The Rural MILF: A profile [F]

Hunting, gardens, and big picture-perfect houses were the image of neighborhood; In a spring time environment, fresh air with a sweet nature smell; and along with these images, a well-tempered family of four. That last detail was not the case for Ms. Lauranne.

Divorced, kids grown up and left for college far away at famous schools; Not much of a fan of hunting, leaving just the gardening; Hater of news and modern television, leaving only reading, and a somewhat painful silence in the large rooms and halls. An empty nest, with not much hope for more life.

And still there was Ms. Lauranne, clearly fit for more love and a family if she would chose, even as unlikely as that would be.

So she begins to act different, as all do when seperated from society and social interaction. She becomes less private, goes just a bit longer before changing from the robe post-shower. Doesn’t lock the door quite as often. Craves more ‘fringe’ content on the internet, especially during private time, which has turned more or less, into all the time.

She craves attention and sight. Seeing the neighbors jogging down the long road on the sunday morning, seeing some figures exploring the forest in the white winter. She craves warmth not of her own, even when perfectly comfortable. She craves touch, she craves command, she craves being the sworn servant of some else’s needs.

Boys in the forest become jokes at first; ‘Little men’ and ‘Future husbands’, then become nest-fantasy, remembrance of her own children. Then, they become dark fantasy.

Time seems to drift on faster than she ages, she stays just as attractive but time flies buy with no mate. Her instincts begin to *express* themselves. The fantasy man is no longer pulling out and cumming on her big tits, no, he couldn’t pull out if he wanted too.

Now she begins to stalk and de-regulate: people are not people, they are targets and desires. Women are not wifes, they are gateways to the man. Children are not special, they should be plentifully made. The mind and its fantasy-engine become unshackled. She becomes engrossed in desire, proud of her deviance despite being slave too it. She is the cougar in truth, reading to pounce should any possible mate come close to her nest. Cunning, strategic, and in a high-energy state.

The toys and porn can only get so elaborate. She can only use a dildo for so long before it becomes a vibrator. She can only use a vibrator for so long before it becomes two at once, before she’s riding fake-dicks on the floor with beads in her ass and practicing her deep-throating.

She can only watch a girl take a load on the face so many times before she starts to believe its enjoyable. She can only shampoo her hair for so long before she dumps the thick white goo on herself, pretending its cum.

She can only have an anal fetish so long before it turns into a lifestyle: butt plugs of normal size while she masturbates, until for an unknown reason, she always feels the need to wear one all the time: so she can stretch herself out, so she has more to offer any potential mate.

She can only watch porn for so long before she memorizes how to tongue an asshole; how many positons she can do; how to play with balls and cum, how to stare into his eyes while she swallows; how many ways she can satisfy, how to follow commands, how to be perfect.

She’s no slut or slave; but ultimately, desire has primed her. She hasn’t been trained, she trained herself. She is the experianced porn star thats never been on camera; the dirty-talker that only has talked at an empty room. The straight woman turned bi-sexual.

In bed all morning, masturbating in her well-trained position with all her tools. In her despair, she has bought a set of anti-absorbant sheets. She keeps cuffs and rope, whips and flogs, she’s barely even into the bdsm scene but has them anyway. Strap-ons and nipple-clamps.

Her depravity can reach absurd heights: Milking her own breasts and drinking it, pissing on herself, spanking and slapping herself, playing the role as master and slave.

Truly, no matter the age of any girl-scout or boy-scout selling cookies; she would ogle them like objects. Any broken-down car in her neighborhood would have a very friendly good samaritan. Even a johovah’s witness wouldn’t be immeadiately rejected.

She is alone, her personality is horny and desperate, she is truly in tune with the instinct to breed, and nest, and still now she takes walks through trails, roads, and wood; stalking for a body to gratify herself. To capture into her circle or be captured by, to rape or be raped. The goal of life is at the permanent front of her mind, she is depravity; she is biology; she is rogue; she is predator mascarading as prey; she is human nature’s darkest path to its final goal.

In her despair, there is only one light. Her spiral downward will continue until so much caution is thrown, she will almost definitely get pregnant. She will leave the woods, the peace, the quiet. She will raid the bars, the workplaces, the stripclubs, the parlors, the therapists, the support groups, the corporate parties and the film studios; she will be a machine: A program with memorized pick-up lines, body language, seduction tactics and a wardrobe driven by logic. She has ready holes, a trained throat, a constant wetness. She will grab and molest and beg; she will reproduce until unable, and hopefully, once again know the deep, sensual, erotic touch of a cock at her clit; ready to cure her and bring her joy.

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/7oojs9/the_rural_milf_a_profile_f