Betty Gets Her Big Mac

As I pressed gently in and out to push the glans through the too tight hole, my stomach rippled and my eyes closed in a white light vacuum of sensation. Time stood still and the earth stopped spinning on its axis. A freeze-frame where nothing existed in the world but the head of my penis and the hot opening to her vagina. I doubt I would have noticed the house on fire for those few delicious moments until I popped through into her wet cunt.

I opened my eyes to see Betty gazing at me with hooded eyes, her mouth agape with passion and her hands on my hips to pull me farther in. It is well that she was not inordinately tight inside, or I should have cum before I reached bottom. As it was, I reached bottom too soon for this small woman. She jumped when I found her cervix before getting all the way in.

"Oh, Oh. Not so deep! I'm too small for you. Gently, but please don't stop."

I had never thought of myself as particularly large or long, but I quickly adjusted what was now a long, slow stroke to accommodate our dimensions. Her vagina was no less exquisite for my inability to bury my shaft to my balls, and I suppose this restraint helped me last longer than a first fuck would usually do. After all, I had not been laid in a week.

Her legs nestled around my waist and I raised my hips to insure I would not probe too deep, riding the top of her pussy. And then we fucked each other. Hot, wet and loud. It was as though I had inserted my cock into an electrical socket. No part of her could remain still -- her hands, her arms, her hips, her legs, her lips. I became acutely aware that she was still wearing her strappy heels and the garter clasps were chaffing my flanks raw. And her mouth!

"Oh ..... God .... Yes ... More .... So good .... Don't stop ... Mac .... Faster .... Ah .... Eeee!"

Betty became the poster child for "How a woman should fuck back." She never stopped her exhortations. She never tired. She was the energizer bunny before its time. And she made me feel like a fucking god -- a fuck god! I wanted to go on and on. I was in awe of what we were creating together.

When she approached orgasm, she seemed to shift into a higher gear. She lowered her thighs around my hips and hooked the toes of her shoes around the inside of my shin to leverage her groin. And then Betty began an extraordinary rolling motion with her hips. Up and down she rode her cunt on my bent cock until I thought it must fracture.

She came with a screech, almost like she was in pain. And then she relaxed for a moment, thrusting her mouth to mine for a hard sloppy kiss.

"Don't stop!" she whispered, "I might cum again."

I didn't stop, beginning my careful thrusting into her gooey core once again. I felt like the luckiest man on the planet to have this woman on the end of my cock.

I don't know how long we continued this electric coupling, but we were both covered with dripping perspiration when she came a second time. And finally, she had had enough.

"Cum for me now," she purred, and when she saw the question in my eyes, she added, "Cum in me. Fill me up. Let me feel it deep."

I could have cum with her orgasm, so it didn't take me long to explode. She didn't seem quite so pain sensitive when I energetically spurted against her cervix, but I was beyond self-control. Shorn of any inhibition whatsoever with her, I bellowed my orgasm as I spasmed into her glorious cunt.

Neither of us stirred for long moments as we regained our breath. I softened inside her but was loathe to withdraw. I felt like I had had a religious experience inside her vagina, and I felt acutely the petit mort. Bonjour tristesse.

As she stroked my back and butt, I finally rolled off of her to the side. I leaned in to kiss her lips softly when I saw the watery eyes that I did not understand at first, and then I did.

"Thank you," I whispered as a drop of sweat rolled off my nose, landing squarely on her upper cheek. Then she smiled.

"Does this mean you will not be wearing a bathing suit in the hot tub?" I asked with a grin while wiping the drop away from her eye.

"Only if you promise we can do this again," she replied with a giggle. "Actually, I didn't bring one. If the lingerie hadn't worked, nudity was my fallback."

"Such a Mata Hari you are," I laughed. "You realize, of course, that those garter snaps can be sharp."

She laughed and stood up. I knelt to remove her shoes. When I raised up to unsnap her stockings, her wetness captured my attention. Her labia still engorged, my semen was starting to drip down her inner thighs. A delectable sight -- one my wife never let me see. Yet there is an almost metaphysical joy in seeing this proof of our intercourse.

"Either it has been too long for you, Mac, or I have forgotten how ripe a younger man can be," Betty said as she placed her hand over her pussy to stem the flow. "I'm glad I don't have to sleep in that wet spot tonight."

