Aristocrat
Her name was Gala. We met at the birthday party of a mutual acquaintance. Gala was about 45, but she looked around 35, thanks to her athletic figure. She carried herself not exactly arrogantly, but with great dignity, like a duchess. Later, when I met her adult daughters, I was amazed that they looked, next to their mother, like two cows beside a graceful doe. A few days after we met, she suddenly called me.
I was very surprised, as I hadn't given her my number. After a short, meaningless conversation exchanging pleasantries, she suddenly said she wanted to come visit me.
I was somewhat shocked, as I had never encountered such a situation. She didn't seem like a simple, easy woman at all, and I didn't know how to behave. I agreed to meet her in the city center (we didn't know each other's addresses). Arriving at the appointed time after work, I was again surprised by how well and tastefully she was dressed. Her entire appearance spoke of a woman from a very cultured family, although I already knew she didn't have a higher education, which, however, doesn't guarantee a high degree of culture. Gala was waiting for me with a large box. When I asked what it was, she replied that the box contained her favorite hat. I was once again struck by the unusualness of this woman.When we arrived at my place, I left her by the TV and went to the kitchen to prepare something. Then we sat there for a while, had a glass of dry wine with my simple snacks. There was no reason for her to stay the night, it was already late, and I went to see her off to a taxi. A week later, she called me again and invited me to her birthday. The situation was completely ridiculous. The thing was, at that time I was having an affair with another woman, who was very jealous and would call me every evening to check where I was. And I felt very awkward with Gala herself; her behavior was incomprehensible to me.
In our conversations, there wasn't a hint of flirtation from her side; in general, she wasn't a woman but a real duchess. I politely declined the invitation, citing being busy on that particular day. For several months, we maintained purely telephone contact, mostly she called, usually late in the evening or at night, apparently that was her routine. She didn't work anywhere and was supported by her two daughters, who lived with her in a large, old apartment. Gradually, some understanding and mutual sympathy began to arise between us, although I still felt somewhat awkward with her. During this time, much changed in my life; my woman, Natalya, had a fight with me, and I was alone. Gala and her daughters started a major renovation of their apartment; they hired two specialists. The renovation took them about a year in total.
One late evening, Gala called and said she had nowhere to sleep. There was only one room in the apartment where one could sleep; the other rooms were under renovation. One daughter was on night duty that evening, and the other had her fiancé over for the night, so it was awkward for her to stay in the same room with the young couple. In short, she asked for permission to come stay at my place for the night. I naturally agreed, only warning that we'd have to sleep on the same sofa, as I didn't have a folding bed. An hour later, she arrived by taxi, we had some tea, and I started making the bed; it was late, and I had to go to work early in the morning. I turned off the light so she wouldn't feel embarrassed, got into bed, and waited for her to return from the bathroom.
About ten minutes later, she came in and lay down on the edge of the sofa under the blanket. I didn't know how to behave. Cautiously touching her, I realized she was lying in her panties and bra. She silently pushed my hand away, making it clear I shouldn't bother her. We were silent for a long time. Then she quietly complained that she was bothered by pain in her neck area. I offered to give her a light massage. She agreed. I began gently kneading the muscles in her neck and shoulder blades. I have strong, sensitive fingers, and I'm quite good at massage. I immediately felt how tense she was; apparently, the situation was unclear to her too. But after a while, she began to warm up, and the tension in her body started to subside. I gradually moved to massaging the lower part of her back; she was silent. I took this as consent.
After kneading her back, I moved to her legs, starting with her toes. By some signs, I understood she liked it. Then I began moving higher up her legs and finally moved to gently stroking her legs and thighs near the intimate area. I felt her starting to breathe deeply; apparently, the actions of my hands were beginning to arouse her. I began stroking her legs and buttocks directly next to her crotch, while one finger slipped under her panties, stroking her pubic area.
I convulsively jumped out of bed, took off my underwear, and feverishly began searching in the desk drawer for a pack of condoms, which I, of course, hadn't prepared, as I didn't know things would take such a turn. Somehow finding that cursed pack, I pulled out one rubber item, trying to stretch it over my swollen organ and cursing the Chinese for making condoms not designed for a normal Russian dick. Gala, noticing my struggles, sternly scolded me, telling me to immediately remove that nasty thing that could chafe her delicate pussy. This once again shocked me (safe sex is advertised everywhere, after all). "This isn't Natasha," I thought—she would never let me without a condom. So much for the duchess. Pulling the condom off my dick, I covered Gala with my body, stroking with one hand the most tender and sensitive corners of her body.
Then I lifted her legs high, slipping my hands under her knees. Her butt rose; I felt her wet slit come into contact with my erect python and, pressing with my rear, forced it into that heavenly place. I pressed hard against the lower part of her abdomen and immediately felt the responsive movement of her hips. I slightly withdrew my member from her sheath and pushed it back in. She responded again... The process began; I turned into some kind of reciprocating mechanism. I inserted into her and pulled out again, and her hips and round butt seemed connected to my body by some invisible part. Her body moved in perfect harmony with the movements of my body, as Mother Nature guided us.
