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                 K R I S T E N' S    C O L L E C T I O N
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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2007.  Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
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Young Tom Teaches Old Wife New Tricks
by Dare2doit (address withheld)

***

A faithful wife in her fifties shares a naughty secret 
with a randy teenager. (F/m-teen, reluc, wife, cheat, 
cuck)

***

I still find it hard to believe that I could find 
myself in the situation that I'm in. A month ago I was 
a happily married fifty-two-year-old mother and 
grandmother who doted on her husband and family and 
would never in a million years imagine doing anything 
to put their happiness at risk. Today I am an 
unfaithful wife who has fallen under the spell of a man 
young enough to be my grandson who revels in making a 
cuckold of my unsuspecting husband.

It all started about a month ago, when my husband, 
Arnold, and I had been celebrating our thirtieth 
wedding anniversary with a fortnight at the country 
hotel where we had spent our honeymoon. It was quiet 
and isolated with splendid views and we tended to visit 
every few years, so the owners, Jeff and Mary, had 
become our friends as well as our hosts. 

Sometimes they'd even drop in when they visited the 
city and our kids had come to regard theirs as extended 
family. Now, of course, they'd all left home except 
Jeff and Mary's youngest son Tom, who we'd watched grow 
from an adventurous toddler into a strapping seventeen-
year-old with a cheeky smile and a quick wit.

Tom often had us in stitches over dinner with his plays 
on words, and I occasionally caught him staring at me 
in such a way that I wondered for a moment if his 
double entendres were meant for me. These were fleeting 
thoughts, however, because Tom was always good mannered 
to a fault. He was respectful and called me Mrs. Hill, 
and I never for a moment imagined such a good-looking 
young man would take a fancy to me. 

After all, I was practically his great aunt as well as 
being almost three times his age. Not that I'm a crone 
– far from it. Nature has allowed me to age gracefully 
so that my full body in still more buxom than matronly, 
but my clothing never advertises the fact. My hair is 
its natural silver, worn in what they used to call a 
pageboy style, and in some ways you could almost call 
me prim and proper. I've got generous curves in all the 
right places, but I'm no sultry sex siren. 

Anyway, after a lovely visit, the time came for Arnold 
and I to say farewell, and Jeff and Mary asked if we'd 
mind giving young Tom a lift to the city, where he 
planned to buy a new car. We readily agreed and, after 
a bit of shuffling gear around, cleared a space for him 
in the back seat and we set off on the long drive home. 

Unlike the previous fortnight it was a miserable 
afternoon, and almost as soon as we pulled out of the 
farm gate we were hit by heavy rain. The downpour got 
heavier and heavier and we were barely crawling along 
when Arnold lost control in the wet and slid off the 
road into a ditch. He and Tom tried every trick they 
knew to get us free, but finally, soaked and muddy, 
they had to admit defeat and climbed back into the car. 
It was getting dark by now, with no sign of an end to 
the storm.

"Looks like we're here for the night," said Arnold 
testily. My husband is a big easy-going man of fifty-
five, but the idea of spending a cramped night soaked 
to the skin in a fully-laden small sedan was trying his 
patience.

Tom, who knew the area well, came to our rescue.

"Don't worry, Mr. Hill," he grinned, pointing into the 
gloom. "There's a shepherd's hut up just the track. 
I've never been there, but if it's anything like the 
huts on our property it'll be nice and dry, with bunks 
and blankets. We could stay there until sun-up, then go 
for help."

Now that the teenager had pointed it out we could see 
the hut silhouetted against the darkness only a few 
hundred feet from the road. It seemed the only smart 
option, so we grabbed a small tarpaulin for shelter and 
dashed across the wet field together. To my surprise 
the door was unlocked, but Tom said that was normal 
because the huts were used by different people at 
different times, often as emergency shelters.

