulled. As soon as they cleared her butt, I pulled them up to her knees with my left hand along her right leg and pushed them up the left with my right. My face landed squarely on a moist pussy already pushing up to meet me.
"Ohhhh, God!" Mrs. Pierce cried, yanking my head onto her throbbing clit.
I grabbed Mrs. Pierce's thighs and slid my hands up to the underside of her knees, then used them as handholds to grip her legs and shove them up and back onto her chest while she steered my face around on her vibrating pussy.
"Eat me, you cocky little bastard," she cried, bucking her hips against my face.
I dropped my left hand beneath my chin and probed under my tongue, finding her hole and pushing the tips of two fingers into its wet, pulpy mass. Mrs. Pierce released my head and replaced my hand behind her knee. I let my left hand fall to her stomach and stretched its thumb down to rub her clit while my tongue got busy lapping between her hairy lips. My fingers were now busy pushing in and out, finger fucking her hole, almost as much as her churning hips were fucking my face. I had meant to just get her hot enough to fuck but she was so horny and held my head so firmly I kept eating her pussy. She really deserved a treat and I decided to give her one. I pulled out of her pussy and surrounded her clit with my mouth and sucked it for twenty seconds or so, then pushed my rigid tongue as far into her cunt as I could and moved my head up and down, tongue-fucking this hot woman everyone mistakenly called a bitch. Thank you, Coach. Thank you, for this crappy assignment. I smiled inwardly. The intensity of the morning's teasing was taking effect. Mrs. Pierce was moaning constantly now, broken only by verbal encouragements.
"Yeah, Paul. That's it... like that... oh yeah, yeah."
I stuck my tongue deep and shook my head, rubbing my thumb rapidly across her swollen clit. I vibrated my head so rapidly it started to hurt.
"Oh yeah... God yeah... eat it... eat it... Gooooddd, ohhhhhhhh, God, oh God, oh God!"
Mrs. Pierce's legs fell on either side of my head and she shoved my face off her pussy. She was twisting from side to side, enjoying the rapture of her orgasm. I stood up and watched as a series of intense expressions flitted across her face, expressing the variety of sensations a woman can experience while in the throes of such bliss. Eventually, her closed eyes tightened one final time and then relaxed. I pushed my shorts down and released my aching cock.
Mrs. Pierce stopped twisting about. She was making a barely audible whimpering sound. I straddled the lounge and picked up her legs by the ankles, pushing them back until her knees were against her chest. Once more, I gripped her legs under the knees and lined my cock up with her wet pussy. Her panties were still stretched across her knees. Mrs. Pierce opened her eyes when my tip nudged her nether lips. She didn't speak and her eyes gave neither permission nor denial. I pushed the purple helmet of my cock between her lips, found her hole, and shoved my entire length inside her until my root collided with her rubbery lips. I gave an extra shove and was rewarded with a satisfying grunt from Mrs. Pierce.
Mrs. Pierce watched me calmly as I fucked her. I started with long, slow strokes fully in and out, always pausing to give her an extra shove, driving her ass firmly into the lounge. My strokes became more frequent as our fucking increased in speed but the length didn't change. I kept banging Mrs. Pierce with full-length strokes, harder and harder. The only sound was our ragged breathing and the occasional moan or grunt, from both of us, until the loud slap of merging thighs began filling the backyard.
It was a dangerous sound that could have carried beyond the hedges surrounding Mrs. Pierce's yard but she didn't try to abate it herself or signal me to slow down. On the contrary, she cranked her hips up even harder to meet my thrusts. SLAP,SLAP, SLAP. I was really pounding on her now. I had her legs pushed back so far her butt was twisted almost straight up. My legs ached from stretching over the lounge but I would have gladly fucked her until they fell off, it felt so good.
Never before had I felt a pussy like this. Sure, I hadn't had many but the few women, well girls, that I had been with didn't fuck like this. Mrs. Pierce was my first real woman. Just the expressions on her face as looked at me, holding my eyes steadily with hers, made me want to really give it to her but no matter how hard I lunged into her, I knew I couldn't best her. I knew I couldn't make her beg me to stop.
