Take me there and I will cum.
A bawdy tale by Cat
All the time we’d been chatting on messenger I’d insisted there would be nothing more. Despite the incredible intimacy of our chats I stressed that I’d never go further. Although we had the most amazing electronic sex where you would sometimes make me cum three and even four times I’d told you I was scared to talk to you or meet you.
At first you’d tried to persuade me to see you but gradually you came to accept that having a bird like me in the hand was better than several in the bush. You realised that it was more exciting to fuck me down the line than to lose me all together.
For me it was the perfect antidote to the incredible frustration I suffered from due to my husband, Richard’s, neglect. That wasn’t totally fair, though, for it was a sort of enforced neglect. Averaging a sixty hour work week as a successful corporate lawyer and travelling to America every month and to Europe most weeks, didn’t leave a lot of time for providing his wife with a full and varied sex life. In any case, that didn’t rank highly on Richard’s priority of life experiences.
I’d tried before to overcome the frustration. I’d had a couple of affairs. Brief ones with two men I thought I had real feelings for and who I thought had them for me. As I got older and looked back on them I realised they came about because of my frustration and the feelings were lust not love. The affairs had been fantastic and terrible. The highs from having illicit sex in different places to the marital bed, hotels, cars even outdoors in a field and a shop doorway were tremendous. The lows from the guilt, the lies and the continual excuses were awful.
And of course after resolving to have no further affairs masturbation became my great ally. But then I found messenger and eventually you. Much younger then me with the sexual stamina and vigour of youth you had an understated enthusiasm, a laid back attitude, a polite and considerate nature and an amazing cock. I fell in love with it. It was beautiful, it was big, it had a great shape and the way you were able to make it grow almost by command thrilled me so much.
We got on well, very well both socially and especially sexually. You were the first man I’d met on messenger to whom I could say. “Pease fuck me” without feeling cheap. We had wonderful sex.
Then Richard and I had a trial separation. Our first in over twenty years of marriage. It had all become too much for us. The continual bickering. “If you don’t work less hours and pay more attention to me then we’ll have to part,” I’d told him not quite sure I was completely serious. So we did. He moved to a flat owned by his firm and I stayed in the house. Fortunately it was term time so no one had to know immediately. We had time to see if it was what we wanted. Time to try things. Time when there would be no need for lies or excuses. Time when I could do as I wanted. Time when our sex didn’t have to be restricted to electronic.
I told you what had happened with Richard and that we were having a trial separation.
“Would you like to meet Jon?” I typed a few days later.
We agreed to meet at a Marriott hotel just outside Canterbury.
“In the bar at 1.00,” I said. “We’ll have a drink, just to make sure we like each other in the flesh and then Jon, well we’ll see,” I’d gone on smiling to myself
I hardly slept the night before we were due to meet. I tossed and turned my mind whirring with wonderfully conflicting thoughts. It was the same the next morning when I was getting ready. I had a long bath slowly putting more and more water in until I noticed with a grin that just my face and neck and my two nipples were above the soapy water.
Naked, I dried my hair and painted my finger and toe nails with a vivid crimson varnish. I found myself becoming more and more excited at the prospect of what lie ahead. Of meeting you, of spending the afternoon and maybe the evening with you. Of being with a younger man. A younger man that was you. The tight, firm body and muscles. The flat belly and the lithe thighs and legs. The hardness of your erection. The way you could get hard again so soon and how you could cum many times. I hadn’t had sex twice with a man in one session for such a long time and the prospect of you possibly making love to me three four or even five times filled me with such excitement. The vision of you spurting the huge amount of semen that I’d seen on your cam, of the way that, as if by magic, you made your penis hard again and the sheer beauty and size of it all went through my mind as I started to dress. The feelings and sensations were so strong I found myself stroking my breasts and they seemed so big and full. I contemplated masturbating but rejected that smiling as I opened the packages I’d bought specially for meeting you “why take second best when the real thing was waiting for me?” I asked myself.
I slid into the black, lacy tops hold-ups and admired myself in the mirror. They made my legs look slimmer and longer. I hadn’t bought the black underwear we’d discussed. Instead it was deep burgundy an altogether more erotic colour or so the books said. Pure silk. Smooth and lustrous. The panties clung to me billowing out a little with the pleats of the French knickers. The silk moulded itself to my mound accentuating that. They hung loosely leaving I thought “just room for a hand to slip in.” I did up the bra that could well have been half a size too small, or I’d grown, for my boobs seemed to burst out of the sheer silk and lace.
Slipping into the thin, black, typical cocktail party dress I was ready. The dress was high at the neck at the front and the material clung to my body emphasising my breasts but regrettably I noticed looking in the mirror also showing the slight bulge of my tummy. It was lower at the back of the neck and had a zip all the way up the back that I struggled to do up. The hem ended fashionably a few inches above my knee and I noted, as I sat down to put on the strappy, black high heeled sandles, slid way up my thighs to almost my stocking tops. That excited me as I knew it would you.
I was wearing lipstick and a little eye make, but nothing else. My ash blonde hair was down, the fairly straight locks tumbling nearly to my shoulders. Inspecting my face in the mirror I looked closely at the few wrinkles round my eyes and the lines from my nose to my upper lip and down my chin from my lower lip. I had sent you a few photos, both dressed and not so dressed and had told you many times that being old enough to be your mother I did look my age. You, courteously, had rebuffed that saying ‘You look in your early thirties at the latest.’ I just hoped that actually seeing me wouldn’t change your mind and that you would still ‘Fancy older women like hell.’ Ready, I went down to the car and set off for what I guessed would be a fifty minute journey maybe to “sexual paradise, “I smiled gunning the engine of the Mercedes.