Inside the hut was indeed snug and weather tight. There 
was a pot-bellied woodstove in one corner and a 
hurricane lamp on a ledge, which Tom lit to shine its 
light not on bunk beds but on a huge old king-sized bed 
that took up almost half the floor space. 

"Oh no," he said. "Looks like I'm sleeping in the car 
after all." He had to raise his voice above the sound 
of the rain, which was now coming down in solid sheets.

"Not at all," said Arnold, without asking my opinion. 
"The bed's big enough for three."

"But won't Mrs. Hill mind?" asked Tom.

"It's alright, Tom," I told him. "Arnold can sleep in 
the middle, if you're uncomfortable. Only a sadist 
would make you go back outside in this weather."

Tom still looked doubtful. "If you're both sure," he 
said – and we assured him we were. 

By the light of the hurricane lamp we lit the stove and 
I whipped up a meal of beans and coffee from the hut's 
scant supplies. Then we hung our drenched clothes near 
the stove to dry and crawled into the huge bed – first 
Tom, in his T-shirt and jocks, then Arnold in his baggy 
underwear, and, last of all, me, wearing only my slip.

The drumming of the rain soon lulled me to sleep until 
I woke in the middle of the night to find Arnold, who 
like many men his age has a weak bladder, clambering 
over me to go to the small chemical toilet tucked 
outside under the tiny porch. When he came back he 
simply crawled in next to me, putting me in the middle 
of the bed. I was conscious of Tom lying beside me but 
I was too tired to be concerned about protocol, so I 
spooned against Arnold's back and dropped off again.

A few minutes later I was wide awake, acutely aware of 
Tom's young body spooned against my back in the same 
way I was spooned against Arnold. Tom's right hand was 
resting on my hip and I could feel his warm breath on 
the back of my neck. He seemed to be asleep, so I 
gently removed his hand, but he replaced it in such a 
genuine sleepy way that I decided it was an 
unintentional and unconscious movement on his part and 
let it lie. 

I awoke again to find Tom still apparently asleep but 
his hand now moving gently over my body outside my 
slip, softly stroking me from shoulder to thigh without 
actually touching any of my intimate places. It was all 
very bizarre and dreamlike and I was a loss as to what 
to do as the teenager's hand caressed my body. What Tom 
was doing was appalling, unforgivable, but if I made a 
fuss the result could be much worse. Despite his 
affability, Arnold would not take Tom's liberties lying 
down, even if I was. 

My husband would be shocked to the core, just like I 
was, and chances are he'd try to give the impudent 
youngster a thrashing, which at Arnold's age could only 
end in him either being beaten or having some sort of 
seizure. I listened to Arnold's peaceful snoring, and 
decided not to react in any way to Tom's caresses. I 
told myself that it was no real harm in it – and he was 
only a boy after all. He wasn't touching my breasts, 
bum or pussy, so why overreact? It was as if I was 
mesmerised by the youngster's touch as I lay there in 
the darkened hut next to my husband being felt up by 
this chit of a lad. It was like some surreal dream – 
serene and sensual. 

Then Tom's hand moved teasingly up my body to cup my 
right breast, squeezing just a little but avoiding the 
sensitive nipple. I must have jumped slightly because 
Arnold stopped snoring and grumbled something under his 
breath. At this, Tom's hand stopped as well and, still 
pretending to be asleep, I put my hand on top of it to 
stay its progress. But when Arnold started snoring 
again, the teenager was on the move once more, this 
time making no pretence about being asleep. 

I strained to control his fingers without rousing 
Arnold as they moved unerringly down my stomach. I also 
became acutely aware of Tom's hard young cock pressed 
into my bottom. The hand moved ever lower, its 
destination now clear, and I thought: "No way, you 
little bastard" and slung my leg over Arnold to deny 
Tom access to my most intimate part. But the cocky 
bugger simply eased his hand behind me and approached 
his target from the rear. I bit my lip in horror as he 
stroked down my bottom, lifted my slip and cupped my 
pussy through my panties. 

