Tongue Teasing Her Dripping MILF Pussy

I stood there in the middle of my half-unpacked living room, the afternoon sun slamming through the bare windows like it wanted to cook us both alive. My yoga pants were bunched around my ankles, the thin fabric sticky with sweat, and I hadn’t bothered with panties that morning—hadn’t seen the point after the way things had already gone. Marcus was on his knees right in front of me, close enough that I could feel every warm exhale against my bare cunt. Forty-two years old, freshly divorced, and somehow this twenty-four-year-old personal trainer from next door had me dripping down my own thighs like a teenager who’d never been touched.

I could still taste his mouth from the kiss that had started all this. My fingers were still trembling from peeling those pants down. Weeks of flirtation—watching him jog shirtless past my new place, the way he’d offered to help haul the heavier boxes and the oak dresser that nearly killed us both—had boiled over the second he set that last piece of furniture down and looked at me like he was starving. Now here we were. My swollen pussy inches from his face, lips already parted and shiny, the heat of the room nothing compared to the heat rolling off my skin.

I didn’t move to cover myself. I didn’t want to. The divorce had left me raw and restless, nights spent alone with my fingers and the memory of how flexible my body still was, how empty it felt. Marcus’s eyes locked on mine, dark and hungry, and I saw the exact second he decided he wasn’t going anywhere. Good. Neither was I.

“Jesus, Elena,” he breathed, voice rough. “You’re soaked.”

I let out a shaky laugh that turned into a soft moan when he leaned in just enough for his nose to brush the trimmed patch of hair above my clit. “Been like that since you walked through the door, baby. Longer, if I’m honest.” My hands found his hair—thick, a little damp from the heat and the work—and I threaded my fingers through it, not pushing yet, just holding. “You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about this. About that mouth of yours.”

He groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating straight into me. His hands slid up the backs of my calves, slow and reverent, then higher, cupping the curves of my ass and spreading me just a fraction wider. I felt cool air kiss the wetness between my legs and shivered hard.

“I’ve jerked off to you every fucking night,” he admitted, staring straight at my cunt like it was the only thing left in the world. “Ever since that first time you bent over watering those plants in the front yard. Those tight little tops you wear to teach. I’d come home hard, stroke it thinking about burying my face right here and tasting whatever you’ve got for me.” His thumbs stroked the soft crease where thigh met ass. “Smells even better than I imagined.”

The confession hit me like a pulse straight to the clit. I rolled my hips forward without thinking, presenting myself, feeling a fresh trickle of arousal slide down toward his waiting mouth. “Then stop imagining. I’ve been empty since the papers were signed. Flexible, lonely, and so fucking ready for a younger cock—and that tongue. Show me what you’ve been fantasizing about, Marcus. Eat your divorced neighbor’s dripping pussy like you’ve been dying for it.”