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by Lauren McAllister
When our daughter asked if we could put up an exchange student from England for the summer, I was about as happy as a one-armed boxer. 3 months with some fish-and-chip-eating stranger in our house?! And to add insult to injury, Katy wasn’t even going to be here to entertain this “pint” swigging “football” loving foreigner. Little Miss Lucky was going to be in San Augustin, digging up pre-Columbian pottery, while I was busy trying to figure out how to take all the flavor out of the food I was cooking.
Alas, Katy can be positively dictatorial once she sets her mind on something, so we opened up our doors to this homeless, over-educated waif. When she arrived, it couldn’t have been worse. Number one, she was absolutely fucking gorgeous, with a body you could have eaten your dinner off. Number two, her manners and accent were right out of Masterpiece Theater! Christ, I wanted to chloroform her on our porch so I could go out and buy better furniture for her to sit on. It was an unmitigated nightmare, made worse by the fact that she was just so gracious and charming I felt like an Ozark hooker in comparison. I was sorely tempted to slit her throat and dump her body in a very fancy ditch…or possibly a nearby moat.
The last thing I needed in our humble home at this juncture was a delightful and friendly sex goddess. My husband and I were already suffering from the “I’ve been fucking the same old tired skin for more than 20 years, will someone please shoot me” syndrome. Not only did I have to spend the next three months being uncharacteristically polite and welcoming to this sweet young thing, I had to prevent my husband and his penis from making a fool of themselves. Sigh.
Fortunately, the first week whizzed by without a major international incident. I stuck to her like glue, anytime she was in the house. When I had to leave (Yoga, grocery shopping etc.) I begged her to come with me and like the ingratiating harpy she was, she always said yes. She was fiendish and unrelenting in her kindness and helping out. By the second week, I was becoming quite fond of her. The scheming bitch! Sarah was also interesting and funny to talk to. Damn her! To top off her unspeakably-English evil, she gave me some real belly laughs in yoga class and she cooked amazing gourmet meals.
By the third week, I found myself becoming too fond of her. I would catch myself smiling whenever I thought about her and I thought about her constantly. When her Britishness got home from summer classes, I’d practically bound to the door to greet her. In Yoga class, during our team exercises, if I’d have been a boy, there would have been a ten foot boner springing out of my leotard every time I touched her. I didn’t know what was happening to me. Girls had never really been my thing. Even in college, I’d only had a few drunken make-out sessions with my roommate and never any vaginal stuff, just tits and tongues. Now, I didn’t have a single wank where I wasn’t having inappropriate and naked thoughts about my excruciatingly sexy house guest. Her skin was so fucking perfect; I wanted to suck it off her bones. Every time Sarah talked to me, I found myself falling into her depthless blue eyes or completely hypnotized by her plump and intoxicating lips.
Oh, I tried to snap myself out of it. I was a 42 year-old fucked-out housewife who was desperately (pathetically) in total love/lust with a 19 year old feminine vision from heaven. No amount of masturbation (and I was whapping myself blind) seemed to dull the sting of my desire. I’d lie in bed, totally spent from an entire hour of finger-foraging through my lap lips and all I could think about was charging into the next room and licking her into a puddle. Needless to say, my husband was getting humped insensate. Little did he know that every blast from his mast was solely thanks to my enchanting English ingénue.
Our Yoga class one Tuesday was criminally overcrowded and felt like we were working out in a KFC chicken fryer. After our arduous stretchy sweat-fest, Sarah suggested we both take a quick shower before heading home. She smiled like a thousand spring mornings and then doffed her spandex. My uterus practically fell out of my twat, she was so smokin’ hot. What was going on with me? I could feel my vaginal opening clench every time I looked at her. The shower itself, was so homoerotic I thought I was going to faint. We giggled and washed each others hard-to-reach parts – and oh, how those lucky suds did drizzle off her back and caress her perfectly-shaped pageboy ass with its thin soapy fingers. By the conclusion of our ablutionary ordeal, I could hardly talk because my tongue was one huge throbbing erection. I wanted tie her up and spank her and lick her till she screamed. Oh my God! I’d been married to a man for so long, I was becoming one.
All the way home, I was laughing and joking on the outside and evilly plotting carnal perfidy on the inside. Being a guy was mentally exhausting! I had no idea. When we got to the house, I faux-yawned and stretched and oh-so-casually suggested that we might take an after-workout nap together.
“That’s sounds like fun,” she beamed. “Let me go put a t-shirt on.” As she crawled into my bed wearing only a thin piece of cotton that barely reached her upper thighs, I thought my poor little puss was going to spontaneously combust.
