Lesbian Female / 64
Maybe It's Just The Memories But The Truth Is That It Felt Good
This might be hard for some people to read, but the truth is the truth
I was 21 and a waitress at a beer joint downtown. I lived in a one room apartment with bathroom down the hall and no washer and dryer within three blocks. I had one set of sheets and had never been to a dentist and the only time I had been to a doctor was when I fell off the swings at school when I was nine. I was as they say w*********h.
The bartender was a man in his forties, and he had gotten divorced a few months before I started working there. One night after closing, I had to clean the bathroom every night, and he walked in, grabbed me by the neck and bent me over the sink and told me he needed some pussy. I struggled, the way girls do, my arms flailing trying to find something to hit, he told me to drop my pants or he was going to stick my head in the toilet. He fucked me good, I came although I didn't want to, he noticed and said that's what he liked, a bitch that liked to get fucked.
From then on I cleaned the toilet at his place, washed the dishes, carried his laundry down to the basement to wash, got my ass and pussy fucked, got his dick down my throat and I learned not to gag. He wanted a good look at his pussy so I shaved down although that wasn't the norm at that time. I won't go into my tits, he drove me around like that, holding me by my tits looking for a place to bend me over to fuck. After I was fucked I got on my knees and sucked his wet dick.
When he was killed in a motorcycle accident I cried for six months. I hated going 'home' and I couldn't get rid of his clothes. His ex wife, who was only 26, had to come over and pack up his clothes to give them away. She told me I couldn't stay there, I needed to move and find another place and I needed to get over him, if I could. She knew, she knew. Her pussy hadn't been fucked since she walked out on him.
I moved in with her, she had a small two bedroom with one bath, and we shared duties cleaning the toilet and washing clothes. One night she came to my room and told me she had to find out what it was like, eating pussy. I hadn't shaved since he had been killed and it was jungle down there. I kept my legs open and she went down and ate me for the first time. I shaved after that, shaved so she could have her pussy to eat. It was better than getting fucked.
When she sucked on my tits I felt my clit get alive, when I sucked on her pussy I reached orgasm. Her pussy was so sweet, I couldn't imagine him fucking her like that. We learned to make out, to sleep together and 'fuck' with our tongues and fingers, we learned to have our ass eaten after we showered. In six months we tried every sort of sex on each other. I'm talking tearing her panties off after work and getting down on my knees to eat her.
She got a job transfer and we moved to the South. It wasn't a big job but it got out of Cleveland and we got an apartment in a new big apartment complex with two pools and tennis courts. I got a job working inside at as a file clerk at a bank. We ate pussy, sucked tits, fingered each other, until we fell exhausted to sleep. We forgot about the days that we got fucked, we went to the movies and held hands.
The era came and went and we found ourselves in our forties, sill living together, twenty years later. We ate pussy a lot, we made love to each other, we said naughty things, and we talked about the days we got fucked. We talked about wanting to get fucked one more time before we got too old for some man to want to fuck us. We agreed, we would each look for a man to fuck us, one last time before we forgot what it was like. The man who fucked me was a nice man from the bank, who hadn't had pussy in along time. He was nice and gentle and all that and I wanted everything else. The man who she found to fuck was a salesman who came to make calls on her company, an older man in his fifties just happy to get some pussy.
Neither one of us was satisfied, we hadn't been fucked.
We live in Norther California now, up in the mountains in a tourist trap town, and run a Bed and Breakfast that is owned by some rich people in the bay area. We have our room, a nice big bed, we serve breakfast and wash toilets and vacuum and stuff. We wear dresses mostly, easier to go commando, we have gray hair and somehow we are both much more buxom, large matronly breasts. We shave because it feels good to be shaved and feel the cool air on our pussy. Nothing better really than laying back on the dining room table with your dress over your head, your panties on the floor and your pussy being eaten. We learned that a long time ago, back when we were still in our twenties.
