5 comments/ 68388 views/ 9 favorites Titillation Rumination By: dreamprint I am the petite, fifty-year-old wife from the story Tutor Tits that my husband submitted to this site about the morning that I got carried away with my exhibitionism around our eighteen-year-old paperboy, Brandon. Carried away like sitting on my husband's face and then having sex with him while Brandon thought he was secretly watching through a doorway into our bedroom. It got worse -- or better -- after that and in the heat of my passion to show off for an inexperienced audience, I agreed to a poorly executed plan to let my husband watch Brandon approach me from behind on the bed where I supposedly wouldn't know it was him touching me. Like I said -- worse and better. We don't think that he's mentally retarded but the kid is definitely socially immature and an outcast among his peers. As sometimes happens with those rejected by the group where they most want to belong, he tries to overcompensate by acting like them but comes off looking like a foolish imitation that is even more likely to be ridiculed. With the un-coordinated body of a high-school freshman in a growth spurt, the unrefined sex drive of an eighteen-year-old needing affirmation and his unfortunate tendency to tell those he shouldn't about his insecurities, he was a perfect target for them and a likely project for somebody like me with a nurturing instinct that just went too far. I'm a sucker for underdogs so I admit that I started teasing him with pretty suggestive clothing over the summer at his delivery times but I did it because I found out he was most intimidated by girls that had bodies about my size. Girls that never gave him a chance to grow up like most guys do. He was entering his senior year of high-school and hadn't yet kissed a girl much less known what lay under their shirts and, I swear, he was consumed with that ignorance even before he saw me braless. Since I had a unique set of skills that my husband and I had honed over thirty years of faithful marriage, after clearing it with him, I became a sympathetic visual aid to the youngest guy I had ever teased. My boobs are real small so I know that there are women who get a lot more looks than I do but to a testosterone laden teenager I was an answer to the live curiosity that had been denied him through puberty. All it took was a little bit of encouragement from my husband to believe that we were in control of a hands-on demonstration and then one thing led to another and, well, I ended up with Brandon's virgin sperm mixing with my husband's inside of me. I'm just under five-feet tall, a hundred pounds and blessed with good genes that have left me with a flat tummy to go with my tennis ball size breasts. Ever since our dating days, my husband has gotten a kick out of me going braless because I have these real pointy nipples that make me look like I'm always excited. I'm still self-conscious about my breast size in the Playmate world we live in but I learned early that guys can't resist looking at even my boobs when I've got nipples poking against my shirts. Over the years, the thrill of teasing and acting like I couldn't tell has become kind of an addiction that feeds my self-esteem and that my husband loves. I was the only sister among four brothers so I've never been uncomfortable around guys and I suppose that turned me into kind of a flirt but still nobody would ever guess that I am as much of an exhibitionist as I have discovered I am. I've been the PTA president and the Sunday school teacher and the dependable stay-at-home mom with a thousand unsuspecting friends who sometimes call me "a cute blonde". But my husband has gently pushed me toward showing more of my body when it's safe to do it and it has begun to feel pretty normal as long as it happens where my reputation won't suffer. I put on a front with him for quite awhile, denying that I liked it when he chose the clothes that best showed off my nipples or even "accidentally" showed them inside my shirts but since cheating on him has never been a consideration we now understand it for what it is as public foreplay to the sex we later enjoy with each other. This stage of life doesn't only bring excitement from the spontaneity of sex without worrying about birth control. It also brings an honesty that let's us stop pretending that my showing off is turning us both on and I've gotten a lot more comfortable with the freedom to take the chances that he encourages. I try to dress to suit the audience, so friends might "catch" me trying to cover up in a thread-bare t-shirt while strangers might get surprised by their good luck when a fit middle-aged woman leans over and doesn't seem to notice that they have time for a leisurely inspection of my naked titties all the way to the nipples. The security of being with one man for so long has left me much more relaxed about the idea of exposing myself in settings we can control so within the last few years I've been "caught" completely naked when I can look more like a victim of their voyeurism than the cock-tease I admit that I am. It's usually on trips out of town that I get that bold but there are exceptions. Brandon was one, I guess, since he had no experience with girls and I didn't think he would figure that a woman my age would show him her breasts on purpose. But it definitely worked -- for both of us -- and once I was sure that we were going to just act like it wasn't happening and that I could trust him not to tell anybody else about it, almost every time he delivered a paper he could count on my feminine mystique to be creatively on display somehow. I became kind of a coach to him through his exaggerated anxieties about dating or the lack of a dad in his broken home and he was always an attentive and polite student. Of course, it didn't hurt that I could keep it from being a boring lecture by doing things like leaning forward on my elbows in a tank top while assuring him that girls have insecurities about boys, too. Whether it was that or my nipples tenting the thin fabric or sometimes a camel-toe outlined in tight shorts, he always took the bait and opened up with me for as long as I let him look. My husband didn't mind the forbidden edge of indecency that it seemed like I was on and Brandon was just simple enough that I never felt threatened by his staring that made him seem less like the adult that he was technically and more like a curious boy that had stumbled onto a woman who doesn't know that she's dressing too provocatively for company. I was surprising myself by the effect his visits had on me, too, and let him get away with a lot more rubbernecking than I usually would allow when guys started to just gawk like I was a stripper or something. A couple of weeks before the morning in question, I let my husband talk me into letting Brandon "accidentally" peek through the door at me drying off after a shower and that was my audacious introduction into the more perilous side of showing off completely naked to him. We were in separate rooms but that daring suggestion of intimacy between me and a guy who wasn't a stranger left me both terrified and electrified. It was only a matter of time before a hunger to take even more chances made my chastity less important to us than the pleasure we got from risking it. The Sunday morning that Brandon came of age with me, it was my idea when I woke up horny and chose a daring tease of riding naked on