Midnight Retreat's Secrets (L)

The rain hammered against the windows of the Blackwood B&B, a relentless percussion accompanying the slow burn of desire that had taken root between Tom and me. We’d driven two hours from home, seeking refuge from the sweltering summer heat and the suffocating expectations of our regular social circles. The B&B, a cluster of elegant, isolated cottages nestled just outside the city, felt like a stolen paradise, a secret haven where we could indulge in the primal urges we’d long suppressed.

As I changed into the silk chemise Tom had gifted me, a deep crimson velvet that clung to my curves, he settled onto the plush velvet couch in the corner of the room, a chilled glass of champagne in his hand. He watched me with an intensity that both thrilled and unsettled me. We'd spent the entire drive discussing our fantasies, each one more outrageous than the last, feeding off the anticipation like a slow-burning fuse. The champagne, icy and effervescent, did little to quell the fire building within.

The chemise, a cascade of crimson silk, revealed the lace-trimmed black briefs beneath, a provocative display that I knew would send a shiver down his spine. Tom’s eyes lingered on my chest, tracing the swell of my breasts beneath the black push-up bra, then descended lower, taking in the tantalizing curve of my hips. He caught my gaze, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face. He knew exactly what I was thinking, what I was craving. It was a silent conversation, a shared understanding of the delicious transgression we were about to embark on.

The black-tie event itself was a blur of forced pleasantries and furtive glances. The air hung thick with perfume and the scent of expensive cologne, but all I could focus on was Tom. We moved through the crowd, engaging in a series of increasingly bold touches – a brush of the hand against my thigh, a lingering graze along my arm, a playful tug on my skirt. Each contact sent a jolt of electricity through my veins, igniting a desperate need for more. During dinner, he slipped his hand up my dress, his fingertips brushing against the delicate lace. I allowed him to inch closer, teasing him with the promise of what lay beneath. My cleavage flared as he nearly reached my panties, the black silk clinging damply to my skin. I felt a surge of heat, a primal yearning that demanded immediate release. The other gentlemen at the table, their eyes gleaming with lust, were not the only ones observing my assets. I reveled in the attention, feeding off the power of my own allure.

As the evening drew to a close, the valet had already arrived with the car, but I wasn’t in the mood to leave. The B&B felt like a sanctuary, a place where inhibitions could be shed and desires unleashed. I slipped off my dress, discarding the remnants of formality, and let my black lace briefs hang loose around my legs. I stood before him, a vision of unadulterated sensuality, and offered him my scent, a heady blend of vanilla and musk. As he drove, I let my fingers trace the contours of his skin, savoring the roughness of his stubble and the heat of his touch. Mmm. The anticipation was exquisite, a delicious torment that only intensified the pleasure to come.

The cottage was even more seductive than I’d imagined. The four-poster bed, draped in heavy, dark velvet, looked like a throne fit for a queen. Tom poured us another glass of champagne, the bubbles tickling my nose, as we undressed, discarding our clothes like discarded layers of a dream. I pulled his tuxedo shirt over my nightgown, transforming it into a makeshift garment that highlighted my curves and exposed my breasts. The buttons were undone, allowing my breasts to peek out from beneath the fabric, a blatant invitation. Tom’s eyes widened with pleasure as he took in the sight, the scent of his own cologne mingling with my own, creating an intoxicating aroma.

He began by kissing me, a slow, deliberate exploration of my lips, my neck, my breasts. The passion in his touch was undeniable, a primal force that swept away any lingering reservations. Soon, he was on top of me, his hands gripping my hips, pulling me closer as he began to thrust. The rhythm was intense, a frantic dance of pleasure and desire. I arched my back, letting out a moan of ecstasy as he penetrated me, feeling the heat spreading through my body, a wave of pure, unadulterated bliss. I lost myself in the moment, surrendering to the sensations, letting go of all control. My first two orgasms of the trip arrived in rapid succession, one with his mouth, the other with his cock, each one more intense than the last.

He awoke me in the middle of the night, gently spooning my bare ass, his cock hard and eager. I didn't hesitate; I asked him to continue, and he obliged, delivering another series of orgasms, this time with his hand, then with his cock. We fell back into a deep sleep, intertwined and exhausted, the echoes of our passion lingering in the air.

Later, around 7 AM, I woke up alone, Tom still asleep. I descended upon him, pulling him from his slumber, and began to worship his cock, sucking on it until it was hard again. The feeling was exquisite, a release of pent-up desires that left me breathless. He responded eagerly, begging for more. I climbed on top of him, riding him hard, pushing him to the brink of ecstasy. My fifth orgasm arrived as the first rays of sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating our bodies in a golden glow.

We showered together, the water cascading over our bodies, washing away the remnants of the night. We dressed in our day clothes and went out for breakfast, feeling refreshed and invigorated. We spent the morning shopping, strolling through the charming town, flirting with the locals, and talking about our incredible night.

Around 3 PM, we returned to the cottage for a well-deserved nap, only to find Tom ready to resume our explorations. He performed another act of passion on me, this time from behind, bending over the bed as he delivered my sixth orgasm. The pleasure was overwhelming, a testament to the raw power of our connection.

As the evening drew in, we made our way to a nearby hotel for dinner, followed by another round of passionate encounters. Tom made me cum with his hand and fingers, then watched me repeat the process, savoring each sensation. I, in turn, observed him, feeling the same intense pleasure as he reached his own climax. We fell asleep, completely spent, our bodies intertwined in a tangled mess of limbs and desires. Orgasms seven and eight followed, leaving us both breathless and satisfied.

Sunday morning brought a final act of intimacy, as we showered together before parting ways. Tom then gave me my ninth orgasm, this time in front of the bathroom mirror, his touch both gentle and demanding.

Looking back on the weekend, it was clear that we had rediscovered a primal connection that had been dormant for years. Mind you, we are in our sixties. We had not fucked like this since we were first married, if even then. It is so interesting—and wonderful—that God makes sex feed on itself. Friends ask me, “How do you keep your marriage alive and passionate?” The answer is very simple: Fuck your man. Fuck him as many times and in as many ways as your imagination permits. Adore his cock. Let him worship your pussy. The love grows. It doesn’t matter how you look, the extra pounds, the wrinkles and sagging that comes with age. Tom loves my body and I love his. Trust me on this.

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