Buxom Grandmother Jerks 60-Year-Old Cock Into Her Mouth

Roxanne settled deeper into the cushions of her living room sofa, the soft fabric sighing under the generous weight of her sixty-eight-year-old body. At that age she still carried herself with the unhurried confidence of a woman who knew exactly what her curves could do. Her blouse, a soft cream silk that clung rather than merely covered, strained across the full, heavy swell of her breasts. The deep V of the neckline framed an abundance of pale, freckled cleavage that rose and fell with every slow breath; the inner slopes pressed together warmly, creating a shadowed valley that drew the eye and held it. She crossed one plump thigh over the other, the motion making the fabric pull tighter still, and smiled across the low coffee table at Xavier.

He was sixty, solid through the shoulders, his hair silvered at the temples and his eyes dark with the kind of quiet hunger that had been building all evening. They had spent hours talking—first over dinner, then lingering over glasses of wine that never quite emptied—trading stories and glances that grew longer and warmer until the air between them felt charged. Now the house was quiet, the curtains drawn, and they were alone. Roxanne’s smile deepened, alluring and knowing, the corners of her mouth lifting as she watched him watch her.

“You’ve been looking at me like that for the last two hours,” she said, her voice a low, throaty murmur that filled the comfortable space. “I don’t mind it. Not one bit.”

Xavier shifted in the armchair opposite her, the leather creaking. His gaze dropped openly to the lush press of her cleavage, then climbed back to her face. “Hard not to. You’re… remarkable, Roxanne. That blouse doesn’t stand a chance.”

She laughed softly, the sound rich and unhurried, and leaned forward just enough that the silk stretched further. The upper curves of her breasts pushed into greater relief, soft flesh trembling with the small movement. A faint flush rose along her throat. “Remarkable is a polite word. I’ve raised grandchildren. I bake on Sundays. And right now I’m sitting here with my tits practically spilling out while a handsome man stares at them.” She tilted her head, silver-streaked auburn hair sliding over one shoulder. “I like the way you look at me. It makes me feel… wanted. Still. After all these years.”

The admission hung between them, honest and electric. Xavier’s breath left him in a slow exhale. He set his glass down, fingers lingering on the rim. “I want you. I’ve wanted you since you first opened the door tonight and smiled like that. This isn’t just wine talking. I’m sixty years old—I know the difference between polite company and something that pulls at me.” He gestured lightly toward her. “You feel it too. I can see it.”

Roxanne’s nipples had already tightened beneath the thin silk; the fabric rasped faintly against them as she sat back again, deliberately unhurried. She let her free hand rest on the full curve of her own thigh, fingers splaying, then trailing upward in a slow, absent caress that ended just beneath the swell of her breast. “I feel it. Every time you lean closer, every time your eyes drop. My heart’s been beating faster since dessert. I’m not a girl anymore, Xavier. I don’t play coy. If I invite a man into my living room after midnight and sit like this—” she glanced down at her own cleavage, the deep shadow between her breasts, the way the blouse cupped and lifted them “—it’s because I want him to look. And more.”

She rose then, not abruptly but with the deliberate grace of a woman who moved through the world knowing her body was a statement. The sofa cushions sighed again as she stood. Xavier’s eyes followed the heavy sway of her hips, the soft jiggle of her full belly beneath the blouse, the way her breasts shifted and settled with each step. She crossed the short distance between them and perched on the arm of his chair, close enough that the heat of her thigh brushed his sleeve. From this angle her cleavage was even more pronounced; gravity pulled the generous mounds forward, the silk dipping lower so that the inner curves nearly spilled free. The scent of her—warm skin, faint vanilla lotion, the clean musk of a woman who had spent the evening growing aroused—wrapped around him.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” she murmured, one hand resting lightly on his shoulder. Her thumb stroked the fabric of his shirt in small, circling motions. “No filters. We’re both adults. Consenting. Attracted. I want to hear it.”

Xavier’s hand lifted almost of its own accord, settling on the outer curve of her hip. The flesh there was soft, abundant, yielding under his palm. He squeezed once, gently, testing. “I’m thinking about how full your tits look. How they’d feel in my hands. How that mouth of yours would look wrapped around something other than words.” His voice had roughened. “I’m hard just sitting here. Have been for a while.”