The traffic was welcomingly light down the M10 to the M25 where it got heavier, but not too bad so quite quickly I was bombing towards the Dartford Crossing. My mind was buzzing with the various emotions I was feeling so I kept my speed down for my concentration on the road and driving was continually being diverted.
Glancing down at myself and seeing my slightly parted stockinged legs, the hint of the stocking tops and the strappy shoes. Looking at the emphasised fullness of my breasts from the thin tight material and knowing that underneath I was wearing, what one of best friends called, “underwear to be undressed and fucked in,” made me feel excited and desired.
Thinking of the sights I’d had of you on your cam, your tight youthful body and wonderful penis made me frequently shudder with sexual expectancy of such a level that even as I drove I found that my fingers were roaming over the mounds of my boobs and the smoothness of my stockinged thighs that I’d opened a little wider than the driving position required.
But accompanying those wickedly arousing thoughts of what I imagined you’d be doing to me in just a couple of hours time, were other thoughts. More serious considerations. Different and certainly contradictory to those of excitement and adventure. Yes thoughts of my son and daughter and my husband, our families and friends. Although parted this was only a trial, I was still married. I would still be cheating on Richard, committing adultery with you and being unfaithful to my marriage vows. I was still stepping outside my relationship. I was risking the temptation that once I’d done it, would I do it more and more. Was having sex outside my marriage a bit like smoking or the pangs of an alcoholic. All or none. Either don’t do it at all or do it all the time. If I went with you would I then still be able to resist the other two or three men that were trying to get into my life?
*
As I passed through Essex and into Kent over the QE2 Bridge I was thinking, ‘I’ll stop and turn round, this is madness.’
But I didn’t, I couldn’t, something was driving me on so, in many ways against my better judgement, I continued down the M2. Turning off I followed the instructions on the satnav and soon I was pulling into the car park of the Marriott. Smiling as I walked across the lobby thinking about the scene from The Graduate when Dustin Hoffman was booking a room for him and Mrs Robinson I thanked the ease of the Internet and looked around for the signs to the bar.
Although I was purposefully fifteen minutes late I was still very nervous as I approached the bar for I couldn’t help thinking that you might not be there either, through lateness or, a sudden change of mind. To be alone in a bar is something I hate and something, thankfully, I’m rarely forced to do.
I scanned the bar ignoring the stares of the mostly business men clientele many of whom ran their gaze up and down my body in a rather vulgar and suggestive manner. Men out of sight of their wife, especially on business, often become such lechers that it makes life difficult for women and could put us off men altogether.
You looked even younger than I remembered. Younger but better looking. Younger but leaner and fitter. Younger but more fanciable and certainly younger but so much sexier in the flesh as it were. We smiled at each other as I walked to the vacant stool beside you at the bar.
“At last Jon,” I smiled leaning forward as you pecked me a little embarrassedly on the cheeks.
“Hi Cat, or should I say Sarah” you replied, referring to the false name I’d used until I got to know and trust you.
Resting my hand on yours I looked you right in the eye with the rest of the room looking on as I smiled.
“Well you could use darling if you like.”
It’s always difficult sitting demurely and ladylike on a high stool when wearing a skirt. When the skirt is rather short and loose and made of a thin, clingy material like crepe it becomes even more of a challenge. And when under that skirt there are lacy topped hold up stockings it becomes as good as impossible to retain one’s modesty. And in that bar in which I was one of a very small number of women and a large number of men I didn’t retain it.
As soon as I’d walked in I’d felt their eyes on me mentally undressing, leering and ogling me. In part that can be flattering and, believe me, as a woman roars into her forties some of that is good for the ego. Too much and too obvious, though, becomes simply tiresome. And that’s what it was as I felt so pleased that I was with you, a young, virile and attractive young guy and not with the forty and fifty, balding and greying, paunchy businessmen in the bar who looked as if they would have loved to rip your heart out.
“Did you have a good trip?” You asked getting the conversation off in a very neutral manner.
“Yes fine thanks although I was a little nervous all the way.”
“So was I, I was almost frightened,” you said with the honesty and openness of the well adjusted guy I’d come to know on the net. You didn’t seem to feel the need to boast as so many your age do. You’d never boasted about your, what I thought were, remarkable recovery powers, your out put and your virility. And certainly you’d let the pictures of your cam paint a thousand words about your delicious penis.
“How long did it take you?” I asked
I could see that you were nervous. Your hand was shaking a little as you held the glass and you spoke in short, sharp bursts not making complete sense at times. That was nice. I liked it. I was pleased that you weren’t acting as if you were about to make another conquest, as I was becoming quite sure you were going to do. I liked your modesty and the way everything was understated with you. I was feeling very warm and tender about us. Partly because you were the only one, or so it seemed in the room, that wasn’t staring at either, my stockinged legs and the hem of my skirt or at the swell of my breasts. The irony amused me for it was you that would almost certainly, shortly be slipping your hand up that hem or removing the material from those breasts. And all those leering middle aged businessmen would be left out. And that for some reason made me want to make them feel that.
“Oh only twenty minutes, I got the bus.”
Forgetting that you didn’t have a car, I smiled. “I could have picked you up.”
“Well not really could you as you wanted to check me out didn’t you?”
“Oh yes, but I guess after all we’ve said in messenger and emails that probably wasn’t really necessary. Were you excited?”
“Yes the idea of meeting my older woman thrilled yet at the same time scared me.”
