Ramblings of and Old Man – Part 10 “Oh Maggie, Maggie-Mai…”
Introduction:
In Part 10, heartbreak at being spurred by the woman I’d proposed to, leads to new and unexpected experiences with an older woman, whilst on temporary duty in Wales.
I never planned on these thoughts going public. It was just a few scrappy notes for my own consumption. The ramblings of an old man, as it were. But one of the individuals concerned saw those notes. They thought that others may identify with some of the situations and suggested I tidy them up into a story and post them on your forum.
And I do not profess to be a literary genius; so, if my writing style and grammar offend you, you know where the ‘close’ button is!
Part 10 – “Oh, Maggie, Maggie-Mai…”
If you’ve been following my journey so far, you’ll be aware that at the end of the last part, I had just completed my three year tour of duty, with the UK armed forces, on the Mediterranean Island of Cyprus. During the second half of that tour, I’d been in a committed relationship, or so I thought, with Julie, a ‘Lumpy Jumper’, who served with the same signals intelligence unit as me. Read Part nine if you want the full backstory.
A couple of months before I was due to return to the UK, to attend my advanced engineering course, I had proposed marriage to Julie, who was only halfway through her own deployment at that point. Though, as a married couple, she would be able to short tour and we could apply for married quarters together. However, she turned me down with a ‘not yet’; she still had things she wanted to achieve herself first, but gave me a strong indication that in time, we would marry.
So it was, that in the September of 1977, after a few weeks of overseas disembarkation leave, I found myself back at the training school, alone, and trying to conduct a ‘long distance’ relationship, effectively by post. Being professional signallers, we did manage to ‘steal’ the occasional voice call, over the radio networks; frowned upon, but generally ignored so long as you didn’t kick the arse out of it. These links were heavily monitored for security reasons though, so the conversations had to be very ‘matter-of-fact‘ and definitely not sexual in any way.
From almost the day we met, Julie and I had had a wonderful sex life. As we lived in separate single accommodation blocks (no mixed sex dorms in those days), it was not always easy to find a place to fuck. But we managed, and if anything, the clandestine nature of our couplings, made it even more fulfilling, when they did happen. I was missing that desperately already.
Julie was an absolute stunner, way above my league for sure! A blonde bombshell, with an incredible body, which she knew how to use to give me intense pleasure, whilst also wringing the maximum out of me for her own sexual satisfaction. Her appetite for all forms of sex, was greater even than mine. So it was probably inevitable that with 2000 miles between us, she would eventually need to seek gratification closer to her home, and not just as a solo artist.
The crunch came in the November. I’d written asking Julie to let me know her shift schedule over the Christmas and New Year period. I was planning to fly out to see her during my block leave, and wanted to arrange my stay to match as much of her time off as possible. When the reply came back, instead of her shifts, it gave me a list of ‘time slots’ when I could phone her. ‘We need to talk’ her letter stated. A proper talk where we could discuss things openly, and not worry about being eavesdropped by the monitors. It was blatantly obvious what the ‘talk’ was going to be about, so I booked a call for the first opportunity (no direct dial available to her at that time), wanting to get this over with ASAP.
When the time slot arrived, there was a bit of a delay on that international link, but after about an hour’s waiting anxiously, I was connected to Julie. Struggling a bit with the time lag on the line (satellite delay), we exchanged pleasantries, then I asked her directly what she wanted to talk about, as if I didn’t know. She didn’t beat about the bush either, and came straight out with it. She was seeing someone else; well colour me shocked!
I asked who it was. She wouldn’t tell me, but did admit it was another member of her ( my previous) unit, one of my former colleagues. I had my suspicions who it was, someone I knew had always lusted after her, and threw a name out, but she would neither confirm nor deny; that was as good as an admission to me.
It was her that initiated things, she told me. She had been lonely and horny and “…I just let it happen.” I was angry at the betrayal, by someone who, if I was correct, I had thought a friend. In retrospect though, I could not really blame him. By any measure, Julie was a goddess. And when a goddess comes on to you and wants to fuck you, no sane man, or woman, is going to turn her down. I certainly didn’t when it was my turn.