“I’m so glad you came to stay with us,” I smiled and gave her a kiss. Then I flung my head down on the pillow and closed my eyes tightly. Shit! That kiss was way, way to long. There was no tongue or anything but you didn’t have to be Masters & Johnson to figure out what I was up to. Had I blown this whole sordid farrago by being so impatient? Was she even into that sort of thing? I mean she was in college. I’d seen those videos of what girls got up to these days.
To my wetting-myself surprise and delight, she plopped her leg over mine, put her arm across my stomach and kissed me warmly on the cheek. “Me to, sweetie.” And then she fell asleep, leaving me to try and figure out whether there was any possible way that I could have a gigantic wank without waking her. There wasn’t.
That night I fucked Ronny dizzy. After he came, I even sucked his dick to try and get him hard again. I was desperate for as many palliative orgasms as I could get. Alas, his long-married cock could not be coaxed back to life. I let him drift off to slumberland (that took all of about 48 seconds) and then I beat my clit into an everlovin’ pulp for the next two hours.
The next night hubby was on late shift. Yeah! I prepared the meal of my life and shamelessly served as much wine to my guest as I could. Afterwards, we lounged on the couch together in front of the fire. Time to bring up sex!
“Hey, I’m sorry if Ronny and I were a little too loud, last night.”
“Oh no. I liked it. I mean…” Sarah blushed.
“I’m just glad that we didn’t upset you. You mean the world to us.” I looked deep into her eyes. “The world to me.”
“To tell you the truth, I really wished I could have come in and joined you. (double blush) I mean it sounded so nice and it’s been awhile since I…”
That’s when I kissed her for the second time. As blatant as my last smooch was, this one was as obvious as the killer on an episode of NCIS. And she kissed me back! Our mouths swirled around one another in a soft, rich dance of sensual longing. Her smell, her taste, her bewitching sighs. Oh my! It was almost too much to bear. When I put my hand on her breast for the first time, I felt a little pre-cum jolt between my legs. Her love muffin was plump and firm, yet soft and oh-so-welcoming. The way it heaved in response to my naughty touch was mesmerizing. Up under her shirt I ventured. Oh my God! Her nipples were like Belgium chocolate laced with heroin poured on top of premium ice cream. By this point, Sarah’s delicate hands had found their way to my saggy, unworthy boobage (not that they didn’t appreciate it). The blissful alighting of her flittery fingers on the bouncy girls were like angel kisses on my tits. A cock! A cock! My kingdom for a cock!
It didn’t seem possible to reach as deep into her mouth as I wanted to be. Clothes definitely needed to be come off. Within seconds, I was dining on her nummy nipples. Oh glorious rapture! I forced myself to become separated from the little darlings for as long as it took to rip my top off, but then I went back down on the Howdy Twins like a mousetrap-spring on a cheese-eating rodent. As I continued apace with Operation Nip Sip, I stealthily reached for my zipper and undid my pants. This was the big test. Was sweet little Sarah a strictly “above the belt” gal (like I was, until I met her) or would she allow me to plum her dainty depths.
Usually (well, almost always), during my dating days, “the guy” was more than happy to try and get my clothes off me while we made out (I used to call it the “groping and hoping” stage). I have new-found respect for those poor schlubs. It’s goddamn hard! Trying to slip out of a pair of slacks while not breaking the mood (or giving the girl a chance to sensibly reconsider) takes unbelievable concentration and coordination. Luckily, Sarah seemed more than pleased with the way our evening was proceeding. My Dockers were barely (that’s a pun) down to my knees when her exquisite fingertips slid between my legs. I was practically diluvial. Sopping wet didn’t even begin to describe how turned on I was. Talk about embarrassing.
To tell you the truth, I could have just kissed Sarah and played with her tits all night. It was absolute fucking paradise. Not that I was complaining about those magnificent fingers, the way she was massaging my mound I was on the verge of proposing marriage.
“Why, there’s no time like the present to go on an investigative trek up her skirt,” thought I. And so I did. What a delightful surprise to find just plump, moist cunt-candy up there and no cotton. I had never felt another woman’s whoopee cushion before (although, I’d been touching my own non-stop since Sarah came into the house) and it was a veritable revelation. So wonderfully squishy and wet and delicate and intricate and so delightfully open to my scandalous explorations. We began deep-throating one another again with our tongues while wanging the daylights out of each other’s clit lumps. I swear you could hear the squelching next door, our vaginas had turned into kiddy pools.
