 |
Dear Diary,
I don’t ever want to leave this place. Not ever! The Pines is heaven, if heaven was an adults-only wellness retreat in the Rocky Mountains. The air is crisp and clean, and we can see the gorgeous mountains so clearly. And there are angels here too, in their white golf shirts and pants or skirts, with absolutely divine fingers and hands. They work miracles on the massage table… I haven’t seen them turn water to wine or multiply loaves and fishes, but the food is amazing (even if is, ugh, healthy) and so is the wine.
I’m not even going to apologise for not writing every day, but I’ve been trying to make the most of every moment. It’s been so good to get away with George, to unplug, and let our stress go. We should have done this years ago, but we are making up for lost time. Every day of the past week we’ve been busy relaxing, as weird as that sounds. I learned the rudiments of golf, and in return George agreed to try yoga.
Oh, he grumbled, but he gave it his all, and I love him for it. And I loved that it was yet another chance to see him move that gorgeous body of his, the muscles in his arms and chest and legs flexing and rippling as he switched between poses. To see him in Warrior, or Triangle warmed me up more than the yoga. And when he did the Crow? I was actually nervous my desire would be obvious to the whole class in the crotch of my leggings, that’s how wet I felt. About halfway through the class, I switched places with George, so that I was on the mat in front of him. All the better for you to check out my ass as I do Tree or Downward Dog, my dear!
We had barely stepped back inside our room after class when he was on me, oblivious to our sweaty, flushed bodies (or maybe turned on because of them), clutching my head in his strong hands, pulling me close for a deep kiss.
It was amazing, Diary, that we were still so randy! At that point we’d been here five nights, fucked for hours each and every one. Without all the usual stresses from everyday life accumulating during the day and wearing us down, our spirits and libidos soared. It was if the mountain air and massages and everything had cancelled out middle age. We fucked like teenagers—fast and hard, and more than once—in our huge white bed, sometimes in complete darkness, and sometimes in the moonlight.
And even after five nights of feverish, frantic fucking, here we were, flushed after yoga class, and clutching at each other, ripping off tank tops and shorts and sports bras and socks and panties and boxer briefs, the clothes flying through the room as if a tornado had blown through the massive glass doors. No sooner were we naked than George had picked me up with those powerful arms of his, and placed me on the bed so that my ass was just on the edge. He pushed firmly but not roughly on my chest, so that I laid back against the luxurious duvet. With the same firm, confident grace, he pushed my legs apart and then his hot breath and even hotter tongue were on me.
He licked and lapped at my folds and my clit like a man possessed, his hands on my hips, holding me in place. We’ve been married for twenty years, and we know each other so well. George knows I buck and writhe when he eats me out; his strength is barely a match for the power of my excited orgasmic movements, the polar opposite of those calm and composed yoga poses. I closed my eyes and gripped the sheets to ground me; the other thing that happens when George’s tongue is on me and in me is I float into the ether, completely aloft on a wave of transcendental bliss.
You know, it didn’t take me long to cum, Diary. It never does when George works his magic. George has always been an attentive lover—it’s just one of the many things I love about him, and the thing that makes me so wet for him—but there’s been something about being at this retreat that has made him as close to perfect as a lover can get. He has been laser-focused on my pleasure, his ears tuned to the frequency of my desire, listening to every shift in my breathing, in my moans and exclamations. He’s been eagle-eyed, noting which of his touches make my eyes roll back in my head or lick my lips.
He’s always paid attention to these things. But here, it’s been different, as if he feels more relaxed, more confident, morepatient, making sure I savour every single moment. I think he’s savouring it all too, because I have never seen him more turned on, more overcome with lust. It’s been why we’ve been sleeping in and missing breakfast more often than not; we’re up so late fucking. Well, OK, we also missed breakfast three mornings because one of us woke the other with some oral attention…
I want to tell you about yesterday though, Diary, because this place has changed me too. If it’s made George more attentive and more patient, then it’s had the opposite effect on me! I’ve never been one to be demure with him— he’s always made me feel safe to express how wantonly I want him—but all this adoring attention he’s been lavishing on me has put sex on my brain non-stop! That’s why yesterday afternoon, as we were relaxing before the big dinner and dance held at the end of the week, I couldn’t get his mouth off my mind. Or his hands. Or his chest. His arms. Or his cock.
By unspoken agreement, we were taking it easy, knowing it would be a late one, chatting with the other couples we’d met here, dancing, and of course, keeping the gyrations going in the privacy of our room. But as soon as he came out onto the balcony with his tea wearing nothing but a towel, I knew I had to have him. I needed him immediately, not hours later.
