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Fdh1250 Profile Fdh1250 Profile views: 20876 Fanbase: 242 About Me Not filled in yet Interests Not yet filled in Signed up: 17 years and 3 months ago Images viewed: 30562 Images uploaded: 3350 Gender: Male Birth: 31/01/2009 Location: United States Last Online: 5 hours ago Connect with Fdh1250 Send Message Add Comment Become a fan Add to relations Status updates Comments (5) (See All Comments) 10pbj10 Comments: 242 Commented on May 10, 2026 "She's totally his play toy"   naughty101 Comments: 1,739 Commented on Apr 28, 2026 "I'd love it"   dogslife4me200 Comments: 9,229 Commented on Mar 28, 2026 "You're an ass."   Fdh1250 Comments: 966 Commented on Jan 20, 2026 ""That's the third time this week you've 'accidentally' left your gym shorts in my laundry," Linda said, holding up the damp, stretched-out fabric between two fingers like it was evidence in a crime scene. The waistband still smelled faintly of sweat and something muskier underneath. Across the kitchen island, her husband Mark barely glanced up from his laptop. "Hmm? Oh, must be Jake's. Kid's always forgetting stuff." His tone suggested this was as interesting as discussing grocery lists. Linda let the shorts drop into the hamper, watching how they clung to the edge before sliding in. She'd seen Jake through the kitchen window last Tuesday—all six-foot-four of him stretching by the pool after his laps, water sluicing down the grooves of his abs. Eighteen and already built like he was chiseled from marble. The microwave beeped, startling her. Mark shoved his chair back, muttering about a conference call. He didn't notice how her fingers lingered on the waistband's elastic, stretching it slightly between her thumbs—how it snapped back with a quiet thwip against the plastic hamper. Jake's number sat in her contacts from when she'd coordinated his summer lifeguard schedule. Her thumb hovered over the screen for three breaths before typing *Found your missing shorts.* A droplet of condensation slid down her water glass, tracing the same path sweat had taken down Jake's spine that afternoon. His reply came before she could set the phone down—three rapid vibrations against the granite countertop. *Shoot my bad Mrs. C. Can I grab them tonight?* Followed immediately by: *Practice ran late or I'd get them now.* Linda pressed her thighs together beneath her sundress. She could picture him typing that, towel slung low on his hips in the locker room, fingers clumsy on the screen. The AC hummed to life as she typed back *Don't rush*, then deleted it. *Come by whenever* felt too eager. In the end she sent just *No problem*, then immediately hated how matronly it sounded. The phone buzzed again. *Be there in 20 if that's cool.* She caught her reflection in the microwave door—cheeks flushed, the neckline of her dress suddenly too tight. Upstairs, she swapped the sundress for a black tank top she'd last worn on their anniversary cruise. The fabric clung differently now, tighter across her hips. She reapplied lip gloss in the hall mirror just as headlights swept across the driveway. The doorbell rang while she was still debating whether to answer barefoot or in heels. When she opened the door, Jake stood haloed by porchlight, his basketball shorts riding low enough to reveal the V-cut she'd only glimpsed at poolside. "Sorry about the laundry thing," he said, rubbing his neck. His forearm flexed with the motion—ropey veins under golden skin. "Coach says I'd forget my head if it wasn't screwed on." Linda leaned against the doorframe, letting the AC draft swirl her tank top against her stomach. "At least your head's attached to that body," she said, then immediately bit her lip. Too far. But Jake just laughed—a deep, surprised sound that made his shoulders shake. "Dang, Mrs. C. Didn't know you were checking." His eyes flicked down her frame, lingering where the tank top dipped between her breasts. The porchlight caught the sweat still glistening at his temples from practice. Linda stepped back to let him in, her bare feet silent on the hardwood. "They're in the laundry room," she said, gesturing down the hall. Jake followed close enough that she caught the scent of him—not just chlorine and deodorant, but something warmer underneath. His sneakers squeaked against the floorboards. The laundry room door clicked shut louder than she intended. Jake bent to retrieve the shorts from the hamper, shoulders flexing under his tank. "Thanks for—" He froze mid-sentence when he straightened up and found her standing closer than necessary, her hip brushing against the dryer. Linda watched his throat move as he swallowed. His eyelashes were absurdly long for a boy—dark gold in the overhead light. She reached out, plucking a stray thread from his shoulder. "You're still damp," she murmured, letting her fingers linger. His skin burned through the thin fabric. Jake exhaled sharply through his nose. The shorts slipped from his grip, landing with a wet slap on the tile. His gaze dropped to her mouth. "Mrs. C..." The way his voice cracked on