I leaned forward and resting my hand on your leg some three to four inches above your knee, kissed you on the cheek as I whispered. “My Mrs Robinson to your Dustin Hoffman eh?”
“Yes, yes,” you breathed quickly as I gave the inside of your thigh a little squeeze.
I was very aware, as women nearly always are when they show a little too much of a part of their body, that by leaning forward my skirt would have risen further. I guessed that at least the darker hue of the bottoms of the lacy tops would now be on show confirming the likely hopes of ‘my audience’ that I was indeed wearing stockings.
And that made me wonder just what they were thinking about us. Older women with younger men, though more common nowadays, are still not seen that often. And a couple so obviously into themselves to the exclusion of those around them generally suggests just one thing, and it certainly wasn’t mum and son. The sight of my stocking tops probably confirmed what they were all thinking. That excited me. I wanted to be alone with you. I wanted us to be able to talk and smile, kiss and touch each other. So, leaning even further forward, running my hand even further up your thigh so that it was about half way I whispered into your ear.
“You can guess what they’re all thinking can’t you,” as I nodded towards the men in the bar.
Smiling you replied. “Yes I think I can.”
“Well we’d better not disappoint them,” I went on sliding off the stool and flashing all of one stocking top and maybe a touch of skin above it as well. “Had we?” I continued casually pushing the skirt back in place as I put your arm through mine, held your hand, beamed a big smile at you and said, quietly so just you and I heard it. “No we’d better not darling so you’d better take me upstairs and fuck me hadn’t you
“God Cat this is incredible,” you breathed as we stood hand in hand waiting for the lift. “I’ve never been with a girl in a hotel before.”
Smiling, I responded. “Well you’re hardly with a girl now are you? Am I the first older woman though?”
Two people walking past prevented you answering and then the lift arrived. Going up to the eighth floor you tried to take me in your arms and kiss me.
“No Jon, not here,” I said quite sharply. I was far too old and, in some ways well behaved I guess, to do such things in a public lift. Well at least sober that is!
Your opened lips on mine and your tongue in my mouth, although extremely welcome, were a little rushed as we closed the bedroom door behind us. I usually prefer to take my time. Chat and have a drink, let the mood develop and the atmosphere become heavy with expectancy. But you were right. It was the best way, the perfect action. This was not a time for being languorous or overly relaxed. We’d been through far too much, an electronic love affair, surrogate sex and so many enormously erotic moments together that now was the time for action. I knew it. You knew it. You wanted it and so did I in many ways. But as your hand squeezed and pressed my breasts and as our lips ground together it wasn’t in all ways. There was still some doubts, some unanswered concerns and a number of reservations.
“Jon let’s just have another drink first can we and chat a bit?” I asked gently pushing you off.
I could see the disappointment on your face and heard it in your voice as you muttered. “Sure.”
“Could you send two bottles of white wine and two pints of Stella up to room 805 please?” I asked room service on the phone as you somewhat morosely looked on.
“What do we do when they get here?” you asked.
“Open the door of course, why?”
“Well what will they think?”
“I don’t know and I suspect they don’t care. This sort of thing happens all the time. I bet there’s a least half a dozen other couples doing exactly what we are right now in this hotel.
“You reckon?”
“Yes I do, I’ve done it before as you know and so have some of my friends and my hubby has told me tales about his mates and colleagues, so I guess it’s happening all the time.”
I sat on the edge of the bed and patted it beside me to my left inviting you to sit down. You did. I turned slightly so I was looking right into your eyes. I lifted my hand and rested the back of my fingernails on your right cheek. I slowly ran them downwards until they reached your upper lip. I turned them so that the tip of my first and middle finger rested on it. I let them fall so they were on your bottom lip. I ran them along it pulling it as I did, so that I slowly parted it from the upper one. It was wet and I felt your spittle on my finger. I slid my finger inside as I heard a lovely low moan slip out of your mouth. I leaned closer so that my left breast pushed hard against your upper arm squashing it as flat as its fullness would permit.
“God Jon I have so looked forward to this.”
“What shoving your fingers in my mouth?” you joked.
“No.” I whispered smiling at your wit as I let my other hand rest right on your upper thigh the edge of it just inches from the bulge in your trousers. “To this,” I said sliding my hand upwards until it found the rumpled up mass of your genitals and pants and trousers.
“And this,” I added sliding the two fingers in and out of your mouth. They were obviously simulating a man’s penis and the image of you sucking on them as I rubbed your crotch was amazingly erotic and I hoped indicative to you of what I was going to do later.
I could feel you stirring underneath my hand as you became erect.
“Oh God Cat, oh my God,” you moaned into my ear as you rested your hand on my leg a few inches above my knee. It was a sort of enquiring squeeze. One that was asking my permission to proceed. I pushed my leg against your hand hopefully sending you the agreement you were seeking. It worked because your hand slid quite quickly up my leg taking the outside of my skirt with it up my right leg. It got caught though due to me sitting on it so that it only went several inches upwards before stopping. I could tell that you were unsure what to do. Presumably you wanted to pull it all the way and look at me. Men are very visual like that aren’t they? But you didn’t know whether I wanted that or whether now was an appropriate time. You still needed guidance and help. That made me feel good. It was perhaps about the only advantage I could think of from being an older woman. Experience and knowing what was going on in your partner’s mind.
I pushed myself up a little lifting my bottom from the bed as I dropped my hands to my lap. Looking deeply into your eyes I slowly pulled the back of my skirt upwards away from my bottom.
