Short but unbearable happy hours

Every time, he belittles me, saying I'm old and past my prime. But who can stay young forever? He always scorns my high sex drive, saying it's hard to satisfy, that no one wants to fuck me anymore, that I'm only good for manual labor. But when have they ever truly satisfied me? Aren't they just satisfying themselves? He says no one's fucking me, but why are they all busy inserting things into my anus? I know I can't fight him, so I can only silently obey.

Another hotel room today? Last week was the same. Two old men, they could say they were strong and vigorous, and I'm just a middle-aged woman, but even so, they couldn't satisfy me. Just two old men, a quickie and that was it. That became his excuse: he said he wasn't interested in me after he was done. He said he wasn't interested in me, yet he spent hours on me, cleaning every hole, using every trick in the book. I could only endure the emptiness and helplessness as he left. I thought he might still be able to do something, but my period forced me to hastily stop. I didn't want him to mess with my anus again. What about today? I didn't want it to be another case of all that fun and no enjoyment, but I knew my refusal was useless; he had already made up his mind.

Looking around, I noticed he hadn't prepared a small gift for me, nor any clothes for me to change into. A strange feeling suddenly struck me. I didn't dare ask; he always had something different in mind. Who would it be this time?

Having a car was so convenient—easy to go out and have fun, like the last time, and also to expand the area. A quick drive and we were at another budget hotel. I went upstairs with him, took out my card to open the door, and found the double room empty. I stared at him in surprise. Was I going to book a room with him? Why waste the money? We could have the same fun at home.

"Take off your clothes," he finally said. This was the signal that things were about to begin. It had been so long since I'd been alone with my little husband; it was something to look forward to.

"Don't take off your underwear," he surprisingly stopped me. It seemed he could be flirtatious too. My mind was racing. Sure enough, he took out a pair of handcuffs from his bag. I proactively extended my hands, but he ignored me, squatted down, and handcuffed them to my ankles. This was my reality; I was always ignored, while they did whatever they wanted.

He handcuffed the other end to the office chair. He was going to spread my legs. I obediently sat down, thinking of spreading my legs onto the armrest, but he grabbed me.

"Just stand there and wait, don't move." I was completely confused. What else did he want? He actually picked up my clothes and walked towards the door, opened it, and left. Why?

Just as I was wondering what to think, the bathroom door opened, and I realized there was someone else inside. I hadn't noticed when I came in.

It seemed he was the one who had actually booked the room. A completely unfamiliar face came out. He wasn't tall, maybe 175 cm, and had a decent build, not the fat type. I only glanced at him before lowering my head, unable to look any longer. I felt a little flustered, and my hands unconsciously went behind my back.

"Look at me," his voice held no authority as he placed his hand on my arm. I obediently raised my head, but looked away the moment our eyes met, my guilty conscience making me unsure how to face him.

"So you're the slut begging to be fucked?" I didn't know how to answer, but did I even need to? I was tied up like this, practically naked, and his hand was still caressing my back.

"Answer me," his tone remained flat. I hesitated, then gave a hesitant "hmm," glancing at him briefly. He was an older man, but in his eyes, I was still an old woman.

"I heard you're good at deep throat?" I quickly shook my head; that wasn't what I liked. His other hand gently moved to my waist, turning my body towards him.

"Look at me," he said, without emphasizing his words, but I dared not disobey, only glancing at him furtively.

"Want me to fuck you?" He asked so many questions, such a nagging old man, but I still didn't want to answer. He gripped my cheek tightly, forcing me to look into his eyes. There was no hunger in his eyes; it was I who remained flustered.

"You've done doggy style before?" I shook my head, unwilling to admit it.

"Show me your tongue," he said, not knowing what he meant, and gently stuck it out a little.

"Stick it out," I said. This was the first time I'd encountered someone starting with my tongue; what could he possibly do?

"Stretch it out further," he said, stretching it as far as he could. He leaned in and began to kiss me. I quickly pulled my tongue back, closing my eyes and slowly savoring the kiss. He was actually quite good at it. I actively reciprocated. It had been so long since a man had kissed my lips—not my husband, not even my younger husband. Except for that masked man's tenderness last time, all the others had only bitten my labia. I eagerly sought this moment of tenderness, sticking out my tongue and intertwining it with his.

After a moment, he pulled away from my lips, his hands caressing my body. "I heard you still have breast milk?" His hands were already gently stroking through my bra, but I didn't want to answer.

"Hmm?" he asked doubtfully. I quickly shook my head and said no, my body involuntarily shrinking back. I didn't want him to suckle my breasts so hard; it would hurt a lot.

"Your breasts are pretty good," he continued to caress them through my bra. The gentle touch made me gasp. I could already feel myself getting wet. I couldn't resist this teasing.

"They seem a bit thick," he finally squeezed them harder. His assessment of my bra was essentially an assessment of my cup size; I was only a B. But that didn't stop him from continuing to rub them.

He moved behind me and began to vigorously rub my breasts with both hands. Although I didn't feel any obvious pleasure in my breasts, his hands behind me had already reached his crotch. I instinctively rubbed them back against his crotch. I craved a big cock.

Clearly, he only wanted to tease me, not me teasing him. He grabbed my hands and held them above my head, behind my head, preventing me from getting close to his penis. I couldn't even tell the size.

He continued to play with my breasts, kneading, shaking, and vibrating them, constantly asking if I felt comfortable. I didn't feel anything at all. Although the foreplay was quite good, how could it feel comfortable through my bra? I could only pretend to be very comfortable, moaning and groaning, hoping to satisfy his needs.

He finally put his hand inside my bra, pressing his fingers on my nipples and breasts, pinching and rubbing my nipples. It felt okay, I guess. I cooperated by moaning softly, encouraging him to squeeze and knead harder. After playing with them for a while, he finally forcefully pulled open my bra, revealing my breasts. I could only moan softly as he teased my nipples, pretending to be very comfortable. I even covered my mouth, as if afraid of making too loud noise. I really don't understand what's so fun about grapes, that they're more fun than fucking?

I really wanted to reach out and touch his big cock, but he stopped me every time, making me raise my hand. Is he a toothpick?

After another round of kneading, he finally unhooked my bra and slowly helped me take it off. Now we were face to face, and he kneaded my breasts vigorously, really vigorously.

"They're really not big," he said, my B-cup completely in his hand, "but I like it." The pain was my pleasure, but the pleasure was his.

After a moment of relaxation, I felt him staring at me. Our eyes met, and I could clearly feel his lewd gaze. He wanted to suckle, and although I knew it was useless, I still desperately shook my head.

His lips sucked hard on my nipples, biting as he sucked, and I could only close my eyes tightly and endure it. "Open your eyes and look," his tone wasn't harsh, but it didn't allow me to question him. I could only open my eyes and look away, unable to bear seeing my ugly state.

"Too little," finally, after his squeezing and sucking, milk came out, but he still complained. It hurt so much, but it was also a kind of stimulation, a kind of being controlled, a kind of being ravaged, a stimulation that kept surging from my lower body.

[The End]

URL 1:https://www.sexlove5.com/htmlBlog/169922.html

URL 2:/Blog.aspx?id=169922&aspx=1

Previous Page : A slap during puberty

Next Page : [Mature Woman Sakura's Confession - Couple Swap] [Author: Mature Woman Sakura]

增加

comment Open a new window to view comments

Contact Information

Short but unbearable happy hours

comment Open a new window to view comments