Roxanne’s smile turned wicked, alluring, the kind that promised everything without rushing. She leaned in until her lips nearly brushed his ear, her breasts pressing lightly against his upper arm; the soft give of them was unmistakable even through two layers of cloth. “Good. I want you hard. I want you aching. I’ve been imagining your cock all evening—thick, I bet, the way a sixty-year-old man’s cock can be, heavy and ready. I’ve been thinking about taking it in my hand. Stroking it. Watching your face while I do it.” Her breath warmed his skin. “Does that scare you? Or does it make you want to stay right here?”

“It makes me want to stay,” he answered without hesitation. His fingers flexed on her hip, sliding a fraction higher, feeling the heat of her through the skirt. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She straightened just enough to look down into his eyes, her cleavage now directly in his line of sight, the deep valley inviting. One of her hands rose and toyed with the top button of her blouse, not undoing it yet, merely resting there so that the motion drew attention to the straining fabric. “Then we keep going. Slow. I want to feel this build. I want every look, every word, every brush of skin. You’re going to tell me how much you want my mouth, and I’m going to keep smiling at you like this until you’re ready to do something about it.”

Xavier’s free hand came up, hovering near the soft underside of her breast without quite touching. The tension crackled—permission hovering, desire acknowledged and mirrored. Roxanne’s pulse fluttered visibly at the base of her throat. She shifted on the chair arm, deliberately letting her thigh press more firmly against his side, and felt the unmistakable ridge of his erection against her. A soft, approving sound escaped her.

“There it is,” she whispered. “That’s what I wanted to feel. Thick already. Imagine what it’ll be like when I wrap my fingers around it properly. When I tug you closer and open my mouth and look up at you while I stroke.” Her voice dropped further, intimate and filthy in the quiet room. “I’m going to encourage every spurt, Xavier. I’m going to tell you how good you look while you feed my mouth. But not yet. First I want you so wound up you can barely sit still.”

She slid off the chair arm and returned to the sofa, this time settling closer, angling her body so that her knees almost touched his. The blouse gaped a fraction more with the movement; one soft inner curve threatened to slip free entirely. Roxanne made no move to adjust it. Instead she rested both hands on her own thighs, palms up, open, inviting without yet claiming. Her eyes stayed locked on his, warm and hungry and utterly sure.

“Come sit beside me,” she said. “Touch me if you want. Tell me more of what you’re imagining. We’ve got the whole night, and I intend to use every minute of this tension before I finally take that cock of yours in my hand and work it the way it deserves.”

Xavier rose and crossed to her, the air thick with the scent of her perfume and the shared knowledge of what was coming. He sank onto the cushion beside her. Their thighs pressed together—his firm, hers lush and yielding. Roxanne turned toward him, one arm draped along the back of the sofa so that her breast brushed his chest. The contact sent a visible shiver through her. She smiled again, slow and alluring, and let her free hand settle high on his leg, inches from the hard line of his cock.

“Feel that?” she murmured, fingers flexing just enough to feel the heat of him through the fabric. “That’s mine tonight. I’m going to stroke it until you can’t hold back. I’m going to open my mouth and take every drop you give me, and I’m going to love every second of watching you lose control for a buxom old grandmother who still knows exactly how to handle a man.” Her thumb brushed once, deliberately, along the side of his erection. “But we stay right here in this moment a little longer. Let it build. Let me look at you while you look at these.”

She arched her back the smallest degree, presenting the full, straining abundance of her cleavage. The silk was damp in places now from the heat of her skin. Xavier’s hand finally settled over one heavy breast, cupping the soft weight, feeling the nipple tighten against his palm. Roxanne’s eyes half-closed in pleasure, a soft moan escaping her as she pressed into the touch.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Just like that. Keep touching me. Keep wanting me. We’re only getting started.”

Roxanne’s soft moan lingered in the quiet living room as Xavier’s palm molded to the heavy yield of her breast, the silk blouse rasping faintly under his fingers. She pressed forward into the touch, her sixty-eight-year-old body arching with deliberate invitation, the deep freckled valley of her cleavage rising and falling against his wrist. Heat bloomed through the thin fabric; her nipple had drawn tight into a hard peak that nudged insistently at the center of his hand. She let the sensation roll through her, eyes half-lidded, watching the way his silver-templed face tightened with hunger.

“That’s it,” she murmured, voice low and throaty, the words sliding over him like warm syrup. “Feel how full they are. How they fill your hand like they were made for it.” Her own free hand stayed high on his thigh, fingers splayed wide, the pads of them tracing slow, lingering circles just inches from the thick ridge already tenting his trousers. Each pass brushed closer, deliberately teasing the heat radiating from his groin without yet claiming it. She felt him twitch beneath the cloth, a visible stiffening that made the fabric strain harder. “Look at you. Getting thicker right under my fingers. I can feel every pulse.”