I studied my husband of twenty years, sitting calmly on the balcony, and asked myself where my unbridled lust was coming from. He’s always been my best friend and a great lover and it was his idea to come to the retreat, to help me de-stress after a hectic year. He’s spent all of our time outside the room positive and supportive and friendly with our new friends, and all the time inside it making sure I had the best sex of my entire life. I was overcome with a heady mixture of chaste love and decidedly unchaste lust.
Which is why my hand moved as if with a mind of its own, caressing George’s muscular thigh as he sat next to me, both of us in our bathrobes and enjoying our tea and the fresh breeze in the trees. We kissed on and off, as we have all week. I thought my intentions were clear, but I guess I didn’t slide my hand high enough, because George finished his tea and went into our private sauna, swapping his bathrobe for a towel.
Was I deterred? You know I wasn’t Diary! Your undaunted Jenifer went to the sauna, and did NOT swap her bathrobe for a towel; she boldly sat in her hunky husband’s lap and this time her intention was crystal clear, they were going to get hot and heavy and this time she was making it all about him.
I sighed as I settled myself in his lap. This is what I needed, to feel his hot skin against mine, his breath in my ear, his muscled legs beneath me and his strong arms around me. And his hard cock eagerly straining against the towel, a rock-hard rod pressing into my bottom. Cock, cock, cock. It was all I could think about: Hard. Thick. Long. I wanted to taste it, feel it on me and in me. My nipples had hardened as I sat down, and my pussy was damp in record time with that beautiful big cock pushing into me.
But George still had his newfound deep reserves of patience and suggested I move so that he could sit on the stair below me, my legs wrapped around him. He caressed them softly as I caressed his chest, loving the hard plates of muscle, so strong under my fingers. He sighed in contentment as we touched each other this way. I loved that he was happy, that he wanted to savour me and relish me, but Diary, you know what I wanted… I wanted sex in sauna.
“Come up here, babe,” I whispered in George’s ear, and leaned back against the sauna wall above him, gesturing fromhim to sit between my legs, his back against my breasts.
Once he was settled, I wasted no time pushing his towel aside and grabbing the object of that afternoon’s obsession. We groaned together as I gripped it. As excited as I was, I did nothing for a few moments but enjoy the feel of George’s member in my hand: the softness of his skin, the size of it, the weight, the stiffness, all of which combined to make me a little dizzy with desire. Now that I had it, I knew, I wasn’t going to let it go anytime soon. It would be in my hand, Diary, or my mouth, or my pussy, until we’d both had enough.
I started to stroke him with my left hand, my right wrapped around the strong, sexy chest. My kisses along his jaw mirrored the soft strokes up and down his shaft, my gentle exploration of his torso.
“I love this cock, George,” I whispered in his ear, but I was talking to myself too, giving my desire voice. “It gives me so much pleasure. You’ve given me so much pleasure, this week, and our whole life together. Right now, it’s going to be all about pleasuring you.”
He groaned as I sped up my stroking and precum started to ooze from the tip. I spread it up and down his shaft, making it slippery. It reminded me that my own pussy was growing even more damp as I anticipated having this big rod in me.
“Oh, Jennifer, it drives me crazy with desire when you do that,” he gasped. I showed my appreciation with a deep kiss, my tongue probing, seeking out his. And then I caught it and sucked on it, making further protest impossible. His cock jerked in my hand as the sensation travelled from his mouth to his member.
He groaned again when I released him, his head dropping back into the crook of my shoulder, his hand gripping my thigh, lost in the sensation of my now rapid fondling of his dick.
And then I had an idea, Diary. I didn’t want him to cum yet. I still had more wicked plans for George and his delicious cock. Maybe he could use a bit of cooling off…
I pulled him from the sauna to the beautiful huge shower, with two walls of stone and one of glass. We hadn’t done it inhere yet, but now we’d be able to check it off the list.
George set the water to cool giving us the most delicious contrast to the warm air of the sauna, taking our overheated skin and delivering tantalising chills all over, making the hot parts of us feel even hotter.
We lathered each other with soap as we adjusted to the temperature, and again I enjoyed running my hands over George’s body, the hard and sleek muscles, but I still wanted that cock. I turned and pushed him back against the stone wall, my ass pressing into him, his throbbing, engorged dick between my cheeks. I rotated my hips, grinding him, loving that we created a core of heat the cold water couldn’t begin to temper. George used one hand to massage my breasts, and the other to rub my pussy, his strong, rough fingers teasing my slick entrance, the flesh of the tips rubbing my throbbing clit. I wanted it to be all about him, Diary, but you won’t begrudge me a few minutes of loving the attention paid to my pussy? Especially since George panting in my ear told me he was enjoying the sensation of my heat and my wetness under that talented hand.