And when we need a jolt in reality we talk about Frank and how he fucked us. It felt so good. That's the truth.
I was 21 and a waitress at a beer joint downtown. I lived in a one room apartment with bathroom down the hall and no washer and dryer within three blocks. I had one set of sheets and had never been to a dentist and the only time I had been to a doctor was when I fell off the swings at school when I was nine. I was as they say w*********h.
The bartender was a man in his forties, and he had gotten divorced a few months before I started working there. One night after closing, I had to clean the bathroom every night, and he walked in, grabbed me by the neck and bent me over the sink and told me he needed some pussy. I struggled, the way girls do, my arms flailing trying to find something to hit, he told me to drop my pants or he was going to stick my head in the toilet. He fucked me good, I came although I didn't want to, he noticed and said that's what he liked, a bitch that liked to get fucked.
From then on I cleaned the toilet at his place, washed the dishes, carried his laundry down to the basement to wash, got my ass and pussy fucked, got his dick down my throat and I learned not to gag. He wanted a good look at his pussy so I shaved down although that wasn't the norm at that time. I won't go into my tits, he drove me around like that, holding me by my tits looking for a place to bend me over to fuck. After I was fucked I got on my knees and sucked his wet dick.
When he was killed in a motorcycle accident I cried for six months. I hated going 'home' and I couldn't get rid of his clothes. His ex wife, who was only 26, had to come over and pack up his clothes to give them away. She told me I couldn't stay there, I needed to move and find another place and I needed to get over him, if I could. She knew, she knew. Her pussy hadn't been fucked since she walked out on him.
I moved in with her, she had a small two bedroom with one bath, and we shared duties cleaning the toilet and washing clothes. One night she came to my room and told me she had to find out what it was like, eating pussy. I hadn't shaved since he had been killed and it was jungle down there. I kept my legs open and she went down and ate me for the first time. I shaved after that, shaved so she could have her pussy to eat. It was better than getting fucked.
When she sucked on my tits I felt my clit get alive, when I sucked on her pussy I reached orgasm. Her pussy was so sweet, I couldn't imagine him fucking her like that. We learned to make out, to sleep together and 'fuck' with our tongues and fingers, we learned to have our ass eaten after we showered. In six months we tried every sort of sex on each other. I'm talking tearing her panties off after work and getting down on my knees to eat her.
She got a job transfer and we moved to the South. It wasn't a big job but it got out of Cleveland and we got an apartment in a new big apartment complex with two pools and tennis courts. I got a job working inside at as a file clerk at a bank. We ate pussy, sucked tits, fingered each other, until we fell exhausted to sleep. We forgot about the days that we got fucked, we went to the movies and held hands.
The era came and went and we found ourselves in our forties, sill living together, twenty years later. We ate pussy a lot, we made love to each other, we said naughty things, and we talked about the days we got fucked. We talked about wanting to get fucked one more time before we got too old for some man to want to fuck us. We agreed, we would each look for a man to fuck us, one last time before we forgot what it was like. The man who fucked me was a nice man from the bank, who hadn't had pussy in along time. He was nice and gentle and all that and I wanted everything else. The man who she found to fuck was a salesman who came to make calls on her company, an older man in his fifties just happy to get some pussy.
Neither one of us was satisfied, we hadn't been fucked.
We live in Norther California now, up in the mountains in a tourist trap town, and run a Bed and Breakfast that is owned by some rich people in the bay area. We have our room, a nice big bed, we serve breakfast and wash toilets and vacuum and stuff. We wear dresses mostly, easier to go commando, we have gray hair and somehow we are both much more buxom, large matronly breasts. We shave because it feels good to be shaved and feel the cool air on our pussy. Nothing better really than laying back on the dining room table with your dress over your head, your panties on the floor and your pussy being eaten. We learned that a long time ago, back when we were still in our twenties.
And when we need a jolt in reality we talk about Frank and how he fucked us. It felt so good. That's the truth.
- That's Juicy! 21
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