Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00353 515 73 20
It was late in fall, an uncharacteristically warm day. I decided to hit the beach near my house one last time before winter hit, and we all hunkered down for the season. The beach is small, and even in summer not terribly crowded, known to and used by mainly locals, and a day this late in the season mean I had the place all to myself.
My name is Betsy, I’m a single, retired woman of 61,quite pretty and well kept for my age, if I do say so myself, with the usual flaws of an older woman, if you want to call them that. I prefer thinking of my gently wrinkled face, neck and body as signs of a life well lived, character if you will. And from the men I date, all of them much younger than me, I don’t seem to be alone in that assessment.
This day I pulled into the empty lot and took a beach chair to the sunny sand, a cooling breeze coming offshore, and sat, reading a book, wiggling my toes in the warm sand. I wore Capri pants, those ending at the knee, and as I dug my feet in the sand, I watched my calves bulge and flex with noticeable muscle, being thankful for all the walking and exercise I do. My toes, painted bright red, poked out of the sand, the tendons flowing behind them to my slender ankles. Many are the young men who seem to like my slightly gnarled, GILF feet, and I certainly do appreciate the attention they get from them.
I’d been sitting about an hour, completely relaxed, and quiet, when to my left I saw someone walking, a man, a young man out for a stroll. As he got closer, I thought him to be nothing more than a teen, really, a handsome young lad, strong and tall, and as he approached, he smiled. I smiled back, and crossed my sexy legs, one foot in the sand, the other dangling as I sat, wiggling my toes, shaking the sand from them.
The young man nodded and was about to walk by when I stopped him.
“Good day for a walk, isn’t it?” I smiled.
He stopped, smiling back. “Yes, it sure is. Not many days like this left I think.”
We made small talk, me wiggling my toes as we did, noticing his eyes averting to them every so often, fidgeting, as if uncomfortable. I was reeling him in.
“Mmm, this sand sure feels nice on my nasty old feet!” I laughed, putting both heels in the sand, my toes spread and wiggling at him a couple feet away.
“No, they’re not nasty!” he said, too emphatically, catching himself. “I mean…they’re…lovely…I’m sorry, I shouldn’t…”
“No, you should,” I corrected him firmly. “A woman my age loves compliments, and even about my feet. So you think they’re OK?”
“Oh yes!” he said, again a little too enthused. “I mean…you know…”
“Young man, are you a lover of female feet?” I giggled, brushing my wind-blown silvery shoulder-length hair out of my face. “Are you?”
“Uh….I think…I guess…” he stammered.
“You think, you guess,” I said impatiently. “Either you are or you aren’t. So are you?”
“Yes,” he blushed. “Not sure why…”
“Tell me,” I said firmly, directing him where I know he wanted to go. “Does your mother have feet like mine?”
He blinked, canlı bahis astonished. “Well, uh, my mom’s feet…”
“Do you massage her tired old feet for her, young man?” I said pointedly. “Do you?”
He looked, wide eyed. “How…well…yes, once in awhile, if she asks, I mean she works hard, she’s on them all day…and…”
“Be a dear and massage mine,” I sighed, taking off my sunglasses in the gathering dusk to look at him, my brown eyes flashing. “Let’s see how good you are at it.”
“Right…here? Right..now?” he asked, looking around.
“Darling, there’s no one here,” I laughed. “Now kneel down and massage my feet!”
“Uh…OK,” he said nervously, kneeling before me as I lifted my right foot to his trembling hands, resting the heel on his left thigh. “Um…what’s your..your name?”
“You can call me….Mom!” I said, caught up in the naughtiness of the moment, much to his wide-eyed astonishment.
I lifted that foot off his thigh and brought it to his face, the wrinkled sole inches from his nose and open eyes and mouth.
“Trust me…son…it’ll be worth your while,” I hissed, bending and straightening my toes, unleashing a flex of wrinkled flesh beneath my foot, his eyes glued to it. “Now massage Mom’s foot!”
“Yes….” He said as I rested it back on his leg and his hands circled it, digging into the tight flesh, rubbing the instep and sole.
“Yes..what?” I asked sternly, suddenly lifting the foot up and gently slapping his face with it.
“Yes MOM!” he groaned excitedly, as I dropped it to his young thigh again.
The kid was good, I’ll give him that. He stared down at my foot, his thumbs kneading the sole so deeply my pussy tingled, his strong fingers massaging the instep at the same time. I brought the other foot to his thigh and now he did both at once, lavishing attention on the wrinkled soles and insteps and then, one by one, pulling gently on each bony toe, rubbing them with his fingers, my pussy getting wetter by the moment.
“My, my, my, son of mine, you do your other mother’s feet justice, you’re rather good at this!” I said, my thighs clenched together, my pussy lips rubbing at my clit trapped between them. “Keep it up, boy…harder…there, that’s it….what about my toes? Do you like Mommy’s toes, son? You like the shiny paint on the nails?”
“Yesssss, Mom!” he groaned, caught up in the moment.
I smiled — and moved my heels to his groin, feeling his hard cock through his tight jeans. His eyes shot open wide and he stopped massaging my feet.
“I didn’t tell you to stop, boy!” I snapped, thrusting my long legs out and crushing his balls, making him wince in pain. “Keep rubbing mom’s feet!”
“Yesss, Mom!” he groaned again, in pleasure and pain as I rubbed my heels harder into his young balls, feeling his cock against my feet.
“Massage my calves, they need attention, too, do it!” I said.
His hands reached for my supple lower legs exposed in my Capri pants and kneaded the tired muscles, his fingers digging into the soft, slightly wrinkled, tanned flesh, bahis siteleri his eyes drinking in the sight of those long, freckled stems of silk and steel. He moaned as he worked.