my husband's face while Brandon again peered through the partially open door into our bedroom to secretly witness my orgasm. Then, after fucking me, my husband turned me to face the mirror Brandon where was spying on us -- and we were spying on him - as I spread my legs to get my creamy pussy fingered while watching Brandon jack off to the sight. The sexual tension was thick as we secretly pleased one another in the mirrored images of lust and I nearly choked in awe when Brandon's naked cock started spewing his teenage semen just outside my bedroom door. The thought that looking at a reflection of my body was the cause, and that Brandon had considered the reward worth the risk, was a total turn-on for me that made what came next possible. If you read Tutor Tits you know that he left for a few minutes after that but came back to get caught peeking around the door at us by my husband who gave him a nod of permission to keep watching. I didn't know it yet as I continued to perform naked with my back to the door until my husband whispered to me that Brandon was actually just inside the room. I was afraid and turned on at the same time and sensing that we shared a secret desire, my husband made a spontaneous and no doubt frightening suggestion that I should cross the line into touch. We had never done anything like it but he allowed it as I consented to becoming a physical education for my inexperienced student by acting like I wouldn't know it was him behind me as I knelt doggy-style at the edge of the mattress and my husband stepped aside. My heart pounded as I prepared to feel his hands on me but I don't think that any of us knew for sure if he would be brave enough to actually do it. He didn't disappoint and by the time his thumbs had learned both what a woman's pussy feels like and where to touch to make a woman's pussy feel better, I was convinced that I could let nature take its illegitimate course if Brandon's sexual ego would benefit by it and my husband would allow it. I've heard about how blind people get super-powers of sensation when they lose sight. That's what the hyper-sensitive opening to my vagina felt like as he penetrated the swollen lips and seemed to touch every nerve with the purple head of his cock that I had seen ejaculating just a few minutes earlier. My cunt was a sloppy mess but I could still feel the pressure of him stretching the pink membrane apart when the circumcised rim hesitated at the outer folds of my sex and then tickled them as he slipped through almost with a pop. I couldn't believe what I had just let him do. What I had just let myself do! What my husband had let us both do. Light-headed as I was, I was surprised by my awareness and interest in the fullness of another man's cock as he seemed to test how much he should be moving it inside of me at first. I was even more surprised that I wanted him to start fucking me and not stop until his sperm swam toward my fallopian tubes. If he played the game correctly, when we were done I could pretend that I didn't know it was his but while he did it I wanted to think of only that for some reason. There was a learning curve for his first time but even with him being too rough at the beginning, I hated to interrupt the act that for some reason felt more important to finish than it was immoral to do. I know how crazy it sounds now but at the time I was intoxicated by the idea that my body was turning a young man on that much and if my husband was offering me as an anonymous lesson in carnal knowledge to a virgin cock, I thought we could overlook the right or wrong of it while I tried to endure his exuberant attempts to force all of his rigid meat into a package too small. My intentions were good but my pain threshold was not and after some gentle instruction that ended with me perched on his magnificent young cock, and him learning to gently fondle my tits, we caught a glimpse of each other in a mirror and the ruse fell apart. He rode me back down to the mattress and I only made a token struggle while secretly welcoming the adolescent goo that he made sure he got pumped into my pussy that had never been fucked twice in one day. His weight crushed my face into a pillow that helped muffle a giggle as I thought about how lucky he didn't know he was as I clenched my vaginal muscles to milk the seed from his twitching cock in a way that a girl his age never would have done. We lay there panting for a minute before his cock slipped out of me and I tried to act like a victim by scooting out from under him to sit naked against the headboard of my bed. There was no salvaging any dignity in a situation that left our paperboy watching his semen leak out of me while I watched it drip from the end of his dick. He was, of course, at a disadvantage. He didn't know that I had allowed it and it didn't help that I couldn't stop looking at his shiny cock wagging as he tried to catch his breath at the end of the bed. Even exposed to each other, we seemed to mutually accept a return to our former game of me being his tutor with a flirty exhibitionism that could control how sexual our conversations became. I tried to scold him for taking advantage of me but, with my husband as his accomplice, I sounded less like a woman abused and more like a wife who should be angrier with him than at the kid who had simply accepted the gift of illicit sex. So I toyed with him some more. With the honesty I had come to expect from him, he told me that he knew that a woman wanted more than just fucking from a man and that he had read enough pornography to be able to do it. I thought he meant that he was going to use his tongue on my clit so only after hesitating long enough to make him think he had to convince me, I agreed to let him prove himself as his knees leaned like an eager student on the edge of the mattress. Between my husband's amused encouragement, my sex-crazed conscience that didn't feel guilty for what I had done so far, and the enthusiastic interest that Brandon still had in giving me an orgasm, I intended to use that once-in-a-lifetime morning for all that it was worth. He crawled toward me on the bed and then knelt with his erection only inches from my face to wait for me to lie back so he could begin. In the thrill of the moment that might never come again, I decided first to kiss the tip of his teenage cock and nurse it for a few seconds as a way to taste the total depravity that I felt entitled to as much as what I was going to let him do with his tongue. He tried to make it a crude throat fucking when his hands went to the back of my head and I gagged as his smelly flesh filled my mouth. But I taught him to relax instead and enjoy the leisurely strokes that would feel better as my lips provided the friction around his turgid shaft and made him groan when I swallowed against the tip that tickled the back of my throat. While probing the slit with my tongue I was careful to only give him a sample of what I could do if I had wanted his cum in my stomach before performing blowjob interruptus so I could begin my act of coy seduction that would put his tongue to work. I insisted that our fucking had been a mistake and that he couldn't do that again but when he moved down close enough for me to feel his breath on my crotch, I sort of showed off for him by squeezing his semen out of my pussy and he promptly started dry-humping the mattress while he watched my little trick. Afraid that another orgasm