I helped her off with her corset and she disappeared into the bathroom. She reappeared wrapped in a towel, which I removed to hug her naked body to me.

"You are a marvelous lover, Betty," I said when I broke the kiss.

Taking her hand, I lead her outside onto the deck. Steam was lifting from the water as I guided her into the redwood tub, where she was immersed up to her neck. I felt like my body was already made of rubber after that fuck but the 100 degree water was wonderfully soothing and restorative. We sighed and whirled around in the water before I lifted her onto my lap as I seated myself on the wooden bench.

She remarked on the sensuous setting and asked me about the parties she had heard about. I told her they were usually not very sexual, but very liberating and mildly erotic to see the naked bodies displayed unashamed. We decided that was a good thing and she lit a cigarette to share with me.

After a sip of her wine, I sighed and asked her, " So Mrs. Consoli, do you do this often?"

"If you mean make love with a man who is not my husband, I would have to say never," was her reply after searching my face to confirm that the question was light-hearted.

Some what more seriously, I asked her, "Then why now and why me, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I do, kind of, but having stepped off that terrifying cliff an hour ago, it wouldn't be fair to clam up now."

Stepped off a cliff? What did that mean, I asked myself. I had not imagined I was singular, nor that her naked lust was complicated. But Betty was full of jaw-dropping surprises that night and I just listened.

"I have watched you for two years. I don't know exactly when the fantasy of you started for me, but it has grown stronger over the past six months. You are big and tall, soft-spoken, deep blue eyes, and all those medals to make you unique. But I think it was your passion when you thought you were arguing against injustice that captivated me. Oh, and what Wendy said."

"Wendy! What does she have to do with it?" I exclaimed. Wendy was a twenty-year old uniformed servicewoman who did clerical work in and around my office.

"I overheard her telling Natalie about your prowess as a lover during one of those Hail and Farewells at the JAGC office last spring. Seems you "fucked her brains out" on more than one occasion," Betty said with a chuckle. "You don't mind earthy language do you, Mac?"

"Not from a naked woman whose pussy is plastered over my dick," I replied in kind. "You women are so indiscreet, I can't believe it. Besides, it was the other way around. She fucked my brains out, although she's too young to hold a candle to you after tonight, my dear."

"Must have been that red-haired beaver, huh?" she giggled, and when I raised my eyebrows, she added, "Don't get your hopes up. I was just guessing about her natural hair color."

We laughed about the unspoken male fantasy and I poured some more Cabernet. She was finding it as easy to open her inner self to me as to open her thighs and I relished her defenselessness. A woman who I could talk to in bed without inhibition.

"I am flattered that you have found me attractive, really very flattered, but that doesn't really explain tonight, does it?" I asked as I pressed my curiosity.

"Which part of tonight?" was her puckish reply. "The multiple orgasms that I haven't had in years, or the fact that this previously respectable married woman insisted on getting fucked by her fantasy?"

I was flattered again but I just smiled. She knew what I wanted.

"You don't mind talking about this then?" she asked. "I would imagine most men would be happy for the free pussy and not look a gift horse in the mouth."

"There is no such thing as free pussy, Betty," I replied. "I am on something of a journey myself, and I want to know why I got so incredibly lucky tonight. And don't tell me it was the spoils of victory or some such bullshit. We're on a roll here, so don't try to hide."

"OK," she sighed. "When I found out your wife was gone, I thought this was an opportunity that may never come again. It suddenly became very important that you want me as much as I wanted you, Mac. So I waited after the trial and jumped you."

I kissed her to acknowledge another compliment. But I persisted after a pause.

"I cannot tell you how delighted I am that you acted, but why was that so important, Betty?" I prompted.

"Jesus, isn't sex enough -- do you have to know everything?" she cried as she punched my shoulder.

"Forgive me, but that's the way I am, I guess," I grinned at her, holding her close. "You must have sensed some of this when you were setting your cap on me. You see, what we just had was rather spectacular for me. You aren't just another exciting fuck and I want to know why."

