I'm 44 and I generally prefer women around my own age or so. There's just more to share and the sexual energy just flows better. Akira was an exception and ultimately it was one I probably shouldn't have made.
When I sold my last place I had two months before the place to which I was moving would be ready. So I rented one of three rooms available in the finished basement of a house. The other two rooms were occupied, one of them by Akira, the daughter of a Peurto Rican Muslim father and an Ethiopian mother for whom she got her looks. Slim, short hair, apple sized breasts and a lovely peach of a bottom with a ballerina waist.
She was a good example of why I prefer maturity over youth. Indifferent to how her actions affected others (she didn't care who she woke up when she came home late), only wanted to take and gave only if she could use that act to get something later, and manipulating others, usually through her sexuality was her primary social skill. But when she dangled that particular bait, I DID bite. We were home alone in the basement area where we lived sitting and talking at the kitchen table.
Despite her obviously questionable character, I tried to be kind to her. She had told me about her childhood which at best sounded abusive. While always taking what she said with a grain of salt, given her behavior, I could believe she grew up in an enviroment that barred learning how to socialize in a postive and productive way. And it wasn't like she was difficult to read or predict.
Well, she told me about her young son, and how she had had a Cesarian to give birth to him... then she offered to show me the scar... yeah ... ok... I should have declined but I didn't. I knew what she was doing. But having been taken for a ride a couple of times by her already I guess I was feeling vindicative.
She pulled up her shirt to just below her unbound breasts, opened and and pulled down her pants an inch or so in order for me to see where the scar began and ended. I showed the appropriate interest and then showed the inappropriate interest by grasping her jeans at the hem and pulling them down to her ankles... she gasped but her eyes into which I had been gazing flashed and she smiled a ghost of a smile as she stepped out of her jeans... she hadn't been wearing panties and as I stood up I also pulled her shirt over her head showing her bare breasts as well.
So there she was, as naked as the day she was born, trembling and ready, and very grave, as if partaking in some religous observance, pressing into me as I turned her and embraced her while standing behind her... I had become erect as she was opening her pants and she could feel my rigidity through my pants pressing against her back. I slowly ran my hands over her belly, arms, shoulders and breasts, kissing her neck, her breath becoming faster, her nipples poking out, almost as hard and erect as I was.
My fingers moved through the trimmed hair below her belly, she slid one leg to the left to open the way for my hand travelling to her pussy... she was quite moist and her honey waxed my finger tips as it moved just inside her lips and over her clit. All the while I was kissing her shoulders and neck, her skin a gallaxy of goose-bumps.
In a powerful contrast to the hitherto slow and gradual touching we had been doing, I suddenly and forcefully swept her up into my arms and carried her into her room. She gasped when I did so and was laughing as I placed her on the floor, completely nude while I stood above her completely clothed.
Without being told to do so, she got on her knees and ran her hands up my legs to the front of my pants where her hands ran over my buldging erection... she unbuckled me and pulled it out, more breathing than saying the words, "oh, daddy.....yes, daddy... " my pants falling to my ankles, she stroked my cock in one hand and carressed my balls in the other.
She started to lick and suck, and miming the patriarchal male, I just stood there with my hands on my hips and accepted it as if it were my due.. .. I love a woman's mouth on my cock, who doesn't? But I wanted only the most elemental aspect of sex just then, not the garnish. I'm usually not a bully, but I was that night because truth be told I was tired of her games, even if what we were doing then was one of them.
So again I picked her up, dumped her rather emphatically on the bed, turned her around and pressed her shoulders to the mattress, her ass cheeks thrust up into the air, with trickles of the honey from her well running down in pencil line-thin streams between her thighs. I didn't ease into her, I thrust into her, invasively and forcefully, she wailed a long "ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...." and then started yipping "yes, yes, yes," ... she was so wet, as wet as rain, her hands grasping and pulling the sheets, bracing her arms against the mattress to better take the thrusts from my hips, impaled on the hard prong of my cock, while occasionally giving her ass an occasional, very hard slap.
She had told me before that she always came very quickly and it turned out on that particular point she hadn't been lying... she spurted across my tighs and over my balls and cock, her body clenching and unclenching as if waves of electricty were passing through her.. but I was't ready to stop and continued to fuck her, hard and fast, our fucking more about dominance and control rather than sharing. And quite soon, she came again wailing so loudly the dogs upstairs howled back in response.
I have to say, I didn't feel much.. I was hard as stone but mostly I felt the same way fucking Akira as when I jack off; it's more about release than pleasure. So, not interested really in prolonging it, I came, on the cheeks of her ass, on her back, my spurting cum landing in a glob on the back her head and shoulders.... then I pushed her, gently this time, away from me, kissed her on her cheek and told her she had done well.. she was crying and laughing, but she never told me why exactly she was crying or laughing, what she felt after I fucked her so roughly.
For days after that she acted as if she only wanted to serve me, calling me daddy, bathing me, wanting to clean my room.. but it was back to the same old rythm. She was trying to work me again.. I let her do it as I did before.. gave her a little money, knowing I'd never see it again, acted as if her smile and feigned interest were something in which I believed, but I noticed how quickly her smile faded when she turned away, and just the tone of her voice when she spoke to me... she liked our sex together, if only because it was a sign of approval and desire that perhaps she felt deep down she didn't deserve. Or maybe it was how she assigned points to herself in whatever game she was playing.
But whatever her motivations, I soon moved out and she talked about coming to visit me, paying me back the 50 dollars she owed me, but her promises were what they always were, a mirage on the desert that evaporated when approached to closely. We did share something that one evening we fucked; not just her spurting orgasms, but the way she held onto me afterwards while we lay together was very sincere. Despite what many women like to believe, it's not that difficult to tell when they're faking. But our emotions and thoughts are like the leaves in a forest; they change with our varying emotional and psychological seasons and one short burst of sex is quickly forgotten as we move into the future and it's perenially changing seasons.