I tried, quite half heartedly, to convince her we could still rescue our relationship. I’d fly out to Cyprus over Christmas as planned. I still loved her, and wanted to try and sort things out. She was not having it though. She asked if I seriously thought, even if we did get back together for a week or so, we could hold out for over a year until she finished her deployment, and then there was no guarantee we would be colocated again. We would be if she married me, I told her, and stated my proposal stood.
“I’m not going to marry you Titus.”
No ‘not yet’ like before. This time it was a definite no, wasn’t it? I queried that is what she meant, which she confirmed.
She reiterated what she had told me previously, that she still had so much she wanted to achieve in her life. That although she had genuinely thought before I could be a part of that, our separation had proved that was not going to work. She couldn’t live like a nun, waiting for my letters to arrive. Apart from anything else, she loved sex too much for that, which is why she’d ‘cheated on me’ already, after just a couple of months apart, and would undoubtedly do so again, even if we briefly met up once more and managed to patch things up.
That was that then. She’d made up her mind that we were over and nothing more I could say was going to change that, so I didn’t try. It would have been pointless. I wanted to be furious with her. I wanted to scream and shout, and call her all the bitches under the sun for leading me to believe we had a future, when it was doubtful she had ever actually thought that.
But I couldn’t. If I was one hundred percent honest with myself, I’d known it was over the moment she first declined my proposal. From that moment on, we were simply going through the motions for sexual gratification. And someone else was fulfilling that need for her now. And good luck to him, she was awesome in bed.
We wound up the phone call, which had already cost me a King’s ransom. We could at least agree we’d both had a blast during our eighteen months together, and did not regret a moment of it. We even managed to wish each other the best for the future and, I at least, meant it. With that, I ended the call, and the era of Julie.
To try and bury my hurt, I threw myself into my studies, and even though I do say so myself, was achieving outstanding results in the tests and projects I completed. That part of my life was going well. There was one spoiler to bring things down though. When I’d arrived at the school back in September, there was a huge number of trainees going through. All of the ‘more comfortable’ accommodation blocks were fully occupied. To house us, several old style barrack blocks, that had been shut up for years, had been reopened. The bed areas were hideous 24-man dormitory rooms and the communal facilities (toilets, ablutions, baths and showers) were seriously outdated and in a poor state of repair.
I had just spent three years overseas in living conditions that, during my tour, only just improved from utterly horrendous, to totally crap. I was really pissed off that I was in that situation again, as were others. It was no surprise then when many of us jumped at the opportunity to ‘live out’. We could find our own digs off base, where we had to be self-sufficient. In return our food and accommodation charges would be refunded, (yes, contrary to popular belief, we didn’t live rent free or eat free, we had to pay for it, like everybody else!) I got together with three other members of my intake, and we found a two bedroom flat, in the local town to rent between us. It was nice to have virtually total freedom from the restrictions of barrack room living. Of course, I still had flatmates to consider.
When it came, I was really glad of the two weeks block leave we had at Christmas. I needed it to regroup and recharge. I spent that leave at my parents home, which pleased them immensely, as I had not done so for several years. It also gave me the chance to look up a few old friends from my teenage years. Sadly Gillian, who had taken my virginity, and I hers, the last time I’d spent Christmas ‘at home’, was now away at University, so any hopes I had of a repeat performance were dashed.
When we returned to school in the new year, I was chosen to lead a major project, to be conducted at another military establishment. The idea was that we would spend a couple of weeks conducting an audit of engineering practices at the location we were allocated, then develop a plan to make improvements. It was a training exercise, so they did not have to accept our findings, but in the past many good ideas had in fact been adopted.
To my total surprise, when the venue was revealed to me, it turned out to be on an RAF base in North Wales, Anglesey to be precise, where we would be auditing one of the resident aircraft squadrons. Aircraft engineering was totally alien to us, but that was largely the point; to take us out of our comfort zone, as well as giving a fresh perspective to suggest alternative possibilities to the hosts.
After spending a couple of weeks researching and developing our plan of attack with my team, we were ready to head off to Wales. There, we’d been told, due to extensive improvement works taking place on junior ranks accommodation, we would have to be put up in civilian bed and breakfast digs in nearby Holyhead. A nice little bonus for us.
