Welcome Home Lazy Vanilla Lovemaking ~ Angela Goodnight

We’re back in Cornwall.

When Peter found me back in 2010 I realised he was quite well off, but it wasn’t until he took me to the south of France, that his surplus wealth really made itself known.

[Just a note to remind readers that all of our stories, except if labelled otherwise, are true and taken from our lives from being young teens up to ancient adults. If you want to know more about us read this page and if you would like to read stories about our teens and twenties etc. then follow them in time-life order on this link. We both have interesting sexual pasts and our teenage story is somewhat tragic if you don’t mind some drama.]

After a journey which took several days, very comfortable in the Jaguar and staying in wonderful country hotels on the way, I was gobsmacked when we turned into the villa.

The frontage was at least two hundred feet (60m). The windows weren’t particularly large, but I found that was because all the utility rooms, bathrooms and so on faced the front.

He opened the door and, with some effort, managed to carry me over the threshold into a lobby where we both collapsed onto the floor in a fit of giggles.

The inside was palatial.

There is a huge kitchen with central work area, a classy intimate dining room – I say, intimate, but it is still large with seating for eight, but there is something about the window drapes and décor which made it particularly homely.

The lounge is enormous. Honestly, you could lose forty or fifty people in it if ever you had such a large party. I didn’t like the furnishings and during our first visit I spent time looking at new furniture. The aspect is incredible. A full height window runs the length of the lounge, which is about fifty feet (17m) and they all open and fold back so that you can walk directly into the pool area, patio and main garden. Beyond the garden the ground falls away providing magnificent views in the direction of St. Tropez and the Mediterranean.

Madame Lob met us, before the threshold carrying exercise, and handed over our keys. She looks after the house, keeps it aired, clean and fresh in return for payment and permission to use the pool when Peter is not using the house himself. Everything was spotless and sparkling when we arrived that first time and it is the same today, Madame Lob is an absolute treasure.

Towards the end of that first visit I had new furniture delivered and Monsieur Lob promised to have the lounge decorated in the colours I had chosen. Most of the old furniture was to go, except for one sofa couch. So, today, one sofa couch looks totally out of place in our amazing French lounge – why? – well, knowing us, you can probably guess – that couch has a particular character, softness, firmness, arms, back and cushions that it is the most perfect platform upon which to perform our most sensuous and enjoyable holiday fucking. It is also the perfect height for standing penetration and kneeling for cunnilingus. I’d already ordered the new furniture before I realised how incredible this couch was so it had to stay. I remember Madame Lob saying it was now out of character – well, it is, but there is no way it is going!

Anyway, back in April we set off for a few months in the villa and that is why you’ve heard nothing from us on the blog. Sorry. Peter’s been on to check things are okay and put up the elust links, but other than that we have spent the last three months, making love in what can only be described as a paradise. Peter even, finally, got me to have sex in the pool, something which has been off my agenda since my violent husband forced me to have sex in a Caribbean plunge pool during our honeymoon. I hated it – this link is the story. Peter, had often got me to the point where I almost fancied it in the water, but one day on this visit we had been making love on the couch when he withdrew, led me to the pool and we consummated the act underwater. Somehow when it happened with my ex-husband, despite my normally copious bodily fluids, it was dry and unpleasant. Peter had got me so aroused that it was just perfect. We weren’t standing, but both floating in the deep end. The odd leg and arm strokes to keep us joined made it even better and when Peter came it actually triggered an orgasm for me – delightful and most unexpected.

We were going to stay on until my birthday in August, but the fires on the hillsides were so bad. At one point, we actually were becoming afraid the villa was in danger. Fortunately, the villa is located such that there are four different routes away in emergency, but nevertheless, I was quite frightened at one point and we decided to return home.

Anyway, now we are home again the young woman and her brother who keep an eye on our Gurney house when we’re away had left everything just perfect. She cleans for us weekly anyway, so knows the house well.

So, the story I wanted to write was about our first morning back at home. We were both tired as we’d driven from Chateau Tilques near Calais the previous day, which is quite a drive down to Cornwall, so we had a bit of a lie-in.