from him would mean none for me, I invited him to lay on me like my husband does sometimes so his cock would slide along my clit and tried to hurry my orgasm while he was asking me to teach him how to make love instead of just fuck. It was only with half-hearted resistance that I agreed and ended up letting him slip his cock back into me in the missionary position. In the twisted morality that had become our friendship over the summer, he honored my quirky definition of the word "fuck" that meant he shouldn't cum in me again but that he could practice French kissing and stimulating me with the undulation of gentle intercourse that he would share with a girl his age someday. Even without reading the other story, I'm sure that you know I succumbed to the flattery of a young man's erection prodding me to worry less about my orgasm and more about the reckless urge I had to feel it spurt in me again. He whispered compliments about my body and excuses to stay in me for just a minute longer and then a minute more after that until I eventually was pleading with him to pour his hot sperm into me -- but just once more. I tried to climax while his pubic bone ground into my clit and the tip of his pulsing organ jetted another creamy deposit into me but I couldn't get there by the time he had collapsed onto my chest panting. Lying there like that with his hips pressed into mine so I would feel his cock deflate started a muddled emotional swing between my demand to be pleased and the humiliating reality of what I had just done. I had entered the realm of asking for it more than being subjected to it. Did I say asking for it? No, I had begged him to keep going until he was done. It had stopped being a sexual adventure that my husband had set up for us to use as foreplay later. Instead, I had become an animal in heat and I think that all three of us in the room knew that I would have been willing to trade my wedding ring for that last explosion of teenage cum inside of me. I still had tingling between my legs from the orgasm that I had been denied but doubted that there was any pleasure in my future at that point and began to consider the consequences of my shameless promiscuity instead. Like a sixteen-year-old, boy-crazy nymph in the backseat of a car who was leaking regrets from the pussy she had offered in a fit of passion, I wondered if my impetuous need to feel Brandon's cock throb in me again had been asking too much of even a voyeuristic husband. I had truly lost control. After watching that could he believe that Brandon was my first? Could he ever trust me to be monogamous again? Did I deserve such trust? Going back to being sixteen and worried about just being pregnant suddenly seemed less complicated. He was still sitting in a chair watching near the end of the bed and I'm pretty sure that he saw the tear streak on the side of my face that disappeared into my hair. We had never been in a position as sordid as that but, throughout our marriage, he has been the biggest fan of my exhibitionism and has always been sensitive to the times that I felt like I had gone too far and was being seen as a whore either by him or the guy I had been teasing. I was relieved to find that this time was no exception as he directed Brandon to lift my spirits. Still breathing hard and occasionally moaning like a guy ready to roll off and fall asleep, when my husband invited him to look one more time at my tits his head popped up off of my shoulder and his eyes grinned into mine. For some reason I had covered my chest with my hands in a pathetic attempt to feel less vulnerable and, even in his exhaustion he seemed genuinely happy to rise up on his elbows to take pressure off of my hands and see if I would be an obedient wife. His bony shoulders and twiggy biceps reminded me again of who it was that still had his chubby cock pressed into my tight slit and I could feel the bed shake a little as he held himself up to wait for me to respond. I glanced at my husband and rolled my eyes playfully when he winked an encouragement that told me that I didn't have to quit and I involuntarily clenched my pussy around Brandon's meat causing us to both shudder and moan softly. I spread my fingers teasingly to let my nipples peek between them and then dropped my hands to cup my flat breasts in the web between my thumbs and forefingers when Brandon panted a juvenile encouragement. "I like to look at them." We had apparently stopped pretending that I didn't want more if he could produce it and I turned again to look at my husband while pinching the soft tissue into the shape of a tit that would put my little nipples on goose-bumped pedestals for Brandon to examine. "She likes it when you suck on them," he said and Brandon immediately dropped his lips onto one to suck his first breast. In a combination of that movement and me squeezing his dick with my pussy in response, it slipped out of me and I put a hand on the back of his head to let him nurse as he was given a final invitation to prove himself. Titillation Rumination "Fuck me with your tongue," I whispered with a vulgar insistence that nearly spit the word "fuck" out. It was a reference to my words when teaching him how to French kiss a few minutes ago but I didn't give Brandon a chance to wonder if I meant that or something else as I pushed his head off of my chest downward toward the place that my husband would never have put his tongue after fucking me. He stopped briefly to dip his tongue into my bellybutton and I giggled when he did but pushed again to put his tongue in contact with the virile cream that matted my trimmed pubic patch. I was going crazy with anticipation as he cleaned the heart-shaped hair and the top puffy crease of my shaved camel-toe with his tongue but didn't go any lower until I nudged his forehead once more with the palm of my hand. Then we made eye contact and he seemed to understand as he made two electrifying swipes across my clit to clean it off and then slithered his tongue into my sloppy crack to start lapping out the contents there. I smiled at him and, looking sort of like a crocodile, his eyes smiled back even though he didn't realize that I was amused by his boyish ignorance of where I wanted his tongue. As if he was doing what I had asked him to, he kept scouring the swollen membrane of my pussy until I finally decided to teach him how to finish the act. I was ready to let another man bring me off with his tongue and I had paid too high a price so far to not see it happen so I pointed to the spot with my painted fingernail and I winked when he looked up like the eager student he was. "Right here, sweetie," I cooed and then moaned when I diddled the little bud for him to see. If he was embarrassed by missing the mark on the first attempt he didn't show it as I felt his coated tongue curling up the front wall of my vagina and follow the path to my finger and promptly turned on the switch to my sexual abandon. "GAWD!" was all I could manage and grabbed his ears to pull him tighter to my crotch as my hips started to rock. Licking it then sucking on it and then licking it again, he discovered the key to every girl's heart that he might service from that day on and I began to howl in an ecstatic laughter of lust. Unfortunately, the door from the sunroom into our master bedroom where Brandon had started at as a Peeping Tom was still open and the unmistakable sounds of a bliss-filled woman escaped into the