We both looked down at the same moment. Simultaneously our eyes saw the same sight. At exactly the same time our gazes alighted on the vision you’d specifically asked me to create.
I slowly lifted the hem of the thin, black, crepe skirt up revealing my upper thighs to you. It went higher uncovering the bottoms of my stocking tops and further until we both saw all of the lacy tops.
Knowing that the room service would be here soon I, perhaps, should have stopped there. Maybe it would have been fairer on you to give you just that glimpse but leave the full monty until we would not be disturbed. Keep something for later. But I couldn’t. It may well have been fairer to do so. It may in some ways have been kinder on both of us for we certainly wouldn’t be able to finish what I’d started until after the waiter had been and gone. But it felt impossible for me to stop. I felt compelled to go on. I felt as though I was being driven to show what I’d created for you, my young lover. I wanted your approval. I wanted to arouse you by flaunting myself at you. I wanted you to see my stocking tops, my legs stretched out in the dark nylon. I wanted you to see the thin patch of skin between my stockings and my panties. My French knickers. My burgundy coloured silk lingerie chosen specifically for you and this occasion. I desperately wanted you to see all of that for I wanted to please you so badly. But most of all I wanted you to fuck me and fuck me very soon indeed.
The room service waiter was even younger than you and wasn’t experienced enough really. Not experienced enough to avoid staring. To avoid glancing from me to you. From clearly showing that he was wondering what was going on. Why a woman with a very crumpled skirt was in a room in the early afternoon with a man young enough to be her son?
It didn’t matter though. Nothing like that really matters when the promised end result is so intoxicating. A moment or two of embarrassment in return for hours of what I knew was going to be sexual ecstasy was agood bargain.
As I stood there, though, leaning back against the window ledge watching the waiter uncork the wine I glanced from him to you and smiled encouragingly as I raised my eyebrows in a sign of frustration, other things were going through my mind.
Obviously my impending betrayal of my husband and breaking of my marriage vows. Naturally the cheating and excuses I’d already made about today and, tentatively, tonight as well. Not surprisingly also those I’d have to make if this became a regular occurrence. There was, along with those thoughts, the guilt, the concerns and the worries. I really didn’t think I could ever stand the traumas of a divorce. Although we were parted at the moment it was just as if he was on one of his frequent business trips and we hadn’t mentioned it to the children. The idea of parting permanently filled me with dread so the thought that Richard might find out about this and us weighed on my mind as well.
As the boy fumbled unskilfully with the corkscrew, I also thought about us. The age difference. The differing levels of experience and also the vastly different frequencies we had sex and the recovery periods. I hadn’t been with a man that could recover within, at the shortest, an hour for years. On top of that I hadn’t been with anyone that could “service” me three, four or more times in a night since I was teenager, and only once then. I was genuinely worried as to whether my body that was so inexperienced at multiple lovemaking would take it.
And then that made me think about my body.
I’d been concerned about it ever since we’d agreed to meet. Sure I’d shown you a number of photos some of which were fairly recent and yes you’d replied with wonderfully flattering remarks. But then photos if well taken can also flatter.
A young, attractive guy like you would have a choice of girls I imagined. You could pull them in clubs and pubs and I guessed you’d have a stream of stick-like, thin, model looking fillies at your disposal. Girls with firm, taught, slim bodies. Slender legs, wonderfully narrow waists, unbulging hips and amazingly flat tummies. Lovers with pert, upright breasts and equally firm, tight, pert bottoms.
How would you take to the sight of me naked was a concern? Would the slight bulge of my tummy, that was the result of me not being as conscientious after childbirth as I should have been, upset you? How would you react to the extra weight on my bottom and the slight love handles, well certainly a handful or so of flesh that I carried, on each hip? And most of all would my somewhat sagging, full and, at times, almost pendulous breasts be a turn off for you.
I knew that some men didn’t like large boobs and found them to be sexually unattractive. You’d told me differently. You’d said you liked large breasts and that you had visualised your mouth on mine, as indeed I had, so many times. But men can be odd, they can be funny like that. They can be strange about such aspects of a woman. And nowhere is this more likely to be an issue than with young men, or so I’ve read. Young and sexually immature men so lack confidence when alone with a woman. All the bravado they show in front of their mates, “I fucked the arse off that,” often vanishes when it’s just him and an experienced woman. And more so I guess with a much older woman as well. They are so sensitive, their feelings are fragile and the easiest thing can bring on that dreaded moment of “brewer’s droop.”
Would it be like that with us, I’d thought several times? Would something happen when you took my bra off and saw that my boobs were nowhere near as erect and upright as the girls you’d probably been with or those you’d ogled at in magazines or on the net? Would I simply frighten you to the extent that you suffered from the dreaded temporary impotence or the equally awkward premature ejaculation. I am rather a half glass empty person and do tend to look at the down as opposed to the upsides!
God did it frighten me though? I’d seen your gorgeous body. Fit, flat and firm. Taught and lean. Hard and agile. All the lovely adjectives that describe beautiful, male bodies, and in my mind they are not contradictions in terms; a man’s body can be just as beautiful as a woman’s, it’s just that not many are! All those terms applied to yours. But not mine. Sure I had a reasonable figure. But that was so much more reasonable when clothed. It was not so much when naked unless I was with an equally time ravaged man. You were not that and, as the waiter at left the room, I felt embarrassed that soon our nude bodies would be laying side by side and that your gaze and hands would be sweeping over me. Oh the vanity and insecurity of a woman in her forties.
What would you think?
