BBW MILF Cougar Gets Hard Anal Fisting & Squirts – Real Homemade

Linda was in the kitchen wiping down the counters after dinner. The radio played some old country station low in the background, pots still soaking in the sink. At forty-eight, she carried her curves heavy—wide hips, thick thighs, big soft belly that hung a little over her waistband. Her husband Michael came up behind her, still in his work shirt, sleeves rolled up.
He pressed against her ass, already half-hard through his jeans. “Kids are out for the night,” he muttered into her ear. His hand slid under her loose t-shirt, cupping one heavy breast. Linda laughed softly, pushing back against him.
“Michael, the dishes aren’t done,” she said, but her voice had that husky edge already.
He didn’t answer with words. Instead he reached around and popped the button on her jeans, tugging them down just enough to expose her thick ass cheeks. No panties—she’d stopped bothering years ago when the kids moved out more. His fingers traced her crack, finding her asshole already a little slick from earlier teasing in the shower.
“You been thinking about this all day?” he asked, pressing one finger in slow.
Linda gripped the counter edge. “Maybe. Fuck, go slow at first.”
He worked one finger, then two, twisting gently. The kitchen smelled like garlic from the pasta and her faint soap scent. The fridge hummed. Outside a car passed, headlights flashing through the blinds. She bit her lip, trying not to moan too loud in case the neighbors’ windows were open.
Michael added a third finger. Linda’s breathing picked up. She spread her legs wider, feet planted on the tile. “More,” she whispered.
He lubed his hand quick with the bottle they kept in the drawer now—plain KY, nothing fancy. Four fingers slid in easier than last time. Her asshole stretched around his knuckles, hot and tight. Linda groaned, low and throaty.
“Shit, that’s deep already,” she panted.
He paused, letting her adjust. His other hand reached between her legs, rubbing her swollen clit in slow circles. Her pussy was soaked, lips puffy and slick. She rocked back, fucking herself on his fingers.
“Whole hand,” she said suddenly. “I want it tonight.”
Michael’s cock throbbed against her thigh. He tucked his thumb in, pushed steady. Linda’s mouth fell open. A long, shaky breath escaped as his hand slipped past the widest part. Her asshole swallowed his fist to the wrist.
“Fuck yes,” she hissed. “Oh god, Michael.”
He held still a second, feeling her pulse around him. Then he started slow pumps—small at first, just rocking his fist inside her guts. Linda’s knees shook. She braced harder on the counter, tits swaying under her shirt.
The sound was wet, obscene—slick squelching mixed with her heavy breaths. Her big ass jiggled with each thrust. Sweat beaded on her lower back.
“Harder,” she begged. “Punch fuck my ass.”
He picked up speed. Deep, firm thrusts now—pulling almost out to the wrist, then slamming back in. Linda’s moans got louder, less controlled. The radio announcer droned on about weather, completely ignored.
Her pussy dripped down her thighs. Michael finger-fucked her clit faster. She started shaking hard.
“I’m gonna—fuck—I’m gonna squirt,” she gasped.
He didn’t stop. Kept pounding her stretched asshole with his whole fist. Linda’s body locked up. A sharp cry ripped out of her. Clear fluid gushed from her pussy, splashing the cabinet doors and pooling on the floor. She squirted hard—three, four big spurts—while her ass clenched rhythmically around his buried hand.
“Shit, shit, yes!” she yelled, voice cracking.
Michael held his fist deep through her orgasm, feeling every spasm. Her legs nearly gave out. He wrapped his free arm around her waist to hold her up.
When the waves finally eased, he slowly pulled his hand out. Her asshole gaped wide—pink and wrecked, slowly winking shut. A thin trail of lube and her own juices leaked out.
Linda laughed breathlessly, forehead against the cool counter. “Jesus. That was intense.”
Michael wiped his hand on a dish towel, grinning. His cock strained against his zipper. “Your turn to finish me?”
She turned, still shaky, jeans around her ankles. Dropped to her knees right there on the wet tile. She yanked his pants down, took his thick cock in her mouth without hesitation. Sucked sloppy, tasting herself on him indirectly.
He didn’t last long—too worked up from fisting her. Groaned deep as he shot down her throat. Linda swallowed most, let a little dribble down her chin.
They stayed like that a minute—her on her knees, him leaning against the counter, both breathing hard.
Then reality snapped back. The oven timer beeped—leftover dessert she’d forgotten. Linda stood up, wincing a little as she pulled her jeans back up. Her asshole throbbed, sore in the best way.
“Clean that up before it stains,” she said, nodding at the puddle on the floor.
Michael grabbed paper towels, chuckling. “Yes ma’am.”
She checked the oven, pulled out the warm apple crisp. The kitchen smelled sweet now, covering the sex stink a bit. They bumped hips as they moved around each other—normal again, like nothing happened.
But later, when they went to bed, Linda curled against him and whispered, “Next time, maybe both holes at once.”
Michael kissed her forehead. “Deal.”