backyard where our neighbor, Stan, sits every Sunday morning reading the paper before heading to church. He's a harmless, fat, balding guy our age who knows me as the respectable but usually braless neighbor wife who's forgiven him several times when he gets caught looking down my shirts. He's the type of neighbor who just knocks and then walks in so he has seen me streaking by the bedroom door wearing only underwear before and occasionally gets to see more. One of my most flagrant teases of a person we know happened one evening when my husband arranged for Stan to stop by with a garden catalog for us to order from. I had been in a playful mood all day so, in the privacy of my own home, it didn't take much for me to agree to wear a peek-a-boo and crotch-less teddy that we usually only use for hotel room "accidents" in cities where we don't know the pizza delivery men. With my heart-pounding, I let him arrange the lacy fabric around my nipples and the petals of my pussy as I sat Indian-style facing the door, reading a magazine that would help me look unaware of the obscene view Stan would have as he approached. The sunroom sits a little higher than our backyards so it looks innocent on my part to dress like that and by the time he climbed the two steps to the screen door, there wasn't much he could do but watch me jump up in "surprise" and jiggle my way into the bedroom as I sacrificed a plain view of my naked nipples so that the magazine could cover the pussy he had already seen. He made a comically feeble attempt to not stare at the pink areolas that danced past him as he opened the door while my husband apologized for forgetting that he had made the invitation. Stan's one of those overly friendly types who doesn't have the decency to leave after something like that and, after a polite grace period and an insistence from my husband that we needed to get plantings ordered, I came back into the room wearing one of his shirts that would hint at the lingerie still underneath. Stan apologized and I forgave him as we laughed nervously about it before letting the small-talk turn to gardening and he found himself looking down my shirt again while I filled out the forms. Because it turns me on to think that my body turns other guys on, I let my husband "victimize" me like that sometimes, even with guys we know, as long as we don't talk about it. Whether he alerts Stan to opportunities or not, we all know that on certain nights neighbors are apt to be moving their garbage cans from the backyards out to the street and walking between the houses can't be avoided. I just ignore the bottom six inches of the blinds in our bedroom that are raised on those nights when I come in naked from a bath before bedtime and notice that my husband conspicuously refuses to take his shorts off. I've played the unsuspecting wife who rubs lotion onto her body before the lights go out and I've been on the receiving end of a magnificent tongue in the dim glow of late-night TV that I'm pretty sure Stan is watching us by. Before Brandon, my orgasms were an intimacy that I saved for my husband only so I always turned off the TV with the remote before cumming. But when the window is open I've never cared that he could hear what he was missing. Between that and the strategic positioning he does to get views into my shirts when we chat in the backyard, he is pretty familiar with my bare skin but is a sort of self-righteous church-goer that wouldn't dare incriminate himself by making any advances. Besides Brandon, he is my favorite to tease. While Brandon buried his face between my legs, Stan was probably figuring my screaming to be the work of my husband who would also be too distracted to notice and I'm sure that he just figured he could step in for a quick peek and pray that we didn't catch him. He's an opportunist with that built-in excuse of a relatively open-door policy in our house but I don't think that he would have ventured in to disturb our affair had he known how sordid it was. The sight before him must have been unbelievable. Even as a victim of my exhibitionist teasing in the past he knew me best as an otherwise faithful, middle-age wife whose forgiving spirit had given him license to exploit my careless dressing. What he had found that morning was me holding the neighborhood paperboy's face into my naked crotch by his ears while my husband sat watching the kid proudly demonstrate his ownership of me. It was a panic-stricken spasm that suddenly gripped my loins as Brandon's slurping took me over the brink at exactly the same time that a chortle of shock from Stan slipped out to give away what should have been his hiding place. I couldn't have stopped even if I wanted to and in that split second I welcomed the indulgent paralysis that numbed whatever shame I should have felt. I wanted the world to see the pleasure that I had earned by courageously letting my body be used to make a boy into a man. "Jesus, Stan!" I shrieked and he couldn't help but dart his wide eyes away from my crotch to look with a guilty surprise at my face. My hands instinctively moved from Brandon's head to cross my bare chest in a ridiculous attempt at modesty considering my hilarious grunting while I did nothing to resist the rapturous tongue that kept eating me out. My words startled Stan and he abruptly glanced at my husband and then turned in a half-stumble as he rushed back toward the sunroom door to avoid a confrontation. "Oh, my God," I managed to sigh heavily between euphoric giggles when I turned my face the opposite way toward my husband who was grinning widely at my wide eyes and the helpless predicament that fueled a wicked craving in me that he had never seen. I don't ever remember feeling so desirable and deserving of the attention that was being given to my hungry clit as a teenager's tongue found the way to trigger every lust-filled nerve in my body. It's hard to explain how uninhibited I had become but there was nothing in me that felt fifty-years-old as this boy worshipped me as a sex kitten in those few minutes and everything from my reputation in the community to my marriage vows were momentarily forgotten while I used him for my sinful gratification. When the glorious pulsation became unbearable, I pushed Brandon's forehead away and he rocked back slightly to watch me writhe in a painfully orgasmic convulsion. Except for the back of my head and the balls of my feet that still made contact with the mattress, Brandon supported my weight on his elbows as his hands cupped the cheeks of my ass and his thumbs pulled the lips of my pussy apart at his eye level. Even though I didn't care who watched, I squeezed my eyes shut and clenched the sheets as I shamelessly grunted or laughed or screamed - I'm not sure which - with the crash of each wave of orgasm that I couldn't control. "AGH...AGH...AGH..." my screams echoed in the room and to the outside where I suppose Stan still listened. I wanted to turn on to my side in a fetal position and squeeze my thighs together to ride out the erotic beat galloping through me but Brandon's grip was too tight and there was something about having him watch me in that depraved pose that caused me instead to put an index finger on each puffy lip and press them against my clit. He must have seen it as a raunchy invitation of some kind because my butt started to drop and his hands slid up the insides of my thighs to spread my knees apart further. With a clarity