The first week of the exercise went smoothly enough. It was a matter of going through all of the squadron’s processes and procedures, finding out what they did, why they did it that way, how they documented what they’d done and so on. This involved asking loads and loads of, what must have seemed like stupid questions, over and over again. This must have pissed off the local engineers no end, but give them their due, they cooperated fully with us.
We put in six full, extended days that week, but managed to gather all the evidence we needed to generate our report. But that was the next week’s task. Sunday we would award ourselves a day off. A lie in in the morning, then a pub lunch and a few bevies, before a relaxing afternoon in front of the telly, then more bevies in the evening.
They say that most battle plans fail when the first shot is fired. So it was with ours. Sure, we got the lie in, but then discovered to our horror, that that part of Wales was dry on a Sunday at that time. The only places that could serve alcohol were private members clubs. We were fucked. Or were we. One of the team suggested “Is there a British Legion club here? As servicemen, we’re automatically Legion members”. Not strictly true, but most branches will welcome serving personnel as guests.
It turned out there was indeed a Legion club. We tried our luck and were admitted, “Provided you behave yourselves!”; as if we wouldn’t! It was a typical drinking club, with basic furnishings and fixtures, but exactly what we needed, a well stocked bar and snacks and sandwiches for sale, for our lunch. The local clientele was mostly aging veterans, some with WW2 service to their credit. We probably nearly halved the average age there (at 22-years I was certainly among, if not the, oldest members of my team). Many of them came over and chatted with us, to tell us their ‘war stories’ or wanting to hear ours. There was a common thread from some of them though, “Watch out for Maggie-Mai, she likes the young uns.”
Maggie-Mai, it turned out, was a fifty something widowed grandmother. Her late husband had been a former Royal Navy sailor and later trawler man. He’d died in a tragic accident at sea on his fishing boat, some fifteen years previously. Maggie had never remarried, but allegedly still had a fearsome sexual appetite, particularly for her ‘toy boys’.
She was, at that moment, at a table across the room from our group, but could be seen glancing in our direction every now and then, I assume trying to decide which of us would be her target. How to describe Maggie. Well, the polite word would probably be ‘matronly’, but hell, there is no point in trying to sugar coat it. She was short, plump and had the ‘lived in face’ of someone who’d had a hard life.
Long before it became popular amongst women, Maggie’s arms bore several intricate tattoos, and some that looked distinctly prison cell applications. I was never brave enough to ask if she had indeed served time. Her clothes were ‘charity shop chic’ and far too tight for a woman of her stature. The button up shirt bulged, struggling to contain her massive breasts (42G it transpired). The short skirt barely covered her arse, leaving her chunky orange peel thighs bare. Another simple de***********ion would be ‘fucking scary!’
We were several pints in, as the 2pm closing time drew near and I needed to take a piss before we started the walk back to our digs. The bogs were tucked away at the back of the building, out of sight of the bar area. I took my piss, washed up and started back to rejoin the others. But on exiting the gents, there, blocking my escape route was Maggie-Mai (gulp, target acquired it seemed).
Speaking with her lyrical Welsh accent, she basically went straight into chatting me up and propositioning me. Where was I from, what was I doing in Holyhead, did I have any plans for that afternoon, would I like to come back to her place for ‘coffee’, etc!
I was flabbergasted. This was the stuff of ‘Penthouse Forum’, and I never believed those letters were actually true. But here I was, being offered sex on a plate by a grannie. Every instinct in my body was telling me to run like fuck, as quickly as possible. Out of politeness though (after all, we had promised to behave ourselves), I made up some lame excuse about us all having to get back to do some ‘homework’ ready for the following day, or some such bullshit. “Pity,” she said, she was fantastic at ‘making coffee’. But that she’d be there, in the Legion bar, that evening if I changed my mind. With that, she grabbed me and before I had chance to react, planted her mouth directly on mine, screwing her tongue into my mouth, before reaching down and roughly grabbing my genitals through my trousers.
