Yet Another Masturbation Fantasy

He came upon her as she was bent over the toilet. Her bottom wiggled as she scrubbed industriously at some mysterious stain in the bowl. She wasn’t skinny, nor young. But something about the scene tightened his balls, stiffened his cock. He stepped into the bathroom, moving quickly, quietly, and grabbed her by her ponytail.

Pulling her to her knees, he growled at her.

“Open your mouth.”

She didn’t fight, didn’t protest. Her eyes were deeply blue, wide with shock. As he unzipped he didn’t pay attention to them anymore, only to the silky feel of her lips stretched over his shaft. Her mouth was hot, so fucking hot. A cute little squeak sounded as he pressed deeper. His cock grew stiffer, though it hardly seemed possible. He hadn’t had an erection this intense in a decade.

A jubilation erupted from him, her compliance fueling some primal response. He raped her mouth, slamming his cock deeply, holding her firmly when she squirmed and moaned. The gagging and tongue convulsions only served to add to the heady sensory explosion. Grabbing fistfuls of hair and the shell of her ears, he rammed his cock hard down her throat, pushing his cum down to her belly, milked by the sensations of her screams against his thick, stabbing cock.

“Swallow. Every. Fucking. Drop.”

Moments later, sated, he released her, letting her fall to the floor gasping. He leaned against the sink for a moment, panting from the exertion. Tucking his penis into his pants, zipping up, he bent down and pulled her to her feet. Dazed, she followed.

He shoved her roughly onto the unmade bed in the Master suite. With no finesse he tugged her jeans down, pausing to bark one brusque order.

“Get those tits out for me. Now.”

She wiggled on the bed, tugging up her shirt, her bra, as he pulled her jeans down, shedding the sneaker, then fully freeing one leg. He stared at the pink sock with little kitty cats on them, then left it on, amused at the double entendre he was enacting. Her panties had gone down with the jeans, and her neatly shaved cunt smiled its grin at him. He paused, looking at her. Big meaty tits flopping over her round belly.  Thick thighs, strong calves, and those blue eyes simply staring at him. He’d give her something to look at.

Slapping at her pussy, he demanded her to open her legs wider. Her jeans made a trail from the un-bared leg to the floor, sprawled barely upon the bed. They parted ever so slightly. He slapped again, and again, until her legs were wide open and he could see the full beauty of her pussy, red from his slaps, and seeping silvery juice from the mysterious folds and valleys.

His slapping hands worked up her belly, then worked over the thick round tits. They bobbled, they wiggled and jiggled and wobbled. Damned if his cock didn’t start to get hard again as the jumping tits excited him. From pale flesh, the color deepened; from soft pink to deeper red, with the soft purpling of bruises in several places. His fingers found the nipples, pulled them roughly, grabbed fistfuls of tit-meat and squeezed until she whimpered. More slapping, pinching, squeezing, until he was panting.

Her cunt seeped now, a steady string of thick goo leaking from her. His fingers played with it, gathering it up, then stuffed it back inside of her. No soft gentle entry, this. Three fingers jabbed up into her cunt, and he smiled as she moaned loudly, as her body yielded to the forced entry. Hot, hotter than her mouth and so wet, so slick. Bending, his mouth found her clit and bit down.

She screamed then, her body arching, her pussy clamping down on his fingers. A hot tide of liquid surged around him, then spread out to the blankets below.

“Again,” he growled, fingering her roughly until she exploded a second time.

“More,” his words were fierce, his expression, hawklike, a Viking taking his due. The finger fucking became rougher, added another finger, pounding into her molten depths, excitement coursing through him as she thrashed on the bed crying ‘enough’. It wasn’t enough and he would make her orgasm again. He’d never done anything this exciting in his life. His cock began throbbing. With his free hand, he released himself, then slid his pants down, off.

He didn’t stop fingering her until his cock was poised. Pulling out, he slammed into her, driving up into her body like a piston. He was raping. He raped, and it felt so fucking good. He wanted to pound her cunt into submission, wanted to spray his spunk up into her belly, wanted to fill her, take her, use her. Fists curled around her tits, using them as handles to drive deeply into her. She moaned, writhed.

“Too much…so sore…”

“Good. It’s so much better when it’s sore…”

He felt the gathering in his balls, tried to hold off. Her body rose, writhed, released again. Still he raped her cunt, took possession of her, used her. When he could hold back no longer, he felt the release surge out of him as if he was spraying a garden hose. He was drained, empty of every drop of cum. As he slipped free from her swollen, abused pussy, she exploded, soaking them both.


He sat in the chair in his reading room, puffing on his pipe, reading the Times. He shook his head over the days events, sighing over yet another political brouhaha. Truth to tell, he was ready to take his money and move to Canada, or Barbados, or someplace other than this crazy nation. But his wife insisted that they stay here, in the behemoth of a house  that was really too big for two late middle aged people. The phone on the desk rang.


“Henry, did you eat your lunch?”

Why did she always figure that when she went to visit her mother, he’d forget to eat? He’d run to the steak house almost the minute her car pulled out of sight, and gave the salad she’d fixed for him to the compost bin.

“Did you remember to check the pool chemicals? That needs to be done today.”

“Yes, Margaret, I did that this morning. Before you left.”

“Oh, right, you’re right, dear. Well, did you–”

“When did I marry my mother, exactly?” He spoke drolly. Her giggle made him smile.

“You didn’t, naughty man! I worry about you when you’re alone there.”

“Margaret. You left her 5 hours ago. Did you fear I’d shrivel up and die?”

“No. Yes. Well. Maybe.” There was a muffled conversation in the background.

“Margaret, you’re turning into your mother. Or worse, mine. Go enjoy your visit, and I’ll see you on Monday.”

“One last thing, Mother,” she called out, not speaking to him.

“Henry, did the housekeeper come?”

He paused, smiling into the room. Oh did she ever, he thought.

“Yes, Margaret. Yes she did. Now…”

“And she’ll come back tomorrow to attend to the other things on my list? I’m sorry she’ll be working while you’re there, but it really is the best time…”

He thought of the woman tied up in his bed, a big vibrator fixed in her cunt, even now  squirming on the bed, coming viciously.

“Oh, she’ll come again,” he replied. “Good night, Margaret,” and he quietly hung up the phone.


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