The door was hardly completely shut when once more I was in your arms. I still had the bottle of wine that I was about to pour when you grabbed me, when your arms went round me, your hands dug into my back, your mouth clamped on mine and our bodies were crushed together. My breasts were flattened against your firm chest. Your hands ran down my back and excitingly over the two mounds of my bottom that I was silently willing you to grab and squeeze. Our bodies were touching from lips to toes. Our chests, our tummies, our thighs and our feet were all in contact. And nowhere was that contact more thrilling than on the soft swell of my stomach. Nowhere was there more of a thrill than on that stretch between my pubic mound and my naval. Nowhere was the feeling of you so pronounced and so significant. For pressing hard and firm and so enticingly into that soft flesh was your gorgeous erection.
I couldn’t help losing my somewhat ladylike persona and squirming myself against it, so wonderful did it feel.
“Oh God Jon,” I sighed. “Oh my God almighty that feels so wonderful. I’ve dreamed about this so much.”
“So have I,” you muttered thickly as your hands once more so welcomingly found my breasts.
We kissed and squirmed against each other for some time as you squeezed and stroked, caressed and rubbed my boobs through the thin materials of my dress and bra. I was becoming more and more aroused. More and more excited. More and more thrilled by you and more and more in frantic need of satisfying the enormous pangs of sexual want that were rushing through me.
I loved it when I felt your hand sliding up underneath the back of my skirt. I enjoyed the sensation of your hands on the back of my thighs, between my legs and on that strip of skin between my stocking tops and my panties and I revelled in the feeling of your hand cupping the cheek of my bottom through the silk and squeezing it. I simply adored the gasp of pleasure when you realised I was wearing stockings.
“Oh Cat yes, so fucking yes,” you moaned rubbing the stockings and slipping your fingers slightly inside the tops.
Fiercely, almost, I tore at the buttons of your shirt, quickly undoing them to your waist. Frantically, nearly, I ran my hands over your firm, smooth and almost hairless chest. I cupped your breasts as you cupped mine and I pinched eagerly at your nipples showing you exactly what I’d want from you later.
I exploringly slid my hand between us. With a degree of concern for I didn’t want you to think I was being too forward I reached downwards between our bodies. Tentatively I rubbed my hand along your impressive length and encouraging hardness. The feel of that on my hand and the realisation that soon it would be in me sent a shudder of such lust and desire through me that I knew you would have noticed it.
All hell seemed to then break loose. All reason, thought and planning went out of the window. Any reservations or ideas of slow, languid sex vanished as we tore at each other. Your zip and belt came undone and your shirt came off. The zip on the back of my dress slid down from the neckline to just where the crease in my bottom began. The top at the front was pulled down and your trousers feel to the floor. My breasts were open to your gaze and touch through the burgundy coloured, lace bra and your penis to mine through the thinness of your boxers. Your hands were everywhere on me and mine on you. You were on my boobs, my bum, my thighs and my pussy all through the various materials as mine were on your cock and balls also through materials. But not for long I guessed.
“Oh yes,” you moaned, “oh yes, yes, yes. This is fantastic. You’re fantastic,” you went on sucking my nipples through the bra as you slid your fingers along my pussy lips, the silk of the panties feeling so erotically luxurious on that super sensitive place of such femininity.
“It is Jon, it is my darling,” I replied, thoughtlessly really pumping at your erection for I wondered whether that might cause the premature ejaculation that I’d read about in Cosmo as being a scourge of first time sex between young men and older women.
I could feel that you were, as many men do, fumbling at undoing the clasp on my bra. Nimble, steady fingers at such times are not natural are they? Reaching behind I’d just flicked it open with the expertise of a woman when I heard my mobile burbling.
“Leave it,” you suggested, but I knew I couldn’t. Mums just can’t ignore such things.
Holding my bra up and pulling the top of my dress around me as I at last found the phone in my handbag I flicked it phone open and saw that indeed it was my daughter calling.
The sound of her voice. Her hope that I was having “a nice time.” The pleasure and love in her voice as she spoke to me were all ghastly reminders as to what I was doing. Standing in a hotel room my clothing in disarray as I was about to fuck a man almost young enough to be my son. Making my daughter believe the lies I’d told about being on a training course for two days and one night. The sheer deceit and the sordidness of it all got to me as she talked about her day and asked so considerately about mine. I was panicking, becoming anxious and torn up inside about what I was doing. My emotions were in turmoil as I finished on the phone and turned to you. Seeing you sitting on the bed in just your boxers was just too much.
It all hit me at once. I felt the tears welling up and although I tried to fight them I couldn’t. They started rolling down my cheeks as I began sobbing.
“What’s happened? What’s the matter?” You asked standing up and moving to take me into your arms.
“Nothing Jon, nothing and everything,” I whined holding my head in my hands and moving away from you to avoid your embrace, completely forgetting about the top of my dress and my bra being unclipped. “I’m sorry darling, I’m so sorry,” I sobbed noting that my bra fell away from me so that I bared my breasts for you for the first time. As that happened I half wanted you to grab them, squeeze them and take their flame tipped ends into your mouth. But the other half, the mother and wife half knew that couldn’t happen.
I did my bra up and pulled my top up .
“Jon, I just can’t do this.”
“Why, is it me?”
That brought a slight smile to my face for it sounded so innocent and tender. I reached out and touched your cheek.
“No my darling it’s completely me.”
“It’s your daughter and your marriage vows isn’t it?
“Yes, hearing her voice brought the enormity of what we’re doing home to me. I am so, so sorry darling.”
“Cat I understand, I completely understand,” you so considerately said amazingly adding, “And in some ways I’m relieved.”
