Older men just hit different

Ugh, finally I can get this off my chest, I’m dying to share it. I’m 36, Argentine living in the States, and I’ve had natural tits since I was 13. They came in before anyone else’s. I remember in school wearing my uniform and the buttons on my shirt looked like they were about to pop off. The boys my age would stare but never had the balls to do anything. But older guys, the 40-year-olds? Those motherfuckers would devour me with their eyes. On the street, on the bus, everywhere.

And I always wondered, why does it turn me on so much when they look at me like that? When they say things, when you can tell they’re fucking perverts about it. I don’t know if it’s normal, but it’s how I’m wired. So the other day I said fuck it. I decided: I want to really try it with a properly old guy, like really old, the kind who looks at you and you can practically see the years of backed-up cum from jerking off thinking about tits like mine.

I went to this bar near my place, one of those sketchy dives that smells like old men and cheap wine. I wore a tight white t-shirt and a push-up bra that hoisted everything up nice. I rubbed some ice on my nipples before I left so they’d be hard as rocks. Got there, sat at the end of the bar, ordered a whiskey.

Five minutes later I felt someone staring. I turned around and there he was. A guy around sixty, gray hair, big gut, thick hands like he’d worked manual labor his whole life. He was sitting alone at a table with a bottle of wine, and he wasn’t taking his eyes off me. Staring at my tits, not even pretending to look away, like they already belonged to him. I held his gaze for a second then looked away, but I could feel the heat spreading between my legs.

I ordered another whiskey. When the bartender walked off, I felt someone sit down next to me at the bar. It was him. He smelled like cigarettes and cheap soap. Didn’t say anything at first, just ordered more wine. Then he looked at me and said:

“You always this quiet or you just don’t like company?”

I looked at him. He had those small eyes from squinting too much, all those wrinkles around them. His hands were resting on the bar, big and veiny.

“Depends on the company,” I said.

“I’m good company,” he said, laughing with those yellow teeth. “Especially for a pretty little thing like you. How old are you?”

“Thirty-six,” I said.

“Shit, a baby,” he said. “I’m sixty-two. Old enough to be your dad.”

“My dad’s dead,” I said.

He went quiet for a second, then laughed again. “Even better. Means he won’t come looking for me.”

I laughed too, and when I did my shirt shifted and my tits pressed out more. He stared right at them, his mouth going dry, you could see it. He licked his lips.

“Can I sit closer?” he asked.

“You’re fine where you are,” I said, but I was smiling.

He moved in anyway. Put his hand on my shoulder. It was warm, heavy. “You live alone?”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re not scared hanging around bars like this, showing off that pair?”

“Scared of what?”

“Of guys like me,” he said, squeezing my shoulder.

I turned on my stool and looked right at him. His face was red from wine, unshaven, eyes a little bloodshot. “You dangerous?” I asked.

“I can be, if you let me,” he said.

“And what would I have to let you do?” I asked. My panties were already soaked.

He stared at me hard. Then he moved his hand from my shoulder down to my knee. It was rough, hot. He slid it up a little, over my jeans. “Let me guess the size of those tits,” he said. “I got a foolproof method.”

“What’s that?”

“Touch them.”

I laughed. “Cheater.”

“No, no, wait,” he said. “It’s scientific. First you gotta test the weight.”

And without asking permission, he put both hands on my tits, right through my shirt. Held them, like he was weighing them. I stayed still, feeling the heat of his hands, the pressure. They were big, rough, squeezing me good.

“Fuck,” he said. “Heavier than they looked. Gotta be a DD, right?”

“Double D,” I said, my voice coming out all husky.

“Double D,” he repeated. “Jesus Christ.”

And he didn’t let go, just kept squeezing, massaging. He pressed my nipples with his thumbs and I bit my lip so I wouldn’t moan.

“You like that, huh? You like an old man feeling you up in public.”

“Yeah,” I said. Couldn’t lie about it.

“You wanna continue in my truck? It’s parked right across the street.”

I paid fast. We left. The truck was an old Ford, kinda beat up. I climbed in the back seat, he got in after me. He shut the doors and in the dark I felt his hand on my tits again, but this time he didn’t stop at my shirt. He pulled it up, pushed my bra down, and there they were. Big, pale, nipples dark and hard.

“Look at these,” he said, barely whispering. “I’ve never held anything like this.”

He bent down and sucked my nipple. His mouth was warm, wet, his tongue rough. He moved it around, nursing, while his hand squeezed my other tit hard. I was moaning, grabbing his gray head, pressing him into me.

“Suck them good,” I was telling him. “Yeah, just like that, keep going.”

After a while he pulled back. Looked at me.

“Can I see more?” he asked.

I pulled my jeans and panties off in one go. Lay back on the seat, legs open. He knelt on the truck floor between my thighs and just stared. Stuck a finger in and felt how wet I was.

“You’re soaked,” he said. “All this juice is for me.”

He put his face in there and ate me out. My pussy. His whole tongue inside, moving in and out, sucking my clit. I was moaning loud, squeezing his head with my thighs.

“Yeah old man, eat me good, eat all of it.”

When I couldn’t take it anymore, I pulled him up by his hair.

“Give it to me,” I said. “Give it to me now.”

He pulled his pants down. His dick was hard, big for his age, thick, head all purple. He put on a condom from his glove compartment. Then he turned me face down on the seat, lifted my ass up, and shoved it in.

I screamed. He was wide, filled me completely. He started fucking me hard, grabbing my hips, giving me everything. The truck was rocking, springs squeaking. I pressed my tits against the seat and moaned.

“You like getting fucked by an old man, huh slut?” he panted. “You like this sixty-year-old cock.”

“Yes, yes, harder,” I begged.

He flipped me over, put me on my back and lifted my legs up. Put them on his shoulders and kept fucking me. Like that I could see his red face, his sweat dripping on me. His tits, big and saggy, bouncing with every thrust. It was the hottest thing ever.

“I’m gonna cum,” he said suddenly. “Where you want it?”

“On my face,” I said. “I want your old man cum on my face.”

He ripped the condom off fast and grabbed his dick. Stroked it a few times and shot all over my face. Hot, thick, hitting my eyes, my mouth, my tits. So much of it, dripping everywhere.

He just stared at his work, panting. I wiped my eyes with my hand and sucked my fingers clean. He smiled, exhausted.

“Come back tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll buy you another whiskey.”

And here I am, writing this, my pussy still burning and my face sticky. I’m going back tomorrow. Who knows, maybe there’ll be an even older one there this time.