Peter had made us tea so we’d been sitting up in bed enjoying that and I still wasn’t ready to rise so snuggled back down into the bed and began to play with Zebedee – not in earnest, but just gentle squeezes and strokes, enjoying the gradual growth of his erection. I always feel an amazing pride that a few delicate touches and holding has such an effect on his body.

He came down the bed and we adopted our special lazy-sex position. He is on my left. I lie on my back. He turns on his side to face me. I lift my left leg. He threads his left leg under mine, which he then holds in his hands and over my right leg. We wriggle closer together and it happens. That stunning sensation of a rigid penis pushing its way into me, opening my body and sliding along my length, filling me, occupying and possessing me. What a terrific feeling.

Sometimes in this position, I just lie there, seemingly disinterested, but actually experiencing the sheer joy of his shaft moving, leisurely, to and fro. Each progression and withdrawal provides that intense sexual feeling within me, thrilling me, meaning so much to me, telling me this is love, love, love. Real love, never-ending love. Love with my teenage lover who is now an old man. How enjoyable and decadent to just lie there, holding his thigh in my hand, pulling it against me so that every movement within my vagina is reflected by the pressure of his thigh against my clitoris.

Scissors position for sexHe was in no hurry either. The thrusts – in fact they weren’t really thrusts, but gentle strokes – causing the slow but sanguine rise in my heart rate, temperature and breathing as the sure and certain knowledge grew within me that an orgasm was brewing – a long way off, but in the making.

I didn’t notice the time when I finished my tea, but it was nine-thirty when he brought it into the room and in my quietness I faintly heard the church bell strike ten-thirty through the open window which faces in the direction of the canal.

I guess we were making love for an hour. So beautiful and for me, it could have gone on forever. The joy of being eternally occupied by a slowly moving penis is something to aspire to, but I knew it was coming to an end as the motions were becoming that tiny bit more frequent and the push at its deepest point harder. The extra pressure was taking its toll on my clitoris and the rush began. Deep within me I sensed the growth of heat. More inevitably it began its approach, rising and filling my deepest recesses and entire outer vulva, clitoris and upper thighs with an almost scalding growth of sexual need, desire, sensation. LovemakingSorry, it is almost indescribable, but if you’ve had an orgasm, you know exactly that point I was at – my quim seemed to hold it, in waiting, for seconds, hotter, hotter and an explosive pressure rising so rapidly.

I whispered, ‘Coming!’

He kept his movements consistent. Adding nothing, just maintaining the rhythm until my internal convulsions began. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t close my mouth, I knew my eyes were wide, my eyebrows raised, but cheeks roasting with the intensity of my body’s response. The instant I came he stilled. I could feel myself squeezing Zebedee within me, ripples of movement from deep within, passing along his shaft and into my clit which was aching and straining and pressing against that hot, hairy thigh I now held against myself in a vice-like grip.

Finally, I drew a breath and let out a moaning, groaning, longing, wailing cry of sheer pleasure. My contractions, and heaven knows how many there were, shuddered to an end and his body began to move again, with extra urgency. How superb it felt, knowing I was his and he was using me for his pleasure, soaking up the sensations my body was giving him. It lasted just another twenty or thirty seconds and I felt the pumping, pulsing, ejection of his seed into me. I cried out in joy again as several contractions joined his and speeded his ejaculation towards its objective.

He gasped into post-coital collapse, his body relaxing and I sensed the warmth of his semen, oozing its way past his shaft and into my outer vulva and down my bum. How lovely. His welcome-home gift to me.

If he’s used Sildenafil then his erection stays good for another twenty to thirty minutes and we can stay locked together in this position for ages, but today’s lovemaking was not chemically assisted and he gradually slipped from my grasp. In a minute or so I felt my vagina give its involuntary spasm and evict him from its warm comforter. How I hated it for depriving me of the feel of his penis within me.

He rolled onto his back, his chest still heaving. I cuddled into him, my head on his chest, hearing his fast-beating heart, enjoying his warmth and glad to be back home in England where forest fires are rare and the climate is slightly cooler.

Angela Goodnight, 29th July 2017

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