I suddenly brought the right foot up to his left shoulder, plunking it there, turning his gaze to the calf, which I bulged by flexing my feet.
“You’ve done well,” I hissed. “Now suckle Mommy’s muscular old calf! Do it!”
He groaned and attached his mouth to the thickening muscle of my right calf, holding it in both hands, suckling the meat of it, tonguing the wrinkled flesh, massaging it with his lips and hands, then running his tongue over every salty inch, up to the inside of my knee and back down again. I lifted the other foot to his other shoulder and he repeated his oral massage of that calf, licking up and down, ingesting the flesh, mouthing it in big gulps and slobbering his hot tongue over what he’d sucked into his lips. The kid was good and I snuck a hand into my pants, fingering my hot, hairy pussy to a quick orgasm as he watched, my calves closing around his neck and squeezing him in the muscles of them as I orgasmed with a groan and snap of my pussy around my fingers.
I pulled the fingers out, still holding his neck in my calves, and brought them to his nose.
“Smell Mommy’s pussy!” I ordered him.
He did, like a man starving for air, inhaling deeply and groaning at the thick, musty aroma of my pussy. I then pushed the fingers into his mouth, his hot tongue cleaning them, swallowing my GILF cum. I released the scissoring calves from his neck and lifted my feet to his face.
“Have at them, son,” I laughed. “You’ve earned it.”
He went wild, holding my feet to his face, ramming it to them, smelling the soles, then up between my toes, inhaling the sweaty, acrid aroma of a day trapped in socks and shoes at work. He moaned, licking now, from my heels up the wrinkled soles to the toes, and between them, eyes rolling over white in his handsome face, the tongue tasting the grit and sweat between them like it were caviar, eating my toe jam, then sucking each bony digit in his mouth, tongue washing the slippery, painted nails, bobbing up and down on each like a small cock. He took his time, licking madly, sucking, probing with his mouth, lips and tongue and I came again, even without touching myself this time, just feeling his hot mouth on my sexy old feet. I held my legs up behind the knees, watching him work, watching his adore my feet, and watched his hand sneak to his crotch to paw at his cock in his tight jeans.
“How dare you!” I snapped in mock anger, trapping his neck in my solid calves again, twisting the feet together behind him and squeezing so hard so fast his face turned blue in my grip. “Did I TELL you to touch your disgusting cock? No, I did not!”
I squeezed him a moment longer, his hands pulling at my shins locked around his throat, his eyes heavy lidded, about to pass out in my calf clamp. I smiled and eased the squeeze.
“Now, that’s MOMMY’S job!” I hissed. “Take that cock out. Now, son, now!”
He moaned, fumbling with bahis şirketleri his zipper and pulling his pants down a bit, a gorgeous, 8-inch thick tube of boy meat springing out, dripping wet from the head. I smiled. And dropped my feet to his face.
“Lick Mommy’s feet, get ’em nice and lubed up,” I hissed.
He did, groaning, slavishly tonguing the sweet, salty curves of my instep, soaking them. I dropped them down, scissoring his cock in them and he moaned loudly as I then stroked up and down, jerking him off in the feet of a woman easily three times his age.
“Lean back, son, let Mommy’s feet work their magic,” I hissed.
He did, leaning back on his haunches, giving me every hard inch of his boy cock, my gnarled feet around them, stroking madly, up and down, the muscles in my dangerous calves flexing as he watched them and my feet and painted toes, all of it a blur in his mind, I’m sure, as his balls knotted beneath my feet slapping down on them.
“Cum, son, cum on Mommy’s feet!” I hissed, jerking him harder in them, my feet flying up and down, my heels pounding his aching bloated balls. “Give Mommy’s feet your load, now!”
On cue, he moaned and we both watched thick, arcing jets of sweet cum explode from his foot-squeezed dick head and rope the length of my shins and calves, soaking them, the hot fluid running down them, coating the flexing muscle, and the remaining ribbons of cum sheeting down over his cock to form a thick blanket of jism on my pumping feet. From my bony knees to my bony toes, there was a thick layer of clumped cum, and as my feet slowed their pumping action, he was panting heavily.
I lifted one foot to his sweaty face, smiling. He wasn’t. He looked shock.
“Lick Mommy’s feet clean, son!” I ordered him. “You made that disgusting cummy mess, you clean it up!”
He was too far gone to disobey and trembling, he snaked his tongue out tentatively to lap at the goo on my toes. Impatiently, I reached for his hair with my hand and rammed his mouth to my foot, stuffing the toes, all five of them, into his sucking mouth.
“Eat cum, boy, eat cum!” I growled, feeling another orgasm wet my panties as I watched him ingest every sweet ounce of his cum from my toes.
I had him suck them clean, then the instep and sole of that foot, then run his tongue through the blanket of his ball brew lining my shiny shin and muscular calf. When that leg was done, I made him do the other and by the end, as my legs, feet and toes shone with spit instead of cum, I came hard, pulling his face to my cunt and squeezing his head in my thighs as I ground out my orgasm, crushing his skull and grinding painfully into his face. By the time I was done, he was blue again and I released him, watching him flop back to the sand, his wilting wet cock comically sticking in the air.
I laughed, standing up and slipping my wet feet back into my sandals, packing up my book and chair as he lay on his back, looking up at me. I put my sunglasses back on and looked down at him.
“Thank Mommy,” I sneered.
He got to his knees, bending to kiss my feet, mumbling his thanks.
“Next warm day, I better see you here again, son,” I laughed, slapping his face away with my foot and walking away, feeling his gaze on my tight GILF ass in my slacks.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00353 515 73 20