Buffy

   This is one of my favourite stories. It has proved to be very popular where ever it has appeared and has produced lots of comment. I really enjoyed writing this one, I think it tells. I hope you enjoy this effort to entertain. Your comments are the only reward an author gets and is more valuable than money. Buffy is from the upper classes of the UK.

She has very definite ideas about what it is she wants to do on film. Buffy. My dotage was not so far advanced that I couldn’t get the old boy to polish up quite nicely into some semblance of erectile muscle and throbbing gristle. Occasionally, he would even put out for me and eject a thin stream of jism, but it needed the stimulant of my past life to get him going these days. As had become a habit of mine, I had been reviewing some of the old footage of films we had made. Robbie was long gone now; the abuse of narcotics and booze had caught up with him. But, we made some films all right!

The one that had just run out on the videotape was by far the best that we had done. The scenes of Buffy locked with her dog, seeing her with it’s cum running from her, had reawakened all the memories once more. The scene with the horse though, had me gagging to shoot a wad into my palm. I managed to climax when I rounded up the film as Robbie and I fucked the good lady. T

he replayed scenes came back to me as if it had been yesterday and as I gently rubbed my shaft, hoping to be able to complete the act, the memories did indeed play in the background, complete with the smells and noises. Afterwards, I slept and relived the day again in sharp focus.

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Jean is one of those women’s kind of woman, soft, but with lean round supple curves, medium height, long torso, long legs, and short blond hair. Her breasts are firm and ripe, but not overly large, though definately more than a mouth, or hand full, for that matter. But it was her tight round dimpled derrier that her husband thought was her best asset along with her natual honey blond pubic hair when he’d married her, and being an officer aboard a merchant ship, he would know better than most men the real worth of a woman. When he was home that is.

It hadn’t occured to Jean, when she’d first married Harrold Davis, of Beach Water, Florida at the age of 27 that she’d married a workaholic, nor that her new husband would be away for long months at a time to be able to support her in a fitting manner behoving one of her cultural upbringing,, and status, but after several years of drawing out college she’d at last graduated. After aquiring a BA in Literary Arts at his expense, she found that she had a lot of time to sit around the newly built in swimming pool in their back yard when the weather was cool, or lay out on their secluded lake front beach when the weather was warm. In either case, she rarely had more clothes on most days than some skimpy bikini, or bra and panties set.

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