the honorific sent heat pooling between her thighs. She traced the neckline of his tank top with one finger, feeling his pulse jump beneath her touch. "You call your coach by his first name, don't you?" The question came out huskier than she intended. Jake's nostrils flared as she hooked her finger under the fabric, tugging gently. "Yeah." His voice had dropped an octave. Linda slid her finger lower, tracing the seam where his tank top met sweat-damp skin. The air between them smelled like stolen moments and the floral detergent she'd used on his shorts. "So why not call me Linda?" Jake's breath hitched when her nail scraped lightly over his nipple. His hands flexed at his sides before one came up to cage her wrist—not pulling away, just holding her there. His palm was calloused from years of grip training, the contrast against her softer skin making her shiver. "You're not my coach," he murmured, but his hips jerked forward involuntarily, the thick outline of him pressing against her thigh. Linda laughed low in her throat, twisting her wrist to slide her fingers up his chest. "No," she agreed, watching his pupils swallow the hazel of his eyes. "I'm the one who knows exactly how many times you've 'forgotten' your clothes here." His pulse hammered under her fingertips as she pushed the damp fabric up, exposing the taut plane of his abdomen. A drop of sweat trailed down the defined ridges, disappearing beneath the waistband of his shorts. Jake's breath came faster now, his other hand finding her hip, fingers digging in slightly as if testing his own restraint. The dryer clicked off behind them, the sudden silence thick with the sound of his exhale. "Linda," he tried, the name foreign on his tongue, and the way his voice broke on the second syllable sent a jolt through her. She didn’t let him finish. Her mouth met his with a hunger that surprised even her—no tentative testing, just heat. Jake groaned into the kiss, his hands sliding up her sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts through the thin fabric. When she bit his lower lip, he shuddered, his hips grinding against her. The hardness straining against his shorts was impossible to ignore now, the fabric stretched taut. Linda broke the kiss just long enough to yank his tank top over his head, revealing the sculpted planes of his chest, still glistening from his post-practice shower. His nipples pebbled under her gaze. "Gosh," she breathed, dragging her nails lightly down his torso. Jake’s breath hitched, his abs clenching under her touch. His hands fumbled at her waistband, fingers trembling with nervous energy. "Is this—" "Just shut up and touch me," Linda gasped, arching into him as he peeled her leggings down her thighs. The cold air of the laundry room hit her damp skin, making her nipples peak harder against the lace of her bra. Jake's breath came in ragged bursts against her neck as he knelt, his lips trailing fire down her stomach. When his mouth closed over her through the silk of her panties, Linda's fingers tangled in his sweat-damp hair. "Gosh," she hissed, knees nearly buckling as his tongue found her clit through the fabric. The scent of her arousal mixed with the clean linen smell of the room—something about that contrast made her pulse harder between her legs. Jake peeled the soaked silk aside with his teeth, his groan vibrating against her thighs when he got his first taste. His tongue was hot and broad as it licked up her slit, his nose nudging her clit in a way that made her hips jerk forward. "Oh my Gosh," she gasped, watching through half-lidded eyes as his biceps flexed holding her thighs apart. The kid ate pussy like he was training for it—every flick and suck deliberate, his breath coming in ragged bursts against her skin. Linda's fingers tightened in his hair when he slipped two fingers inside her, his palm grinding against her clit in slow circles. The stretch burned deliciously—his fingers were thick like the rest of him, calloused from years of handling rough equipment. She could feel him cataloging her reactions, adjusting pressure whenever her breath hitched. "Dang kid, you're good at this," she panted, her thighs trembling. Jake pulled back just enough to smirk up at her, his lips glistening. "Coach makes us do finger drills," he deadpanned before diving back in, sucking her clit between his teeth while his fingers crooked sharply. The dual sensation sent Linda's hips jerking forward, her back arching off the dryer with a metallic thud. Her orgasm hit like a rogue wave—sudden and all-consuming. Jake moaned against her as she came, his tongue lapping up every pulse until she shoved his shoulders weakly. "Too much," she gasped, but he just grinned and licked his lips, eyes dark with satisfaction. Linda's legs shook as he stood, his erection straining obscenely against his shorts. She reached for the waistband before he could speak, her fingers brushing the damp spot where precum had soaked through. Jake's breath caught when she peeled the fabric down, his cock springing free—thick and flushed, veins standing proud