At first, she just breathed heavily and moaned in rhythm with our movements, and then I heard her abrupt exclamations: "Ooooh fuck, Ooooh fuck, Ooooh fuck,... sorry Vanya, I usually swear during sex... you can't even imagine how much I love to fuck, I really love it..." These words excited me so much that, forgetting about precautions, I sharply intensified the movements of my body, energetically driving my frenzied lad into her already squelching shaft. There was nothing in the world except my heavy breathing, the wave-like movements of my body up and down, the distinct squelching sounds of her vagina, and the arousing series of her exclamations: "Ooooh fuck, Ooooh fuck, Ooooh fuck." And then, finally, the finale: I sharply press into her hips and fill her shaft with the sperm accumulated over several months.
Then I slide down beside her, embrace her with my right arm, and enter a state of nirvana and complete relaxation. I am silent, only gently stroking her stomach and thighs with my left hand; I'm already thinking about tomorrow, it would be good to get some sleep. But that wasn't to be. After a few minutes, I feel her playful palm demandingly starting to move along my lad, who had lain down to rest. And my eyes are closing; it's 2 a.m. I carefully try to persuade her: "Let's rest until morning, and then continue." But Gala is relentless: "I want it now, you lie there, I'll do everything myself." Sleepy, I feel her rise, and her hot, wet lips envelop my lad and begin to suck him deep—deep. He begins to awaken, and she, inspired, lovingly licks him from all sides, sucking up the remnants of sperm like sweet raspberry jam.
My boy begins to live his own life, separate from me; his head begins to rise, and the impatient Gala immediately stands up and, turning her back to me, tries to insert him deep into her hungry girl. After a while, she succeeds, and in the gleam of streetlights, I see the excitingly white buns of her butt begin to slowly move up and down, engulfing my rigid rod. After exercising like this for some time, she changes position, turns to face me, and now I see how her female hairy mouth between her legs impales itself on my fully erect lad.
Gradually, her movements begin to lose their gentle slowness; lust takes over her body; with loud moans, she begins energetically impaling herself on my wooden stake, and then literally starts jumping on it. The room fills again with the squelching sounds of her vagina, the sharp creaking of the springs of the poor, long-suffering sofa, and the smell that is unmistakable—the smell of male and female genital secretions during crazy fucking. I hold onto the edges of the sofa with both hands. Gala has rolled her eyes back and is jumping, jumping, jumping. "I hope she doesn't break the sofa or, worse, my dick," I think. Finally, she falls on me as if cut down.
"Ooooh fuck, what a great dick you have, how good it is to fuck with it," I hear her hoarse words, and for a while, she falls silent. But about 15 minutes later, she rose again and bent over my battered member, sucking it with her warm mouth. This time, nothing worked for her; no matter how hard she tried, he could no longer lift his head. "Rest, you're tired too," I asked her. "No, I think I'll go to a friend's, see me off," she answered me. Ten minutes later, we caught a taxi, and she left.
After that, she began to come to my place periodically late in the evening. I tried to take into account all her peculiarities and habits. I rested during the day and even slept at work during lunch break to be in shape for her arrival. To avoid waking the neighbors, we moved our love jumps from the poor sofa to the floor and the massive desk. I especially liked the desk. I covered it with a thick cotton blanket and laid Gala on top on her back, holding her legs raised high and spread wide with my hands. Standing on the floor, I had the opportunity to move with great amplitude and could for a long time thrust my rigid stake between her legs to the accompaniment of her exclamations "Ooooh fuck, Ooooh fuck, Ooooh fuck."
Her forte was riding. Spreading a blanket on the floor, I lay down on it. She, after thorough preparation of my gutta-percha steed with her mouth and boosting his fighting spirit, would impale herself on him with her wet girl, periodically changing position and showing me either the rounded, exciting forms of her butt jumping on my dick or the delightfully tender but insatiable pussy, periodically swallowing my lad. I inquired about the reason for such a great love of sexual riding. She explained to me that her previous long-term lover was very heavy, over 100 kg, and therefore, as she put it, "she always had to work from the top." She also told me that her sexual insatiability was instilled in her by her husband, who was her first man.
Even the defloration process with him was painless, and very soon sex began to give her great pleasure. Her husband in his youth had an enviable sexual appetite and "always threw her 2-3 sticks before bed," and in the morning instead of exercise, they would fuck another 1-2 times. Perhaps that's why she has such an enviable figure, after all, sex is the best medicine for cellulite. She admitted that even during pregnancy, she and her husband maintained such a marital routine. She well remembers having sex with her husband even on the night before she was taken to the maternity hospital. And when she was discharged from the hospital, she couldn't wait for night but gave herself to him literally an hour after arriving home, so starved for sex was she.
But around the age of 40, her husband got involved in some strange religious sect where, among other things, they preached the commonality of women. Gala didn't support his religious hobbies, and they drifted apart. He, to compensate for the lack of sex with his wife, became too engrossed in sexual vigils with the female half of the sect. After a short time, the exhausting religious-sexual jumps with sisters in Christ, who, as in all sects, were much more numerous than brothers, undermined his health, and he departed to that world where there is neither fucking nor sorrow. Our meetings continued for another three or four months, and then she unexpectedly left for another country. We never saw each other again.
This is my first story. I will be glad to read responses and comments.