Riding Aline

I almost couldn't wait until Monday. My hand trembled as I dialled the number on her card that Monday afternoon, my cock already half-hard just from the memory of her bending over those avocados, her breasts straining against that summer dress.

She answered on the second ring. "I was wondering when you'd call," she purred, her voice dripping with knowing amusement.

"Is your husband there?" I asked, trying to be cool, my throat dry.

She didn't answer directly. "I will show you the house," she whispered, the words hanging heavy with promise. "Come now."

Her house was easy to find—a big mansion in Amsterdam's wealthiest suburb, the kind of place with wrought-iron gates and manicured hedges that screamed generational wealth. She must have married rich, I thought as I rang the bell, the Spar grocery bag hanging awkwardly from my hand, my heart beating overtime.

The door opened, and I held my breath. She stood there in a riding outfit that should have been illegal—tight white breeches that looked painted onto her pear-shaped ass, the fabric so thin I could see the outline of her thong beneath. Knee-high black leather boots polished to a mirror shine caught the afternoon light, and a crisp white blouse was unbuttoned just enough to reveal the deep valley between those magnificent big 80E breasts, the lace edge of a black bra peeking out. A black riding whip dangled casually from her hand, tapping against her thigh.

"Come with me," she whispered, turning away. Her hips swayed hypnotically as she walked ahead of me through the marble foyer, those tight riding breeches hugging every curve of her ass, the fabric straining with each step. She moved with the predatory grace of a woman who knew exactly what she was doing to me—her back straight, shoulders back, that perfect shifting from side to side, inviting me to fuck her. The heels of her riding boots clicked against the floor, a sharp, authoritative sound that made my cock twitch in my jeans.

She led me through French doors into the gardens, past a swimming pool I caught in the corner of my eye, and finally to the stables. Four of them. The smell of hay, leather, and horse filled the air. Three magnificent horses watched us from their stalls, the fourth empty.

"I want you to be my stableboy today," she breathed, turning to face me. Her brown eyes were dark with lust. She stepped close, her hand trailing down my chest to rest on my belt buckle. "And stableboys do what they're told."

Before I could respond, she sank to her knees in the fresh straw, the stalks crunching beneath her black riding boots. Her hands were already at my belt, her slender fingers undoing the buckle, then the button of my Levi's. "Let me see what you were hiding behind those tight jeans," she cooed, opening button after button, slowly, teasing me.

The moment she lowered my trunks, my throbbing cock sprang out, already rock-hard, the tip glistening with precum. Her eyes widened with genuine appreciation as she wrapped her elegant fingers around my shaft—her hands were manicured, her nails burgundy, the contrast against my white flesh obscene.

"You are rich," I blurted stupidly, my brain short-circuiting as she looked up at me with those beautiful brown eyes as her lips parted.

"Let me get you ready," she answered, her voice like a purr.

She started with her tongue—just the tip, flicking out to catch the bead of moisture at my slit. The sensation was electric, making my hips jerk forward involuntarily. She swirled her wet tongue around the head in slow, teasing circles, paying attention to the sensitive underside.

"Look at me," she commanded softly.

I looked down to find her staring up at me, maintaining eye contact as she opened her mouth wider and took me inside. Her soft lips stretched around my girth, sliding my cock down inch by inch. She went slowly, letting me feel every bit of penetration—first the head popping past her lips, then the shaft sliding along her tongue, deeper and deeper until I felt the tight constriction of her throat.

"Fuck," I groaned, worried I might cum too soon.

She moaned around me, the vibration travelling up my spine, and began to move her head. She got into a rhythm—sucking me deep, then pulling back until just the tip remained between her lips, then sliding down again, taking me even deeper. Her hand worked the base of my shaft in slow strokes, her grip firm and knowing exactly what she was doing to me, while her other hand cupped my balls, stroking them gently, weighing them, her nails sometimes scratching my sensitive skin.

The sight of her—this elegant, rich woman on her knees in the straw, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked me hard—was almost too much. She bobbed her head faster, taking me deeper each time, until I felt the tight, wet heat of her throat constricting around my head. She swallowed, her throat muscles massaging my cock, and I had to clench my teeth to keep me from coming right then.

Her free hand moved to her own body, sliding up under her blouse to cup her breast through her bra, pinching her own nipple while she serviced me. She was getting off on this, on the power of it, on the sheer filth of blowing a supermarket clerk in her husband's stable.

She pulled back with a wet pop, her lips glistening with spit and precum. Strings of saliva connected her mouth to my cock, breaking as she gasped for air. "You taste good, stableboy," she teased, her voice hoarse. "But I want more."

"Come," she said, standing up and taking my hand. Her lips were swollen, her hair mussed, her blouse dishevelled—she looked like a true, rich slut. She led me to the empty stall where she'd already placed a thick horse blanket over the fresh straw, creating a makeshift bed.

"Better fuck me hard here," she whispered, stripping off her riding jacket and unbuttoning her blouse with trembling fingers. Her breasts spilt out as she removed her bra, heavy and perfect, nipples dark and erect like ripe berries. She lay back on the blanket, quickly taking off her pants, spreading her legs, her crotch dark and moist with her arousal. "You with your big mouth, here."

