That time i met Amy, the facefucking MILF of Montreal. [MF] [shower sex] [MILF]

When I was growing up, I lived beside a Ms. Loris Bachman, a stay at home mother of 2. She was the definitive embodiment of a MILF. Red vivid hair to her waist, legs for miles, an ass as big as her tits. It was like finding Jessica rabbit had settled down in your neighborhood, had two kids and you would see her at PTA meetings or community events offer cookies and a smile. I remember fondly of seeing her reading poetry out loud on her back porch at her book clubs, drinking English breakfast tea. Every so often I was awake early and i would see her come home from her morning run in her tight Lycra running shorts and low cut running top, pale skin glistening with morning sweat. Soft spoken but with a mother’s firmness, she would tenderly dote on you one moment and whip your ass when you got out of line the next. She would wear these very conservative but skin tight clothes that could not hide a body made for sin. 

 

Many times in my childhood i would run into Mrs Bachman and she was always nice to me. She grew lilacs in the garden and she always smelled of them. I would always stop to say hi whenever I could find the excuse And many nights she would visit me in my dreams, asking me into her home, to her bed. She would teach me… Many things. She was the gateway to my manhood, the one that sparked all the crazy fantasies I would indulge in in the future.

 

Now don’t you dare soil her image by thinking she ever did anything inappropriate with me, even when I became a consenting, willing, young adult. She was a proper lady, someone you treated with respect, and dreamed of disrespecting. However the memories of our dreamscape encounters would always leave a soft spot in my mind for a mature, experienced woman, someone who could guide me. I would think many guys had a Mrs. Bachman in their youth. But I would never get so lucky as to realize it.

 

The closest I ever got was with Amy.

 

I was 21 at the time, my third year of university, and I made an impromptu trip out to Montreal with a few guys for a weekend, bar hopping. I got there first in my own car and had a morning to myself before needing to meet the guys, so before going to the hotel I went to get breakfast at Coin Delices du Monde

 

I was seated at the last open table on the patio closest to the front doo, and midway to through my tea, Amy came jogging towards me. From afar all you could make out was her bright auburn hair, cut short to her shoulders, swaying behind her hairband. As she came close, i was entranced by her long curvy legs, glistening from the warm September sun. Despite the heat she had on a light hoodie, and you could make out her curves in all the right places. I’m pretty sure I held the lip of the tea cup against my lips from the moment I spotted her coming 2 blocks away, until she came skidding to a halt at the patio entrance. I couldn’t help it, she was captivating like that, Maybe it was the super tight shorts that showed her entire leg, or maybe because I was super eager to see what was hiding under her hoodie.

 

She was local, familiar enough with waitress at least, and I could pick up enough French to tell that she was slightly bummed there was no other tables right there. Call it bravado, call it infatuated audacity, call it luck that I was so close to them that I could offer a seat without seeming like an eavesdropping creep, and it worked. It probably helped that i decided to wear a button down shirt that day instead of my novelty “FBI Female Body Inspector” T-shirt.

 

Conversation flowed easily. My French was poor and her English poorer, so we had fun miming and gesturing our conversation. Her age became apparent when I saw her in front of me, likely 20 years or older than me if I took a very uneducated guess, but she certainly didn’t act it. Her eyes was bright with youthful energy and her body moved with a vigor befitting her form. She had curves in all the right places, and a womanly figure, full butt and tits, and just the slightest pouch at her waist. She would giggle and almost chirp with laughter at my bad French, and blush rouge when she struggled to find the right words. I learned that she lived in Montreal her whole life, has hardly ever left Canada, and she loved the city. She would take morning runs almost every day around the city center, and come here to grab some tea, and some breakfast if she had free time, before going back to her place around the corner. Much of what we both said was probably lost in translation, but from the faded wedding ring mark on her finger, i could tell she has loved and lost. Her phone screensaver was her and a young girl that shared her young blue eyes and red auburn hair told me she has a daughter, and the plain unpainted nails told me she didn’t mind getting her hands dirty (spoilers for you dirty, dirty pervs,)

 

It didn’t take long before my boldness was reciprocated. Every so often my shin rubbed against hers soft legs the small table, and our knees would accidentally touch when she shifted. i asked what she was doing now, and she said she lives just around the corner. I gawk at the prime real estate having a flat downtown Montreal, and she giggles and asks if I would like to come see. Now who in their right mind refuses an invitation like that?

 

Even if you brought me there now, I’d have a hard time telling you how I got there because the entire time we walked all I could do was stare at that insane ass in front of me. They were child bearing hips for sure, and I was already imagining how deep I could get in there.