I was petrified, but for some reason I’ll never be able to explain, I did not try to break off the contact. She did that after a few moments stroking my slowly growing cock, and headed back to her table in the bar. I stood, planted to the spot for several minutes, dumbfounded at what had just happened. After gathering myself together, I too returned to the bar, where the others were waiting on me to leave. As we exited, I could not help but glance back at Maggie, who grinned and furtively blew me a kiss. Holy fuck, I hadn’t imagined it then.
On the walk back to the B&B, I told my team what had gone down, thinking they would get a good laugh out of it. To my total surprise, the general response was along the lines of, ‘what are you doing here. Why aren’t you taking her up on her offer. You’ll never see her again, and if she’s as good as she claims, it would be one for the wank bank in later years. Go for it Titus’. I brushed there comments off. Told them no way was I going to fuck an ‘old woman’, I wasn’t that pissed. I wasn’t that into that sort of thing; or was I.
Back at the digs, I went to my room, with the intention of having a nap, to sleep off the lunchtime beer. But sleep would not come at first. My mind was reeling. Yes, Maggie-Mai was at least twice my age, and yes she was rough as fuck, but she was no doubt an experienced woman, in many ways. Perhaps those letters were not all fabricated. Perhaps the lads were right. Perhaps I should ‘go for it’ and find out if sex did indeed improve with age. I drifted off to sleep for a couple of hours, and when I woke, my mind had been made up. Fuck it! Why not. I’d go back to the Legion that evening, with my minders, and if Maggie was there and still wanted me, she could have me! You only live once, so experience what you can, when you can.
Later, after we’d found a place to eat our evening meal, we all headed back to the Legion at about 8pm. I’d not said anything to the guys about what I’d decided, but the fact that I was even there probably gave them a good inkling that I was not running scared. As we entered, Maggie-Mai was indeed present, sat on a barstool, chatting with (or maybe chatting up) the barman. She grinned lasciviously when she saw me. It looks like it was on.
I went to the bar to buy a round of drinks. When the order was filled, Maggie pointedly lifted and stared into her empty glass, so I added “…one for the lady, too please”. The barman snorted out loud at that de***********ion of her, but poured the drink, a pint of bitter, and added it to my tab. Maggie thanked me and toasted my health, by draining the top third of the pint in one gulp. I took our round to the table that the lads had claimed.
After about 15-minutes, another fresh pint in hand, Maggie came over to our table and asked to “Join you handsome young men, for a bit.” One of the group nearly choked on his own drink at the double entendre he saw in that request. Without really waiting for an okay, she grabbed a spare chair from an adjacent table and inserted herself in the group next to me, much to the delight and amusement of the others. I was still ‘the chosen one’ it appeared. Glancing around the room, there was a few knowing looks and whispered conversations among the locals. They obviously knew how the game was played, and were ready for a bit of entertainment.
Maggie flirted openly with everyone at the table, but centred her attention on me; accidentally touching my arm, my shoulder, my thigh, to emphasise a point. My team had cottoned to the fact that I had accepted my fate, and started setting me up, with subtle and not so subtle digs and innuendo. Maggie either didn’t notice, or didn’t care, but I was quietly seething at the bastards. They’d pay for that later I decided.
Sunday 10pm closing time came round far too quickly. We drank up and made ready to leave. I thought for a moment I’d won a reprieve, which I would have happily accepted. I was not so invested in shagging Maggie-Mai, that I would have forced the issue. But she made her move. She was, she said, a little bit tipsy, and would one of you kind gentlemen please escort her home, to make sure she got there safely. Almost in unison, the group chorused “Titus will.”; Twats!
With all the normal obscenities, meant to protect me from ‘getting lost’ in her body (Tie a rope around your waist, strap a plank to your feet, write your name and address on the soles of your feet so they know where to sent the pieces, etc.) they left me to my fate and buggered off. With her leaning against me, for support in case she tripped, she said, we set off for her gaff, with her directing me. It took about 20-minutes to reach her place. Again, not sure how things were going to pan out, or even if she was all mouth and bluster, I started to bid her goodnight. It was then she ‘remembered’, “That coffee is still on offer, if you fancy it now.”