along the shaft. "Oh my gosh, this thing is twice the size of my hisbamds at least," she breathed, wrapping her fingers around the base. Her thumb couldn't touch her middle finger. Jake shuddered, his hips twitching forward as she stroked him slowly, smearing the bead of moisture at his tip. His stomach muscles jumped under her other hand when she traced the prominent ridge beneath his head. Linda dropped to her knees, the tile cool against her bare skin. Jake's hands flew to her shoulders—part restraint, part encouragement—as she licked a broad stripe up his shaft. His hips jerked involuntarily, the blunt head bumping her lips. "Careful," he gasped, but Linda just smirked and took him into her mouth, stretching her lips around his girth. The taste of him—salt and youth and something indefinably man—flooded her senses. She hollowed her cheeks, working him deeper at his base. Jake's fingers spasmed in her hair, his thighs trembling. "Holy—" His voice cracked as she pulled back slowly, dragging her teeth lightly along the underside. Linda smiled up at him through her lashes, watching his Adam's apple bob. She swirled her tongue around the swollen head, savoring his choked gasp when she sucked hard. His hips stuttered forward before he caught himself, muscles straining with restraint. The laundry room smelled like sex now—musky and thick—mingling with detergent and the metallic tang of the dryer. Jake's fingers tightened in her hair as she took him deeper, her nails digging into his thighs when she hit her limit. Drool slicked her chin where she couldn't quite close her lips around his girth. "Mrs. C—Linda—" he groaned, his voice raw. His abs clenched when she hummed around him, vibrations rippling up his shaft. She pulled off with a wet pop, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Still want to call me Mrs. C?" she teased, thumbing the leaking tip of his cock. Jake shuddered, his knees buckling slightly as she stood and backed him against the washing machine. The metal vibrated against his bare skin—still warm from the spin cycle. Linda hooked her thumbs in the waistband of his shorts, peeling them down his thighs until they pooled around his ankles. His erection stood thick and angry-red between them, bobbing with each ragged breath. She pressed her bare chest against him, relishing the way his breath hitched when her nipples dragged across his abs. "Ever fuck an older woman before?" she murmured against his collarbone. Jake's laugh came out strangled as her hand wrapped around him again, thumb smearing precum in slow circles. Linda nipped his earlobe, feeling his pulse hammer against her lips. "We're gonna need a bigger room," she murmured, glancing at the cramped laundry space—then gasped when Jake suddenly lifted her onto the washing machine. The metal vibrated under her bare thighs as he stepped between her legs, his hands spanning her waist. Jake's nostrils flared as he looked down at her—really looked—his gaze tracing the stretch marks on her hips, the way her breasts spilled slightly over her bra cups. "You're so fucking soft," he breathed, running calloused palms up her sides like he was memorizing her. The contrast of his rough fingertips against her skin made Linda arch into him, her nails scraping down his back. The washing machine hummed beneath her as Jake dragged her closer to the edge, his cock sliding against her soaked folds. Linda gasped at the contact—so much thicker than she'd imagined—her thighs trembling as he teased her entrance. "Stop teasing," she demanded, gripping his shoulders hard enough to leave crescents in his skin. Jake's breath came in ragged bursts against her neck. "Tell me what you want," he murmured, but his hips jerked forward involuntarily, the broad head catching on her rim. Linda moaned at the stretch, her nails digging deeper. "You want words?" she panted, wrapping her legs around his waist. "Fuck me before I change my mind." The washer thumped against the wall as she yanked him forward with her thighs. Jake's breath exploded from his lungs as he sheathed himself inside her in one brutal thrust. Linda's back arched off the vibrating metal, her scream muffled against his shoulder. The stretch burned—beautifully, impossibly—her body clamping down around him in shock. "Oh fucking—" Jake choked out, his knees buckling. He braced himself against the washer, the machine's rhythm syncing with their ragged breathing. His cock twitched inside her, buried to the hilt. Linda clawed at his back, her hips tilting to take him deeper. Every inch burned—a delicious, impossible stretch that made her toes curl. Jake's sweat dripped onto her collarbone as he trembled above her, veins standing out along his forearms where he gripped the washer's edge. "Move," she gasped against his throat, biting down when he finally pulled back. The drag of his cock made her whimper—then cry out when he slammed home again, the washer lurching sideways with the force of it. Jake cursed under his breath, his hips stuttering as he found a rhythm, each thrust punctuated by the metallic groan of