May Story - Miami MILF (Chapter 4) (Patreon)

The Miami sun is nice until it bears down on you relentlessly in the morning. The guest room curtains weren’t that great, so once I woke up around 7 AM I couldn’t go back to sleep. I crept into the apartment with my bare feet. Stella slept with Joan so there was no chance of her barking or making noise from me waking up. I sat idle for a while, looking at my phone and staring off at the clear blue morning with boats sailing in the backdrop.

Joan stirred. I heard her get up and go to the bathroom. I had a tempting thought but I shoved it away and went back to the guest room. I waited out maybe ten more minutes before going back out into the living room. She was there checking her phone by the bar. It felt weird being in front of her in my pajamas. Even weirder, but hot, was that she didn’t wear real pajamas. She had on an oversized t-shirt with Miami Heat’s logo on it (the Miami basketball team) that reached her butt, and gray tight sweat shorts. She had the swagger of a college frat boy who just woke up, and that turned me on. Class and crass both wrapped into one. I fucking loved it.

This was the first time I saw her without makeup. Her hair was completely disheveled too, and she let it down. Women always say they don’t look pretty in the morning. I disagree. The wild unkempt morning hair is one of the hottest looks.

“Buenos dias, Señor Parry,” she said with a smile. Back in high school, she always addressed everyone by their last names. “¿Quieres ir a comer desayuna?”

“Si.”

“Bueno.”

We both got changed. Now that I was in Miami, I had to wear shorts and a short-sleeved shirt. I made sure to look good. I combed my hair sleek, I put on my aviator sunglasses, and made sure all the hairs on my face were trimmed nicely. I didn’t want a single stray hair ruining my look, neither from my nose or my ears.

Joan wore a nice long maxi dress with an aqua theme going on. Her breasts looked amazing in it. She had chosen one with a lower cut. Her unkempt hair was now combed and she still let it down. Like me, she wore aviator sunglasses. We looked at each other with a lopsided grin when we realized that we shared a similar vibe. She smiled and said, “Looking good, Señor Parry!”

I couldn’t help but feel like we were a couple as we walked out together down to the restaurant. The two of us walked tall, her 5’11 matching my 6’0. I stared a second too long at her, admiring her metropolitan but tropical feel with that flashy handbag and confident strut. She looked to me and chuckled.

“You good?” she said.

“Yeah.”

“The sun looks good on you. Look, you already look so much happier than when we were in Newark! I told you. Miami is a wonderful place.”

She had us cut through the community pool across a few pedestrian gates, passing another swimming pool, and down a parking lot. The Cuban restaurant was on the bottom of a two-story strip mall. It had this sleek diner feel with outdoor seating. Even though the seats were right on the sidewalk next to a dirty noisy parking lot, anytime you ate outdoors in the Miami area it was nice.

“Mmmm,” Joan said looking at the menu. “It’s time to show you some real food.”

She prodded me to use my Spanish. I instead became enamored with how she spoke to the waiter - Jorge. She befriended him in seconds, asked for his name, and said how she always asked for the names of people in her favorite places to get to know them more. Apparently, Jorge was new, but the other waiters who passed by said hello to her and knew her from years of service. They were like one big family. She waved and said hello to Maria and Tom and Adrianna. Once she was done, she smiled sheepishly at me and said, “They know me here.”

“I can see that.”

I tried what was called a “cortadito”, a small shot of very sugary espresso. Most of the food was centered around meats like beef, sausages, and pork. Joan went crazy ordering almost one of everything. She explained everything in detail to me as the food came out.

“And THESE are called pastelitos de guayaba. These are like…like how do you say…like Danish pastries but with cheese and raspberry in the center. Then these are empanadas? Have you ever had empanadas?”

I had, of course. She seemed to forget that I had some roots in Columbia, but she was so excited to be back in Miami that I let her revel in her need to share. I could tell that the moment the Miami sun hit her, it was like she became even more alive than ever, talking faster than I could keep up. She even spoke with her mouth full. She had about four chicken and beef empanadas. They were damn scrumptious. Nobody made them like these in New Jersey.

