Kinky Mature Sex - Erotic Stories: MILFs Always Have Better Sex

By Gloria Hole

MILFs always have better sex

Mature women always have the best sex. With their life experience MILFs seduce their lovers. In bed, the older ladies convince with their sexual love arts and their open-minded nature.

Enjoy reading my sex stories.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Books on Demand
• Release date: Aug 24, 2022
• ISBN: 9782322423637

Gloria Hole

N'est-ce pas le rêve de chaque femme et chaque homme de vivre à fond ses fantasmes sexuels ? Le sexe est une partie importante de ma vie. Il ne se passe pas un jour sans que je pense à une aventure érotique. Je suis une MILF coquine qui veut profiter intensément de sa vie sexuelle le plus longtemps possible. Je suis née en 1968 et j'ai déjà moi-même vécu beaucoup d'histoires sexuelles, mais je continue de penser que je n'en ai pas eu assez. Afin d'épicer ma vie sexuelle constamment, j'aime essayer de nouvelles choses. Depuis plusieurs années, je pratique l'échangisme et j'y ai vécu les choses les plus excitantes. J'y rencontre également en permanence des hommes et des femmes intéressants. Beaucoup me racontent leurs histoire érotiques que je vous transmets avec plaisir. Mes histoires ont pour la plupart eu lieu en vrai. Elles ont été vécues par moi où par des personnes que j'ai connues. Je ne suis pas écrivain professionnelle. Il s'agit plutôt d'une envie personnelle de laisser d'autres personnes prendre part à ces histoires de sexe ou même de les inciter à devenir personnellement actives. J'écris ces histoires en parallèle de mon travail en tant qu'infirmière. Aujourd'hui j'écris beaucoup d'histoires sur et pour les personnes ouvertes au sexe. Les nouvelles sexuelles et érotiques en français, interdites au moins de 18 ans cependant, sont ma grande passion. J'aime particulièrement : le sexe anal, le sexe en groupe, l'adultère, la domination féminine, le sexe en extérieur, l'échangisme, le partage de femmes, les conversations coquines, les Milfs et le sexe avec des personnes âgées. A mes yeux, il n'y quasiment aucun tabou. J'écris aussi bien sur les hommes mûrs et les jeunes femmes, sur les écolières (les filles ont plus de 18 ans), les premières fois, l'adultère, l'infidélité et l'amour lesbien. Pour moi, le porno doit être érotique, non-censuré et hard-core. Écrit dans une langue précise et explicite. Les histoires de sexe doivent être comme un porno dans la tête du lecteur. C'est exactement de ça dont il s'agit dans mes livres. Des livres érotiques qui excitent les hommes et les femmes. Nouvelles Érotiques. Roman Èrotique.

Book preview

Kinky Mature Sex - Erotic Stories

Kinky Mature Sex - Erotic Stories

An Older Lady Is Seduced

She Sees If He Has What It Takes

Life Long Dream Fulfilled

Divorcee Gets A Sexual Awakening

Success On A Dating App

Young Stud Bangs MILF

A Divorcee Rents A Room

Gets A Rude Awakening

Running To The Store

Meeting With A Younger Stranger

Copyright

Kinky Mature Sex - Erotic Stories

All characters are at least 21-years-old.

MILFs always have better sex

Mature women always have the best sex. With their life experience MILFs seduce their lovers. In bed, the older ladies convince with their sexual love arts and their open-minded nature. 

Enjoy reading my sex stories.

An Older Lady Is Seduced

Hello, I'm Sarah and until recently I'd never slept with a 'young' man. When I married my husband Patrick he was already forty two, while I was only seventeen; the reasons behind that are a whole other story and not one I wish to repeat here, or indeed dwell upon.

Despite everything, I like to think of our marriage as a success; we raised four children, all sadly now scattered due to work and/or partners to the four corners of the earth, two in Australia, a third in Japan and our youngest daughter is in Canada.

When Patrick retired we moved full-time to what had until then, been our weekend cottage in the Yorkshire Dales, but once his health began to deteriorate ten years later, we returned to our home town near Leeds, leasing an apartment in a, Seniors Community; I was still only forty-nine!

The age difference with my neighbours wasn't an issue; that was something I was long used to accommodating, so I've quite enjoyed the place. With a warden always on call and easy access to public transport -- Patrick never permitted me to drive -- I was able to get out and about secure in the knowledge that Patrick would be OK.