that shouldn't have been at that time, I knew that he was going to fuck me again and I couldn't think of a reason to stop him from it. It's what my husband always did and I was conditioned to feel a cock fill that throbbing space for the minute it would take for his balls to slap against my ass as he emptied himself. I was gasping for air between my grunts and euphoric laughter and Brandon was grinning from ear-to-ear when I lifted my head off of the mattress to see him on his knees aiming a less angry looking cock than what I had seen before at the opening he knew too well. Thick veins still bulged along the bloated shaft but the skin wasn't stretched as tight and his fingers needed to support the weighty mast that had previously stood at attention as he squashed the meaty tip against my clit to create an electric pulse that made me squeal like a giddy schoolgirl. "God, not there," I warned laughingly with the full knowledge that it would still be too intense if he were to play with it too much. "Sorry," he moaned breathlessly and flopped it onto my bucking pubic mound for only a second as he repositioned his knees. The leaky slit in the head of his cock disappeared as he pulled back to let it drop off the ledge toward my sex and it brushed by my clit as he timed his push to wiggle the soft flesh easily into my sopping cunt. "Oooh!" we exhaled in unison a throaty approval as he sank into me and landed with his thick, sandy-colored pubic hair pressed against the small patch that looks like Hitler's mustache adorning my shaved pussy's lips. My orgasm was cresting and flashes of inhibition threatened to remedy the dizzy lust that otherwise justifies risk taking and might make me wonder what sort of a whore I had become. But surges of wicked contentment also kept washing through my loins before receding and then rush in again to hold me captive to the pornographic sideshow I wanted to be. Like a salacious Jekyll and Hyde, my libido betrayed me with climactic pulses that made me want to perform for both of them until shrinking back for a micro-second of decency during the wane of orgasm and then overpowered me again when the next wave hit. Brandon wasn't fucking me as much as he was trying to stay connected to a slippery target with a shorter spear and it fell out a couple of times on his over-zealous backstrokes, making him whimper as he feverishly pushed it back into me before I had time to reconsider my permission. His cock was softer than the first two times he fucked me but he still had enough girth to force the genetic soup of two men out of my adulterous cavity with each plunge that then squished it as a sticky slurry between us. As the intensity of orgasm started dropping off, I felt detached from the delirious giggling that I was surprised to hear coming from me. I was simply submitting to him like an exhausted rag doll with a vagina while he pounded away at the sinful prize I figured he had earned. My senses were returning as an uncertain memory and the erotic urges that make taking chances feel right at the time were replaced by awareness that I was spreading my legs for a kid younger than my own son. It took him a long time to have another orgasm and my bruised pubic bone served as a reminder for the next two weeks of the indulgent assault as he grunted and bumped into me hard enough that even my little titties quivered like Jello. The novelty of having sex with a teen-ager faded with the pimply faced contortions that he snorted over me and the magic of having his tongue dance with mine a few minutes earlier vanished as the sharp taste of his semen filled my mouth when I let him do it again. Luckily, neither of us could catch our breath while French-kissing so he contented himself with alternately raising up to watch a couple of careful full-length jabs into my swollen pussy while whispering compliments of my body as he did. That seemed to energize him and he would start banging me without mercy before collapsing onto my chest so he could whisper obscene instructions that i didn't obey but also didn't make him stop asking if it would help him to cum. I looked over at my husband only once who was resting his elbow on the chair and his chin in his hand to watch me waiting expectantly to be inseminated again by our neighbor kid's cock that had gradually grown stiffer. It was an unsettling, dream-like state that I was in as the anesthesia of desirability had been replaced by indifferent fatigue and my obligation to let Brandon have me one more time eventually became a boredom that I had never previously known sex to be. It wasn't until his body stiffened and he groaned a warning of boyish triumph that I found a reserve of energy to go along with the sense of relief that I was nearly done. As his hot cum started squirting into me I reached under my knees to draw them back so he could drive his throbbing shaft to the bottom of my cunt and we locked eyes in wordless determination as his young seed streamed into my womb with less intensity than the other two times. That's how the morning ended for me. My knees pinned almost to my shoulders with a close-up view of an eighteen-year-old cock pulling out of my married pussy and him pausing to consider the two inch strand of potent jizz that mysteriously wed me to him, too. But in a way he couldn't have known. As I watched the glossy tether of reproduction snap between us I could already feel the embryo kicking that he had fertilized. I was pregnant but not with a child to hold. Growing inside of me was an untamed animal that had discovered the salacious thrill of being bred by a young stallion that needed help finding a mate and the indecent wish to escort another virgin into manhood. I wanted to feel more of the innocent power that I had felt escaping from a cock that seemed to transfer all of a young man's anxieties into my moist haven of soothing flesh. I didn't want to have an affair with Brandon or any other man and I wasn't looking for somebody else to give me an orgasm and I certainly didn't want to become known for fucking other men. Instead, I wanted to be the mother with the body of the daughter who can attract the interest of a guy that will discreetly dip his rigid cock into a woman just to add to her sperm collection. I wanted my husband to join me in prowling for guys old enough to be seduced by a cougar's charms but inexperienced enough to make unprotected sex safe for both of us. I had started to breathe a little harder again but Brandon was a heaving mass of flushed adolescence as he hovered over my naked body until I said, "You had better go now." He nodded and rocked back on his knees briefly as he used the bed sheet to wipe off his cock. In a strange act of courtesy, he then lightly tucked the sheet into the splayed lips of my oozing pussy and I shivered when his hands ran up my sides to cover my breasts as he pushed himself away and stepped off of the bed. For some reason, I pulled a pillow over my chest as I lazily watched him pull his sweatpants over his cock and shook my head with a mature smile when he politely thanked both my husband and me. What do you say at a time like that? "You're welcome" sounds like we might do it again and I didn't want him to think that so I just hugged the pillow and said, "You'll do fine with the girls," as he gave a tired smile back at us and walked out looking pleased with the delivery he couldn't have known he would make when he arrived with our