This was it then. Crunch time. The point of no return. Yes or no? I’d convinced myself earlier I could go through with this, but was again having doubts. I tossed a coin in my head, and it came down ‘yes’. I accepted the offer of ‘coffee’ and she opened the front door to her terraced two up, two down to let us in, directly into her front room.
Whatever I’d been expecting, it wasn’t what I saw. Unlike Maggie’s, shall we say neglect, of her personal appearance, her home was remarkably clean and tidy. The décor was good and the furnishings looked relatively new. I had to admit, the prospect of finding myself in a bit of a ‘hovel’ was one of the ‘cons’ on my pros and cons list of deciding to be here. The biggest pro, despite my earlier denials, was that I was dying to try out ‘elder sex’, at least once in my life.
Maggie offered me a seat, directing me to the smallish, two seater settee, placed in front of the open fire. The fire had burned low in her absence, so she poked some life back in to it and threw on a shovelful of coal to keep it going. She disappeared upstairs briefly, I assumed to the bathroom, before returning and actually brewing us coffee; had I got this all wrong?
No, I hadn’t. Maggie came and sat close to me on the settee and within minutes her tongue was once again halfway down my throat. This time I accepted the kiss, which wasn’t half bad, and tabling my coffee mug, I reached out and touched her for the first time, just placing my hands on her shoulders as we kissed.
Wasting no time on prelims, she reached down and unfastened my trousers and reached into my pants to extract my flaccid cock. She started to stroke me. Despite my lingering doubts that I could go through with this, her touch slowly began to harden me up. Like it or not, I was fully committed now, so may as well get the most out of the encounter. Maggie was still dressed as she had been that lunchtime, in blouse and skirt, presumably with underwear beneath. Well, she definitely wore a bra, it had been clearly visible most of the evening, along with most of her tits, through her partly open shirt.
As she continued to bring me fully erect, I moved my hands down from her shoulders and ran them down her chest, until my palms were firmly cupping her massive breasts, over her top. They were soft and pliable to the touch, any firmness that may have been there in the past was long since gone. Feeling my touch, Maggie thrust her tits forward, encouraging me to pay more attention to them. To facilitate that, I needed to rid her of the clothing that covered them.
Removing my hands temporarily, I undid the buttons of her blouse, slipping her free arm from its sleeve. Without missing a stroke, she changed hands on my cock, to allow the second arm to be removed from its sleeve too, leaving her in just her bra. There seemed no sense in pausing. There had been no hint of objection to my undressing her, so I went straight on and, reaching behind her back, no mean feat, I unclasped and removed that bra; which to be fair, must have been a masterpiece of engineering to provide the degree of support it did to her huge tits, now revealed in all their glory.
Those tits were, without doubt monumental. The biggest I’d ever seen. The only thing that had come anywhere close before had been Nurse Sluty, my boot camp dalliance. But even they were tiny by comparison. They were milky white and tipped with very large dark areoles and nipples. True, they showed their age and were marred by stretch marks, were pendulous and sagged down almost to her flabby belly, but she was obviously proud of them regardless.
Releasing my cock, she placed a hand beneath each breast and lifted them high. Then to my delight, she bought her nipples, in turn, to her own mouth, licking, biting and sucking them in, her self-induced pleasure apparent on her face. Having shown me what she liked, she lowered those tits slightly, offering them to me, to take over their stimulation. I was happy to oblige. When I started to mouth her teats, she adjusted her hold, so her tits were held aloft with one arm beneath them, whilst the hand of the other went to the back of my head, holding me firmly in place, as if I was about to make a run for it; I was way past that though by now.
After several minutes of suckling, drawing a string of moans and obscenities from her, Maggie pulled away from me and, after I’d removed my shoes, she pulled off my trousers and underwear. My cock had sagged a little away from her hand, but she soon corrected that. Once I was fully hard again, Maggie knelt before me, spread my knees wide and, without check, engulfed my cock in her hot mouth. It was now my turn for the obscenities.