I fell upon her like a starving man. Onto her glistening pussy—shaved smooth and dripping, her inner thighs slick with her own juices. She was soaked, her thighs trembling as I positioned myself between them, my cock throbbing against her entrance.

I slammed into her in one brutal thrust, burying myself to the hilt in that tight, wet heat.

"Yes!" she cried out, her nails raking down my back through my t-shirt, leaving burning trails. "God, yes! Treat me like a whore!"

She was tight—tighter than I'd expected, her muscles gripping me like a warm vise. I pulled back slowly, feeling every ridge and texture of her walls clinging to my shaft, then drove forward again, harder this time, making her breasts bounce.

"Fuck me," she demanded, wrapping her legs around my waist, her riding boots digging into my lower back. "Fuck me like the stableboy you are. Harder!"

I obliged, pounding into her with the desperation of a 19-year-old who'd been fantasising about this moment for days. The stable filled with the sounds of our bodies colliding—wet, heavy slaps of flesh against flesh, her moans echoing off the wooden walls, the creak of straw beneath us, and the wet suction of her pussy taking my cock again and again.

I changed my angle, grinding my pelvis against her clit with each thrust, and she went wild beneath me, her head thrashing from side to side, her dark hair spilling across the blanket like a halo.

"Right there," she gasped, her nails digging into my shoulders hard enough to draw blood. "Don't stop... oh… don't stop..."

I bent my head to suck a nipple into my mouth, sucking hard, grazing it with my teeth as I continued to hammer into her. She tasted of salt and sweat; her skin was hot under my tongue. She arched her back, offering more of herself to me, her breasts pressed against my face.

I switched to the other nipple, my hand moving between us to find her clit, swollen and slick. I rubbed tight circles around it, then pressed directly, and she screamed, her pussy clamping down on me like a fist.

"Oh god, oh god," she chanted, her hips bucking wildly against mine. "I'm going to come... make me come, stableboy... make me come on your cock..."

I fucked her through it, not letting up, pounding into her spasming depths as she came apart beneath me. Her orgasm seemed to go on forever, wave after wave of contractions milking my shaft, her juices flowing freely.

When she finally stopped cumming, panting, her breath out of control, I was still hard as a rock inside her, on the edge of my own release.

"Flip me over," she commanded, her voice ragged. "I want you to take me from behind. Like an animal."

I pulled out—she still briefly cried at the loss of my meat—and I flipped her onto her stomach. She got up on her knees, presenting that perfect pear-shaped ass to me, offering me her glistening pussy and the tight pucker of her ass above it.

"Look at you," I breathed, running my hands over the curve of her hips, squeezing her ass cheeks, spreading them to see everything.

"Stop looking and start fucking," she growled, looking back at me over her shoulder, her hair a wild mess, her eyes glazed with lust.

I grabbed her hips and plunged back in, bottoming out in one stroke. She screamed into the horse blanket, her fingers clawing at the fabric. The new angle was tighter, deeper, and I set a brutal pace, pulling her back onto my cock with each thrust, our bodies slapping together loud enough to spook the horses in the neighbouring stalls.

"Yes, yes, yes," she moaned with each impact. "Use me... fuck me... fill me up..."

I reached around her hip to find her clit again, still sensitive from her first orgasm, and she bucked wildly, her second climax building fast. I could feel my own release approaching, my balls tightening, my cock swelling even harder inside her.

"I'm going to come," I warned, my thrusts becoming erratic, savage.

"Inside," she demanded, looking back at me, her eyes wild. "Come inside me, stableboy. Fill me up. I want to feel you..."

That was it. I buried myself to the root and exploded, my cock pulsing jet after jet of hot cum deep into her womb. The sensation triggered her own orgasm, and she came with me, her muscles rippling around my shaft, milking every drop from me.

We collapsed together onto the blanket, my cock still twitching inside her, our bodies slick with sweat and straw sticking to our skin. She turned her head to kiss me, her tongue lazy and satisfied in my mouth, tasting of me and her.

“You know damn well I am not done with you.” She purred.

As I smiled at her, she added, “My new poolboy.”

As we lie there, I hear a car engine approach. I gave Aline a worried look, but she just smiled at me.

“That’s my husband.” She stated, as a matter of fact.

I wanted to jump up and run, but Aline stopped me. “You will be fine; stay here with me.”

I hesitated.

“STAY.”

With a racing heart I lay down next to her again, wondering where this would lead.

Not much later I heard crunching footsteps on gravel, somebody walking straight towards our stall.

“In here, darling.” Aline shouted.

An older man appeared at the stall's entrance, smiling at us as he found us. “There you are!” he said to his wife, in a loving way.

Aline sat up and offered her right cheek, which he gladly kissed.

“Is this the young man you mentioned the other day?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Nice to meet you. I hope you can entertain my wife.”

I didn’t say anything and just looked stupid.

“Oh, yes, darling, he did a good job. But I need more from him.” His wife replied for me.

“Shall I ask Peter to bring you two some refreshments? Or perhaps tea?”

“I plan to fuck him at the pool again. And I need something stronger this time.” Aline answered.

“Very well, I will ask Peter to bring up some Scotch at the pool then.”

“You are too kind, darling.” Aline praising her husband.

To be continued.