paper that morning. I spent the next hour soaking my sore pussy in the tub with mixed emotions as my husband leaned against the vanity assuring me that he wasn't mad and that Brandon was too much of a follower to be any sort of a threat. It turned out that he was right, as after about a week of me avoiding Brandon's delivery times, I gradually resumed dressing to tease and only the first time he had to stutter an embarrassed apology when I reacted to him lifting my shirt to fondle my braless breasts that he assumed I was offering again. I'm more careful about not being alone with him now and that makes my resistance to entering into a risky affair with him seem more genuine when I can explain it with my husband in the room. We still talk about his girl problems and he still gets to see more of me than anybody else does but he has accepted the fact that it must remain a charade. It's not that he hasn't gotten his hair-trigger cock into me again as a way to meet both of our needs. It's just that we have gone back to pretending that I can't tell it's his young erection pulsing inside of my stretched pussy as he quickly takes me from behind about once a month while my husband stands off to the side watching the fruitless breeding of his panting pet. Since I have flirted with the sensual for so many years while letting society force me to maintain a respectable wife image, having Brandon's virile sperm coat the walls of my vagina every so often feeds the naughty ego that I'm not allowed otherwise. It's a liberating exercise that has turned up my sexual temperature and loosened inhibitions I didn't even know I had. After Brandon fucks me, I'm sexually energized but my husband won't have anything to do with my pussy until the next day - and then only after a douche. With my vagina filled with young sperm, I become a restless vixen that fondles and sucks him as many times as he can stand it while wondering if he knows that I'm in danger of doing the same for any man as long as teenage cum is dribbling out of my cunt. Well, probably any man except Stan. We were neighborly in an unnatural way for a few days after my encounter with Brandon but the forced small talk really just exaggerated the awkwardness. Whether in the yard or in my own house, his creepy staring at every part of me but my face left me feeling almost stalked and I wondered how long it would be before one of us was just going to have to admit to what he had seen. Titillation Rumination Then, about a week later I got a text on my cell phone with a video attached. I didn't know how to do texting so I naively asked my husband for help to retrieve it and we both groaned in resignation as a silent movie of me being fucked by Brandon appeared for several seconds on the tiny screen. It was through the open Venetian blinds of our bedroom window and not great quality but good enough to show the back of my husband watching as I lay there in profile with my hair in a tangle around the bored expression on my face. The sun streamed onto Brandon and me like a spotlight as he supported himself on his hands on each side of my chest and his naked ass humped incessantly between my spread legs. The subject title of the text said "Maybe you can help me?" with a winking smiley face to punctuate it. I was furious at first and argued with my husband who seemed less offended by Stan's invasion of our privacy and more interested in how to appease it. It took a week's worth of avoiding Stan before I agreed that we would have to confront the blackmailing evidence and I let my husband arrange the meeting. I was very defensive and dressed more conservatively than Stan had probably ever seen me as he joined us in the sunroom the next night. He brought his laptop computer and seemed surprised when I refused to watch the rest of the video clips that my husband did want to see. While looking at the screen, the two of them talked in hushed tones but loud enough for me to hear that it was a negotiation for my services that could have just as easily been over the sale of a used car. It turns out that Stan hasn't been able to get an erection since surgery for prostate cancer about five years ago and dared to wonder if I would get naked and try to get him off with a handjob. He said the doctor told him that his affected nerves might someday return to normal with the proper stimulation and a regular use of Viagra but he was still waiting. He had tried masturbating to the video but still couldn't get hard or ejaculate with his own hand and claimed that imagining me touching his cock without any clothes on had caused "stirrings" that gave him hope. He wasn't proud of his affliction but apparently saw the disinterested woman on the video that spread her legs and patiently let an eighteen-year-old kid pound her pussy as one who might also be open to lending a hand to an older guy with a problem. It was sad and sick at the same time but I guess I could see how it might have seemed like an easy fix for a desperate guy who had stumbled onto a husband with a useful wife. I actually heard him say "since you like sharing her anyway." He was right about that part, I guess. After what happened with Brandon, the subject is no longer taboo and I've pretty much accepted the idea that, if I'll allow it, the adulterous use of my body won't have to be restricted to young guys to be a powerful aphrodisiac for my husband. It hadn't happened yet and it might be too bad for the sake of our marriage bed that Stan had to make me feel like I was being forced into it. I'm not attracted to him but I am interested in finding new ways to turn my husband on and turning a tease into a physical stunt of some kind with a sexually disabled neighbor might have otherwise been acceptable for all of us. But that night ended with me nauseated and glaring at them both with my husband promising that we would have to get back to him. Another week passed with my stubborn refusal to become a neighborhood prostitute even though we all knew that my morals were pretty hard to defend. Two more untitled text videos on my phone told us that Stan expected an answer soon and in another sunroom meeting one evening, he tried sweetening the deal by promising to keep his clothes on and his hands off of me. Rambling nervously about his own need to preserve his reputation in the religious community he then unexpectedly launched into a romantic description of the naked parts of my body with a poetic intimacy that made me blush as my husband sat beside me smirking. I was still opposed to it but my husband's love of showing me off to other men was obviously changing the numbers to two against one and I cursed under my breath when he whispered so Stan could hear it, too, "It's just a handjob." I was upset and feeling trapped but too guilty to be angry. It seemed like I was being pimped like a $10 crack whore and even his promise to "take care" of me when I was done with Stan sounded more like manipulation than making love. All of my teasing that Stan had enjoyed over the years now seemed like the antics of a pitiful streetwalker and I tried my best to accept responsibility for the mess that losing control with Brandon had created as I wiped a tear away and reluctantly agreed to confirm Stan's unwholesome opinion of me. We had never discussed the final details so we were surprised when he insisted that it could only be me and him in the room for the act and I was even more surprised at how