Xavier’s breath roughened. His thumb swept across her nipple again, slower this time, and Roxanne rewarded him with another soft sound of approval, her heavy breasts shifting with the motion. The cream silk clung damply now, outlining the generous sway of them. She leaned closer still until the soft underside of one breast brushed his forearm, the weight of it unmistakable, matronly and abundant. Her thigh pressed firmer along his, lush and yielding, the warmth of her skin seeping through the layers between them.

“I’ve been aching to get my hands on you properly,” she purred, the encouragement dripping with allure as her fingertips drifted higher, tracing the crease where thigh met hip. She squeezed gently there, feeling the solid muscle jump, then let her nails skim lightly along the outline of his hardening cock. It surged under the touch, lengthening, thickening until the shape of it stood out boldly against his trousers—a heavy sixty-year-old erection that made her mouth water. “There it is. Growing for me already. Thick and ready. I want to stroke every inch of it, Xavier. I want to wrap my fingers around that cock and work it slow until you explode right into my open mouth. Would you like that? Watching a buxom old grandmother on her knees for you, encouraging every spurt?”

His free hand tightened on her breast in answer, fingers sinking into the soft flesh. Roxanne smiled, wicked and knowing, and gave his thigh one last lingering caress before she shifted. She rose from the sofa cushions with unhurried grace, the motion making her full breasts sway heavily beneath the blouse, the deep V neckline dipping lower until the inner curves threatened to spill free entirely. Gravity pulled them forward as she turned and sank smoothly to her knees between his spread legs. The carpet was soft under her, cushioning the generous weight of her body. From this angle she looked up at him through her lashes, silver-streaked auburn hair framing her face, cleavage framed dramatically by the straining silk. Her heavy breasts hung and swayed with every small adjustment, freckled pale flesh quivering.

“Stay right there,” she whispered, hands settling on his knees first, then sliding upward along his thighs in long, sultry strokes. “I want you hard as stone before I even take it out. Feel how I’m touching you. Imagine these same fingers wrapped tight around your cock, sliding up and down, squeezing just right.” Her palms framed the hard bulge now, pressing and cupping through the fabric, kneading the throbbing length until Xavier’s hips gave a small involuntary push. She purred approval, the sound rich and filthy. “That’s mine tonight. I’m going to free it and tease it and stroke it until you’re shaking. Until you can’t think of anything but filling my mouth.”

Her fingers found his belt buckle, working it open with practiced ease. The leather whispered free. She popped the button of his trousers next, then drew the zipper down slowly, the metallic rasp loud in the charged quiet. His cock sprang forward the moment the fabric parted, thick and flushed dark at the head, already glistening with a bead of precum. Roxanne’s eyes darkened with open hunger as she eased the trousers and briefs lower, freeing his full throbbing erection completely. It stood heavy and veined against his belly, the sixty-year-old cock thick enough that her soft fingers would barely meet around it. She inhaled the clean musky scent of him, her heavy breasts swaying forward as she leaned in closer, the silk brushing the insides of his thighs.

“Look at this beautiful cock,” she murmured, alluring and low, one hand rising to cradle the shaft lightly while the other rested on his thigh, thumb stroking in encouraging circles. She didn’t grip yet—only teased. Soft fingertips ghosted over the swollen head, spreading the slick precum in slow circles, dipping lightly into the slit before gliding down the underside to trace a thick vein. His cock jerked hard in response, the head flushing deeper. Roxanne smiled up at him, her cleavage dipping and swaying with every breath, the freckled mounds nearly spilling free as gravity tugged them. “So hard for me already. Pulsing against my fingers. I can feel how badly you want this. I’m going to stroke you until you explode, Xavier. I’m going to work this thick cock slow and filthy, telling you every filthy thing I’m thinking while I do it. You’re going to watch my mouth open wide and wait for every drop. But first…”

She circled the head again with those soft fingers, rubbing the sensitive ridge, rolling the foreskin gently back and forth until more precum beaded and smeared across her fingertips. Her other hand slid higher on his thigh, squeezing the muscle, lingering in warm encouragement. “Feel that? How I touch just the tip like this? Imagine when I wrap my whole hand around you and start pumping. Slow at first. Then faster when you start leaking for me. I’ll tell you how good you look, how thick you feel, how much I want you to paint my tongue. You stay right here and let it build. Let me make you ache.”

