Amy’s Ripe Imagination 3.9/5 (9)

“Ripe” is the only way to describe how I feel most of the time, a low-level arousal that’s almost constantly with me. I don’t always know when my arousal moves from low- to moderate-level, I just know that it’s activated by factors beyond my control. I have to allow myself to acknowledge my ripeness, and I love being activated by simple, everyday events.

I allowed my ripeness to swell while at church this morning. I’m single and in my mid-forties. I go to church alone and almost always have friends that sit close to me. This morning, I saw my friends Susan and Christopher a couple pews in front of me, and I was captivated by Susan’s small gestures of affection for her husband of 20 years.

Like other couples, they sit close to each other, and this morning Susan propped her elbow behind Christopher’s head and traced her fingernail along the hairline of his neck. I could feel the electricity from Susan’s fingernail. Could Chris be used to this?

He’s showing no obvious signs of arousal, but I was swelling with the thought of Susan’s clear-painted fingernail. What would it feel like on my own neck? The gesture seems almost brazen.

Susan is tall and thin – probably about 5’10 with loose blonde curls. At 45, they’re both attractive for their age, yet they have clearly aged. Susan’s skin is still healthy and smooth, and she’s one of the few women her age willing to show off her legs in a modest knee-length skirt.

Her calves are strong and firm. Her waist contrasts nicely with her shapely hips, and her dress today shows off her shape without making her look trampy. She must have had it altered – there’s no way that a dress off the rack fits both the hips and the waist that well.

Her neckline shows off a little cleavage with the hint of a wrinkle or two developing above her cleavage, and her belt tightens the dress around her tummy to show off the roundness of her breasts.

Christopher is about 6 inches taller than Susan with a broad chest and a combined intelligence and confidence that draw me to him. He’s been losing his blond hair for years, but he keeps his body in shape.

I can only imagine what Susan must have done to Christopher last night that would make her finger linger on her husband that way. They’ve been married a long time, yet the spark of desire is clearly present. I imagine that Susan seduced him after dinner. Maybe she came on to him in the car as they were going home.

Maybe she traced that fingernail along the inseam of his black slacks while he drove them home from dinner. After all these years of marriage, she knows how to touch him in a way that provides her what she needs. She wanted him aroused; she wanted to see his pants swelling with his own ripeness.

I’ll bet his cock is a hidden treasure: not too long but ever so thick. I’ll bet she can still arouse him to the point that his cock throbs as the blood rushes through it. I’ll bet she can do all of this with her fingernail,

that by the time her fingernail makes its way up his inseam, he’s already swollen enough to take her. Her light touch on his shaft is probably enough to make him throb. And if her fingernail dances over the fabric that’s taut from the head of his cock, I’ll bet she can bring him to orgasm.

I’ve been to Susan and Christopher’s house. It’s a 1950s split level in a modest neighborhood. The first thing you see as you walk in the front door is a set of stairs. I can imagine how Susan and Christopher have used those stairs, how last night Susan couldn’t take any more after spending the drive arousing her husband.

I’ll bet he placed his hand on the back of her neck and guided her to lean over and place her hands on the stairs. And I know she complied. I know she wanted him to be in control in the same way that she was in control in the car. She needed him to take charge. Susan is the kind of woman who would never go without panties which is what makes the fact that she spent the entire dinner without panties even more arousing for Christopher.

He grabbed her waist as she was bent over and rubbed his swollen cock against her bottom. His hands deftly moved her where she needed to be so the angle was suitable for his own pleasure. She loves when he moves her like this. My God, I want a man who will do that for me.

She felt one hand leave her hips and shortly afterwards heard his slacks drop to the floor. He used both hands to slide the fabric of her dress above her waist. She could feel the air against her skin, and she loved the way the cool air felt against her swollen labia.

Even though she knows his cock well, it still feels new when it’s placed against her swollen lips. She feels that all of her is swollen in the same way that her lips are, that all of her needs to be pressed against.