Our womb-whacking pace increased and she was now panting like dog on a treadmill. Sarah’s straining neck turned bright pink as every muscle in her body tightened to the point of snapping. I could feel her thighs squeezing my naughty fingers as she rapidly approached liftoff. We were both on the very cusp of cumming, lost in the psychotic search for salacious satiation. Sarah reached round and stuck her ring finger up my ass just as she volcanically climaxed. Streams and streams of orgasmic fluid squirted out of her, covering my hand, her upper legs and soaking her violated skirt and the couch.
This shoved my turned-on meter up to way past 11. Before her grand mal spasms of bestial fulfillment had subsided, I was practically folded in two as the first cum bolt shot up from between my legs, laying waste to my abdomen and paralyzing my brain. It took my breath away. My sight became severely unfocused as every atom of blood rushed to my diminutive-turned-elephantine vulva. My pussy was exploding like a parking lot full of Pintos and I still had that glorious finger up my ass. Wowsers! I thought my violently undulating solar plexus were going to crack me open like an egg! Every nerve ending, from the edge or my outer lips to the tips of my fallopian tubes was consumed in a cunty conflagration of near-unbearable ecstasy. I almost deafened poor Sarah with my rabid screams.
Once the post-orgasmic mists cleared, we lay in each other’s sweaty arms, kissing each other’s lights out for what seemed like a blissful eternity. Our greedy hands roamed our oh-so-womanly bodies. Our dewy, naked tits pressed together. Our soft and silky legs entwined. (Oh my! I may have to go and have a quick wank before I finish this story.)
As I gazed into those young, beautiful eyes, I knew it was time.
“Talk to me in that cute Limey accent of yours,” I smiled.
“What do you want me to say?” she queried as I kissed my way down her stomach to the Promised Land.
“Keep yapping,” I ordered, sinking my tongue into the delicious nectar of her cavernous womanly flesh.
She sighed and made a game effort to orate while I ate.
“I’ve really appreciated your putting me up at your…house.”
By now I was licking every inch of her buttery lips and swollen clit. Why hadn’t I tried this heavenly practice before? I took all of it into my mouth and deep soul-kissed the epicenter of her sultry steaming twat.
“I am very indebted to you for all your (gasp!) kindness.”
I feasted upon her feminine fruit, seemingly unable to fulfill my need for oral gratification. Soon, her pelvis started to rock, and her cute little English-accented sentences became somewhat halting and at some point stopped entirely. She placed her hands on the back of my head and sighed like a tropical wind. I drenched myself in her damp and luscious labia. Her legs tightened and, looking up, I could see that her breasts had turned bright red. Bam! My face was covered in girlie cum. Her climax was monstrous. She was swearing like an Oxford-educated sailor as wave after wave of orgasmic thunder shook the very walls of her uterus and beyond. Her tits were now twitching and her breathing had stopped. The eyes had rolled back in her head and I was afraid she was going to pass out. Finally, Sarah grunted and one last massive gush of slit juice rocketed past my forehead as she flopped around like an Atlantic salmon on the deck of a sea trawler. It took her almost five minutes to fully calm down and for the post-climactic quim quivers to stop.
Needless to say, she was more than happy to return the cunnilingual favor. (The upper-crust British are so very polite that way.) WOW, was that good. We then made out like demented truffle pigs for so long that we had to rush to get dressed as hubby was pulling his car into the driveway (He did not get laid that night).
The weeks rushed by and our vaginas became inseparable. We fucked everywhere (in the house, in the car, in the sauna at the gym, in a K-Mart change room). I just couldn’t keep my hands off her. It wasn’t until the night before she was due to leave us that things got a little weird. We were lying naked and glorious in bed together (hubby was off at some football game or something) when she dropped the bomb on me.
“I’ve got a confession to make,” she announced nervously.
“You’re really from New Jersey and you’ve been taking that toffee-nosed accent?” I teased.
“I’m your daughter’s girlfriend.”
“I know that,” I replied.
“No, her “sleeping together” type girlfriend. Katy is a lesbian but I’m bi. She sent me to stay with you for the summer so she could keep me away from boys.”
This came as quite a shock. I almost peed myself. “Well, at least I was able to do that,” I wanly mused.
Sarah started to giggle. I started to giggle. Then, I went straight down on my daughter’s girlfriend and ate her out until she went blind.
That fall, Katy came out of the closet and Sarah has been a regular guest at our house ever since. They’re going to get married next year! Obviously, propriety would dictate that our physical relationship should have completely ceased after that summer. It hasn’t. I bang that sweet young thing every chance I get and in between those chances, I wank away like a madwoman thinking about her.
In fact, I think I might just go and have a quick one right now before my husband gets home. So, if you’ll excuse me….
Copyright 2014 Lauren McAllister