Suddenly, my hips took control and I started to really jack-hammer Mrs. Pierce. I tried to slow down but I couldn't control myself, and that's when Mrs. Pierce smiled. A smile that turned into a quiet laugh as she tilted her head back, squeezing my cock tight, pulling my cum from deep inside me to hose her innards, laughing triumphantly.
Mrs. Pierce was sitting in the same place in the yard on the lounge. A pitcher and a single glass stood on the small table. I stopped beside her, ready to massage her legs. She was wearing shorts and a simple white blouse instead of a halter top that would show her bare midriff and a skirt that would let me... well, you know. She was reading a magazine. Several more were piled beside the pitcher on the table.
"You're early," Mrs. Pierce admonished me. "Well, you can start gardening anyway."
Disappointed by her demeanor, I picked up the trowel and began weeding around the flowers. I turned often to check out Mrs. Pierce's legs but her feet were always held demurely together, blocking any view of the backs of her thighs. Damn!
She moved the lounge herself when I shifted further along the garden to stay behind me. I checked her legs again but the story was the same: a blocked view.
"I better see if Mr. Pierce needs anything. I'll be back in a minute."
Ah, so Mr. Pierce was home. I was both relieved to know the likely reason for her cool behavior and severely disappointed by her husband's presence. I surely wouldn't be doing any leg massaging now until next Wednesday.
I was so busy with my negative thoughts I didn't realize Mrs. Pierce had returned until she sat behind me again though my ears had registered the patio door closing. Since she hadn't remarked on the current location of her husband I assumed, with regret, that he was still in the house. A few minutes later, another chair shift along the garden toward the house shrank the viewing angle from the patio doors sufficiently that Mr. Pierce would have to step outside to see us and even then his view would be blocked by the back of the lounge chair. I shoveled a little dirt and then turned to look at Mrs. Pierce.
Mrs. Pierce had changed skirts! She was not wearing a black, knee-length pleated skirt that, while covering her knees on top of her thighs, was open across the bottom. It was loose and the rear hem drooped low enough that I could see her lacy black panties without straining my neck. I put my hand on the ground behind my hip and rested on it while I gazed at Mrs. Pierce's delicious thighs, easily seen through her widely spaced lower legs. When she leaned her knees to one side to look at me, I brazenly didn't turn away to pretend I was gardening.
"Would you like a drink, Paul?" she asked.
"There's only one glass," I said.
"You can use mine while you take a break," she replied, picking up her gin and tonic and holding it out to me. I took the drink and brought it to my lips. "Just don't let Mr. Pierce see you. He wouldn't appreciate me giving alcohol to a minor."
Mrs. Pierce swung her knees back into place. He'd like it even less if he caught me staring at your panties, I thought. I tipped my head back for a long, slow drink, my eyes remaining between Mrs. Pierce's thighs. As the cool mix trickled down my throat, Mrs. Pierce's knees parted and a gap appeared between her thighs. Caught staring at her panty-covered pussy, I corrected myself.
I took my time with the drink and Mrs. Pierce didn't make a single comment or motion to hurry me. The only sound in the backyard was the swish Mrs. Pierce made as she flipped the pages in her magazine. I couldn't see the tiny hairs on her thighs under the shade of her skirt but there was enough light to notice the puffy rise of her pussy and the faint presence of a vertical groove running through the lower front of her panties. Her hole is in there, I thought. Her cunt. I stifled a groan and twisted my hips to ease the pressure on my burgeoning cock. I swigged the rest of the gin and stretched my hand around Mrs. Pierce's knees to give her the glass.
"Would you like some more?" she asked.
"No thanks," I croaked. I was afraid if I kept looking up her skirt I'd pull my cock out and start wanking it in front of her.
Mrs. Pierce put the glass down and returned to her magazine. Flip... flip.
I didn't start gardening again. I meant to, but instead, I put my hand behind her foot and let it hover in the air near her ankle. I pulled my arm toward me until my fingers curled around the back of Mrs. Pierce's foot. She tensed, but said nothing. I moved my hand up and down and few inches, slowly, my fingers pinching lightly on either side of her Achilles tendon. I was so nervous I could hardly breathe. Mrs. Pierce remained silent, and still. I moved my hand higher, slipping up until the muscle of her calf filled my palm.