I could hardly believe what I was hearing. “How do mean relieved?” Didn’t you want me?”
“Yes of course I wanted you and still want you but I was feeling guilty about coming between you and Richard.”
I couldn’t help smiling at your unintentional double entendre. “Now that does conjure up some vivid thoughts,” I smiled adding meaningfully, “having you cum between us.”
You laughed back as we looked at each other rather mournfully.
“Tell you what Jon, let’s go for a walk and just chat shall we?”
I went into the bathroom with the overnight bag I had brought with me. I slipped into the jeans and crisp white, button right up the front blouse and returned to the bedroom where I carefully hung the DKNY dress on a hanger in the wardrobe. I slipped into a pair of loafers and was ready.
We walked round the grounds of the hotel talking continually and getting to know each other so much better. I began to understand you and reinforce my opinion that you were not just trying to get into my knickers. There was so much more to you. So much more depth and vision, understanding and consideration. So much more thought and feeling, emotions and tenderness. So much more, I shivered as I realised it, to like and to, no, no I told myself I couldn’t think further.
It seemed natural to hold hands. It seemed right and proper to stroke the palm of your hand with my finger as we walked. There was nothing salacious or vulgar about it, nothing particularly suggestive, come on or seductive. It was tender, warm and loving and overall very nice. Just what I needed. I relaxed more. I felt more comfortable with you. I felt more attracted to you. Attracted now in more ways than one.
*
There were no messages waiting for me from Richard when I got home. Not a word, not even one to ask about the children. I was annoyed, very annoyed. It seemed to me to sum up all the problems of our marriage over the past eight or nine years, his intense concentration on his job as as a corporate lawyer. Concentration to the extent that it left little time for the children and me and hardly any for us to enjoy the bedroom.
In bed, my mind just couldn’t stop thinking about the afternoon and my body couldn’t stop reacting to what had happened. It also couldn’t avoid responding to what might have happened had that phone call not arrived. And of course the inevitable happened. Throwing the bedclothes back I laid on my back, my knees raised and legs parted as my fingers rotated my clitoris until I made myself cum just as I now so wished I’d let you make me cum this afternoon.
We talked frequently over the next two days mostly on messenger. With the pressure off about meeting we got on better and easier. Our new found liking as opposed, well in addition, to lusting for each other seemed to create a different mood between us, one with less haste, less need to go forward, less need I suppose to fuck. We chatted and discussed everyday things, our families, how Richard was still acting like the bastard he was and of your search for girl friends. The use of your cam didn’t seem appropriate and, although underlying my deeper feelings for you there was still a raging degree of fancying you like hell, we behaved impeccably.
“Just for a drink, or coffee,” you said as we discussed meeting again.
It was a lovely country pub set in the gorgeous Kent countryside. The sort that foreigners imagine are everywhere. Just outside Canterbury where you lived I’d driven down in the morning and had met you at lunchtime on the Thursday, some ten days since we’d been in the Marriott just down the road.
I was still living apart from Richard. He had returned from the States the day after our Marriott meeting, but had gone back, this time to LA, just yesterday.
It was great to see you again. We once more got on so well. Chatting was relaxed and easy although there was an undertone of tenseness. Something neither of us could address but we both knew was there. A feeling, an emotion. A mood that we were now both scared to tackle. As much as we tried there was that sexual rawness about our attraction to each other. It was there all the time. In every glance, in the tone of our voices, in the body language and in the way we looked at each other. As we sat close eating our sandwiches and sipping beer I could feel it all bubbling to the surface.
We were sitting on those low stools that pubs sometimes have round fairly low tables. That meant we were close together and that our knees often touched. Fortunately I wasn’t wearing a skirt but a pair of thin, cotton mid calf length trousers so I didn’t have to worry about modesty in the rather uncomfortable position.
“Jon, let’s go outside.”
“We haven’t finished.”
“Just leave it, let’s just go we can always come back later.”
Outside we stood looking at each other.
“Come on let’s just walk and talk Jon, it was so warm in there wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
Once more holding hands as if that was the most natural thing to do we wandered down the narrow road. We talked about this and that until we came to a gate in a field. You leaned back against it and I climbed up and sat on it. I felt a little like a kid. I was so unused to walking around the countryside that the smells and the quietness were so unusual and different for me that I felt disorientated for a while.
“Let’s walk in the field.” I suggested. “Will that be ok with the farmer?”
“Yes as long as we don’t harm his crops he won’t mind.”
“Come on then,” I gushed feeling adventurous and very youthful. Feelings incidentally that were very rare for me nowadays
Just like two kids or teenage sweethearts we climbed over the gate and ran alongside the field along a grassy path that ran down a hill away from the gate. Still holding hands and laughing and joking we ran far further than I’d thought we would or than I liked to do. For large breasted women running is not a particularly comfortable pursuit so as we rushed down the hill my boobs were bouncing all over the place.
Wheezing from being so out of condition I cried.
“Oh shit I have to stop.”
“And I thought you were fit,” you laughed leaning your hand on the tree that I was leaning back against.”
“So did I, but the gym’s not much preparation for running like that.”
“Well come on,” you said taking my hand again, “let’s just walk.”
As we ambled across the field and scrambled through a hedge so the countryside changed. Still going downhill it was less developed and the fields were lying fallow. The grass was longer and then it became more wooded. It was very pretty and the numerous trees provided some shade and cover from the burning, mid eighties degree heat, I recalled hearing forecast on the car radio earlier. Eventually, after walking for probably fifteen minutes from the road we came to a river.
