Dirty Doings in the Laundry Room with His Girlfriend’s Sexy Mom

Last week, when I stopped by my girlfriend Olive’s house, her mother, Velma, answered the door. She told me that Olive had gone to the mall with her father, and she wasn’t sure when they’d be back.

I saw that she was carrying a laundry basket, so I asked her if she needed a hand. “Sure, if you don’t mind,” she answered. “There’s another basket in the hall.”

I grabbed it and followed her downstairs to the laundry room. While walking behind her, I began admiring her body. At forty-seven, with long, silky dark hair, Velma is still a very sexy woman. That day she was wearing a white T-shirt with no bra and tight hip-hugger jeans, and I could see the waistband of her pink thong, pulled high up over her hips. My cock was throbbing by the time we got to the laundry room.

Velma told me how sweet I was for helping her. She bent down to pick up some clothes, and I froze as I was captivated by the sexy sight of her jutting ass.

She may have sensed how I was looking at her, for she quickly looked back and caught me staring. She immediately stood up and turned on me. “Are you looking at my butt?” she demanded.

“I… uh…” I said, slightly stuttering in embarrassed guilt.

Her frown turned to a teasing smile. “Well, it sure is good to know that I’m still attractive,” she murmured.

“Oh my, you sure are!” I blurted out. “In fact, you’re hot!”

I knew I shouldn’t have said that, but it was too late. Velma held my gaze briefly, then said in a low voice, “I don’t think Olive—or my husband—would find that a completely innocent statement, do you?”

I instantly got nervous again, but after what seemed like an eternity, Velma got a warm smile on her face and asked me if every young man fantasized about older women. I told her they probably did. “Wow,” she said. “I guess I’m a MILF.” With that she turned around and looked back over her shoulder at me. “Is this the butt of a MILF?” she asked me.

“God, yes!” I told her, and then without thinking about it or considering the consequences, I put a hand on that ass and gave it a squeeze. Instead of protesting, she made a little mewing sound in her throat. With that encouragement, I kept squeezing and fondling her butt, admiring her exposed lower back and the waistband of her thong, pulled high on her hips.

When she began to squirm a little under my touch, I just lost it completely. I pushed her forward so I could lean her over the washer, then reached around to undo her snaps and zipper and push her jeans to the floor, along with those pretty thong panties, kicking her feet as far apart as the crumpled clothing around her ankles would allow.

As she stayed bent over, I dropped to my knees and kissed her sexy butt, taking in a long breath to inhale her scent. After that I kissed her butt and pussy from behind, then began to lick both her vagina and her asshole, probing them with my tongue between licks. It was very exciting for me, and Velma’s moans told me that she was enjoying herself, too. I must have done a good job, because soon enough Velma shivered and cried out, “Oh God, I’m coming!” Her powerful climax lasted nearly a minute and ended with her lying over the washer, gasping and panting. I stood up and dropped my pants and undershorts, and before she could realize it, I was pushing up against her and sliding my cock into her from behind.

“Oh God, you’re fucking me!” she cried out. “Oh God, oh God!”

“Should I stop?” I forced myself to ask, but she shook her head hard.

“No, no, do it, but hurry, please!” So I did, holding on to her waist and banging her for all I was worth. As I was about to explode, she begged me not to come inside her, so I pulled out and came all over her nicely tanned ass.

We both straightened up then, panting hard. After a minute or two, Velma took a pair of dirty panties from the wash and wiped my sperm from her ass cheeks, then told me I’d better get out of there. I quickly pulled up my pants and shorts and made for the door. I looked back just long enough to see that gorgeous ass disappear back into her jeans before I tore myself away.

I haven’t had any more chances with Velma, and I may never have another. But at least I’ll have that very fond memory of wash day in the laundry.

—C.L., Indianapolis, Indiana