Thirty odd years of blow job experience showed through. She used her lips to fully retract my foreskin, before using her tongue and teeth to lick and nibble my entire shaft and glans, making me yelp with painful ecstasy. When I could stand the teasing no longer I, quite forcefully it has to be said, pushed her head down, making her take more of me in. She took most of my length, in the nearest I ever came to ‘deep throat’ fellatio. As she worked me in and out of her mouth, I could not help but grasp her by the back of the head and thrust back at her, essentially fucking her mouth, making her gag occasionally. (Unconsciously, I seemed to be willing to take liberties with this woman, that I had never considered previously with younger partners. I confess that troubled me a little bit when I considered it later. Much later.)
For all the new sensations, I lasted much, much longer than I’d have expected. But all good things come to an end. And cum I did. With another breach of respect, I didn’t even bother to tell Maggie I was about to ejaculate, I just assumed it would be okay. Thankfully I was correct. As I repeatedly deposited a glob of spunk into her mouth, she swallowed it down, without breaking her rhythm on my cock. It felt like I shot more in that one load than I had for a long time. Mind, it had been several months now, since I’d had any outside assistance to do so. She continued to mouth me for a few minutes longer, draining every possible droplet of jazz from me, until I finally started to wilt in her mouth. She then sat back on her heels, and eyeballed me with a smug grin and quipped, “I told you I was good at making coffee.”
For a moment, I thought that was it, and I would have been perfectly content if that had been the case. But after allowing me a short interlude, to catch my breath and for my legs to stop shaking from the blow job, Maggie-Mai stood, took my hand and guided me towards the stairs. Entering the front bedroom, I found it warm and cozy, heated by another open coal fireplace, which along with the two low wattage bedside lamps gave a seductive, flickering glow to the room. The bed was neatly made and turned down ready to receive occupants. Us.
We would have made a comical sight to any observer as we stood in front of the fire, enjoying its warmth. Me, a reasonably good looking 22-year-old guy, wearing just a shirt and jumper, wet dick dangling in front of him. And her, a slightly wizened and chubby older woman, topless, with huge saggy tits exposed, wearing just a skirt, far too short and tight for her. It certainly made me chuckle, but that was probably still nervousness.
The first order of business was to lose the rest of the clothes. I lifted my pullover over my head and off, and made to unbutton my shirt, but Maggie brushed my hand away and continued the task of removing it, leaving me totally naked. She ran her hands all over my chest and flat tummy. I was not ripped by any means, but regular beastings by the PTIs kept me fit and in reasonable shape. She seemed to like it, and cooed appreciatively. I too, moved my hands to her chest, and once again started to massage her soft hanging tits, tweaking her nipples between thumbs and forefingers making them bullet hard, increasing the volume of her moans of pleasure.
Soon, Maggie pulled back from me, breaking our contact once again. She reached behind herself and unzipped her skirt, allowing it to fall to the floor, stepped out of it and kicked it away. All she wore now was plain, white Bridget Jones knickers. Placing her hands on my shoulders, she gently pressed me to my knees in front of her and ordered me to “Take them off, now.” I did as instructed, grabbing them by the waistband and peeling them down her substantial thighs.
I was immediately confronted with a pubic mound, almost totally devoid of hair. It wasn’t shaved, that era was still many years away. It had simply thinned naturally to a few wispy strands, as is not uncommon in post menopausal women. It did though reveal her stout puffy outer lips, partially opened, and from which dangled the longest labia I’d ever seen. Again, she seemed to be proud of her fanny, and taking a flap in each hand, pulled them apart, to show me her glistening vaginal opening. Then, placing a hand on the back of my head, she started to manoeuvre my face towards her crotch.
I knew exactly what she wanted, but once more, I was hesitant. Did I really want to use my mouth on this elderly vulva? To buy myself a bit of thinking time, I released myself from her grip, grasped her hands and backed her across the room towards the edge of the bed. When we reached it, as gently as I could, I lay her down, with lower legs over the end. She spread her knees to give me access to her. Still debating with myself, I didn’t go straight down on her. Instead leaning forward I once again took her tits in hand, and went back to kissing, licking and chewing lightly on her nipples.
As much as she seemed to like that, it wasn’t going to placate her, and soon she was pushing me down towards her fanny once again. For fuck sake Titus, I told myself. It’s just a pussy. It may be a bit older and plumper than you’re used to, but it won’t hurt you, and nobody will die if you get in there, hopefully! So kissing and licking all the way, I allowed her to lead me all the way down, across the fleshy folds of her stomach, to her vulva. Once there, I took the plunge and licked and sucked the length of her cleft and across those exposed labia flaps.