She needs for all of the parts of her that swell with arousal to be handled and soothed and pressed and sucked. She needs him to take all of her, and it begins by pressing that amazing head against her swollen and now damp lips.

They usually use lots of lube to maneuver his head into her, but there’s no time for that. She feels him work his head between her lips…not pressing into her but moistening himself. It’s not just that she’s wet…she is, but it’s the quality of her wetness. She knows that a few drops of her wetness in this state go a long way, and he covers the head of his cock in her viscous slipperiness.

She feels him press against her, and this pressure turns his shaft to iron. She doesn’t need him deep inside her right now, she just needs that magnificent swollen head inside her. It feels like he’s rubbing a small orange against her opening…pressing her lips. She grasps the stairs with both hands. She knows what’s coming.

The ripeness inside her pussy presses her lips open. She can feel herself contract and her lips grab for his cock. I know how I am when I’m like that. Stopping is not an option. The only acceptable thing is for his cock to find its way into my pussy to soothe the demand. The texture of the head is exquisite.

He grabs her hips, and she tightens her grip on the stairs. She’s been waiting for this. She needs him to do this. She needs to be taken. He presses, and her opening squeezes his head. She can feel him moving just beyond her small opening. The head of his cock is inside her, and he’s letting it swell within her.

She feels it press against her floor and roof of her pussy, those areas within me that swell when I’m most aroused, those areas that squeeze a cock as it enters and invites it in. She finds herself becoming another person, another being altogether. She has to have him deeper, and she presses against him. Knowing how she would respond, Christopher has placed his thumb against her anus.

He knows she’ll force herself back against him, she’ll press against his cock to invite him deeper in. She can’t help it. While pressing back against him, she presses her anus against his thumb, and she can feel him massaging her swollen insides through her anus.

She feels her face contort and she knows she’s making sounds, but she can only pay attention long enough to implore Christopher to fuck her harder. “Oh God please…please…yes!.” Christopher is a distance cyclist, and she knows he has the stamina to satisfy her, but in this moment she catches a pang of doubt that he won’t be able to.

Christopher shifts his grip on her hips and slightly changes the angle of his cock. It’s now going slightly upward and deep into her, bumping against the opening of her cervix. She needed this. She needed the reassurance that he has the strength to fill her and keep filling her, and now he’s hitting that place. She can no longer think.

She just needs him to keep hitting that place deep in her ripeness and hitting it hard. She’s been experiencing waves of orgasm that build and build. She feels a new plateau at about every 5th stroke. She feels her body taking over in its response to her husband.

This flood of arousal and emotion and love for him is unspeakable. She loves him, she loves the engorged head of his cock, she loves what he does to her, she loves her own response to him, and she knows that she’s about to reward him.

She can feel it build. The rest of the world has long slipped away, and all she knows is this perfect union, and she knows she’s on the brink. In a few more strokes, she’ll cross over the limit and into a deeper, more beautiful and serene place. And she feels her body taking over. She swells more and more and can feel him fill her up that much more.

It’s as if there’s no more room in her pussy, and his cock feels bigger and bigger. And then the damn breaks. She can hear nothing, but she feels the vibrations of her own screams penetrate her throat and head. She’s drenching him…she knows she is, and she wants him to be soaked and completely awash in her.

She knows he loves the gift of her ejaculation as much as she loves his. With each thrust she feels her orgasm expanding and sending out waves and sending out the amazing buildup of fluid within her. She knows she’s drenching him, and she loves that she can give him this.

She knows that he has become a better lover, the lover she has needed him to be, ever since he first discovered he could release her like this.

Lost in her fantasy, Amy catches herself staring again at Susan’s index finger trailing Christopher’s hairline. She knows exactly what’s wrapped up in that small gesture. In her haze, she hears the pastor say, “and now let’s greet each other in peace and love.”

Amy rises to extend her hand to those in the pews around her, “Peace be with you…and also with you.” And she reaches for Susan’s extended hand as Christopher smiles and says, “Peace.”

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