Xavier’s hand found the back of her head, not pressing, only resting in her hair as he stared down at the sight—her on her knees, buxom and matronly, heavy breasts swaying with each teasing stroke of her fingers over his cockhead. Roxanne leaned in until her warm breath ghosted over the slick tip, lips parting just enough that he could see the wet pink of her tongue, but she didn’t take him yet. Instead she kept teasing, soft fingertips gliding, circling, gently tugging the head while her other hand caressed his thigh in long, lingering passes. Her voice stayed a constant sultry stream of encouragement, promising the explosion to come, describing exactly how she would stroke him open-mouthed and eager when the time arrived. The air thickened with the scent of her arousal and his precum; the sofa cushions behind him creaked faintly as he shifted, cock throbbing visibly under her deliberate, alluring torment. She looked up once more, eyes shining, and gave the head another slow, soft-fingered swirl, breasts hanging heavy and inviting between his legs, the whole night still stretching ahead of them full of building tension.

Roxanne’s fingertips lingered on the slick crown of Xavier’s cock a moment longer, spreading the bead of precum in slow, deliberate circles until the head glistened under the low living-room light. She felt the heavy shaft throb against her palm, thick and insistent, the sixty-year-old man’s desire pulsing hot through every vein. Her own breath came slower now, deeper, the freckled valley of her cleavage rising and falling as her heavy breasts swayed freely between his spread thighs. The cream silk of her blouse had slipped further; one soft inner curve threatened to spill free entirely, the weight of her sixty-eight-year-old body grounded and unhurried on the carpet.

She looked up through her lashes, bedroom eyes heavy-lidded and gleaming with allure, and finally closed both soft hands around him. Fingers that had only teased now wrapped firm and sure, one stacked above the other, barely meeting around the girth. The heat of him filled her palms at once—solid, living, already leaking again for her. She gave a single experimental squeeze and watched his hips twitch.

“There,” she murmured, voice low and throaty, thick with promise. “Both hands. Just like I promised.”

She began to stroke.

Slow. Firm. The kind of deliberate drag that pulled the loose skin down toward the base, then glided back up to gather fresh slickness at the tip and smear it along the shaft. Her thumbs pressed along the thick underside vein on every upward pass, milking another clear drop free. The wet sound of her palms working him filled the quiet room—soft, rhythmic, filthy. Xavier’s breath left him in a rough exhale; his hand tightened in her silver-streaked auburn hair, not forcing, only anchoring himself to the sight of her.

Roxanne kept her mouth open from the first stroke. Tongue extended, pink and waiting, she positioned her face just beneath the flushed head so that every upward tug of her fists brought the leaking tip within a breath of her waiting tongue. Warm air from her parted lips washed over him. She never closed her mouth. She never looked away.

“That’s it,” she whispered between strokes, the words breathy and alluring, eyes locked on his face. “Feel how I hold you. Slow and tight. Look at me, Xavier. Look at this buxom old grandmother on her knees for you, both hands wrapped around your beautiful sixty-year-old cock, stroking it just the way it needs.” Her fists rose and fell in perfect unison, twisting gently on the upstroke so that the sensitive ridge caught and dragged through her soft grip. Another bead of precum welled and stretched; she caught it on the next pass and worked it down the shaft until everything shone. “You’re getting thicker. I can feel it. Every pulse. Keep giving it to me. Let it build right here in my hands.”

Xavier’s free hand found the outer curve of one heavy breast, cupping through the silk, thumb brushing the tight nipple. Roxanne pressed into the touch without breaking rhythm, the generous flesh overflowing his palm. Her strokes stayed measured—long, firm, unhurried—squeezing harder on the downward slide, relaxing just enough on the way up to let him feel every ridge of her fingers. The wet friction grew louder. Her tongue stayed out, waiting, glistening.

“That’s it, give it all to me,” she coaxed, the exact words spilling soft and filthy as her fists pumped faster by degrees. “Fill my mouth. I want every drop painted right across this tongue. Look how open I am for you. Look how ready. You’re going to erupt for me, aren’t you? Thick ropes, right where I can taste them. I’ve been aching for this all night—your cock jerking in my hands, your cum landing hot on my tongue and lips while I keep stroking. Don’t hold back. I want to feel you lose it.”

Her heavy breasts swayed with every stroke, freckled pale flesh quivering, the deep V of her blouse now gaping so that the soft undersides nearly brushed his thighs. She leaned closer still, mouth wide, tongue flat and extended, so that the leaking head kissed the wet surface of her tongue on every upward pull without ever fully entering. The contact was electric—slick heat, the salt taste already ghosting across her taste buds. She moaned softly around the almost-touch, the sound vibrating against him, and her fists tightened.

