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Forty-six year old mothers of two rarely sleep the whole night through so my being in the bathroom for a pee at 2:00am was nothing unusual, but my being confronted by a shadowy figure in the bathroom doorway as I returned to my bed, certainly was. The hallway lights were off, but the size and outline were enough to tell me that it wasn’t my husband Jack and my heart raced for the few moments before I realised that it was Matthew, my eldest daughter Judy’s husband standing before me; in the somnulence of the moment, I’d quite forgotten that they were visiting.
Panic over, I gave Matt an embarrassed smile, waiting for him to step backward and let me pass; that smile no doubt changing to a look of confusion when he stood his ground, raised a hand and silently waved in indication that it was I who should retreat. When I made to speak, Matthew’s hand promptly pushed forward pressing an upraised and silencing finger against my lips, before withdrawing to again gesture me backward; I mutely complied, with Matthew following closely. My confusion only increased when he took a moment to close the door behind us, before turning to once again leave us face to face, mere inches apart.
I made to speak once more, but again the silencing-finger was pressed against my lips, Matt’s other hand pointing left then right as he whispered: “Be quiet Sarah, or you’ll wake Jack and Judy.” Matt then moved his hands to my shoulders, spun me around and frog-marched me across the bathroom ahead of himself; four strides later, I grabbed onto the washbasin before Matt’s momentum crashed me into it. I was still catching my balance as Matt’s hands slipped from my shoulders, slid down each flank, past my hips and stopping I soon realised, at the hem of my night-dress, before jerking back upward, taking my night-dress with them.
Matt’s hands and my night-dress were both around my waist before I finally found my voice, though: “What the hell-” was as far as I got before being silenced halkalı escort by a sharp slap to my right buttock and a threatening whisper in my ear: “I’ve already told you to be quiet, don’t make me have to tell you again.” A moment later my panties were sharply jerked down my legs and despite Matt’s warning I emitted another yelp of protest; this time there was nothing gentle about the slap to my bum and the voice in my ear was a harsh snarl: “You were warned, now keep quiet and spread your legs.” Even now I cannot believe just how meekly I complied, silently kicking my panties free from my ankles, then shuffling my feet apart as Matt had demanded.
Matt’s hand immediately and easily slipped between my splayed thighs, I felt a tingle almost like electricity rage in my belly as his fingers raked through my pubic hair, then two, perhaps even three fingers pressed upward and slipped deep into my yielding pussy. Despite Matt’s previous warnings, I emitted an audible gasp at the penetration followed quickly by an animalistic growl of pleasure as his knuckles ground against my clitoris. Only afterwards did I ponder just how easily I’d accommodated Matt’s probing fingers; there’d been no seduction or foreplay, God it was barely thirty seconds since we’d met in the doorway, but my pussy was already soaking wet, my juices weeping past Matt’s intruding fingers and on down the inside of my legs.
A slow withdrawal was followed by a second and then a third penetration, each harder than the last and each drawing a similar groan of pleasure from my throat. A fourth, the hardest and seemingly deepest thrust yet of Matt’s rigid fingers proved enough and I bit down hard on my lower lip to quell the scream of passion roiling in my throat as the inevitable orgasm ripped through me. My whole body quaked and I fought for breath whilst buckling legs had me hanging desperately onto the washbasin taps to stop myself collapsing to the taksim escort floor. I felt Matt step away and heard the rustle of cotton as he discarded his pyjamas; no excuse remained, Matt was providing me with ample opportunity to make an escape, or to at least try, whilst stripping-off, but I waited quietly for his return.
Matt’s hands were again lifting my nightgown up beyond my hips, I felt the cool air brush my bum, then a tap on the instep of my foot as he whispered into my ear “open them wider”. I complied submissively, moaning in expectation as hard flesh once again raked through my pubic hair and probed for the entrance to my snatch; it wasn’t the tips of Matt’s fingers gently spreading my labia this time. As the bulbous head of Matt’s rigid cock spread my pussy lips and slipped slowly beyond, his hands went back to my hips, slid upward beneath my ruckled night gown, closed gently around my trembling breasts and then; nothing? His cock was perhaps an inch inside me and his hands stroking gently across my nipples, I was trembling in anticipation of his full penetration, but it never arrived; groaning in frustration, I pressed back against his rigid pole and oh boy, did that trip the switch.
Matt once again whispered into my ear: “I guessed right, you’re a slut, just like your daughter.” and in the moment I was trying to digest that statement, he slammed – no other word will do! – the full length of his rigid cock into my waiting pussy. There was perhaps a time in the dim and distant past when Jack’s cock might have had the same iron-hard rigidity, but he’d certainly never shared Matt’s sheer size! It felt as if he were splitting me in two, with the tip penetrating somewhere toward my ribcage and my teeth audibly ground together as I bit down to quell a scream that would’ve woken the whole house as a bolt of pain and pleasure – which was the greater? – ripped through my body.
Once started Matt showed no mercy, repeatedly şişli escort sliding his cock almost the whole way out, before once again driving himself balls-deep into my trembling body, his hands meanwhile roughly mauled my soft breasts, tugging and painfully twisting my tender nipples. There’d been nights long ago when Jack’s lovemaking had been forceful, even aggressive, but he’d never treated me like this; I suppose the key-word was perhaps ‘love’? Matthew wasn’t making love, he was simply fucking me! It was pure animal lust that he was pounding into me and whilst I knew that I’d regret such misuse by the morning, I was in that moment like a bitch in heat, revelling in every moment of his assault.
I doubt that Matt lasted much more than a couple of minutes, though given the intensity of his fucking, he did well to achieve even that; it still proved more than enough for me, I was writhing in the throes of a second and even more intense orgasm well before his final, violent thrust. With his hands once more at my hips, fingers digging fiercely into the yielding flesh, Matt held himself deep inside my bruised and distended pussy, releasing stream upon stream of semen into the very depths of my womb. I’d never experience a feeling quite like it, each shot of come seemed to re-generate and prolong my ongoing orgasm. Despite the cool night air I was damp with perspiration and shaking like a leaf; when Matt finally withdrew his cock and released his grip on my hips, not even the washbasin could help and I sank still trembling to the floor.
I’ve no idea how long I laid there, probably for far longer than the act itself had taken, but when I finally looked around I was alone and all was silent; it could’ve been a dream save for my aching body, ravaged pussy and the stream of fluid running down my thigh to pool on the tiled floor between my legs. I drew my fingers through that small pond, brought them to my lips and smiled, as its metallic, salty taste confirmed beyond doubt that my experience had been no dream. Matt had indeed guessed right, whilst I’d buried it for over twenty years, I was a slut, though I struggled to believe that the same could be said of Judy; did he fuck her in the same way, surely no woman could cope with that every night?
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