“Oh Jon this is so pretty isn’t it?”
“Yes Cat,” you replied slipping your arm round my waist as we stood under some trees admiring the view. You then added in a whisper. “Just as you are Cat, very pretty.”
I turned and saw the intense look on your face. The desire in your eyes and the solemn expression on your face as I realised you were experiencing the same or at least very similar feelings as I was.
“Oh Jon,” I said very softly squeezing your hand.
“I know, I know,” you replied smiling. “I know I shouldn’t but I couldn’t help it. Don’t worry I’ll behave.”
“You’re amazing Jon, so sweet and so understanding. I don’t deserve you.”
“Yes you do Amanda and I just want you to know that I completely understand and respect your feelings about having sex outside your marriage, but if you ever change your mind I’ll always be here for you.”
“Thanks Jon, thanks,” I muttered hardly able to frame words for I was so near to tears. “Come on let’s walk further,” I quickly added to break the spell and overcome my embarrassment.
We came to a small clearing that was half in the sun and half in the shade right alongside the river.
“Let’s sit for a while shall we?” I suggested.
We sat there chatting and taking in the lovely scenery watching the fairly fast flowing waters of the river run by for some time. It was so peaceful and tranquil. It made me relax and forget all the other things going on in my life. I laid back and almost fell asleep my hand resting on your chest, your arm around my shoulders.
It was as if that clearing and stream and you, me and the countryside were the entire world. All outside of that had no meaning, value or significance. The entire focus of all that I felt existed was on us. On our bodies and our minds. It was as I imagine the effects of a mind expanding drug like LSD or Ecstasy. A little like marijuana but much, much more intense. All the colours were exaggerated and all sounds keener. As the song of the sixties said, so rightly, ‘Everything is Beautiful.’ The woods and field, the river, you and me, we were all so beautiful.
I didn’t know what was happening to me. What was making me feel like that. Making me feel as though I was on drugs. Making my mind seem to expand and now my body start to tingle. What was so effecting my emotions, making me feel lightheaded, out of breath and dry in the throat. I was panting and finding it hard to either frame my words or get my breath. I felt that anything was possible. Everything was feasible. Whatever I wanted I could have.
I sat up. I looked down at you. Your eyes were closed, you were dozing. I felt such tenderness towards you that it was bordering on love. I scanned your handsome face and lithe body imagining you naked as you’d so nearly been in the hotel. I felt such desire that it was bordering on lust. Without moving my gaze from yours for a moment I sat up, my legs tucked under my bottom. A moment or two fumbling and I laid down again beside you. I raised my bottom up and more fumbling and then lay on my side by you one elbow on the ground my hand resting on my chin.
I gently shook your shoulder waking you. As you opened your eyes and saw me I smiled and whispered.
“Now Jon I really do want you to make love to me. Please darling say you will.”
If it hadn’t been such a tender and loving moment, if there hadn’t been such obviously high sexual tension and if the confusion I’d caused in the hotel hadn’t happened then the look on your face could well have been amusing. You lifted your head, your mouth fell open and your eyes stared at me like two bottle tops as you took in the scene.
The scene of me naked apart from the white bra and thong. The scene of my ash, blonde hair tumbling down trying to reach my bare shoulders. The scene of the protuberances of my horrendously swollen nipples through the white bra. And of course the scene of your Mrs Robinson inviting you to make love to her, this older woman, in the open beside a river in the grass and under the trees.
As we fell into each others arms it was almost surreal. Like an erotic art film in slow motion.
Our arms went round each other, our mouths met and we kissed long, deep and lovingly. We stroked each others body. I helped you out of your tee shirt and you, effortlessly this time, undid my bra. As I fumbled at your belt you knelt and slid your zip down so that between us we pulled your trousers and boxers down in one sweep.
You looked magnificent naked. Your firm chest, flat stomach and lithe legs. Your taught bum, tapered back and slim waist. And of course at the front dominating all else was your gorgeous genitalia. Fully erect, your penis reared up your flat tummy so that its tip was above your naval. Your full, so caressable looking scrotum hung awesomely far down your thighs that I couldn’t resist cupping that in one hand as with the other I started to slide ,my thong down but your hands on the elastic stopped that and you did it for me.
“Oh God Cat,” you whispered “This is amazing but are you sure?”
“Oh yes Jon, oh yes my baby, I am sure, so sure,” I burbled running my hands all over your face and hair and shoulders and chest as I rubbed my breasts against your chest and my tummy against your erection. “I am more sure about this than I have ever been of anything like this before,” I mumbled on my garbled logic not seeming to faze you. “I want you so badly.”
We fell to the grass rolling around in each others arm kissing and stroking, and caressing and rubbing each other as we moved inexorably through the various stages of foreplay. As we prepared our bodies and minds for what was coming next. As we anticipated the lovemaking to come. As we, I couldn’t help thinking, got ready to have our first fuck.
Nothing other than the grass, the field, the river the trees and our bodies existed. All thoughts of morals, marriage vows, my husband and children and even of anyone chancing upon us vanished. Our total world became each other and our need to consummate our partnership.
And we did that, quickly, enthusiastically and wonderfully pleasurably. It didn’t take long. Length of time was irrelevant; it was fulfilling our mutual need that was paramount. You grunted, moaned and sighed as you surged your wondrously hard cock up and down me as I hugged and kissed you. My legs were wide open my knees were drawn up to allow you the easiest access to me and the deepest penetration for me as I stifled my unusually strong need to cry out loud or even scream from the ecstasy of the pleasure you were giving me as we roared to that first, fabulous orgasm. Can there be a greater pleasure in the world I was asking myself as the tears ran down my cheeks? As we hung onto each living every second of that mutual climax I had no guilt, how could anything as wonderful as what we had just experienced be wrong, I was kidding myself?