Of course, it did not feel, smell or taste fundamentally different to any other fanny I’d gone down on. In fact it was very fresh and welcoming. It was just me being a twat again, and probably a bit ageist, to boot. Anyway, once I’d started, I resolved to make the most of it and enjoy the experience. Holding her outer lips open with my thumbs, I used my lips, tongue and teeth to explore every inch of her large vulva. As I worked on her, she forced my face into her, making breathing a challenge. Before too long, her orgasm bubbled to the surface and the moans and obscenities resumed. As she came, she crushed my head between those man eating thighs, and bucked and trembled to a crescendo.
I was quite relieved when she was finished, though I carried on gently tonguing for my own pleasure now. Momentarily, I moved to pull away from her, but my relief was short lived. Keeping me in place she yelled “Don’t stop, don’t stop yet, I’m cuming again”, and damn it, a few minutes later she did, massively, screaming loudly and gushing her fluids over both of us. This time, she released me, allowing me to breathe deeply again and stretch and rest my aching jaw. So, what I’d nearly decided not to do, turned out to be one hell of a good oral session. I think it was the first time I’d bought a woman to back-to-back climaxes, so a new box ticked too.
After a reasonable recovery period, it was time for the main event. My cock, which had wilted after the earlier BJ, had responded nicely to the subsequent action, but did need a little more encouragement to stand fully firm. I was still half standing, half laying between Maggie’s spread legs, when she sat up, and reached for me. By standing fully upright, I gave her more freedom to stroke me back to life, using a double handed, overhand grip, so she could tease my frenulum with her thumbs.
When she was satisfied that I was hard enough for her, she lay back down and pulled me towards her. Opening herself with one hand, she used the other to position my penis at her slick entranceway. I eased myself into her surprisingly tight hole, until our pubic bones met. A loud sigh of appreciation told me I was fully home. After the customary stabilisation pause, I started to rock my hips back and forth, driving my cock in and out of Maggie’s willing opening. A constant torrent of “Oh shit. Oh fuck. Don’t stop. That’s it” from her spurred me on, and I pounded her for all I was worth.
It seemed to go on for ever. I was not anywhere near cuming yet myself, but desperately needed to pause and regroup for the finale. When I did, Maggie rang the changes, pushing me clear, rolling further onto the bed and moving to her hands and knees, “From behind now please.” she begged. Ready to restart, I moved behind her, going for re-entry. Terrible as it is to say, but I really struggled to find her entrance between her bulging buttocks. After a few abortive attempts, to give me a clue, as it were, she reached behind herself, and spread her large arse cheeks with her hands. This did the trick. Her vaginal opening was clearly visible now…as was her puckered little anus. For a fleeting moment, I was sorely tempted to shove my cock in ‘the wrong hole’, and you know, I’m pretty certain she would have been okay with that. But I chickened out, and went for the ‘front door’ instead.
Firmly reinserted and revived now, I grasped Maggie’s hips and started thrusting in and out of her again. She rocked back against my in strokes, crashing our bodies together with an audible ‘slap’ with each stroke. I pounded on, working up quite a sweat in the warmth of the coal fire. The tone of her groans and moans started to get higher and louder, which I assumed meant she was getting close to another orgasm, as was I. But I was determined to get her there first, to show her we youngsters could be good at ‘making coffee’ too. I told her I was close and to let me know when. “Nearly there.” She said, “Just a few more minutes. Keep going, keep fucking going.”
True to her claim, just a couple of minutes of hard pounding later she yelled out something like, “Oh my fucking god…I’m cuming…Now!”, and screamed at the top of her voice (sorry neighbours!). That was all I needed and I unclenched, whatever it is that holds a guy back, and delivered what load I had left directly into her pouting vagina, using a series of deep hard final thrusts, yelling quite loud as I climaxed myself.
