Most Emphatically No Longer a 40-Year-old Virgin

Info GWinterbourne
17 Sep. '18

We had just finished dinner and my husband, Grant, was helping me wash dishes. Although I generally enjoyed living with him in his cabin, it was definitely more conducive to a bachelor’s lifestyle than that of a married couple. I was looking forward to moving into our new house next spring, if only because it included a dishwasher.

The cabin was solidly built and cozy, though—cozy enough that despite the cold wind howling outside, I was dressed in just a plain white T-shirt and jeans. Therefore, I had very little to shield me when I accidentally knocked a heavy pitcher into the soapy water, splashing me all down my front.

Grant, who had been putting away some dishes in a cabinet, turned back to me quickly. “Are you okay?”

“Fine. Just soaking wet.” I turned to face him. His expression changed from one of concern to lust almost instantaneously. Since I had taken his virginity a little more than six months ago, Grant was almost always willing to throw down with me anywhere, anyplace, but I couldn’t figure out what had suddenly gotten him hot about a mundane chore we did every evening—until I followed his gaze down the front of my shirt. I didn’t really need a bra for support, consequently, I frequently went without one at home. Tonight was no different, except thanks to the unexpected deluge, I was now the winner of Grant’s own private wet T-shirt contest. My shirt clung to my breasts, areolae and nipples clearly visible, the nearly transparent fabric leaving nothing to the imagination. My husband was getting an unplanned, but not unappreciated, show.

“Do you have any idea how sexy you are right now?” he said, crossing the kitchen to kiss me. His hands immediately went to my breasts, fingers teasing until my nipples hardened beneath them. He scooped me up and carried me in the direction of the bedroom.

“What about the dishes?” I protested.

“They’re not going anywhere.”

Once in the bedroom, Grant made short work of stripping off my clothes, and he eased me back onto the edge of the bed. Spreading my legs, he dipped his head and began to lick. For a man who had been a virgin until the age of forty, he needed no instruction in giving me oral pleasure. He varied his technique somewhat that evening, applying pressure to my clit with his thumb while thrusting his tongue as deeply as possible inside of me. The new sensations drove me wild, and although I wanted to hold out for him, I couldn’t help giving in to a climax—he was just too good. I grabbed his hand, holding it to me as I pressed into it, lifting my hips off the bed so his tongue could penetrate me even farther as I shook with ecstasy.

It took me a bit to recover before I could speak. I was just so warm, relaxed, and deeply satisfied. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to come before you got your turn.”

Grant wasn’t phased. “No, that was incredibly hot. I’ve never made you come like that before.” I could taste myself, salty and just a little sweet, when he kissed me.

“So, what can we do for you?” I asked. Grant was still fully clothed, and he pulled off his own shirt as I undid his belt and unbuttoned his jeans, easing the zipper over his swollen prick. He was already completely erect, and his cock surged as I slid my hand under the band of his underwear. “Well?” I asked again, gently running my fingers over his stiffness.

He suddenly became shy. “Can I put it between your, um, breasts?” he asked, looking down like he had something to be ashamed of.

“You want to 'titty-fuck' me?” I teased.

“Geez, Anna, when you put it like that...”

“Oh sweetie, I’m sorry. Of course you can. Come here.” I scooted up onto the bed and drew him down on top of me. He hastily removed his underwear and straddled my chest. “Go ahead,” I said encouragingly.

Supporting himself with his strong arms, Grant leaned forward and enveloped his cock in my breasts. A huge smile appeared on his face. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

“Is it as good as you expected?”

He stroked in and out. “Better. It feels so...”

“Dirty?” I smiled. The angle made it hard for me to see, but I could feel that Grant had quite a bit of pre-ejaculate escaping the tip of his cock, and I used my fingers to distribute it down his shaft for lubrication. I pressed my breasts together a bit, causing his eyes to widen and a moan to escape his lips. He was clearly enjoying himself, and I was enjoying using my body to please him in a new way.

“I’m coming, baby,” he cried out a few minutes later, before extricating himself and showering several bursts of warm semen on my breasts. He rolled off of me and lay back on the bed, panting from his release. “Thank you,” he said at last, reaching for some tissues to clean me off.
 
I was always amused by how grateful guys were to come on my chest, and Grant was no different. I assumed it was the porn-like theatrics, although Grant claimed to have watched precious little of it. From his reactions to some of the things I suggested we try in the bedroom, I was inclined to believe him. The relatively tame act of decorating my tits with his cum had apparently been on his short list, however.

We cuddled for a while, and I was about to doze off when he asked, “What’s the wildest thing you’ve done?”

“Oh, boy,” I thought. If he thought what we just did was wild, I didn’t know how he would handle hearing about some of the things I did in college. I had already shocked him with the number of partners I had before him—and I had low-balled that number. “Do you really want to know?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

For the second time that evening, Grant got a little embarrassed. “Well,” he said, so low I almost couldn’t hear him, “I get little turned on thinking about you and other guys.”

“I...see.” I really wasn’t sure where he was going with this.

Grant continued, “I have this fantasy where I watch you with them and know you’re not satisfied because you have to touch yourself when they’re through. Then I come in and show you how a real man fucks, and I make you come so hard that you’re screaming and clawing at my back.”

I had never heard him use that term before. Maybe my husband, so recently a virgin, was ready to hear about my past. Apparently I was a terrible influence on him—or a terrific one. It was all just a matter of perspective.

“Okay, I guess the wildest thing I’ve done is had a threesome in college.”

“Two girls and a guy?”

