Miss Vivian MILF Mistress 800-356-6169

One evening last month, your Miss Viv was interviewed on our interactive radio show, Talk Shoe.  One of the questions I was asked, was about the erotic stories I share here. I was surprised that they were that noticed, and that got me to digging in my inventory of smut.  I think I have found the perfect tale for my - hand humpin’ horny, stroker sluts.  In this raw and nasty story, our sexy MILF can’t keep her eyes off the hot and stud, who will be getting the surpise of his young life, that he won’t ever forget.

The Real Thing Part 1

Pauline could easily be described as a ‘mature woman’, or to the lusty eye, a MILF. She had lost her husband six years ago and found herself, in her early 40s, single and decidedly horny. Working for a small trucking company, she had plenty of opportunities to meet and see men. Most of them were overweight truck drivers with small dicks and no stamina. Pauline had often given herself willingly to these men, squeezing into the small beds at the back of their cabs, with walls covered in porno pics and photographs of their mousy little wives. Everytime it had been a disappointed, a few thrusts and sucks and the men would be snoring alongside her. She made them make her cum, but usually only once if she was lucky.

Tuesday dawned began just like any other day. After squeezing her 44D’s into an under wired bra, she sauntered around her apartment getting ready for work. Lately, her thoughts had turned to Max, one of her co-workers. He was barely twenty, tall, not too bad looking, but not that talkative. Pauline teased him each lunch time when he always seemed to be flushed and sweaty when he sat down next to her for the afternoon shift. Maybe was fucking someone each lunchtime? The truth was more like he was jacking himself off in the john over a mag he had gotten from one of the drivers. Pauline was determined to find out one way or the other.

Lunch time came, Pauline tucked into her sandwiches and sipped her coffee, Max made an excuse to leave after bolting down a donut and carton of milk. As he disappeared, she noticed a file tucked under his arm. Pauline waited for him to get to the door, then followed. Max disappeared down the corridor and took a left at the end towards the john. A wry smile broke across Pauline’s face as she reached the door to the men’s room. Glancing around, she pushed the door open and walked in.

There were two stalls, one open and the other firmly shut. She heard a shuffling sound and could see Max’s boots through the gap under the door. His jeans were around his ankles and he was rustling papers. Plucking up some courage, Pauline knocked on the door, more fevered noise from inside and then just a ‘yeah’.

‘Got any room in there for me?’ she said.

‘I guess,’ came the reply, as the bolt slid across to reveal a fully-clothed Max, but with a distinct bulge in his pants.

TO BE CONTINUED

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