I don’t know for sure how long after we peaked, we stayed coupled. I was finally roused by the feeling of my, now softened, cock slipping out of her vagina. I was flopped forward on Maggie’s back. She was still on all fours, but with her head now resting on the bed too, and was supporting both our weights. I’m certain she was more than capable of holding us there, almost indefinitely, but I moved off of her, and crashed on my back on the bed, completely fucked, quite literally. She too lay back and drew the bedcovers up to cover her nudity, not that I hadn’t seen, and touched and tasted it all already anyway. She made no attempt to initiate any post coital kissing or cuddling, so neither did I.
Very soon, Maggie started to drift off, but disturbed when I got out of bed to search for my clothes. “Are you going?”, she asked. I truthfully told her I was back on duty early the next day, and needed to get back and make sure all my kit was squared away first. She simply responded with an “Okay. Bye!” and promptly rolled over and started snoring. I’d served my purpose and had been dismissed, not that I particularly wanted to stay and face the morning awkwardness with her next day and I really did have an early start. I found my shirt and pullover, then remembered my trousers, underwear and shoes were downstairs, next to the settee. So I just grabbed what I’d found and made ready to leave. The cautious, obsessive part of me had to check the fire was safe and put the guard in place, then turning off the lamps, I exited the bedroom and closed the door behind me.
I realised I was gagging for a pee, and searched out the bathroom, which I could not locate at first. I finally found it, tucked away at the very back of the property. A much later addition to these terraces, which originally had no sanitation or running water when built. I dressed, did another quick fire warden duty in the sitting room, then left, pulling the door locked on my way out.
As I made my way back to my B&B, praying that I had not been locked out (it was about 1am by then), I mulled over the evening’s experience. As I’ve openly admitted several times, I was extremely reluctant to get involved with Maggie-Mai, and I’d nearly bailed out at the start, and several times during the evening. But in retrospect, it had been a good experience all round; god knows, the sex was fantastic. If you’d asked me before the det, if I’d soon be fucking a ‘Grandma’, which she was, I’d have died laughing. I was never going to morph into a mature-chubby chaser going forward (and I mean no disrespect to anyone in saying that; it’s your life enjoy it exactly as you please,) but I’ll remain glad that I was one on that one occasion at least, until the bitter end.
One thing troubled me a little bit though. We’d fucked and sucked with abandon, but no latex had entered into the equation. There was no chance of unwanted pregnancy, of course. No, my concerns were from a ‘safe sex’ perspective. If Maggie was as promiscuous as her reputation suggested, and I had firsthand evidence she probably was, was she ‘clean’. Particularly given that she lived in one of the country’s busiest ferry and fishing ports, and had a penchant for itinerant youth, like me. But the itching and rash never materialised, and I’m still alive to tell the tale, just. So I guess I got away with it, again.
Of course, I got mercilessly slagged of by the other members of my team the following day and for the rest of the week. And the rat bastards made sure the tale preceded us back to our home base, where the shit show continued. Fortunately the hierarchy never got to hear of my antics, or at least never reacted to them if they did.
For the record, our audit exercise was completed most successfully, and when we presented our findings to the Squadron Commander and his staff on the final day, they accepted our findings without argument, and even would consider implementing a couple of our suggestions. We were delighted when he stated they would be having a ‘beer call’ in the squadron crew room at cease work that afternoon, in our honour. (An RAF tradition, where a few slabs of beer were served, to mark the end of some event, such as an exercise, deployment or, in our case, an external audit).
At the Beer Call, the Squadron OC gave a little speech, telling his command that, in general, we had found them to be outstanding in their role, not that he ever thought differently. Any observations or suggestions we had made were very minor, and easily resolved. As our team lead, I responded, thanking the OC for his hospitality and everyone in general for their patience and cooperation. Especially as the whole thing was really for our benefit, and not theirs, though a second opinion never hurts. I then presented the OC with a plaque with our unit crest, to join the many others that adorned the crew room walls.
Formalities concluded, beer was served. I could not partake personally, as I was driving the minibus back to our base later. But it was a great way to round out an eventful couple of weeks. To add to the party atmosphere, some background music was put on the stereo system. Was it coincidence that the first songs played were Rod Stewart’s Maggie May and the Beatles version of the folk song of the same name? Was it fuck!
At least one more part to follow.
