My 60-Year-Old Wife's Bull and His 8-Inch Cock

Cedric had stopped pretending, years ago, that Saturday night belonged to anyone but his wife. At sixty-five he still came home from the hardware store with the same careful gait, the same gray mustache he trimmed every morning, the same habit of hanging his keys on the hook by the door so Elise would hear him arrive. At sixty she met him in the bedroom already half undressed, and the sight of her never failed to knock the breath out of him.

She stood with her back to the mirror, robe open, and the robe did nothing to hide what she wanted him looking at. Her ass was enormous, soft and heavy, two thick cheeks that swayed when she shifted her weight and dimpled under her own fingers when she reached back and spread them a little, just to watch his face. Her tits hung low and full, big pendulous weights that rested against the slope of her belly, the nipples dark and already tight. Age had only made her more of what she had always been: abundant, unapologetic, and entirely in charge of the man who had loved her for forty years.

"On the bed," Elise said. Her voice was warm and ordinary, the same voice she used to tell him the roast needed another twenty minutes. "I want you working before Lionel gets here. He's bringing that cock of his, and I am not letting him shove eight thick inches into a dry cunt just because you got shy."

Cedric's own cock, smaller and already half hard in his briefs, twitched at the order. He stripped without being told twice and knelt on the mattress behind her when she climbed up on her hands and knees. The bedroom smelled of the lotion she used on her thighs and of the clean cotton sheets she had changed that afternoon, as if the bed itself needed to be ready for company. Her ass filled his vision. He put both hands on it, thumbs sinking into the give of her flesh, and felt the heat coming off her skin.

"Talk to me," she said, looking back over her shoulder. The lines at the corners of her eyes deepened when she smiled. "Tell me what you're doing to your wife."

"I'm opening you," he said, and his voice came out rough. He spread her cheeks wider. Her asshole winked, pink and tight, and below it her pussy was already glossy, the lips plump and parted just enough to show the darker inner folds. "Getting your ass and your cunt ready for him. For Lionel. For that big cock."

"Good boy." She rocked back into his palms. "Lick. Both holes. I want to be dripping when he walks in that door. I want him to smell me on your mouth."

He bent and put his tongue where she told him. The taste of her was salt and heat and the faint sweetness of the oil she had rubbed between her legs in the shower. He licked a slow stripe from her clit up through her slit and over the puckered rim of her ass, then did it again, patient, thorough, the way she had trained him. Elise sighed and dropped her chest lower so her heavy tits brushed the sheet. They swung a little with each small shift of her hips, the soft weight of them dragging, nipples catching on the fabric.

"Fingers," she said. "Two in my pussy. Don't you dare rush. Stretch me. He is thicker than you have ever been, and you know it."

Cedric slid two fingers into her and felt her grip them, hot and slick. He worked them in a steady rhythm, curling, spreading, listening to the wet sound his hand made against her. His tongue stayed on her ass, circling, pressing, getting her loose the way Lionel liked. Humiliation sat warm and familiar in his chest. He was sixty-five years old, kneeling behind his wife, opening holes that another man would use, and he had never been harder in his life.

"That's it," Elise murmured. "Listen to yourself. You're making a mess of me and you love it. When he gets here I want you to tell him exactly how wet you got me. I want him to know his cuck did his job."

The doorbell cut through the room like a starting gun.

Lionel was thirty-four, broad through the shoulders from the warehouse job he had held since he was twenty-two, and he never knocked twice. Elise had given him a key months ago. Cedric heard the lock turn, the easy tread in the hall, and his stomach flipped with the old, delicious dread. He did not stop fingering her. Elise had not told him to stop.

"In here," she called, voice gone brighter. "My husband's got his face in my ass. Come see what a good little prep boy he is."

Lionel filled the doorway in a faded T-shirt and jeans, already smiling. He looked at the pair of them without embarrassment, the way a man looks at something he has been invited to own for the evening. "Evening, Elise. Cedric." His eyes dropped to where Cedric's fingers disappeared into her. "She as wet as she sounds?"

"Wetter," Cedric said, because the truth was the only currency that worked in this room. He spread his fingers so Lionel could see the shine. "I've been licking her pussy and her ass. She's ready for you."

Elise laughed, low and pleased, and rolled onto her back so her tits spilled toward her sides, heavy and soft, the undersides creased from how they hung. She crooked a finger at Lionel. "Get those pants off. I have been thinking about that cock since noon. Eight inches, thick as my wrist, and my husband is going to watch every bit of it go in me. Aren't you, Cedric?"