 

I remember walking into her place and finding it very cozy. Bright colours and cozy plush pillows abound for her kid, and the distinct floral scent of lilacs hung in the air. I recall a momentary flash of childish indiscretion when the scent took me to a fond memory.

 

But in the moment I could not be distracted for long. Amy just took her hoodie off to reveal a bright blue backless sports bra. It was easy to see how much she cared for her body, the strength of a mother hid behind the body of an athlete, and she was proud to show it. 

 

My wandering eyes were caught by her backwards glance and instinctively I looked away bashfully. She giggled. “You like the view?” 

 

I clumsily stammered for the word. “Uh I, um… I was just. uh… You’re very, pretty.”

 

She gave a knowing smile and pointed out the window. “I was talking about river. But thank you.” I laughed nervously and nodded.

 

She flung her jacket on the couch and asked me if I could make the tea while she cleaned up. I nodded dumbly and turned to the kitchen. I rummaged through the cabinets pulling out cups and tea, and my keen ears listens for the sound of shedding cloths and then running water down the hall.

 

Boiling water tends to give you a moment to pause and think. As I watched the steam rise, my mind had to play out step by step what has happened and how I came to this moment, in front of a kettle in a woman’s apartment overlooking the St. Lawrence. I retraced the events in my head and for a moment the image of Mrs. Bachman floated through my mind. Maybe it was the lilacs, or the English breakfast tea we had. But that longing from so long ago came back in full force. 

 

If you’re thinking “how thick is this boy?” The answer is nuclear bunker thick. But clarity hit me as the kettle clicked over and I made my way down the hall and through the bathroom door.

 

Through the steam I could see the curtains were drawn open already. She looked over her shoulder, wet Auburn hair clinging to her scalp, water dripping from her curves. She gave me a “about time boy” kind of grin over the shoulder, unabashed by my intrusion. Stepping in, socks and all, i pinned her against the tiles. We feasted on each other, my hands eagerly exploring her body, finding it soft and smooth, almost pillow like. While she had hard body figure she had the marshmallow soft skin of a mature woman. Few things in the world compare to the sensation of kissing in the rain, but a beautiful naked woman in the shower is right up there. 

 

Each woman has a flavour unto themselves. Amy was a spice like cinnamon, heated and subtlety sweet; totally addictive. There was still the hint of sweat that was being washed off. I would compare her technique to a ballet dancer, sweeping twirls and swipes along the tongue, light to the touch but so alive. 

 

With a firm grip I lifted her thigh and allowed me between her legs, pressing into her. My shorts made wet noises as she grinded herself into my mound. I felt her busily tugging at my shorts and I was too happy to oblige. We managed to shimmy them off and she guided my cock to her neither. I felt her swollen lips part along my shaft and the engorged head glide between them. She let out a most drawn out French groan of satisfaction as I pressed into the base. 

 

Her arms wrapped around my back, a hand thrust into my thick wet hair, the other grabs a fistful of my soaked shirt, head tilted up in elation exposing her nape to me. With each thrust she let out a joyous cry and her grip intensified. I take her nape into my mouth and score her flesh, sucking and then drawing my teeth across the skin in sensual bites.

 

Every deep thrust filled my ears with moans of French that threatened to drown out the water. To get more motion I decided to make use of the tub walls, and propped my feet against them whilst pinning her high along the tiles. This allowed me enough support to lift her second leg and fully suspend her. 

 

Now if you’ve ever fucked standing in a bath tub you would understand how difficult it is to maintain suspension while keeping thrusting distance. Most often the woman expects the guy to do all the work and all she has to do is stabilize. I’m sure there is a herculean Superman that could do that but I’m not one of them. But Amy seemed to get it and immediately held onto my shoulders to take the weight off my arms. What I do is a mix of 2 things, hold both her cheeks and press against the wall and up, so you hold her up and stabilize against the wall. And secondly engage with the hips and lock the legs to ensure a foundation. You can feel you’ve succeeded if her weight is on your shoulders and not your arms, her hips are fully secure against the wall so you have the ability to thrust or grind and change angles and her hips doesn’t move, and you’re legs do not shake or need to shift to maintain balance. You’ll know she likes it if her legs for full spread eagle, letting you in as deep as you want. 

 

We achieved this formation in excellent time and I was able to engage a wider part of her walls. Since Amy has been the only mom I’ve ever dealt with, I’m hesitant to say this but I think childbirth might have made her vaginal canal more roomy and not in a bad way. I found myself being able to trust or grind in later directions as much as I could in and out. The contractions felt way more responsive because of it as I felt her walls recede and collapse around my like waves lapping repeatedly against the shore of my dick.

