NOVGO.NET Chapter 773: Margaret in Closet (r-18)
Chapter 773: Margaret in Closet (r-18)
"Peter... come," she called again from inside the closet, her voice a low, trembling thread of velvet and courage, laced with the raw, aching need that had been building for years and months for me, now she was finally ready to shatter the last of her defenses.
"Please, come here babe, I hate to wait any longer."
I rose from the bed, the mattress sighing beneath me like it knew what was coming, and crossed the room in slow, deliberate steps, the carpet plush and warm under my bare feet, swallowing every sound except the thunder of my pulse and the wet throb of my cock against my thigh.
My hand closed around the cool brass handle of the glass door, the metal slick with condensation from the heat radiating inside, the air already thick with her scent—jasmine, sweat, arousal, pussy, desperation—so potent it coated my tongue like a drug.
I pushed the doors open wide.
And perfectionslammed into me.
Margaret sat on the small velvet couch in the center of the mirrored closet, completely naked, bathed in the soft, golden glow of the vanity lights that turned her skin into warm, living honey dripping with sin.
She didn’t cover herself. Didn’t flinch.
She sat tall, shoulders back, chin high, but her lower lip was caught between her teeth, biting hard enough to draw a bead of blood, her chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths that made her titsheave.
This was her first time in years letting a man see her naked on her own accord apart from where I had accidentally walk in on her in the morning, and the knowledge of that— and the power she was handing me—hung in the air like smoke from a burning church.
She knew how much I loved it. Knew how my eyes devoured her like she was a sin I was more than willing to commit, a prayer I’d whisper with my cock buried in her throat.
Her breasts were still the medium perfect, motherly—the kind that had nursed life and now offered themselves to ruin, high and firm, nipples dark and thick, hardened into tight, aching peaks that begged for my teeth, my tongue, my cum dripping off them.
They sat proud on her chest with no signs of time, the undersides curved gently, the faint silver lines of stretch marks tracing delicate paths like secret tattoos that only made her hotter, realer, mine.
Her stomach was soft and toned, the faint lines of motherhood glowing like silver veins under the light, leading down to the flare of her hips—wide, feral, made for my hands to bruise while I pounded her from behind.
Her thighs were thick, strong, the inner skin creamy and trembling, parting just enough to reveal the treasure between them: her pussy, framed by a neat triangle of soft, dark hair that made her look even more real, more woman, the kind of pussy that had known life and now craved destruction.
The pussy lips were glistening, parted in invitation, dripping with arousal that caught the light and shimmered like liquid diamonds, the scent of her musk flooding the small space—warm, musky, desperate, thick enough to choke on.
She bit her lip harder, gathering more courage, her cheeks flushing a deep rose that spread down her neck and across her chest, making her nipples darken even further. Then she stood up and turned—slowly, deliberately—letting her daughter’s business partner, letting the man with a harem of twenty women, a minor of just seventeen, a godly presence she never let herself resist even for once, see her.
All of her.
Her back was a masterpiece of curves, the elegant dip of her spine leading down to the most perfect bridge at her lower back, the dimples above her ass glowing like secret invitations.
Her ass itself was round, full, peaky—the kind that jiggled softly with every breath, the cheeks firm yet soft, begging for my hands to grip, slap, spread.
The faint bruises from earlier life marked her skin like love letters from the past, but tonight they’d be overwritten with mine.
Her thighs flexed as she shifted her weight, the muscles rippling beneath smooth skin, leading down to calves that tensed and released in a rhythm that made my mouth water and my cock leak.
She lowered herself onto the small velvet couch in the closet again, the fabric sighing under her weight, and spread her legs slowly, deliberately, her thighs parting with a soft, wet sound as her arousal stretched between them.
From this angle, I couldn’t quite see between her legs—the mirrors blurred the direct view—but the suggestion was enough: the shadow of her pussy, the way her inner thighs glistened with her wetness, the faint scent of her need growing stronger, thicker, wrapping around him like a hand on his cock.
She turned her neck toward her shoulder, blonde hair cascading down her back in a golden waterfall, her eyes meeting mine over the curve of her bare skin.
"Peter..." she called my name again, her voice a low, trembling invitation, thick with want and the courage she’d gathered like a storm.
Margaret was ready than ever to me have her! She was done waiting!
The mirrored closet swallowed me whole. The air inside was thicker, heavier, saturated with her: the warm, animal scent of her arousal. The vanity lights glowed low and golden, turning every bead of sweat on her body into a drop of liquid sin.
Margaret sat on the small velvet couch, thighs started parted, robe long forgotten on the floor.
She didn’t speak. She just spread.
Slow. Deliberate. Obscene.
Her knees fell open until her hips creaked, until the tendons in her inner thighs stood out in sharp relief.
Then her fingers—trembling, hungry—slid down her pussy lips apart, wide, wider, until the soft pink inside was completely exposed, glistening under the light like wet silk.
Her cunt was perfect—swollen, flushed deep rose, the inner folds darker and slick, clenching visibly on nothing, dripping in a slow, steady stream that ran down the crack of her ass and pooled on the velvet beneath her.
The neat triangle of dark blonde hair above her clit was matted with her juices, the hood pulled back to reveal the hard, throbbing pearl that begged for a tongue.
She held herself open for me—two fingers on each side, nails painted soft nude, spreading her cunt like an offering, letting me see everything: the way her hole winked, the way her clit twitched, the way her thighs quivered from the strain of staying open.
"Look," she whispered, voice wrecked. "Look at what you do to me."
I stepped closer.
My cock throbbed—hard, painful, leaking—the wet spot on my jeans spreading as precome soaked through. I didn’t hide it. Let her see.
Her eyes dropped to the obscene bulge, pupils blowing wider. A broken moan escaped her. Her pussy clenched—hard—a fresh gush of slick coating her fingers, dripping faster now.
She started to play.
One finger circled her clit—slow, teasing, the way she’d probably done alone in the dark thinking about me. Then two fingers slipped inside—wet, loud, the sound filthy in the quiet room.
She finger-fucked herself slowly, hips rolling, ass lifting off the couch, moaning with every stroke.
"Please, Peter—" Her voice cracked, raw with need. "Amanda told me... told me how you eat her. How you tongue-fuck her until she squirts in your mouth. How you drink her like you’re starving."