Xavier’s thighs tensed under her elbows. She felt the first warning throb deep in the base of his cock, the way the shaft swelled even thicker between her stacked palms. Her strokes never faltered. Slow, firm, relentless. She milked him with both hands, thumbs working the underside, twisting lightly, urging every pulse higher.

“That’s it,” she breathed again, eyes shining up at him, mouth open, tongue outstretched and waiting. “Give it all to me. Fill my mouth. Come on, Xavier—paint this tongue. I want to feel those thick ropes land hot and heavy. Stroke after stroke until you can’t hold another second. You’re so close. I can feel you. Let go for me. Let this buxom grandmother milk every spurt right onto my tongue and lips.”

His cock jerked hard in her double grip. The first thick rope of cum erupted with a sharp pulse, arcing directly onto the center of her waiting tongue—hot, heavy, salty. Roxanne’s eyes fluttered in open pleasure but she kept stroking, both hands working him through it, milking the next rope and the next. Cum landed across her extended tongue, spilled over her lower lip, striped her chin in glossy white. She held her mouth wide open the entire time, never closing, never looking away, catching everything she could while her fists pumped firm and slow, wringing more from him with every deliberate stroke.

“Yes—yes, that’s it—fill me,” she urged between pulses, voice ragged with delight, tongue still out so that fresh spurts painted it anew. Thick ropes continued to pulse from him, some landing deep on her tongue, others striping her lips and dripping down onto the freckled upper curves of her breasts. She stroked him through the last shrinking jets, slower now, gentler, gathering the final drops and smearing them across the head so that everything glistened. Cum coated her tongue, overflowed her open mouth, shone on her lips in thick glossy ropes. She kept gazing up with those bedroom eyes, both hands still wrapped around his slowly softening cock, holding him, cradling him, letting him watch the mess he had made of her mouth and chin.

Even as the last pulse faded she did not close her lips or swallow. She stayed on her knees, mouth open, tongue extended and heavy with his cum, fists still loosely circling the spent shaft. Her heavy breasts rose and fell with her breathing, freckled cleavage marked with a few stray stripes. The taste of him flooded her senses—salt and musk and pure release—and she let it sit there, open and displayed, while her thumbs stroked absently along the slick length.

Xavier’s hand trembled in her hair. She felt his cock give one final weak twitch against her palms. The living room air hung thick with the scent of sex and the quiet sound of their breathing. Roxanne’s eyes stayed locked on his, alluring and hungry still, as if the climax they had just shared was only another layer of the tension she refused to let fully settle. Her tongue moved just enough to shift the thick load of cum resting on it, but she kept everything visible, everything offered, both hands still possessing the cock that had just erupted for her. The night stretched on around them, the sofa behind him, the soft carpet under her knees, the unfinished heat still simmering in the way she held him open-mouthed and waiting for whatever came next.

Roxanne held the thick load steady on her outstretched tongue a moment longer, savoring the heavy salt-musk weight of it, the way the warm ropes still clung and stretched between her lips and the freckled upper curves of her breasts. Xavier’s spent cock twitched once more in the loose cradle of her stacked fists, a final weak pulse that squeezed one last pearly drop onto her waiting tongue. She moaned around the mouthful, the sound low and thoroughly satisfied, then closed her lips at last and swallowed every drop in one long, deliberate pull. The thick cum slid down her throat in a single velvet rush; she felt it coat her from the inside, hot and intimate, and another soft moan rolled out of her as she worked her throat to take it all. Nothing spilled. Nothing wasted. She took every last bit of him with the same matronly confidence she had used to milk him.

Her eyes never left his. When the swallow finished she parted her lips again and showed him the clean pink of her tongue, empty now except for the faint glossy sheen of what he had given her. “Mmm… every drop,” she murmured, voice husky and rich with pleasure. “You filled me so well, Xavier. Thick and hot and perfect. I loved milking that beautiful sixty-year-old cock of yours until it erupted right where I wanted it.”

She leaned in closer, heavy breasts swaying and brushing the insides of his still-spread thighs, and began to clean him. Her soft tongue first swept across her own lower lip, gathering the glossy ropes that had striped her chin and the corners of her mouth. She licked slowly, thoroughly, eyes half-lidded in bliss, then turned her attention to the sensitive head of his spent cock. The crown was still flushed and shiny, hypersensitive after the force of his climax. Roxanne sealed her lips gently around just the tip and sucked with feather-light pressure, tongue swirling in lazy circles to collect every remaining smear of cum. She felt him shudder at the delicate contact; his hand trembled in her silver-streaked auburn hair.