the machine. Linda's breasts bounced with every snap of his hips, her bra riding up to expose peaked nipples. Jake's mouth latched onto one, sucking hard as his fingers dug into her thighs. The pain-pleasure of his teeth made her clench around him, drawing a ragged groan from his chest. "Gosh—you're so tight," he panted against her skin, his voice wrecked. The washer's vibration synced with his thrusts, sending tremors up her spine. Jake's rhythm faltered when she clenched around him deliberately, his cock twitching inside her. "Fuck—don't—" he gasped, but Linda just smirked and did it again, rolling her hips to take him deeper. His thighs trembled against hers, sweat-slick skin sticking where they pressed together. She arched back against the control panel, her fingers finding the spin cycle button. The machine lurched beneath them, the sudden whirl throwing Jake off-balance—his cock grinding against her g-spot in a way that made her cry out. "Cheater," he growled, but the effect was ruined by how his voice cracked. His hands found her hips, fingers bruising as he adjusted his angle, hitting that spot with every punishing thrust now. Linda's nails scraped down his sweat-slick chest, catching on his pecs. The scent of their coupling mixed with laundry detergent—something absurdly domestic beneath the filthy slap of skin. Jake's breath hitched when she dug her heel into his ass, urging him deeper. "Harder," she gasped, and he obeyed without hesitation, slamming her against the vibrating metal hard enough to rattle the detergent bottles off the shelf. His rhythm faltered when she clenched around him again—this time intentionally—her inner muscles fluttering in waves. Jake's groan vibrated through her chest where they were pressed together. "Oh fuck, Linda—" His hips stuttered, his cock pulsing inside her. She watched his face contort—eyebrows knitted, lips parted around ragged breaths—as he fought not to come. Linda arched against the washer, the spin cycle's vibrations amplifying every sensation. She dragged her nails down his back, feeling the muscles ripple under sweat-slick skin. "Don't hold back," she whispered against his jaw, tasting salt. His breath hitched when she rolled her hips, taking him impossibly deeper. Jake's restraint shattered. He fucked into her with a groan, the washer's metallic protests drowning beneath the wet slap of skin. His thrusts grew erratic, each one punctuated by the clang of the machine against the wall. Linda's thighs trembled around him, her climax building like a storm surge—then breaking with a cry as Jake's fingers found her clit, rubbing rough circles. She came with a sob, her back arching off the vibrating metal. Jake's hips stuttered against hers, his rhythm faltering as her body milked him. "Shit—Linda—" His warning came too late. His cock pulsed inside her, hot and thick, his release hitting her deepest walls in spurts. Linda clutched him tighter, riding out the aftershocks as his hips jerked erratically. The washer's spin cycle slowed beneath them, its hum fading to a dull whir. Jake collapsed against her, his forehead damp against her shoulder, his breath ragged in her ear. His heartbeat thundered where their chests pressed together. She traced the sweat-slick hollow of his spine, smirking at how his cock twitched inside her—still half-hard despite his release. "Recovery time's impressive," she murmured, nipping his earlobe. Jake shuddered, his fingers flexing against her hips. The dryer beeped sharply beside them, making Jake flinch. Linda laughed—the sound throaty and spent—as he pulled out with a hiss, his cum dripping down her inner thigh. She hooked a finger under his chin, forcing his dazed eyes to meet hers. "Don't look so guilty, All-Star," she teased, swiping a thumb through the mess on her skin before sucking it clean. Jake's breath hitched audibly. Outside, gravel crunched under tires. Mark's Lexus purred into the driveway. Jake scrambled for his shorts, nearly tripping over the tangled fabric. Linda watched with lazy amusement as he hopped on one foot, his still-hard cock bobbing ridiculously. The porchlight flicked on. "Back door," she said, tossing him his damp tank top. Jake caught it one-handed, his other hand fumbling with his waistband. His cheeks burned brighter than when she'd had him buried inside her."   Bluehywy Comments: 2,278 Commented on Nov 30, 2025 "I would love to fuck her mouth!"   Bluehywy Comments: 2,278 Commented on Nov 30, 2025 "Mrs. Poindexter is one of my favorite reasons to jerk off."   der-o Comments: 520 Commented on Sep 16, 2025 "rrrrrrrrr.....nice Cock @a nice Lady..."   MarkoYens Comments: 4 Commented on Aug 14, 2025 "Does anyone have more photos or videos from Blackmagic ? Thank you"   Wildermann90 Comments: 71 Commented on Jul 23, 2025 "Fuck i am sure she is waiting their to tease the young room boy with her hot milfy ass"   Wildermann90 Comments: 71 Commented on Jul 23, 2025 "How many cocks she milked in her Lifestyle with that ass?"   See All Comments | Add Comment

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