 

Now as small as she was I was not going to be able to keep this position for long, so I shifted my head and caught her blue euphoric eyes and muffled her screams with my mouth. I changed from the rocking and thrusting to a deep grind, pushing he head against the roof and grinding it up into the walls. I positioned the pelvic bone right over the clit and each grind would press firmly against it. This was going to push her over the edge and she knew it, immediately wrapping her legs around me in a death lock. I could feel her muscles all around tense and contract with each passing second and her face scrunched up on anticipation. I held on to the position for as long as I could determined to make it.

 

When I came, her body let loose and started to spasm and shake. Her legs extended and her toes curled and pointed to the ceiling. Screaming through my mouth, she let loose the cry of ecstasy, a whole body quake. The pussy walls contracted so quickly my dick was pushed out and could feel hot wet liquid not just the shower water pouring out of her and on to the floor in a gush. I held her there shaking in my arms for a good minute before I couldn’t anymore and stared to let her legs down to get her weight off me. She was shaking on her feet and gripped my tightly as the final waves of orgasm flowed through her.

 

We took a breather and she composed herself. The wonderful thing about an experienced woman she doesn’t dive back in right away she savors the reprieve. Light tender kisses followed as she started to unbutton my shirt and peeling the wet clothes off me. Her lips left mine and traveled down to my chest and she teased and licked and lathered my nipples, playing with it like she would my dick later. Not enough woman do this anymore and it’s a damn shame.

 

At this point the hot water had run cold and she shut it off. Now that I was sufficiently naked (even kicked off my socks) we got out and she led me to her room across the hall. Her room looked out past the trees and over the st. Lawrence in a spectacular view. It was plush with bright colours and kids toys and I could see pictures of her and her daughter on the dresser, smiling that motherly smile, as if she’d never seen an erect cock in her life. Imagine seeing that same woman crawl onto the bed, still dripping wet, flip over on her back and hang her head upside down over the side, staring directly at your rock hard cock still slick with her freshly fucked juices. It was cartoonish how hungrily she reached for my cock, grabbing my ass and pulling me to her face.

 

Amy was a facefucking queen. My dick disappeared deep in her mouth and I could see the distention of her throat as it went down. Her hands took hold my ass and as I fucked her she would pry open the cheeks and reach behind to massage my ballsack, sometimes smothering her own face. From my position her whole body was open and ready for me: her huge breasts jiggled and swayed and her legs spread apart inviting me to play. I reached for the maternal mounds and marveled at the pink dainty peaks, rolling and playing with my fingers, coaxing a moan that vibrated through my cock to my prostate.

 

Now I’m not one to generalize but I think the French language does something to woman to make them just a bit more nasty than regular. I’ve fucked a few French girls in my time and each time the threshold for embarrassment goes up and the nastiness index keeps going up with it. Amy was the second French girl I’ve ever been with and she’s already fucked a strange she met less than half a minute ago in her home, bareback in the shower and is now letting fuck her mouth pussy and suffocating on my cock and balls. So I suppose it isn’t that hard to believe when she took my hands off her tits and placed them on her neck to let me feel my cock in her throat, and motioned me to choke her. 

 

Like, what would you do right?

 

Men, you haven’t lived till you’ve felt your dick inside a girls throat pumping in and out. Forget the nastiness, the pornstar like imagery, the insane wet choking and gagging, just the sensation of your fingers through her throat on your dick is enough to make you pop. I would hold her throat until I felt the loosening of her grip and then pull back to let her breath and gag, the spit thick like syrup clinging to my dick and dripping down her face, waiting for her to shove me back in. She was fortunate I had choked someone before and didn’t need too much coaching on when to pull out.

 

By the time she felt comfortable she let me take over and started working on herself, rubbing her clit. I watched this beautiful woman writhe in pain and pleasure under me, knowing the inevitable feeling of release being sucked out of me. Preparing the inevitable I pulled out and gave her the look. She latched onto the head and sucked and my essence filled her mouth. Four pumps into her mouth filling it up and I watched her swallow every drop.

 

As I deflated I collapsed next to her and allowed her to catch her breath. She lazily draped her leg over me and I looked over at her. It was the first time I even noticed some of the wrinkles on her face and the freckles on her cheeks. She leaned in and kisses me. I cuddle her and hold her head to my chest in silence.

 

I would leave later that afternoon after she ran my wet clothes through the dryer and we finally shared that tea. I would have stayed longer but she mentioned her daughter coming over and I suppose I needed to join my friends. We exchanged numbers but I only ever saw her once more after that and it wasn’t anything quite like our first time in her apartment beside the St. Lawrence. A part of me would forever still yearn for Mrs. Bachman, but I would always remember my morning with Amy

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/6nte3c/that_time_i_met_amy_the_facefucking_milf_of

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