“No.”

“Oh.” He sounded disappointed.

“You men always want girl-on-girl stuff. Anyway, two frat guys and me.”

I could tell he was letting that sink in. “What did you guys do?” he whispered.

I sighed. I wasn’t especially proud of my promiscuous ways more than twenty years ago, but Grant didn’t seem judgmental, just curious. “I sucked one off, while his friend did me from behind.”

“And how does that work exactly?”

“Am I really going to have to go there?” I thought. There were days I couldn’t believe he had actually had been in the Air Force. “Didn’t they all sit around talking about their exploits? Didn’t he at least listen, even if he couldn’t join in?”

“Somebody’s full of questions tonight,” I said. “I suppose there are lots of ways, but the way we did it, one of them sat on the bed while I was on my knees, and the other one came at me doggy-style. Then the guy who got the blowjob screwed me while his friend jacked-off.”

Grant’s cock was getting hard again, and he was absently touching himself as he listened. “You don’t want to see me with other men, do you?” I asked with trepidation. Those wild times were over, and I was now a one-man woman.

“No! The thought of someone actually touching you makes my blood boil. I just...I just want to hear about it, I guess. You can see...” he gestured down at his groin.

“Oh, I can see, all right.” I moved his hand, and used my own to stroke him harder—hard enough to slide inside me. “Grant,” I purred in his ear, “why don’t you show me how a real man fucks?”

***

I had fallen asleep feeling ecstatic, but woke up feeling sick. At first, I thought it was because I had remembered the mess we left the night before. We never did make it back to the kitchen.

As I lay in the darkness, however, I began doing some calculations, and realized that I was definitely late. Grant had been hoping to impregnate me since we got married, and he was sorely disappointed each month when it didn’t happen. I had to admit I was looking forward to starting our family as well, and as I raced to the bathroom, I thought that this might very well be the month.

I tried to be quiet, but Grant heard anyway. “Are you okay?” he called.

“Fine,” I called back. I splashed some water on my face. The wave had passed.

“Then get back here to bed.”

“Man,” I thought, as I crawled back into bed, greeted by my husband’s hard-on, “if I’m not pregnant, it’s not for lack of trying.”

After our lovemaking, we got up and went about our chores. I needed to run some errands. Ordinarily I would have just run into Wapiti. It didn’t have much, but it did have the basics. That day, however, I decided to make the longer drive to Cody. I didn’t want to bump into anyone, and I knew that if I asked whether the general store carried pregnancy tests, the rumors would start to fly. When I first moved to Wyoming, the local women had been friendly but reserved toward me. When I took the last eligible bachelor for miles off the market, however, their demeanor grew considerably colder. I could only imagine their reaction when they learned that I had not only “stolen” him but was also having his baby.

In Cody, I shopped in anonymity, slipping the box containing the pregnancy test in between the general supplies I was buying for the ranch. Unable to wait until I got home, I went back to the supermarket’s bathroom and administered the test. After the longest three minutes of my life, I looked at the indicator. A large “+” appeared in the window. I smiled. Then I cried, thinking about how happy I was going to make Grant with the news.

I almost ran down to the stable immediately when I got home, but I contained myself and made us an extravagant dinner, then started a fire in the fireplace just as Grant was coming through the door.

He looked around at the fire and at the table, which I had actually set for once. “We expecting royalty?”

I almost said it. I almost said, “No, but we are expecting.” Instead, I simply replied, “Can’t we have a nice dinner every once in a while?” and hustled him off to get his shower before sitting down to eat.

Grant cleaned up quickly, and when he returned, I lit the candles on the table, and served us both. Uncharacteristically, I was so distracted that I barely kept up my end of the conversation.

When we had finished, Grant began to clear the table. “Leave it,” I said. “Why don’t you join me in front of the fire?”

“All right.” He looked at me quizzically. He knew it had just about killed me leaving the dishes the way we did just the night before.  

“How about you pour yourself something to drink?” I suggested.

“All right,” he said again, reaching for some whiskey. “You joining me?”

“I don’t think I’d better.”

He raised an eyebrow.

I couldn’t take it any longer. “Grant, I’m pregnant.” I pulled him down next to me on the rug in front of the fire.

“Really?” A smile started to spread across his face.

“Really.” I kissed him, and out of reflex, his tongue went into my mouth, and his hands to my breasts. He started to lower me onto my back when he stopped abruptly.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Won’t it hurt the baby?”

“Grant, the baby is like a grain of rice, or a kidney bean, or something really teeny now.”

“But we’re, uh, pretty vigorous when we do it. I don’t want to dislodge anything.”

“Who knows how many times we’ve done it since I got pregnant? We just did it last night—and this morning—and everything is fine. Besides if you’re so worried, make love to me slow and gentle.”

“I don’t know,” he said again. We’ve been waiting so long.”

“Honey, it’s been six months. At our age, that’s nothing.”

“I just don’t want to jinx anything.”

“Well, if you don’t want to play with me,” I said, unfastening my jeans and pulling them off along with my underwear, “I guess I’ll just get this party started myself, and you can join me later if you want.”

I reclined on my elbows, and began to finger my clit, knowing that seeing me pleasure myself was my husband’s kryptonite.

He leaned in over me. “You’re not playing fair.”

“Who said there were rules to seducing your husband? Now come here,” I said, placing his hand protectively on my abdomen. “We’re not going to have much time for this anymore once our little bean makes its appearance.”


I think this is the natural end of Grant and Anna's story. I hope you have enjoyed reading about them.





 

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