What I did especially miss from living in the Dales though, were Clara and Tom: It was Patrick and Tom who'd met first -- both members of the Rotary Club -- but when Clara and I met, we got on like a house on fire from the very start. Clara and I were of an age, with Tom being rather older, though nothing like the age-gap between Patrick and I, but that was never relevant, we all seemed to just 'click', regularly socialising and on a couple of occasions going on holiday together too; I consider Clara to be the best and closest friend that I've ever had.

Like ourselves, Tom and Clara have a now grown family -- four boys, how did she cope? - though they've perhaps been more fortunate than we, in that all of their boys, along with their partners and now grandchildren live locally. That's not entirely true; their third son Christian and his wife Nicoleian were abroad, though even they visited for two or three weeks each year to catch up with family and friends.

Daniel and Nicole have no kids, so after both had acquired the professional skills and reputations which allowed them -- for outrageous remuneration! - to work wherever they could find a decent internet connection, they simply 'travelled'; working freelance and on-line for a few days or weeks whenever their coffers need to be refilled.

Just during the years that I've known Clara they'd travelled widely through SE Asia on a motorcycle, then seemingly everywhere between Alaska and Panama in a motor-home -- the inevitable motorcycle on a trailer towed behind -- and finally aboard a yacht on which they sailed to the Pacific Islands and on to Australia; even that had small scooter aboard! Two carefree vagabonds whom everyone seemed to love, despite the envy that they must have undoubtedly garnered; I'd met them only twice, but I could easily understand why.

Christian's tall, slim and even to my jaundiced eyes, a very good looking young man; washboard stomach -- OK, I've only discovered that more recently-- burnished tan and flowing locks of sun-bleached hair; perhaps unsurprising given their lifestyle? And of course, those eyes; expressive and a deep brown; I once overheard a young woman suggest quite accurately, that 'you could drown in those eyes'.

But it's more than skin-deep with Christian, he's very intelligent, well spoken and old-school polite, as indeed are all of Tom and Clara's boys; only latterly have I become 'Sarah' rather than Mrs Price. He possesses a wicked and charmingly flirtatious sense of humour, irrepressible optimism and seems always to see the best in everybody and everything.

Christian's now in his mid-thirties - younger than all of my own kids! - but one flash from those eyes as he delivers some flirtatious complement can still give rise to a shameless shiver in an old crone like me, so I can imagine how it effects the younger girls. Nicoleian knows it too and guards him jealously; I can't say that I blame her, she's got herself a catch and gives short-shrift to any young woman who to tries to trespass or even looks too closely in Daniel's direction; thankfully, we older ladies are given a little more leeway.

Then 2020 arrived, upending everyone's lives, including Christian and Nicole's. They were back in the UK for a visit when the world locked-down and couldn't return to their boat -- and yet another motorcycle! - in Australia. My own tribulation -- though already long expected -- was the death of Patrick; he didn't go to Covid, but the pressures that virus put on the health service perhaps accelerated his demise?

More shocking and even to me more upsetting, was Tom; in his late-sixties, admittedly, but as fit and healthy as many men half his age. He contracted Covid early on and died within a week; in some respects it was perhaps fortunate that Christian and Nicole were back home and staying with Clara, so able to afford her some support in those days of lock-downs,

Barely a day passed during the following weeks when Clara and I didn't speak on the phone, to offer mutual support and sympathy. Then on the first day that restrictions eased, Clara came to visit; we chatted for a couple of socially distanced hours in the garden beneath our umbrellas. Clara doesn't drive either, so it was Christian who'd brought her the fifty miles by car, though I didn't see him beyond a distant wave and smile through the rain-smeared car windscreen as he waited patiently for his mother and I.

It was during that conversation when I discovered that Christian and Nicole were back for the duration: They were already arranging the sale of their yacht and the motorcycle, negotiating to buy a small house for themselves near to Clara's and both back working to pay for it.

Both Christian and Nicole were as ever working remotely and at hours to seemingly suit themselves; so it was generally one or the other, on a couple of times both, who drove Clara across for her weekly visits. Even when restrictions eased and overnight stays were permitted, it was still far easier to have either Daniel or Nicole drive one of us back and forth to stay for a few days, rather than trust to public transport.

