His massive hands reached around to my chest and grasped both of my breasts. He held them like steering wheels that navigated this sensual feat. "Oh b...by, you're just what I needed. Do you like my cock? Do you want me to pound that little pussy of yours?" Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes." Was all I could mutter. A smile widened across his weathered face as he pulled my hips nearly off the table. I felt his balls strike my backside as he began taking long, heavy thrusts in me. I felt his cock slamming. I’ve always thought he was attractive, in his early forties, tall and fit looking with a naughty glint in his eye: he made me feel as though he was looking at me stark naked. We had chatted occasionally over the hedge but never been alone together. He asked me if I’d like a coffee, and I found myself agreeing and going into his house. Rather than putting the kettle on, he opened a bottle of wine and poured us both a large glass. ‘You look unhappy’, he told me. ‘Sometimes I feel life is passing. More

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