MILF Sex Story

The milf sex story I could tell you is not the one anybody asks me for, and I have never once managed to make it sound as slow and stupid as it actually was.

Milf sex story

Arjun’s mother was called Sunita, and she had been in the background of my life since school — picking us up from things, ordering pizza for us at sixteen when neither of us could drive.

She was forty-two, I was twenty-four and finishing a master’s and sleeping badly, and it was a strange thing to be told to wait in someone’s kitchen at twenty-four, but she had said it the same way at sixteen and I had the same reflex.

It was the kitchen. It is always the kitchen, and this one was in Bandra, and the monsoon had been going for a week and the whole flat smelled of wet stone and cardamom.

“Your hair,” she said. “You have cut it.”

“It looked better before,” she said, and she was folding something and did not stop folding it, and then she told me to sit because I looked tired.

I sat. Arjun was upstairs on a call that had been running an hour, and the sound of his voice through the ceiling was oddly comforting.

She put a glass of water in front of me and then sat down opposite and asked me how long I had been looking at her like that.

I said, “What?”

She said I had been doing it since Christmas, at the party, over the table, and that she had been careful not to notice, which is difficult in a kitchen that size.

The tap was dripping and Arjun laughed upstairs at something, and she said, “Do not answer — if you answer I will have to decide something.”

I answered anyway, and said something entirely true and entirely stupid.

She got up from the table so fast the chair did not make a sound, took my wrist, and walked me out of the kitchen, down the hall and into the guest room, because the kitchen had a window onto the neighbouring flat and the guest room had a door that locked.

She turned the key and stood with her back against the wardrobe and said, “Well.”

I got to her before she could say anything else — my hands went up under her top and up her back and my mouth went onto her throat, and she put her head back against the wardrobe and let me.

Her hands came up into my hair, and I got her top over her head and her bra unfastened and her breasts fell into my hands, and I put my mouth on one and sucked, and she said, “Ah—” and her whole body arched off the wardrobe towards me.

She got my shirt off and her palms went flat down my chest to my belt, and she undid it without looking and got her hand inside my jeans and around my cock and stroked it once, slow, and then again, watching my face, and I had to put a hand on the wardrobe to stay upright.

“Turn round,” she said, and I did, and she bent me forward with one hand flat between my shoulder blades and got the rest of my clothes down and knelt on the floor of the guest room.

She took me in her mouth from behind, which I had not expected, one hand around the base and the other flat on the back of my thigh, and she was not tentative and she was not in a hurry.

Every time I got close she slowed right down and waited and started again, and she did that three times until I was gripping the edge of the bed and saying her name.

She worked me with her mouth and her hand together and kept her eyes up on my face, and her palm was flat and warm against the back of my thigh, and I got my hand into her hair and she let me, and when I got close again she stopped entirely, with her cheek against my hip, and waited until the feeling went away, and then started again.

I got both hands into her hair and she let me hold her there, and she took me deeper and then pulled off and looked up at me with her mouth wet.

Then she stood up and pushed me back onto the bed and got on her back under me and reached down and guided me in herself.

I went in slow, all the way, and she let her head fall back on the pillow and her mouth come open and her legs come up round my hips, and I got my hand under her thigh and lifted it higher and she took it with her heel locked in the back of my knee.

I got both hands on her breasts and her nipples were hard under my palms, and she pushed up into my hands and made a small, impatient sound.

She took my hand off her breast and put it lower and closed her fingers over mine to show me the pressure she wanted.

Her mouth was on my throat and her breath was coming in short breaths against my skin, and her thigh slid slick along my hip.

I got both hands under her and lifted her a little way up the bed, and she laughed into my neck and wrapped both legs round my hips.

Her hand came down and found where we were joined and stayed there, feeling it, while I moved.

She watched me from underneath the whole time, and every time I slowed she brought her hips up to make me keep going.

She was not shy, which surprised me — she was careful.

She kept one hand on my jaw the whole time, as if she wanted to be able to see exactly who this was, and when it moved to the back of my neck I said her name and she said, “No — not that.”

So I called her nothing for a while, and that was worse, and she noticed, and her hand tightened.

I got my mouth on her breast and she arched her spine up off the mattress and her hand came into my hair and held me there while I moved inside her slow and deep, and her leg tightened round my hip and her breath came out against my ear in a long, unsteady line.

Her hand went from my jaw to my chest and pressed flat over my heart, and she watched my face while I moved and said nothing at all, which was somehow worse and better than anything she could have said.

Her heels pressed into the back of my thighs and her breath caught at the top of every stroke and she would not let me look away.

Then the ceiling fan above us stopped.

In the quiet we could hear Arjun’s voice going on upstairs, and then his feet on the floor above our heads, and then the bathroom door, and water running.

She put her hand flat over my mouth and did not stop — she moved under me with her hips angled up and her breath coming hard through her nose, and her eyes stayed open on mine the whole time, and she would not let me speed up, and the water upstairs ran and ran.

I tried to change the angle and it went wrong — my knee slipped on the folded blanket and I came down on my elbow beside her head, and she caught my face in both hands and laughed, silently, her whole body shaking under me, and said, “Stay — stay where you are.”

So I stayed where I was and she took over from underneath, rolling her hips up into me in a slow, tight rhythm of her own, and I got my hand between us onto her and she came with her calf locked round the back of my thigh and her mouth shut and her nails in my shoulder.

I finished a few strokes after her, inside her, with my face in her neck and her hand flat on the back of my head, and neither of us moved for a while, and upstairs the water stopped.

At the end she smoothed the pillow and looked at it and said that she had not told anyone about this and would not.

“Sunita—”

“Ah,” she said, “now you say it.”

Arjun came down eight minutes later. She was making tea, and my glass of water had not been touched and had gone warm.

“What were you two talking about?”

“His hair,” said Sunita, “it is quite a bad haircut.” And she looked at me over his shoulder and smiled, and my heart went badly in my chest. More MILF stories.