And of course - Florida orange juice was always the cherry on top.

At the end, I reached for my wallet to help pay but she spotted me and snapped, “No, no, no! This is on me.”

I was flabbergasted. “No, really. I can’t let you—”

She signaled Jorge to give the check only to her, and in one sweep handed the credit card. She smiled deviously at me.

“Well now,” I said, “that means I have to buy you a drink.”

She shrugged. “Don’t worry about it.”

There was a prolonged silence as we waited for Jorge to bring back the check. She pulled on her maxi dress around her waist and said, “Oof. That was a lot of food. That’s the thing about this place, Lucas. You can eat SO much and you know the best part?”

“It’s cheap.”

“Exactly!”

Jorge bowed as he handed the check. Joan was a goddess after all. I imagined anyone would bow to her at the mere sight of her. She signed off the check with glee.

We stood up to leave and I was headed in the direction of the apartment when she said, “Oh but you HAVE to see the beach. Come on, let’s see the beach. Just a few more minutes. Is that okay?”

“Uhhh.”

But she was already walking down to the street. She waved me over and said, “Come, come!”

We crossed the busy street and passed by a lavish fountain from one of the resort hotels. She led us down a sandy path between two hotels that led to the beach. The plants all around us had berries. She pointed them out and said, “You know I’m an island girl, right?”

“Of course. Puerto Rico.”

“You know, some of my students have no idea where that is.”

“You’re joking.”

“No. I’m serious. Entire classes of 14-year-old girls have not realized that Puerto Rico is an island. So when I tell them I grew up an island girl they get confused thinking Puerto Rico is part of the mainland.” She leaned in to inspect one of the plants. “I grew up picking berries and bananas right off the tree. You can do that with some trees here too. Although…wait. No. Never mind. Don’t eat these.”

When we both stepped on the beach, we couldn’t help but breathe in the salty air at the same time. She cackled when she realized we both did it at the same time. “It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” she said.

The ocean water was crystal clear, and there were hardly any waves. Any waves that did crash on the beach were gentle and soft. The beach stretched out for miles with scattered sunbathers and resort guests.

Joan stretched out her arms and basked in the sunlight.

Her cleavage really popped out this time, and I looked away.

I agreed to sit for a little while. She sighed and laid flat on her back, smiling. I sat a couple feet away from her. I shuddered as I kept thinking about stealing a glance every now and then at her boobs. She had no qualms about yawning and stretching in front of me, much like a cat.

I hugged my knees.

Oh boy. Calm down. Calm down.

She groaned as she stretched. “All I need is a stiff drink and then I’m good.”

The way she said stiff – uff. That killed me. Did she intentionally use that word?

Get a grip, Lucas. It’s your imagination.

I fought back intrusive thoughts of getting on top of her and plowing her. That was weird for me – a very rare instance of a fantasy involving penetrative sex. But something about Joan awakened this animalistic desire inside me. I kept wondering what her screams of pleasure would sound like.

After about half an hour, I decided it was time for me to head to West Palm Beach to see my abuela. I had to pack up my stuff and get ready to leave.

On the walk back, we were alone in the walkway cutting through the swimming pool. It was very quiet, so quiet that I could hear Joan’s stomach gurgle. She rubbed it and went, “Uff. I ate too much. I’m ready to go into a food coma. Haha!”

“Y-yeah.”

She kept pulling at her dress and said, “Look, this is supposed to be loose but look how TIGHT it is now. This is how much you can eat here. Uff. That’s possibly the ONLY downside to living here. If I lived here forever, I would get so fat.”

Ho boy. Calm down. Calm down. Calm down.

But she continued to talk about the food and how she had gained weight last time she lived here. I was beside myself, listening with a sense of guilty pleasure.

“Well, Lucas,” she said once we stepped back into her apartment, “it was so wonderful to see you. Sorry, I have to run to the bathroom. You don’t have to wait for me.” She embraced me, this time a bit faster since she had to make a run.

Then she kissed me lightly on the cheek.