"Mr. Pierce is still home," she spoke quietly without a hint of any other sanction in her voice. I kept rubbing the back of her calf but didn't reply. A minute later, Mrs. Pierce repeated her comment. When I ignored her again, she said, "Did you hear me, Paul?"
"Yes," I replied quietly, letting my hand slip up her entire calf muscle and into the hollow behind her knee. She allowed me several more full strokes before she queried me again.
"Paul?"
"He can't see even if he comes out," I said. "Not unless he comes all the way here."
"That's not the point," Mrs. Pierce replied, her voice beginning to assume its officious tone.
"Does this help your injury?" I asked. Before she could say anything, I added, "Doesn't it make you feel better?"
"Yes, but..."
"Why should you be in pain just because he's home. He could help, but he doesn't."
Mrs. Pierce didn't reply. I continued stroking the back of her leg, waiting for a tensing muscle that would signal her decision to get up and leave. Five strokes, ten, fifteen. The muscles in Mrs. Pierce's calf seemed to relax rather than tense up. Twenty strokes. Cautiously, I raised my left hand up and brought it up under her knee. Telling myself not to do it, I ignored myself and moved my hand higher to connect with the underside of Mrs. Pierce's thigh and let my fingers curl around the bottom of her thigh muscles. I squeezed and pushed my hand higher, or rather downward, but further up her thigh.
The resigned but satisfied sigh was music to my ears. Within minutes, I was stroking the full length of Mrs. Pierce's leg. I twisted her lower leg to pry her thighs wider, increasing the yawning gap of her puffy lace panties. I was using the thumb of my left hand to rub the bottom of her thigh now, the fingers stretching up onto the inner side of that thigh. My fingertips were reaching to within less than an inch from the edge of Mrs. Pierce's panties. Perhaps getting a little carried away, I leaned way over and ducked my head under her skirt.
"I'm going now," Mr. Pierce's voice crashed into my reverie. I hadn't even heard the patio door open.
Mrs. Pierce's left hand slipped under her legs and grabbed my hair, holding my head in place.
"Do you want me to get you anything before I go?" Mr. Pierce yelled.
"No thanks, dear," Mrs. Pierce yelled back, her voice unsteady, unlike the firm grip she maintained on my hair.
"Has your young man left, then?" her husband asked.
He couldn't see me sitting on the grass in front of the lounge, hidden by the upright back of the chair and the long skirt stretched across her bent knees covering my head and shoulders. In that moment I made the most ridiculously dangerous move of my short life. I let my left hand fall to the apex of Mrs. Pierce's legs and, turning it over, let the back of my hand graze across the front of her panties.
Mrs. Pierce went rigid. Her legs started to close to clamp my hand in place but then widened as the skirt began to sink between her knees, stretching it back to its previous taut state covering my upper body. I twisted my wrist, rubbing my knuckles back and forth across those puffy lace panties.
"Yes," Mrs. Pierce coughed, then more firmly, "Yes. He's gone."
If Mr. Pierce approached now, all hell would break loose.
"How's he working out?"
"Quite well," Mrs. Pierce replied.
I applied firmer pressure and was sure that the knuckle of my longest finger briefly penetrated the intriguing groove I had spied when I first looked under Mrs. Pierce's skirt.
"Say what?" Mr. Pierce inquired.
"I said, yes, he's working out quite well."
I turned my hand around and cupped Mrs. Pierce's pussy, stretching my thumb over the bottom of her panties and into the base of her ass. Mrs. Pierce's hand tightened so hard I thought it would yank all my hair out.
"That's good. I'm off, then."
Mrs. Pierce's stomach muscles tensed and I imagined her nodding her head and waving her free hand to say farewell to her husband. The patio door snapped shut and Mrs. Pierce's grip loosened on my head. I let go of her ankle and pushed my hand under her butt as I stretched further onto the lounge, bringing my face in close proximity to her musky panties. I grasped the rear waistband of the lace panties and pulled. As soon as they cleared her butt, I pulled them up to her knees with my left hand along her right leg and pushed them up the left with my right. My face landed squarely on a moist pussy already pushing up to meet me.
"Ohhhh, God!" Mrs. Pierce cried, yanking my head onto her throbbing clit.