“So sensitive now,” she whispered against the clean skin, then licked a long, deliberate stripe from the base of the softening shaft all the way up to the tip again. “I can taste how hard you came for me. Look at you—still twitching while I clean every inch. I loved every second of working you with both hands, feeling you swell and throb and finally lose control right into my open mouth. You were so thick in my fists. So eager. I loved encouraging you, telling you exactly how I wanted those ropes painted on my tongue. And you gave me everything.”

Her tongue made another slow circuit around the head, dipping lightly into the slit to chase the last salty bead, then flattened and dragged down the underside vein. She spoke between soft licks, each word warm against his cooling skin. “Milking you felt so good, Xavier. Watching your face while I stroked, feeling those first warning throbs, knowing I was about to get every drop… I could do this every night. Feel how soft you’re getting now, still shiny from my mouth. I want you clean. I want you to know how thoroughly I enjoyed taking care of this cock.”

Xavier’s breathing had steadied into deep, sated pulls. He watched her with dark, heavy-lidded eyes, a slow smile spreading across his silver-templed face as her tongue continued its gentle, thorough work. Roxanne shifted on her knees, the carpet soft beneath her generous weight, and rested the full soft cheek of her face against the length of his softening shaft. The heat of her skin, the faint freckles, the matronly fullness of her cheek pressing along him—all of it made him sigh. She nuzzled there, still speaking in that low, alluring murmur while her tongue occasionally flicked out to catch any missed gleam at the base.

“There,” she said, smiling against him. “All clean. Every bit of you licked and loved. I meant what I said the whole time I was stroking—I wanted you to fill my mouth, and you did it so beautifully. Thick ropes, hot and heavy, right where I could taste them. You looked magnificent losing control for a buxom old grandmother who still knows exactly how to handle a man. I loved milking you. Loved the way you pulsed and jerked and kept giving me more even when you thought you were empty.” She pressed a soft kiss to the now-soft side of his cock, then another higher up near the head, her heavy breasts still framed dramatically by the gaping silk blouse, freckled cleavage rising and falling with her calm, contented breaths.

Both of them smiled in the quiet post-orgasmic glow. The living-room air smelled of sex and warm skin and the faint vanilla of her lotion. Xavier’s fingers stroked lazily through her hair; Roxanne’s free hand rested on his thigh, thumb tracing idle circles while her cheek stayed pillowed against his softening shaft. She felt utterly sated, the taste of him still lingering at the back of her throat, the memory of his cock jumping in her double grip still vivid in her palms. He looked down at her with the same quiet hunger softened now into something deeper and warmer—gratitude, pleasure, the easy intimacy of two adults who had wanted exactly this and taken it without apology.

“You’re remarkable,” he said quietly, voice rough with spent desire. “That mouth… those hands… the way you talked me through every second. I’ve never come that hard in years.”

Roxanne smiled wider against his cock, the soft flesh of her cheek shifting along him. “Good. That’s what I wanted. A handsome sixty-year-old man completely undone by me, spilling everything onto my tongue while I kept encouraging him. I loved it. Every pulse. Every drop I swallowed. And cleaning you afterward might be my favorite part—feeling you twitch while I lick you gentle and thorough, knowing I did that to you.”

She stayed exactly there, cheek resting against the warm, softening length, her body relaxed and heavy on her knees, heavy breasts still half-spilling from the cream silk. Their breathing synced in the quiet house. The tension that had built all evening had finally broken into this perfect, smiling stillness. Xavier’s hand continued its slow caress through her hair; her own fingers stayed lightly curled around the base of him, possessive and tender at once.

In the soft afterglow, with her face still pressed to his spent cock and both of them smiling in shared bliss, Roxanne held one quiet piece of knowledge she had no intention of sharing tonight. Earlier that afternoon, before he arrived, she had received a brief, carefully worded message from Grant confirming that the private weekend cabin two hours north was hers for the taking next month—fully stocked, no questions asked, and already paid. She had not mentioned the possibility to Xavier yet. She would wait until the right moment, when the memory of tonight’s milking was still vivid, and simply invite him. For now the secret remained hers alone, warm and promising as the taste of him on her tongue, while she rested her cheek against his softening shaft and let the two of them simply smile.