quickly my husband excused himself. Awkward was an understatement then. I was a clearly unwilling participant and Stan was suddenly a nervous opportunist that looked like he hadn't prepared for it getting this far. He sheepishly reached into his pocket for a blue diamond-shaped tablet and held it up for me to see, before swallowing it without any water. "Sorry, I would have taken it a little earlier if I had known." It didn't fill me with confidence but I certainly had no objection to some pharmacological help if it would release me sooner from what I was about to do. There were no candles or sexy music playing in the background or any lead in to the performance that I'm guessing both he and I hoped would be quick, though probably for different reasons. After staring at the floor for a minute or two, in the pale glow of a single table lamp in the corner of the room, I stood from my chair and took a deep breath before pulling my sweatshirt over my head and stalled as I folded it front of me. He didn't rush me but I eventually had to lay it on the chair to stand before him in my simple cotton bra and blue jeans. I wouldn't look at him but I could feel his eyes on my nipples that the cool evening air had caused to poke against the single layer of white fabric that is all my tiny breasts need for support. As I took a rubber band out of my pocket and raised my arms above my head to tie my hair in a pony tail, he hummed his approval and I had to swallow against the disgust it made me feel at becoming his plaything. I wondered what to do next. Would it be better to take my bra off before my jeans or the other way around? Should I be moving in some sultry dance to get him aroused or would that look too much like I was enjoying it, too? As much of an exhibitionist as I am, I wasn't enjoying it and my typical ploys of acting like I didn't know I was exposed certainly wouldn't work in this case anyway. I could feel my pulse thumping in my chest and thoughts of abandonment by my husband surfaced as the only sound in the room was Stan's heavy breathing through his nose. I had to do something so I continued to undress as if I was in a doctor's office more than a strip club with a pot-bellied old guy watching my every move. I casually unsnapped my jeans and unzipped them and then twisted my hips a little to lower them down until I could kick them to the side and then faced him in my anything-but-sexy Fruit of the Loom panties and bra. Just standing there made me feel like a model in the Sunday ads who would pose in their underwear with absolutely no hint of eroticism. It seemed unlikely that my attitude would produce an erection for him. Then, against my wishes, I felt my nipples tighten when he said quietly, "You're gorgeous, you know," as he wiggled his thumb subtly in the direction of his crotch and added, "I can feel it." I set my jaw and felt my upper chest flush as he softly coaxed me to keep going and I bashfully obliged him by reaching behind to unfasten my bra. It struck me how important timing and mystery were to the teasing that this definitely wasn't as I sighed heavily and let the cups fall away from my small boobs. That cool air on my bare nipples marked the point of no return from the decision that seemed like it had been made for me. My husband says that my breasts don't sag but in all honesty, if I don't watch my posture, they do droop like little beanbags with a ski-jump crest at the nipples that aim upward. As the straps dropped off of my arms, mostly out of habit, I threw my shoulders back to flatten out my chest into the pointed mounds that the victims of my teasing were more familiar with but hated the hypocrisy when I did it. "You look like you're fifteen," he said hoarsely and in a tone that I'm sure he wanted to have sound like a compliment but left me wondering how he would know. I had a hard time not imagining him as some perverted Sunday school teacher handing out candy in class to his under-age girls so they would take off their training bras and let him look at their budding breasts. It sort of made me glad that he was looking at me instead. Our eyes met only briefly and if he sensed my misgivings in that half-naked moment, it did nothing to overpower the lust I could see boiling up in him. An unflinching expectation to see me completely nude was written all over his face and his eyes compelled me to continue. I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my panties and peeled them down with no more emotion than if I was getting ready to use the toilet. I felt my tits sway a little as I leaned forward to get my panties to just above my knees and then stood back up to shake my legs so they would fall to the floor before stepping out of them with my tuft of pubic hair on display - almost defying him not to stare. Neither of us was ready for that moment I don't think and for several seconds I stood naked in front of the open windows of the sunroom with my neighbor just sitting on the couch focused on my puffy camel-toe. Feeling vulnerable and taken advantage of I tried to hide the indignation in my voice but it didn't sound like it when it came out. "How am I supposed to do it?" It sounded snotty and impatient. He jumped a little as he cleared his throat and said, "You let me watch once," while motioning with a nod of his head toward the door where my husband had exited and then the couch where he sat, "with your hand in his pants. That's all you have to do." He had emphasized the word "have" which briefly turned my misgivings to contempt until I reminded myself again that I was mostly responsible for his opinion of me. Besides his discovery of me with Brandon, I remembered the incident he was talking about with my husband and couldn't deny that I got turned on by letting him watch us one night in a dark room. He had appeared at the screen door and without getting up my husband had invited him to come in where we were curled up on the couch watching a movie. I was lying with my head on his chest where his arm draped down my side to rest his hand on my hip as I sat with my legs bent on the cushion pointing sideways across me. Pointing toward the chair across the room that Stan picked to sit in to watch the movie with us. I knew right away that I was going to get exposed to him since I was wearing a long t-shirt without underwear. I wasn't sure it wasn't a set-up but as long as I could pretend that it wasn't, I didn't stop it. Before Stan's eyes could adjust to the dim light of the TV, I could feel the edge of my shirt getting pulled high enough to uncover my pussy and waited for my husband's hand to rest on it to cover the hairless slit. I could hear his heart beating as fast as I could feel mine and with just enough darkness, pillows and distance between us, I let Stan watch a slow and luxurious finger-fucking in the shadows while I milked a sticky eruption from my husband's cock that never left his pants. We never had to turn away from the TV so whatever privacy Stan stole from us we figured would never have to be explained. Stan winked now as I stood naked in front of him and I couldn't suppress the grin of mischief that the memory of that night brought as our eyes met. "You can do more if you want," he added with a sly grin of his own. I didn't want more from him and I'm not proud of my impudence but I couldn't keep from snapping back as the smile left my face, "This is about what you want, not me." I meant it to hurt but I