She closed her eyes and burrowed her face in my neck. Maybe she didn't know why any more than I did. Maybe I should have just let it rest. I found myself stroking her and relishing the feel of her naked body. Her back, her flanks, her butt, nestling my fingers in the crack of her ass, kissing her ear and neck, I inhaled the scent of her hair. It wasn't particularly sexual, just a serene sense of well being to have this female human being so close and available to my touch. Why didn't I do this more often? Why did Betty bring this out to me?

She started talking again, into my neck.

"I guess I was beginning to feel older and very mortal. I haven't taken very many risks in life and I wondered whether I have missed some things. I have grown to love my husband and will love him to our death, but we have never been "soul mates," never each other's fantasy. Not just sex, which has been pretty good but never adventuresome or uninhibited. We occasionally have sex, he usually gives me an orgasm, but then we sleep. That is all he has ever wanted. Am I making any sense?"

I squeezed her and murmured my encouragement. She was pondering the conundrums of my particular Zen, my pursuit of quality in a marital union that had eluded me thus far.

"I began thinking that my infatuation with such a younger man was silly, but it wouldn't go away. Please don't give me the fine aged wine bullshit. My tits, small enough to begin with, are sagging and thin. I actually would prefer that you were much older but for me there was this intuitive connection that I needed to try on for size.

"I didn't know whether I could actually do it if you didn't try to seduce me. And when I dropped my dress, my heart was in my throat like I had just stepped off a cliff. But you caught me, Mac, and the reality was even better than the fantasy."

I kissed her softly and thanked her for her struggle to explain her feelings. I attempted to reciprocate, although I could not begin to analyze this brief, wholly unexpected encounter. But I did share thoughts about my marriage, experiments with open marriage and swapping, and a fruitless search for intimacy. I came from a place that was different than hers, but yet the same.

"This is so right, Mac," she sighed. "Where were you 20 years ago?"

"In the fourth grade, I think." We laughed.

"Then it is a good thing I waited until now to fall in love with you," she said quietly into my neck again.

Uh-oh. Love was a word that I used very, very sparingly. It always involved a commitment and a reciprocity that created expectations and, too often, disappointment. She no doubt felt me stiffen and inhale. She looked up into my eyes.

"No, don't respond or worry that I am a crazy woman for saying that after a first date, or should I say "first fuck," she whispered. "I don't mean a "let's run away and get married" kind of love, or an "I can't stop thinking about you" obsession. I'm as surprised as you that I said that, but I feel so open and tender and intimate with you now that I couldn't stop. If I never saw you again after tonight, you would be one of the loves of my life. You have made me feel so good about myself, so cherished and womanly. So "just what I needed" to feel whole and alive."

I told her she had made me feel the same way about myself, but didn't know quite what to make of her profession of love. I knew she had tapped something extraordinary in me but it would take some time and daylight to understand it. So I just thanked her for her emotional compliment and we lapsed into the cozy silence of our own thoughts and warm physical contact.

When the air jet timer went off, we had been talking and snogging (as the Brits say) for 30 minutes. I told her it was time to sit out for a while to enjoy the full effect of the bracing, 55 degree, night air. Lifting her out to sit on the deck, I poured the last of the wine, relishing the steam drifting off of our heated nakedness.

"Oh, this feels wonderful," Betty sighed as she lay back to stretch out on the redwood deck, gazing at the starry night through the lone oak tree.

I laid beside her for few moments, holding her small hand in mine. Her eyes were closed but it did not take me long to become, again, very aware of this naked female body. I sat up to gaze at her form, wondering at the chemistry she had sparked with me this evening.

Hers was not a pneumatic Playboy body, nor one I would have drawn or fantasized about. Her small breasts were somewhat deflated, her hips boyishly slim, her legs thin, but not without some muscle definition from jogging and tennis. Her best physical features were an attractive, intelligent face and those thimble-like nipples, now proudly erect in the cool air. But when she raised one knee to open her thighs to my viewing, I smiled to myself to remember the passion and heat between her legs. Lust and wanting are not mathematical equations where you plug in breast size and other objective criteria for pulchritude. I wanted this woman and her oozing pussy.

Betty sat up to kiss me as we both reached for the other's crotch. She was (still?) gooey and my soldier began to show renewed interest. She gently squeezed my dick to feel it filling up and then grasped my balls.