This new invasion definitely made me jump and I was 
about to say something and finally expose Tom to Arnold 
when my husband suddenly swore and rolled out of bed.

"Bugger all this tossing and turning," he grumbled. 
"The rain's stopped now. I'm going to sleep in the 
bloody car."

As he spoke, one of Tom's fingers slipped under the 
elastic of my panties and touched me where only Arnold 
had touched me before. The youth's bold arrogance took 
my breath away, and before I could gather my thoughts 
and react to my husband's announcement, Arnold had 
grabbed a blanket and stomped out of the door.

Now that I was free to tell Tom what I thought of him, 
I didn't hesitate. I rounded on him angrily.

"Now look here, you young..." was all I got out before 
his mouth fixed on mine in a kiss far more refined and 
skilful than I expected from one so young. At the same 
time, before I knew what was happening, he deftly moved 
above me, and in one smooth motion opened my legs with 
his knee and slipped his hard young cock into my pussy. 
There was no fumbling, no hesitation. Tom made me into 
an unfaithful wife almost before I was aware of it. For 
the first time I realised how wet I had become during 
his clandestine caresses, but nevertheless I pushed at 
his chest and moaned a protest into his mouth, as he 
began moving his cock in and out of me - slowly at 
first, then faster and deeper – never giving me a 
chance to voice my objections. And with every deep 
stroke I was less inclined to object.

He was gentle yet firm, touching me teasingly as he 
probed my married pussy until my body remembered it was 
female first and foremost and started, despite myself, 
to respond to him. As if observing from a distance I 
watched my hands stop pushing at his smooth chest to 
slide up his neck and tangle their fingers in his curly 
hair. 

I felt my legs rise from the bed and wrap themselves 
around his powerful young thighs as he let loose his 
teenage potency and pummeled into me. I heard my voice 
mewing, purring, gurgling in ecstasy and whispering 
sweet nothings as I shuddered to my first orgasm. Now 
there was no turning back. I felt guilty and dirty yet 
wonderful all at the same time as my teenage lover 
drove me to orgasm after orgasm in the early morning 
light.

Finally came the sound of Arnold returning and Tom 
quickly bounded out of bed, dragged on his damp clothes 
and greeted the man he had just made a cuckold with a 
cheery offer of a cup of coffee. My pussy soaked and 
sore, I faked sleep while my lover passed the time of 
day with my oblivious husband. 

Tom's audacity was stunning. He even rubbed his crutch 
and winked at me when he caught me watching through 
lowered eyelids. I blushed with shame, telling myself 
that it was only circumstances that had led to my 
unfaithfulness and that it was now over once and for 
all. I could hardly contain my relief when the tow 
truck got us back on the road and we dropped Tom off at 
his hotel.

"That's a good lad, that is," said my husband as we 
watched Tom walk away. "Jeff says he's got a bit of a 
reputation with the girls – but I reckon its bull. He's 
too well mannered. That's all thanks to being brought 
up by two maiden aunts, I expect."

I suspected Tom's aunts had been far from maidens, 
which would explain his skills as a lover at such an 
early age, but I didn't bother to answer Arnold, 
determined to put Tom and the events in the shepherd's 
hut far behind me. 

Which is what I did until one morning a few weeks 
later. I had just washed up the breakfast dishes and 
was in the hallway dressed in my housecoat and talking 
to Arnold on the phone when the doorbell rang. I opened 
the door to find Tom on the stoop wearing a big smile.

"Who is it?" asked my husband as Tom pushed me against 
the hallway wall and clamped his mouth on mine, 
slipping his hands under my housecoat as he did. 
Somehow I pulled away from the kiss. 

"It's young Tom," I replied breathlessly, trying to 
fight the randy teenager off with one hand and talk 
into the phone at the same time. Tom had moved behind 
me, bringing his hands up to massage my heavy breasts 
and kissing my neck. With my husband listening to every 
sound I was once again in a position where to cause a 
fuss would court disaster. 