I closed my eyes and started to drift into euphoria, so common during this holiday, but when he shifted behind me, I opened them again and focused. Cock, cock, cock. I wanted George’s cock.
I turned and squatted down in front of him, taking him in my hand to guide him to my mouth. He groaned as I slid my lips over his shaft, and the sound was almost as intoxicating as the feeling of this silky steel member in my mouth. I sucked him, sliding my lips up and down his length, my hands on his muscular thighs giving me the leverage to bob quickly. I took him out of my mouth and slowly, slowly licked up the underside as I looked up into his eyes. They were just how I wanted them: heavy-lidded and clouded with lust. He hasn’t seen anything yet, I thought to myself as I stood up, kissed George with my wet mouth, and then presented my back to him again. He didn’t need any more of an invitation than that, immediately pushing hard into my pussy.
His impatient insistence caused me to give up any pretence of resistance, and I leaned forward, bracing myself on the glass. He lifted one leg, sliding that dick into me with one powerful thrust of his hips, and then pounded me with abandon, just as I had wanted.
Oh, Diary, how exhilarating, how downright naughty to be fucked like that, doggystyle while standing, George positioning my leg so he could plunge deeper than he ever has before, each thrust a rough exclamation of his love and lust. I let my animal instincts take over as well, grunting and panting, fogging up the glass wall before shouting, “Fuck! Fuck me, George! Fuck me!” I was wanton in my abandon, and the three walls of the shower amplified and echoed my filthy demands for an even harder drilling.
I was suddenly too hot and grabbed the shower attachment to spray bracing water over us both, attempting to cool off our sizzling skin. If anything, the sharp coldness just invigorated us, and George fucked me against all three walls, pinning me against stone and glass, a willing captive in his feral embraces, his cock a welcome battering ram, stretching me just right, a delicious, electric friction as he massaged my pussy walls, filling me completely. It’s a wonder I didn’t make dents in the stone, my fingers and toes curled so hard, every single nerve ending in my body aflame despite the cold rain of the shower.
I remember a naughty pattern that my inner slut devised, cock in pussy, cock in mouth, cock in pussy. I wanted to lavish attention of George, to thank him for his amazing attention to my pleasure all week long. But at some point in that shower, it was more than that.
Is there such a thing as being cock-drunk, Diary? I was blitzed on George’s beautiful prick. And I am not ashamed to say so! Why should I be? That cock is magnificent. It feels so right in my mouth and in my cunt. It brings me so much pleasure, and I in turn, can bring my beloved so much pleasure through it too.
So back and forth I went, from sucking and licking that shaft, savouring the taste of our mixed juices, to bending forward, exposing my wet, throbbing pussy, inviting that prick into me, to stimulate my entrance to stretch me just so, to send molten waves of heat through me with every powerful thrust.
I remember at one point giving the man a break, easing him to the floor and squatting down, impaling myself on his cock, and bouncing up and down on him with complete disregard for the wet floor under my feet or for the lusty contortions of my face or my howls of delight as I came—quivering and shaking on top of him as my orgasm set my nerves on fire again.
What I don’t remember is how many times I came. It was more than once, for sure, but I was ablaze, Diary, my pussy an inferno and my conscious mind melted by the non-stop fucking. Delicious dick in my mouth or hard and thick cock in my pussy, both sent me over the edge several times.
When George finally came, there was even more heat. We ended as we had begun, my hand wrapped around his thick, weighty prick, jerking him off, but this time feverishly. I needed him to cum every bit as much as he did, Diary! I needed to see him spasm and spurt, the powerful masculine explosion of semen, the aftershocks rippling through the muscles of his body—is there anything more satisfying than a wife who has been hammered on her man’s tool?
His cum was hot on my breasts, a scalding counterpoint to the cold water. “Oh my God Jenifer!” he shouted as he exploded on me. “Oh, fuck!” His hot white spurts of cum and the release of pent-up lust in his voice were one of the most intoxicating mixes of sensations I’ve ever experienced. That I remember for sure, Diary.
After a few moments, our heat finally dispersed and left us shivering. George took me by the hand and led me to the gorgeous barrel hot tub. I swear the water was not as hot as the cum still coating my skin, though…
“That was…that was amazing, Jenifer,” he said after a deep kiss. “We should come here every year.”
“Oh we will,” I replied. “But we don’t have to wait for a retreat to fuck like we have this week.”
“You’re right,” George said, a lascivious grin spreading across his face. “I’ve been thinking about installing a bigger shower in the house.”
When we test it, Diary, you’ll be the first to hear every wet and wild detail…
The End
|
KITCHEN SEX