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes, I'm going to watch him fuck you. I'm going to help."

Lionel undressed without hurry. His cock was already hard, heavy, a thick eight inches that curved slightly upward, the head broad and dark. Cedric had measured it once, at Elise's laughing insistence, and the number had lived in his head ever since. Lionel stroked himself once, slow, and looked at Elise's spread thighs.

"Tell him what you need," Lionel said to her. "I like hearing you run him."

Elise's eyes glittered. She reached down, took Cedric's wrist, and guided his fingers back into her cunt, then used her other hand to push one of his thumbs against her ass. "Deeper. Both. I need to be open enough that he doesn't have to fight me. You feel that? That's a sixty-year-old pussy getting ruined for a younger man's cock, and you are the one doing the inviting. Spread my ass. Hold me open so he can see what he's about to fuck."

Cedric obeyed. He hooked his fingers, stretched her, and used his free hand to pull one heavy cheek aside. The air hit her wetness and she shivered. Lionel stepped closer, close enough that the heat of his cock brushed Cedric's knuckles.

"She tells me you feel better than I ever did," Cedric said, because she liked him to say it out loud, and because it was true in the only way that mattered here. "She says you fill her until she can't think."

"I do," Lionel said mildly. He looked down at Cedric, not cruel, just certain. "On your knees. Off the bed. I want you where I can use your hands."

Cedric climbed down. The carpet was cool under his knees. Elise rolled back onto all fours at the edge of the mattress, ass presented, tits hanging free so they would swing when Lionel started. She looked over her shoulder at her husband and smiled the smile that had undone him at their wedding and undid him still.

"Get me wetter," she said. "One more minute. Lick my clit while he watches. I want him to see how desperate his cuck's wife is for that bull cock."

Cedric leaned in and sealed his mouth over her. She was soaked now, dripping onto his chin, and he licked her with open devotion while Lionel stood behind him and stroked that thick length inches from Cedric's ear. Elise moaned, rocking, her heavy ass pressing back into his face.

"Enough," Lionel said. His hand settled on the back of Cedric's neck, not rough, just directing. "Hold still."

He lined himself up. Cedric watched from inches away as the broad head nudged Elise's plump folds, smeared through the wetness Cedric had made, and began to push. Elise groaned, a long broken sound, and her cunt stretched visibly around him. Inch by inch that eight-inch cock disappeared into her, thicker than Cedric's fingers, thicker than anything he had ever put in her, and her ass shook with the effort of taking it.

"Oh God," she gasped. "Cedric. Look. Look how he opens me. You could never. You never did."

"I know," Cedric whispered.

Lionel seated himself to the root and held there, balls resting heavy against Elise's clit. He glanced down. "You know what I like. Hold them."

Cedric cupped Lionel's sack in his palm. The balls were warm, full, weighty, the skin soft and lightly furred. He cradled them the way he had been taught, gentle, supporting, feeling them draw up a little when Lionel drew back and drove in again.

The fucking started in earnest then. Lionel took her doggy-style at the edge of the bed, hands gripping the wide soft meat of her hips, and every thrust made her whole body move. Her huge saggy tits swung forward and back, heavy pendulums slapping lightly against each other and against the sheet, nipples dragging, the soft flesh rippling. The sound of it filled the room: skin on skin, the wet clap of his hips against her enormous ass, Elise's voice gone loud and shameless.

"Harder," she demanded. "Wreck it. Cedric, massage his balls. Don't just hold them like a scared old man. Roll them. Feel how full they are. That's all going inside your wife."

Cedric worked his fingers carefully over the sack, stroking, squeezing with the pressure she had shown him months ago. Lionel's cock pistoned in and out of her, shiny with her cream, the thick shaft stretching her pussy lips thin and pink around him. Every time he bottomed out, Cedric felt the balls in his palm jump. Elise's ass rippled. Her tits kept swinging, big and soft and utterly exposed, and she turned her head so she could see her husband's face while she was being pounded.

"You see that cock?" she panted. "Eight inches. Thick. He's hitting places you never reached. My cunt is gripping him like it knows the difference. Your little thing is just sitting there, isn't it? Hard and useless. Look at it. Pathetic next to what he's giving me."

Cedric looked. His own cock stood stiff and flushed against his stomach, smaller, leaking, untouched. The comparison burned and thrilled in equal measure. "It's small," he said. "Next to his. I know."

"Say it right."

"My cock is pathetic compared to the one fucking you. He's wrecking you and I'm just holding his balls while he does it."

