The Bradford Family Saga Part 1

Carol Bradford sat on the commode, her nightgown bunched around her waist.
Through her wide open legs she watched the last drops of her morning piss cling
to her silky blonde pussy-hair, then drop into the bowl. She stretched and
yawned, willing her reluctant body awake.

“Mike?” she called.

“Yeah?” her husband answered, pushing the bathroom door open. “Well, aren’t you
a pretty sight?” he said.

“Look, who’s talking. You look as bad as I feel,” she said with a smile. Her
husband was naked except for a towel around his mid-section, his flaccid cock
making a delightful bulge in the material. She saw it twitch as he eyed her with
open appreciation.

Blessed with good skin tone and bone structure, Carol Bradford still possessed
almost all the physical attributes that had first attracted her husband, over
twenty years ago. Her face showed no surrender to her age and her long-legged
body was well put together: tits, full and firm, stomach flat, and a shapely set
of tight buns. People frequently confused her with her grown daughter, Marsha.

Mike returned her smile.

“Oh, honey,” she said, “I can’t wake up this morning. I’m too beat up. What
about you?”

“Ol’ stallion Bradford? Fit as a fiddle and reanin’ to trot. Want to go around
again?”

“You’re too much,” she giggled. “Did you hide the video real good? I don’t want
the kids to stumble over it while they’re here.”

“Of course I did,” he lied. The video was still in the VCR; rewound, just where
they had left it. “Relax, they don’t go sneaking through our drawers anymore.”

“Oh, God. Do you remember when Peter found your rubbers and thought they were
balloons? I almost died from embarrassment.”

“Hell, how about when Marsha found your diaphragms and used them for falsies –
at a grade school dance, no less, and then they fell out when she was dancing.
Now, that was embarrassing!”

They both broke into laughter.

“We’ve come a long way since then, haven’t we?”

“And how. That’s why I want that video stashed where no one is going to find it.
One day you amateur film-makers are going to get us hung.”

“Com’on, admit it. You enjoy watching the replay just as much as we do. Admit
it,” he urged.

“I’ll do no such thing.” she said, giggling, “You’re a dirty old man!”

“I sure am,” he said, pulling her to him.

Carol felt the hair on his bare chest rub against her sensitive tit-flesh and
her blood stirred. She was amazed that he still couldn’t get enough, not even
after twenty years. But then, neither could she. They had found the secret of
keeping the magic alive.

“How’d you like this dirty ol’ man to prong you again?”

“After last night? You can’t have that much energy left.”

He rubbed the palm of his hand over her nipple making it immediately come alive
and hardened. Her body’s trigger was her tits, and he knew it. Carol’s pussy
began to heat up, making her juices flow.

“You bastard! Oh, that feels so good.” Playfully, she punched his arm as his
knowing hands began to roam her body, stoking the smoldering ember in her loins.

“So, you’re not so beat up after all.”

“Like hell! You know how beat up I am. You have it recorded for posterity . . .
Oooh, yes, do that!”

“I sure as hell do, and everytime I think about it, I get horny. Like now.
Com’on, let’s go to bed.”

Carol giggled as she allowed herself to be maneuvered to the large bed. Mike
pulled the tassel on her gown and it fell to her feet, almost causing her to
trip. Reaching to steady her, his hand found her left tit. The shock was
electric and caused her to suck in her breath. Automatically she reached for his
stiffening prick.

“God,” he said, with a choke in his voice, “you’re a good-looking woman; same as
you were twenty years ago.”

Carol kneaded his cock, feeling it grow harder and hotter in her hand. “And you,
pretty liar, only get better with age. More kinky, too,” she giggled. “I love
it!”

She fell back on the bed with his hands trailing over the hills and valleys of
her body. Spreading her legs wide he blew softly into her silky, hot cunt and
Carol moaned with delicious excitement. Pussyjuice oozed from her cunt and clung
to the golden strands of her pubic hair. The hot pink lips beckoned. Slowly, her
husband flicked his tongue over her exposed clit.

“Oooooooo, Mike . . . mmmmmmmmmmm,” she mewed, her voice tight with
anticipation. Automatically, her cunt-lips parted.

Mike grabbed her asscheeks and stabbed her cunt with his spear-like tongue. Her
body arched, and she grabbed his head, forcing his face deep into her musky
mound.

“Oh, God . . . yes!” she screamed, grinding her hips against his sucking mouth.
“That’s it! There! Oh, shit, yessss! Oh, Mike, suck harder . . . no . . . don’t
stop!

Mike pulled his tongue out of his wife’s steaming pussy and looked at her face.
It was flushed and her brow was knitted as if in pain. Beads of perspiration
dotted her forehead. Her hips twitched and her tits rose and fell with her rapid
breathing.