But after only a few minutes, it changed.
“Fuck me harder.”
I did.
“I’m almost there. Go deeper.”
I started doing that, and now every stroke was using the full length of my cock.
“Finish me off.”
That was good to hear, because I was close as well.
Surprisingly, we both lasted another couple of minutes. Then she got there first.
“Fuck, my pussy’s in it.”
Three brutal strokes later, I emptied my balls into her. I lost count of the number of times that I spurted, but it must have been a record for me. Was hers a good one? Yes, it was at least the equal of her first one, and it lasted a long time.
Ten minutes later, we were in the kitchen, sitting at the table enjoying a coffee.
“This has to be our little secret. No boasting to your friends, telling them that you’ve had your cock deep up your Mother’s pussy.”
I chipped in with, “And she loved it.”
That got a stern look from her, to discourage me from making another flippant remark.
“And we need to be careful. Only doing it when we are alone. No trying to feel me up when your Father is with us. He’s not stupid, he’ll notice, and then we will be in trouble.”
I nodded. They were sensible rules, definitely ones that we should stick to.
We didn’t break the rules, and we were never caught. She was a good teacher, and I was an attentive pupil. Very soon I was an expert in all things that were sexual, and that gave me confidence, enough confidence to date Emma, and to then get her into my bed in less than two weeks.
But when did we stop? We didn’t. Even now, when I’m forty and she is sixty four, we fuck as often as we can!
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