"Good." She moaned when Lionel changed the angle, driving deeper, and her arms nearly gave out. "Oh, fuck, yes. Right there. Cedric, tighter on his sack. He likes it when you hold them up a little so they slap my clit. Don't you, Lionel?"

"Yeah," Lionel grunted. Sweat shone on his chest. He fucked her steadily, not frantic, the confident pace of a man who knew he had all night and a willing hole. "He's doing fine. Keep him talking. I like hearing the old man admit it."

Cedric kept his hand where it belonged and watched his wife's body take every stroke. Her ass was a soft earthquake around Lionel's hips. Her pussy made obscene wet sounds, dripping down onto Cedric's wrist. The smell of sex was thick enough to taste. Elise's voice broke into cries, then reassembled into orders.

"Tell him thank you," she gasped. "Thank him for fucking your wife better than you can."

"Thank you," Cedric said, and meant it with a humiliation so complete it felt like worship. "Thank you for fucking her. She needed this. I got her wet for you. I spread her. I'm holding your balls while you pound her cunt and I am grateful."

Lionel laughed once, breathless, and slammed in harder. Elise wailed. Her tits swung wildly, the heavy sagging weight of them pulling, nipples tight and dark. Cedric could see the way her pussy clung to the thick cock on every withdrawal, reluctant to let it go, then yielded again when Lionel drove back in to the hilt. Eight inches. All of it. Over and over.

"I'm close," Lionel said. His rhythm stuttered, grew rougher. "Where do you want it?"

"Inside," Elise said immediately. "Fill me. I want my husband to see it leak out. Cedric, don't let go of his balls until he's done. Feel them empty into me."

Cedric held on. Lionel's sack tightened in his palm, drew up hard, and then Lionel buried himself and came with a low groan, hips jerking, pumping what felt like a flood into Elise's clutching cunt. Cedric felt the pulses under his fingers, one after another, the heavy balls working as Lionel emptied himself. Elise cried out and shook through her own orgasm, ass clenching, tits swaying to a stop as she collapsed onto her elbows and took every drop.

For a long moment the only sounds were breathing and the faint wet noise of Lionel's cock still seated inside her.

He pulled out slowly. The thick shaft slid free, glistening, and Elise's pussy gaped for a second, pink and used, before a heavy ribbon of cum welled out and ran down over her clit. More followed, white and thick, dripping onto the sheet and onto the fingers Cedric still had hovering near her.

"Clean her," Lionel said. He was already moving around the bed, climbing up beside Elise, one hand stroking the sweat-damp curve of her back. "She likes your mouth after. So do I."

Elise turned her face toward Lionel and kissed him, open and slow, while her ass stayed raised for her husband. "You heard him," she murmured against Lionel's mouth. "Get your tongue in your wife's used pussy. Taste him. Taste what a real cock leaves behind. And don't miss any. I want to feel you cleaning every bit of that creampie out of me."

Cedric leaned in. The taste was sharp and salty, Lionel's cum mixed with Elise's slick, and he licked it up without hesitation, broad strokes through her swollen folds, then gentler ones when she hissed at the sensitivity. He pressed his tongue inside her, where she was loose and flooded, and swallowed what he gathered. Her ass cheeks framed his face, soft and hot, still trembling. He spread them again with his hands and licked lower, catching a stray streak that had run toward her asshole, then returned to her cunt and kept going until the flow slowed and she was mostly clean, only the faint taste of her left on his tongue.

Above him, Elise and Lionel kissed and caressed like people who had all the time in the world. Lionel's hand cupped one of her hanging tits, lifting the heavy weight, thumb brushing the nipple. Elise sighed into his mouth and reached back blindly until her fingers found Cedric's hair.

"That's my husband," she said, tender now, the edge gone out of her voice. "Sixty-five years old and still the best boy I ever trained. He gets me ready, he holds your balls while you fuck me, and he cleans me up after. I love him for it."

"I know you do," Lionel said. He kissed her temple. "He's good at it."

Cedric rested his cheek against the inside of her thigh, breathing her in, his own cock still hard and ignored and somehow exactly where it belonged. The room was warm. The sheets were ruined. His jaw ached in the best way. He felt the old bond settle back over them, not broken by what they had done but proven by it: she was his wife, he was her cuckold, and both of them had chosen this again, eyes open, bodies willing.

Elise glanced down at him, flushed and smiling, Lionel's arm around her shoulders and his cum still faint on Cedric's lips.

"Same time next Saturday," she said, voice low and sure. "And Cedric, love, are you going to have my ass and my saggy tits ready for his eight inches before he even knocks, or do I need to make you start earlier?"