Neither seemed to begrudge providing this taxi service for us, indeed Christian seemed to delight in making the trip across the hills and it was during those journeys that I fully discovered his boyish and flirtatious nature; Oh God but he was dishy!

I soon finished mourning for Patrick -- did I ever really start? - and found myself more often than was perhaps decent, contemplating Christian as I lay in my lonely bed at night. Hell's Bells! Christian was married, barely half my age and the son of my best friend in the world; so contemplating him even once would've been indecent!

What Christian thought I'd no idea; I'm past sixty but clean-living and a big win in the genetics lottery has stood me in good stead; even though I say it myself, I don't look my age. I've always been 'elfin' and having remained slim, nothing droops too noticeably, my fair hair disguises the encroaching grey and I've retained -- or at least Christian drew out -- a still youthful outlook.

On the good days -- and most especially those nights! - I was sure that Christian found me attractive too, but on others I felt that I was just imagining it and that he actually saw me as some ancient harridan to whom he ought to be polite in deference to his mother. But he did touch me:

We invariably greeted and parted with a gentle kiss to the cheek and on those drives across the Dales he'd often lay a hand gently upon my shoulder or thigh to emphasise some point. That was why I began to eschew slacks in favour of a skirt over bare legs for those journeys, if said skirt 'just happened' to ride up my thighs as I got into the car, then Christian's touches would be flesh upon flesh.

If that wasn't enough, those greeting and departure kisses -- or mine at any rate -- became a little heavier, lasted a little bit longer and strayed a little closer to Christian's own lips; how could he not realise? He must've thought me a salacious old whore, even before my clumsy invitation:

On the way back from Clara's one day in late September 2021, Christian mentioned that he and Nicole often passed close to my apartment on their way to a motorcycle club -- yes, they'd bought another one! - that they'd begun attending. I immediately suggested that they should 'call in whenever you're passing - no need to call ahead -- my door's always open - you're welcome any time'.

All well and good you're thinking, but when Christian then said that with autumn approaching, Nicole would probably not be going there again before the spring, as she didn't like going out on the bike once the weather turned cold. That was the moment of my Freudian slip: Even better, just come on your own and I'll soon warm you up... during the pregnant pause which followed, I felt my colour rise, before I stuttering out I... I... I could turn up the heating... or perhaps make you some cocoa.

Christian was giving me his flirtatious smile as he pushed a hand toward me and replied: Or I could just hold my hands close to your cheeks and warm them up on those? I didn't respond and my eyes lowered before his teasing grin; Christian's hand lowered too, directly onto my naked thigh, where it rested for far longer than it ever had before, gently stroking it, before returning to the steering wheel.

We barely spoke for the rest of the way home, but when we arrived Christian's farewell kiss too seemed to last longer than usual; when I returned it -- aiming indecently close to the edge of his mouth as ever -- either I misjudged things, or Christian moved, whichever, our lips met and I felt Christian's tongue tease at my mouth before I could withdraw -- Oh my God! A kiss like the youngsters share! I kept my eyes lowered as I stumbled from the car and rushed away; I didn't even make the usual invitation to 'come in for a quick coffee'.

A couple of weeks later it was Clara visiting me and I saw Christian for only a few minutes and in the presence of my best friend -- his mother! On my next trip over It was Nicole who came to collect me and while Christian took me home afterwards, Clara came along too 'just for the ride out'. Had Christian been playing games, giving the old granny a bit of a thrill; but now felt that things had gone a little too far?

He was probably right! Christian hadn't been gone five minutes on that fateful evening before I'd been on my bed, knickers around my ankle, with legs spread and fingers positively plunging into the soft and already wet channel that lay between them. My mind reeled with dreams of his tongue pressing deeper between my lips, that hand on my thigh sliding ever upward, rather than it returning to my knee as my own hand tugged at the buckle on the heavy belt which Christian always wore...

That was as far as I got that first evening before my world had exploded, but there hadn't been many nights -- and indeed quite a few afternoons -- since, when I hadn't similarly pleasured myself. It was always Christian in my thoughts and those pictures which I painted in my mind became more graphic with every canvas. I frigged myself most especially silly on those nights that I spent at Clara's; the bed which I slept in there being the same one that Christian and Nicole had used