Matilda's lovers

Matilda's lovers Matilda's lovers

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Summary

For Naudin's birthday, his wife reveals all of her long and varied sexual life, which he and she now enjoy recreating weekly.

Summary

For Naudin's birthday, his wife reveals all of her long and varied sexual life, which he and she now enjoy recreating weekly.

Content

Submitted: June 12, 2015

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Content

Submitted: June 12, 2015

A A A

A A A


Matilda’s  lovers

Winter’s silence has wrapped the house in cold white cotton wool.  Fluffy silent snowflakes have tonight isolated even more the brick stable in the middle of its forest of ancient oaks that stand alone in a vast field.  

Cold breaths the two old horses next door can be heard as the animals settle for the freezing night. The old man opens the old iron wood burner, and slips in another piece of fragrant dry pine that he had chopped that afternoon.

His wife Matilda had excelled herself with a warming meal on the old kitchen range. Excellent sausages on their soft bed of buttery mashed potato for him and a fresh small trout, cooked to perfection in butter on the pan, for herself. Glasses of white spiced wine are warming the old couple up even more now.

Naudin looks at his wife of a lifetime and there is the immediate stir of response in his underpants under his thick woollen dressing gown.

The love of his life is reading by the wood heater, as she usually does this time of the night.  The bright copper curls of her hair continue to defy old age, and shine attractively under the reading lamp with very little grey showing.

As Matilda sinks back into the sofa, her thin pale thighs casually part within the folds of her warm dressing gown. Thick lambskin Ugg boots from Australia are keeping her lower legs warm. 

Naudin smiles at the fact that wife is always nude under her gown. She will slip that gown off with a flourish later, throwing it in his direction with a teasing smile, then slides her soft body under the thick doona for the long winter night.

That is usually his signal to undress quickly to join her, stumbling and fumbling often in his haste.

Who will he be tonight, Naudin wonders.

After wining and dining in the nearby village on the occasion of his birthday earlier, set among the flowers of spring, Naudin was poised to accept his offered birthday gift back at home.

In their extra warm cabin, they shared a steaming shower together. Then his marvellous Matilda pranced freely around on the floor, like the nubile colt that she once was, her still very sensual body lit only by birthday candles and little light leaking from the woodstove.

In all of his life, Naudin never receives a better birthday present than Matilda’s golden body. The landscape of that may have changed with age with her stomach paunch and slightly drooping breasts, but it is still a magnificent Rubens painting, year after year.

And his Walzing Matilda now sways ever closer to where Naudin is sitting on the sofa near the fire, stripped and ready for his present.

As usual, this present is her love triangle, full, white and soft, that is proud of its fine growth of curls that are still preciously the colour of pale gold. The flesh folds to form its slit at the downward point of the triangle to make Naudin’s own gateway to heaven.

He doesn’t need to go to heaven when he dies, as he has had the pleasure of being there many, many times already.

He now tenderly kisses that embroidery of fine golden hair decorating his gate, and then breathes in deep its cloying aroma.

“As your birthday present for this special year, I bring you all my lovers!,” says his loving wife suddenly.

“All your …  lovers…?,” asks Naudin. “I know you have had many, and they will not all fit on our bed. Some of them are dead anyway.”

“They all fitted on to my beds, and also elsewhere, so now I would like to share them with you.”

“Sounds good,” says Naudin, not really sure what Matilda means.

His lovely wife now stands astride him, her fair thighs parted to slightly crack open the pink slit of his heavenly gate.

“Great God,” sighs the husband, ready himself to pass away to heaven.

“My very first lover was dear Lothar, a very handsome blond young man of my home in wheat fields of Marburg, “ says Matilda. “Boy, did I have the hots for that man, in a big way.

“I don’t know how many times I masturbated in my little warm bed while imagining that he was pounding me in between my legs.

“We couldn’t get together for a long time, what with both of our parents being in the way. But one day we did, or really I did.

“We went for a walk through ripe wheat to the only hill around there where there was an old ruined castle on top.

“It was hot and we were sweaty and tired from our slog so we collapsed against a castle wall in the shade of a beautiful old oak.

 “Lothar was sitting next to me his hand very tentatively came over to feel my breasts, moving deliciously to squeeze one then the other. Then his rough farmer’s hand found its way inside, and found my ultra-sensitive nipples.

“God, I still remember well how that felt, for that first time.

“Then I saw a huge bulge growing in his shorts! ‘Au nom de Dieu,’ the French would have exclaimed, I tell you!

“I kissed the boy back now hard, remembering all my orgasms in bed that he had given to me without his knowing.

“Then I unzipped his pants, and was quite startled by the large pink-white Maypole that stood up through that zip.

“My natural instinct, from I don’t know where, was to kiss the pink tip of it and then putting my mouth over it to suck. Delectable, I must say and I certainly didn’t want to stop sucking it in a hurry.

“But my boy was by this time beside himself, moaning, squirming and grimacing.

“Again from I don’t know what instinct, I wanted to put that thick pole inside me, even if it might tear the little hole between my legs.

Poor Naudin is by this time rather overwhelmed. His thinner and aged pole is now surprisingly also standing up erect.

“Oh oh … and what do we have here …? It’s the birthday boy standing up to be counted!,” says Matilda. “So I did this very quickly with Lothar, for the first time in my life, but certainly not for the last.”

Matilda gently spreads her legs and sits down on her man’s penis and expertly uses her vagina to grip it firmly.

“Great God,” mumbles Naudin again, feeling the warmth of that canal of life that he always longs to stay in.

“I can tell you that memory of the first time that I was riding on a penis, especially that hard and huge one, was out of this world. I could have gone on forever, riding my Lothar farm horse. Then there was sheer waterfall of sperm flowing down my legs.

“But as I was already well spunked up, my very first total orgasm with a boy very soon made me shriek. I remembered that the piercing scream sent rooks flying off in panic.

Naudin is in real trouble now with his wife moving expertly and slowly up and down on his penis. Her hand was also helping in her moist valley to bring herself soon to an aching cry, rising at the same time as his.

And each week on Friday night, his wife keeps her word and presents to him a detailed description of her sex with a different lover that she has enjoyed. And each week, for many months, Naudin has to act the part of that lover, doing exactly what the lover had done with his wife.

Of course, while he doesn’t at all mind Matilda’s trip down her sexual memory lane, Naudin soberly realises how many other men have also entered his Heavenly Gate into his lovely wife’s favour.

 


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