"God, I don't think I've ever felt balls so big and loose," she whispered.

"It's the hot water, Betty," I explained. I loved the feel of my scrotum in the hot tub, something I never experience elsewhere because of being an inveterate shower taker. The sac lengthened several inches in the warmth and became like a velvety smooth purse partially filled with olive oil to float the large olives within. The walls become so thin that you can (carefully) discern the semen tubes running from the testicles. It is such a singular and pleasant tactile sensation that I confess to enjoying fondling myself, even alone in a nonsexual setting in the hot tub.

Betty was fascinated with the same tactile experience and my shaft quickly rose to its full glory, highlighted by steam still emanating from our skin.

"Have I discovered the smoking gun?" she giggled, as she lowered her head towards it.

"Me first, dear," I whispered as I stepped back into the tub between her thighs. "Your pussy is also smokin'."

"You don't have to, Mac," she began to protest. The reticence of women of my generation and older to cunnilingus was a phenomenon I had observed before. Beginning with my wife who allowed my lips no lower than her tits, many women had been inculcated with some sense that they were dirty or ugly there. I suppose many men felt the same way but I had grown to relish the intimacy of tonguing and sucking a pussy.

"I want to taste you, luv," I said. "You don't want to take a backseat to your friend Wendy with her 20 year old red-haired clam, do you?"

Betty laughed and relaxed her thighs. Despite the throbbing dick and hanging balls that floated below the surface of the water, I felt very mellow as I began my descent to her core. I kissed and sucked the toes of each foot as I massaged her legs with strong hands. Kissing my way up each thigh in turn, I heard her intake of breath as I neared my goal. Her scent was strong and sweet by the time I gently insinuated my tongue between her engorged labia.

"Oh, God, that feels good," she cried as I pressed around her opening. I did not have to ask her to hold her knees above her breasts, or to shift her hips up to obscenely open herself from anus to mons. Her thick juice tasted a little salty, not unlike my own semen. But perhaps there was some still left where I had so energetically deposited it an hour before.

I did not then think that I was particularly proficient at eating pussy, as young Wendy was the only woman who had ever let me eat her to orgasm. Even then, she quickly wanted to fuck before I had my fill of her sweet twat. With Betty, I felt like I had all night to worship at her altar. And worship I did, savoring a pussy that delighted me in every way.

Standing in five feet of hot water is the ideal comfortable position to savor pussy. Before that night, I had always thought it was the most intimate of sex acts for a woman to receive pleasure without giving anything back, without being concerned about her partner's pleasure in any way. After Betty's initial inhibition, she let it happen and it was all that I had ever hoped it could be.

I was voracious. I licked her with the flat of my tongue from her backdoor to her hood, taking care to tease and avoid the clit for a while. I took her lips between mine to suck and found she responded to a light nip with my teeth. I sucked her hole and then plunged my tongue in and out as far as I could reach. She seemed to enjoy my tongue on her asshole; so much that I think I spent more time there than ever before. I breathed in her intoxicating scent and wallowed in her abundant goo to the point where I was covered with it from eyelashes to chin.

It did not take Betty long to erupt into her electric mode. I had to hold her hips tightly as her legs flayed around my head. She was not as loud as in the bedroom but her response was nonetheless overwhelming. The more pleasure she demonstrated, the more pleasure I wanted to give her.

"Oh, yes!" she moaned when I carefully slipped one finger into her anus. Then one, and then two, fingers into her cunt. She came for the first time with my tongue massaging her clit, but with barely a pause, I continued. I coated her turgid nipples with her juice and squeezed, to her obvious pleasure.

She came the second time with my finger in her ass and my thumb in her cunt as I sucked the little nubbin at the top of her pussy. This time she squeezed my head with her surprisingly strong thighs as she soared into her orgasm.

When she relaxed her thighs, I began again. But she lifted my head and sat up.

"Enough! God I've never cum like that. .... My back is getting raw, Mac!"

I had forgotten that, as comfortable as this position was on my neck, she was laying on bare redwood planks.

"No one has ever done more than a 10 second kiss down there. Did I taste alright?" she asked when her breathing had begun to recover.

"Taste for yourself, my love," I said as I pulled her against my chest and into the tub.