"I expect he wants a bit of home comfort," my husband 
said as the teenager let his hands wander over my body. 
I fought not to cry out in outrage and surprise. "It 
must be hard on him in the big city."

Tom, his tongue in my other ear, heard this and took 
the phone from my shock-numbed grasp. "It sure is hard, 
Mr. Hill," he told Arnold in his innocent farm boy 
voice, taking my unresisting hand and placing it on the 
rigid ridge in his jeans. "I just needed somewhere to 
come for a bit of solace."

"Well you make yourself right at home," I heard my 
husband say as, under Tom's guiding hand I began to 
stroke the young man's hard on. "Ask Mrs. Hill if 
there's anything you need."

"Don't worry, I will," grinned Tom, sliding my 
housecoat off my shoulders so that I stood naked in 
front of him. "Your wife is the kind of wife I'd like 
to have some day, Mr. Hill."

"A nice lad like you will find a good wife sooner than 
you think," Arnold said, as Tom's fingers played with 
my erect nipples and I fumbled with his fly.

"I think you might be right, Mr. Hill," he said. "In 
fact I've got my eye on a wife right now."

I heard my husband laugh down the line. "Then you'd 
better strike while the irons hot, lad, or someone else 
will beat you to it. Can you put my wife back on?"

The teenager shrugged and handed the phone to me, 
leaving both his hands free to play with me while I 
struggled to keep my breathing even.

"Yes?" I asked my husband querulously, watching Tom 
fall to his knees and take one of my hard nipples into 
his mouth. 

"I could be home late tonight, so don't expect me for 
dinner," Arnold said as Tom kissed my belly and started 
licking even lower. "But make sure you feed Tom well. 
He's a growing lad so he's bound to have a big 
appetite."

You've no idea, I thought as I hung up and Tom's tongue 
began lapping at my tingling clitoris. Nobody, not even 
Arnold, had done this to me before and, stupefied by 
Tom's blatant display of wanton lust, I lay back on the 
hallway mat and opened myself to the horny young man, 
moaning and writhing on the floor as he gobbled my 
pussy. When he'd finished he pulled me to my feet and 
upstairs to the main bedroom where he bent me over the 
bottom of the bed and took me from behind as I gazed 
with lust-dazed eyes at wedding photos of Arnold and I, 
howling my joy as I was impaled on the boy's big tool.

Tom stayed with me all day and I never got to stand up 
again, let alone put my housecoat back on. In those 
long ecstatic hours being shafted in my marital bed of 
thirty years I forgot Arnold and our children and the 
fact that my lover was young enough to be my grandson. 
I was exhausted and totally satisfied by the time he 
was ready to leave, but before he left he made one more 
call to Arnold, who was working alone after hours at 
his office.

"Hi, Mr. Hill, I just phoned to say sorry that I missed 
you and I hope to see you next time I drop in," my 
teenage lover told my husband. "If not, I'll just have 
to make do with Mrs. Hill's company again."

"Anytime, Tom," said my cuckold husband jovially. "Just 
pop in and my wife will be only too pleased to help 
out."

"Don't worry, I will," Tom told my husband – and he 
has, every day for the past fortnight. Almost as soon 
as Arnold's out of the front door Tom is in the back 
and into my pussy. I happily obey his orders to chat to 
Arnold on the phone while he feels me up or worse. It 
feels so naughty, so risky, so exciting. 

I'm not a fool. I know that a young stud like Tom will 
soon move on to greener and younger pastures. But until 
that day I'll gladly play his middle-aged whore for as 
long as he wants me to.

END

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The author does not condone child abuse, this story is
meant as an erotic fantasy not real life. Anyone acting
out such scenarios in "real life" can look forward to
many unproductive years getting it up the butt by a 
fellow convict in their local prison.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 54