The Edge of Everything
I never expected to be undone by someone ten years younger — let alone fifteen.
But then again, he wasn’t just someone.
Thirty-five. Confident but not cocky. Curious in all the right ways. And when he looked at me, it wasn’t like I was older. It was like I was experienced. Desirable. A woman he wanted to know not just physically, but thoroughly — layer by layer, limit by limit.
From the beginning, there was a charge between us. The kind that simmers until it snaps. When it finally did, it wasn’t messy or frantic. It was precise. Deliciously controlled. He didn’t just want to fuck me — he wanted to explore me.
And I let him.
His hands were strong, sure. Every touch a question. Every kiss a dare. He liked pushing boundaries — mine, his, the ones neither of us had spoken out loud. But somehow, he knew. Like he could feel where I needed to be undone.
He didn’t rush. He coaxed. Teased. Prepared me with an almost unbearable patience. He wanted me trembling before I even took him there. Wanted me ready. And when it happened — when I finally gave him that part of myself — it felt like crossing into something wicked and sacred all at once.
The stretch, the fullness, the sheer heat of it…
He whispered the filthiest things as he moved, slow and deep, like he owned me. And maybe, for a moment, he did. My body burned, but in the most exquisite way. Every thrust was precision. Every sound I made was music to him. He held me, controlled me, worshipped me — from behind, in every sense of the word.
And then, just when I thought I had nothing left to give, my body betrayed me — in the most overwhelming, beautiful way. It rolled over me like a wave. Hot, thick, uncontrollable. A release I’d never experienced before. One I didn’t even know was possible.
He felt it happen. He knew what he’d done.
And the way he looked at me — full of pride, hunger, awe — made me feel more powerful than I ever had.
Afterwards, he held me. Kissed me gently. Smiled against my skin like he’d just claimed something no one else had touched.
And maybe he had.
I was nearly fifty. He was barely thirty-five.
But in that moment, age meant nothing.
Only this did: he took me to the edge of everything — and I came back changed.
We spent many a time together, until he sadly dismissed me. I’d lifted him up, taken good care of him, made him feel wanted - but I’ve no regrets, just naughty memories!!!
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