I stood there stunned, feeling the wetness linger there. I knew it was nothing. Older people did it all the time. It was perfectly normal. And yet I still read into it. It felt like something to me. Ever since I ran into Joan at the airport, there were little things here and there that kept adding up. Maybe she was just like this with everyone. A playful cougar with everyone?

Stella barked. She whined at my feet.

Joan made a noise in the bathroom. It was faint, but I thought I heard a fart over the bathroom fan.

A tempting thought crossed my mind, but I shoved it away.

Then I thought I heard another fart…and my heart leaped. Still. It could have been my imagination.

When I heard it a third time, I crept up to the door. I pressed my ear against it and heard her groaning.

Her next fart echoed in the toilet. It erupted with such force that she moaned in pleasure and said, “Ay, Dios mio…”

Oh man.

It was official.

I heard Joan Braulio fart.

I started touching myself. I knew this was a horrible idea but I could very easily sneak away once she flushed. I just reached down and started whacking it, hearing her let out a growing cacophony of farts. Each one was louder than the last one, until at last she let off the biggest, longest one that was the source of all her misery. All the other farts before it was just the prelude. The loud splash that followed told me that she took a massive dump.

Her moans were what did it for me though. She sounded like she was orgasming. I told myself I would wait to cum in the guest room but it just happened – I fucking came on the living room floor. I watched in horror as my white man-juice sprayed the door, the floor…

…and the couch.

Stella yapped and sniffed my cum.

“Oh ffffuuuck,” I hissed, still orgasming. “Stop it! Stella! Stop it!”

Joan apparently heard me. She shouted, “Everything all right out there?”

While my cock was still out, I hurried to the kitchen and scoured every fucking drawer for anything – ANYTHING – to clean it with.

“Yeah! Just playing with Stella!”

I snatched some paper towels from underneath the sink and wiped the door and the floor, but the mark was still noticeable on the couch. It stood out like a sore thumb.

Joan flushed.

I wanted to scream. I looked at Stella, who gave me doe-eyes.

Joan then came out and noticed the look on my face.

“What’s wrong?” she said, adjusting her dress.

“Nothing. I. Uh. I think. I think Stella did something on the couch.” I pointed to the wet spot.

“Tsk. Stella! How could you?” Joan inspected the spot. My heart was pounding, man. I thought I was going to die. I thought she would realize it was a cum stain and then beat me out of the apartment.

“So strange, she never does that,” she murmured.

Stella barked.

I locked eyes with her and glared. As if she could say anything…

“Ah, Stella,” Joan said. “Maybe you’re getting older. That’s okay. Are you ready to go?”

“No. Not yet.”

She smiled. “Don’t want to leave Sunny Isles, huh?”

I chuckled nervously. When I closed the guest room door behind me, I took a moment to breathe. That was a close one. That was the riskiest thing I had ever done in my entire life. What the hell came over me? This woman was so intoxicating that I couldn’t control myself.

I usually rode the aftermath of an orgasm by cuddling or lying down. It took me a whole ten minutes to leave. Joan even called out asking if I was all right.

“I just thought you said you needed to leave right away.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said, poking my head out of the guest room, “just couldn’t find something. But now I’m heading out.”

“I’ll walk you out. I’m going back to the beach anyway. Morgan should be here soon. And then it’s time to get on the boat!” She did a little dance.

Joan hugged me goodbye again at my rental. She held me a little tighter this time, and said, “I’m so glad my favorite student is doing so well!”

“Favorite?”

Joan playfully slapped my shoulder. “Did I say that? Oops! I love all my students equally.” She ended it with a wry smile.

Ho boy.

I left before my knees could buckle.

“Have a safe trip!” she shouted.

I stayed in the car for a few minutes just getting myself together, still processing the past day and a half.

So THAT all happened.

When I drove off through the gate, she was already walking ahead on the sidewalk. She had that fantastic strut that swung her hips side-to-side, the kind of strut that said she hadn’t a care in the world. She looked at me as I passed by, and gave one last wave.