Just before Halloween of 2009, my three-year affair with MILF Katie came to an end end. It was the time of the Great Recession, and my employer had laid off all of its Texas staff except me. The unpleasant task of clearing out the giant office fell on my shoulders. I had to get rid of file folders and filing cabinets, desks, staplers. chairs, tables, rolls of tape, paper clips, trash cans, scissors, everything you might imagine that an office would have. For this I used craigslist, the same vehicle I used to find sexual encounters, mostly one-time things but others blossoming into full-blown affairs. My affair with Katie was one of these.
There was so much to her that kept me wanting more: her poetry, her generosity, her kisses, her joyful breasts, her powerful thighs and hips, her oh so wonderful pussy that shook with delight when I ate it and emptied myself into it, even the pitch of her voice and its East Coast accent. I knew she fucked other men but she kept bringing her bounty back to me, me, over and over. If she weren’t fucking so many others, I’d even say she was loyal to me, and I guess in her own way she was. I still can’t explain this and neither could she; once she wrote me, I don’t quite know where to put you in my head or my heart.
I had also come to understand that there was much darkness in Katie. Some of it came from the harsh reality that her oldest son was autistic. She wrote poems about the shocked and cutting glances they’d receive when she’d take him shopping, poems of how other mothers would want to get together with their children for play dates but backed out once they saw or heard him. One poem began, It starts when they tell you your son is broken … and goes on, It starts when they tell you you are broken … it being I suppose both her battle with depression and her desire to lose herself in pure raw sex. It stemmed too from her first sexual experience of having been raped, and from the unwarranted feeling of guilt that came from that. It stemmed from her rebellion against the way girls are raised in our society, dressed up as toys for men to desire and pursue but shamed as sluts if they enjoy being caught, and especially if they do the catching. No wonder Katie took money from men in suits, men in positions of prestige and power, for hand jobs and blow jobs where she’d decide how and when and where they would cum.
But this still does not come close to capturing Katie. She loved sex, wanted to experience its full glory and sordidness. She was omnivorous and wanted to taste it all. Everyone needs a hobby, she wrote on a poetry forum; why won’t they let my hobby be fucking strangers?
Towards the end of October, I invited her to meet me at a bookstore up her way. We met in the store, cafe, then we each perused different sections of the store, rendezvousing by the registers with our choices. She was picking up Christmas presents for family and I selected two volumes of Rilke’s poetry and gave one of them — Love Letters to God — to her. I would have taken her back to my office and fucked her but her schedule did not allow, so she sucked me off in her van as a little thank-you and well, because she enjoyed it.
No matter, she came down to my office the following Friday. She knew we were shutting down and I asked her, Hey do you want any of these office supplies? Well of course she did. She has a weakness for office supplies, she wrote back, like the good PTA mom that she was. By the time she arrived I had everything neatly sorted in piles on a long table, in a room in the back with no windows: scissors here, rolls of tape there, paper cutters next to these, staplers and staples and paper clips, brown pink and blue clipboards, rulers and a couple of yard sticks, folders and round and rectangular stickers for color-coding them, even a ball of string and packets of star stickers. It was a dream come true for a mother of three boys who lavished cookies, time and gifts on their teachers. She grew excited as she began filling up the bags she had brought along.
Hey wait a minute, I told her. Not so fast! You are going to have to earn those items, oh yes you are! You are going to have to do me a favor or two. This excited her too. I told her to strip off all of her clothes and lie down on the floor on her back. She complied. I then directed her to stretch her arms above her head, towards a chair I had positioned there. She did. I cut off a length of string and tied one end around her wrist and the other around one of the chair legs; then did the same with her other arm. I picked up one of the rulers. Have you been a good girl? I asked. Oh yes, she said, and for that I kissed her lips and put a star sticker on her cheek. Good girl, good! But why are you here? She said she’d come down to get office supplies — and to fuck me. Naughty naughty, I said, and swatted her nipples, first one then the other, with the ruler. She winced in painful joy.
I reached for a cup of ice I had picked up from a nearby restaurant before she arrived and held a piece to her nipples, chilling them before sucking them with my warm mouth; then did the same with her clits. Oh she liked this, she did! When she admitted she loved the naughty things we were doing, I swatted her pussy five times with this face of my open hand. Oh, she said! Oh! No one has ever spanked my pussy before, thank you! For that she earned another star. And so it went, as I covered her cheeks with star stickers and her body with licks and kisses when she was good, but swatted her again and again with that ruler when she was naughty, here there and yes even there. Of course she could have easily freed herself, but of course she didn’t. Of course I ate her, long and hungrily and roughly, and of course I then fucked her, teasingly at first just barely slipping my dick inside her, moving it in and out at the opening of her sex, then deep and hard, pushing my cock to her very bottom and holding it there as she came. Again and again and again we did this, and finally I licked her clit with the very tip of my tongue, barely touching her at all, as lightly as I could. This brought her to a delicate and intense orgasm.
We sat there blissfully for a time, listening to the French songs I had cued up on my laptop. I had never seen her so pleased and satisfied, and I was floating too. This was to be our final time together, the last time we shared intimacy.
A day or two later she emailed me to say that she had concluded that she was a sex addict and needed to put herself in therapy, for her own sake and for the sake of her family. Sex was consuming her and she had to stop all of it, stop meeting any and all men, me included. Of course I respected her decision.
We continued to write each other into the new year, and as a poetry reading approached that I felt certain she would attend, I went as well and there she was. I sat some distance away as she chatted with a friend across the cafe, but soon she came to me and I bought her a beer. When it was time for me to go, she followed me outside and reached out to hold my hand. I know I could have taken her to my car and had my way with her, and I know that is what she wanted in that moment. But I was not going to enable what I now understood would be self-destructive behavior. No, not any more. I quoted her the lyrics of Townes van Zandt’s song Rake — this was a poetry reading, after all — said goodbye and walked away.
Not long after this I received an email from her explaining that her therapist had counseled her to cut off all contact with me. That is just how it would have to be. The last three words in that email were these: I love you. I never heard from her again.
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/ijc6w7/i_m_tease_tie_up_and_fuck_milf_katie_f_for_the