instantly worried that he might have heard it differently. Beckoning me with his eyes and a nod, I felt my titties jiggle as I walked warily toward him as he lay down on his back and turned to face me with his head resting on the arm of the couch. I admit my curiosity and suspicion about the story of his impotence. Out of the corner of my eye I could see a small bulge in his pants that either proved he was sort of well hung when soft or that my nudity was already having an effect on his dysfunction. The pill surely hadn't had time to work. I jumped when his hand grazed my knee and looked angrily toward the bedroom door to remind him that I still had protection. I could hear the TV turned up through the door and the shower running in our bathroom to tell me that help from my husband might be delayed since he was apparently getting ready for my reward for servicing another man. But it still got Stan's attention. "You said you wouldn't touch," I seethed in an unnecessary whisper and stepped back out of his reach. My breasts bounced playfully when I did and he smiled at them and then at me when my biceps squeezed my chest to stop the provocative wobble but really just presented him with two nipples almost touching across my tiny cleavage. I had to smile myself at my useless attempt at modesty and we shared the only chuckle that the whole night would bring as I pulled my arms away from my chest. "Okay," Stan said in nervous defense. "I just wanted you to spread your feet a little so I could see it." His eyes were boring into the bald crease of my camel-toe and my showmanship betrayed me as my nipples hardened again at the thought of giving him a better look. I hung my head knowing that I was going to have to trust him to get close enough to get it over with and, with a sigh, I stepped back toward him and spread my feet wider than I'd guess he was asking to make sure he wouldn't need to correct me. "Perfect," he said softly as I paused standing next to him and then he moaned when I leaned forward to dangle my naked titties above his chest as my hand touched the buckle of his belt. I was on auto-pilot with only one goal as I fumbled with the snap and zipper of his pants to expose his white briefs. He kept his hands at his sides as I slipped one of mine into the open fly of his pants and my fingertips touched the shape of his cock through his underwear. It was soft but his grunt of approval told me that it wasn't without feeling as my trembling hand lightly caressed the spongy form of his crippled masculinity. "I knew that you could." He wasn't hard so I wasn't sure yet what he thought I could do but whether I wanted to or not I had obviously innervated something sexual in him. With a little more confidence I began to fondle his limp cock through the material of his briefs and let my fingers slip inside the fly as his hips squirmed in anticipation. By the time my small hand had slithered in to make contact with the rubbery flesh that shifted loosely along the thick shaft, I hoped he could tell that touching another man's cock wasn't a common occurrence for me. I wondered where my eyes should be as I looked at the wall behind the couch and started to massage the soft mass all the way to the tip that had leaked a drop of pre-cum. I was supporting myself with my other hand against the back of the couch so he was getting an eyeful of my hard nipples that don't have to be excited to look that way. "I think you like it, don't you?" I bit my lip without an answer, both to keep from cursing at him and also in determination to use what seemed like his wish to talk sexy about me. I didn't like it but I didn't want to discuss it, either. As much fun as my showing off had turned into with Brandon, I felt like nothing more than a masturbation tool to this guy's abuse of me and each time he reminded me of it I lost whatever chance at excitement being naked beside him might have brought. Having been married for thirty years, I knew enough about the male anatomy to know that he couldn't have been making up the story about his erection problem and still be as soft as he was at that point. Still annoyed by his wish to take advantage of me, I was torn between wanting to see him fail again at getting a boner and being the one who could make it happen. The shaft was gaining some heft even though it couldn't be considered hard and it didn't take me long to decide that he was getting just enough satisfaction that this was going to last longer than I wanted it to if I didn't put some real effort into drawing his semen out of him. I had heard that it takes a half-hour for a pill to start working and I had no intention of letting it go on for that long. If it was going to take more than rolling it around in his shorts, in an effort to get the job done more than to see his cock, I acted quickly so I wouldn't change my mind and pulled my hand out of his underwear to flip the waistband over to expose my task at hand. It put my face right over his crotch when I did and I had to smile at the fragrance of his cologne that wafted into my nostrils from above his graying pubic hair. He must have been sure enough that I would give in when the evening started that he went to the trouble of at least not offending me with his odor. I grabbed the shaft again and started stroking the length, adding a little shake of the tip each time I returned to the base. I knew that my husband's cock got hard quicker when I did that and I was determined to use whatever experience I needed to free myself from sexual servitude. My left hand was still on the back of the couch and as I jacked him off more vigorously I could feel my tits jiggling as a temptation to him that I wasn't too surprised he gave into. I was getting slowly somewhere with his erection and that was more important to me than his hand that brushed against my flat tummy. I actually considered my self lucky when it didn't move toward my crotch. What started as the back of his hand rubbing my belly-button lightly gradually became a tracing with one finger and then two in gentle circles around one tiny breast. Like I said, I couldn't blame him for wanting to play with the visual treats they would have been and I couldn't argue with the hope that my concession would make his cock a little harder. I was still too disgusted with the circumstances to be turned on so I let his finger and thumb slide together to softly pinch the nub of my nipple and when I didn't stop that he started to carefully fondle the entire breast. It became molestation as he gained courage and he was eventually mauling them both with painful pinching of my sensitive nipples that I used to maintain my distaste for the affair. Maybe it did nothing for me but the effect it had on his cock was magic as I could practically feel the blood surge in to stiffen it. He was almost giggling in his groans that matched each of my strokes and would change to loud whines when I stopped at the tip to flick my thumb across it. "Gawd!" he bellowed in surprise when his cock pulsed once with the first false alarm of ejaculation. I varied the speed and amount that I shook the reddening tip that looked like a gasping fish on each stroke and didn't think it was going to be long when his right hand dropped from my chest and touched my knee again. Still feeling nothing but a wish to get it over with, I spread my legs a little further for an even better view of my pussy's lips that I thought he was asking for.