I grabbed Mrs. Pierce's thighs and slid my hands up to the underside of her knees, then used them as handholds to grip her legs and shove them up and back onto her chest while she steered my face around on her vibrating pussy.
"Eat me, you cocky little bastard," she cried, bucking her hips against my face.
I dropped my left hand beneath my chin and probed under my tongue, finding her hole and pushing the tips of two fingers into its wet, pulpy mass. Mrs. Pierce released my head and replaced my hand behind her knee. I let my left hand fall to her stomach and stretched its thumb down to rub her clit while my tongue got busy lapping between her hairy lips. My fingers were now busy pushing in and out, finger fucking her hole, almost as much as her churning hips were fucking my face. I had meant to just get her hot enough to fuck but she was so horny and held my head so firmly I kept eating her pussy. She really deserved a treat and I decided to give her one. I pulled out of her pussy and surrounded her clit with my mouth and sucked it for twenty seconds or so, then pushed my rigid tongue as far into her cunt as I could and moved my head up and down, tongue-fucking this hot woman everyone mistakenly called a bitch. Thank you, Coach. Thank you, for this crappy assignment. I smiled inwardly. The intensity of the morning's teasing was taking effect. Mrs. Pierce was moaning constantly now, broken only by verbal encouragements.
"Yeah, Paul. That's it... like that... oh yeah, yeah."
I stuck my tongue deep and shook my head, rubbing my thumb rapidly across her swollen clit. I vibrated my head so rapidly it started to hurt.
"Oh yeah... God yeah... eat it... eat it... Gooooddd, ohhhhhhhh, God, oh God, oh God!"
Mrs. Pierce's legs fell on either side of my head and she shoved my face off her pussy. She was twisting from side to side, enjoying the rapture of her orgasm. I stood up and watched as a series of intense expressions flitted across her face, expressing the variety of sensations a woman can experience while in the throes of such bliss. Eventually, her closed eyes tightened one final time and then relaxed. I pushed my shorts down and released my aching cock.
Mrs. Pierce stopped twisting about. She was making a barely audible whimpering sound. I straddled the lounge and picked up her legs by the ankles, pushing them back until her knees were against her chest. Once more, I gripped her legs under the knees and lined my cock up with her wet pussy. Her panties were still stretched across her knees. Mrs. Pierce opened her eyes when my tip nudged her nether lips. She didn't speak and her eyes gave neither permission nor denial. I pushed the purple helmet of my cock between her lips, found her hole, and shoved my entire length inside her until my root collided with her rubbery lips. I gave an extra shove and was rewarded with a satisfying grunt from Mrs. Pierce.
Mrs. Pierce watched me calmly as I fucked her. I started with long, slow strokes fully in and out, always pausing to give her an extra shove, driving her ass firmly into the lounge. My strokes became more frequent as our fucking increased in speed but the length didn't change. I kept banging Mrs. Pierce with full-length strokes, harder and harder. The only sound was our ragged breathing and the occasional moan or grunt, from both of us, until the loud slap of merging thighs began filling the backyard.
It was a dangerous sound that could have carried beyond the hedges surrounding Mrs. Pierce's yard but she didn't try to abate it herself or signal me to slow down. On the contrary, she cranked her hips up even harder to meet my thrusts. SLAP,SLAP, SLAP. I was really pounding on her now. I had her legs pushed back so far her butt was twisted almost straight up. My legs ached from stretching over the lounge but I would have gladly fucked her until they fell off, it felt so good.
Never before had I felt a pussy like this. Sure, I hadn't had many but the few women, well girls, that I had been with didn't fuck like this. Mrs. Pierce was my first real woman. Just the expressions on her face as looked at me, holding my eyes steadily with hers, made me want to really give it to her but no matter how hard I lunged into her, I knew I couldn't best her. I knew I couldn't make her beg me to stop.
Suddenly, my hips took control and I started to really jack-hammer Mrs. Pierce. I tried to slow down but I couldn't control myself, and that's when Mrs. Pierce smiled. A smile that turned into a quiet laugh as she tilted her head back, squeezing my cock tight, pulling my cum from deep inside me to hose her innards, laughing triumphantly.
