Chikna Maal

I told her I would take her home and she could get the mechanic out in the morning. As we drove north towards the motorway she started going on about her forthcoming wedding and started on about what present would the lads be getting her. Maxine had been going on about her bloody wedding for months, and the lads had been joking, behind her back, that she needed a good fucking as hubby-to-be was a dead ringer for the Pilsbury Doughboy.As I drove I tuned out from her voice and my mind drifted to. Things had changed. That kiss had done it. Standing there in a beautiful blouse and a pair of panties with a young handsome boy kissing me had changed everything. I was becoming Samantha and both of us knew it. All of a sudden my cosmetics salesman was no longer so smug. He took both of my hands in his, drew his body closer and kissed me with a passion I hadn’t felt since first kissing my future wife. It was electric. A kiss can make you do anything and this boy had that gift. Our hands broke. For the next hour we sat around in that rather polite English way beloved of the British films of the forties and fifties, with a cup of tea and cakes, talking about the weather and the terrible cost of living, and our families. I discovered that they had all married before their twenty-second birthday, that between them they had seven children who were all in secondary school, although I still don’t know how many belonged to each or what gender they were, and that their husbands were more. "Here you go, Mom," I said as I handed the cum-filled bra to her. She withdrew her sticky hand from between her legs and cradled the big structured cup, her eyes staring intently at the cloudy puddle of warm semen filling the bottom. As she looked at the swirling pool of sperm-laden goo, I saw a shiver of desire run through her body as her tongue ran instinctively around her wet lips. I dropped her panties on the floor and put my hand gently on her head. "Like I said, it's all for you. Go.
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