If that first sex between us was monumental then what followed that afternoon in that field was simply historic.
Naked, I lay in your arms the sun beating down on us a gentle breeze occasionally wafting across our bodies as we came down from that awesome orgasm. We giggled and chatted, we touched and stroked each other. You were on your back, I turned onto my front and half laid on you squashing my breasts against your chest as I stroked your gface and ran my fingers through your hair and planted little kisses all over your face.
I felt so free and liberated. Our nudity, the open air, the sun, the breeze, the noise of the running river, the sounds of the birds and the post orgasm relaxation all combined to create an amazing kaleidoscope of feelings. It was part Alice Through the Looking Glass, part Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds and in total it was the most erotic situation I had ever been in.
So used had I become to a once a time sex session that when you started to kiss me firmer, when your tongue probed my lips open and you knee my legs, momentarily, I didn’t know what was happening. But when I felt the long forgotten sensation of a cock hardening for a second time and this time against my leg, my heart started to pound. I reached down and found that you were, merely twenty minutes or so after cumming, nearly hard again. I wondered with such anticipation at both the physical and emotional requirements needed to make that happen; well for a couple of seconds I did, but my mind was quickly taken over by the prospect of having sex with you a second time.
Stroking your burgeoning cock I looked into your eyes and smiled.
“Mmmm, whose a naughty boy then?”
“Oh ma’am, it must be me,” you joked back jerking yourself in my hand. “But it’s only because someone makes me naughty,” you continued placing both your hand on my sides just under my armpits and pulling.
You moved me up your body, you pushed again. I arched my back causing my tits to dangle over your face.
“Cat, your tits are fantastic,” you said between taking mouthfuls of them onto your mouth and sucking on the creamy flesh and pink nipples; I thanked someone that Richard was away and we were apart for I knew my breasts would be covered in love bites.
“Just lay there, my baby,” I whispered, my hand still holding your cock which wondrously was now nearly fully hard. It felt so good.
I sat up; your hands were still cupping and squeezing my boobs. I knelt, I straddled you, I wiggled so each knee was against your hips. Holding your gaze, I reached down behind me and again found your nearly hard penis. I stroked that and thrilled at the feeling of it growing to its full magnificence in my hand. I carefully rubbed its tip against my sensitive lips and my clit sending shock waves of sexual sensations through my entire body.
“Just relax my baby,” I whispered running my fingertips around you lips, “Just lay there and let me do everything.”
“Oh yes Cat, this is incredible,” you groaned back slightly surging your cock in my hand.
I have no idea why or what made me then say. “Just lay there baby and let mumma do all the work. Let mumma fuck you.”
The look in your eyes as I said those incredible words told me that I had hit on something. I felt a huge shudder rush through my entire naked body as I shoved your hard and throbbing cock right up my wet and swollen cunt.
Then, possibly like a mother having sex with her son, with my tits flying all over the place I fucked you until we again had a marvellously mutual climax. I collapsed on top of you feeling somewhat embarrassed at the things I had said as I had straddled you. We didn’t mention it as we again lay in other arms enjoying the post orgasm tranquil feelings of returning to normality. We may even have dozed so relaxed and comfortable had we become in each others arms.
*
“Let’s paddle in the river,” you said when we woke.
“What a good idea,” I agreed standing up, but we don’t have any towels.
“Cat it’s nearly ninety, we won’t need towels.”
“Oh shit, how daft, of course we won’t, come on then last one in’s a ninny,” I said starting to run down the grassy bank towards the water.
With tits like mine, running isn’t the best of ideas at any times. When naked it’s a particularly daft thing to do. If they had been flying around all over the place just now when I fucked you, they were now as I ran down the slight hill almost over my shoulders.
But I felt good, no I felt great.
The freedom of being naked in the outdoors, the hint of potential danger of being caught, the sun on my bareness, the sounds and smells of the countryside, the warm afterglow of having had multiple orgasms and the sheer thrill of having you naked alongside me all combined into a dream-like sequence of events.
Of course we didn’t paddle. We ran into the water my feet sinking into the mud a little and then you grabbed me, I slipped and fell and pulled you with me and we lay full length in the flowing water. It was cold, too cold really for immediately my nipples hardened to an amazing amount which, in reverse just about equalled the amount by which your cock shrank. That said it was different and hugely exciting to be in your arms in the shallow water as we kissed deeply.
Momentarily I thought you might try to have sex in there, but was thankful you didn’t.
“Come on Cat let’s get out, it’s freezing, let’s get warm.”
Standing up I ran my fingertips across your flaccid cock. You didn’t flinch making me realise just how far we had come from that day at the Marriott.
“And baby,” I said putting my arms round your neck, squashing my tits against your firm chest and squirming my pubic mound against your cock “I know exactly the thing to do to get you warm.”
*
It was only later at home alone, that the enormity of what we had done really hit me. Both whilst we were having sex and on my drive home I was running on adrenalin. I was so high it could have been any drug in the world. I really was out of my mind and probably drove home ‘under the influence.’ Not of drugs or booze, though, but of you and sex.
I became aroused on the drive home and several times stroked my breasts thinking that I should stop and masturbate, but motorways are not really jerk off friendly so I didn’t. I did once I was indoors though.
After a shower, making a quick pasta and eating that with two glasses of Chianti, my mood changed. It was then that I realised what a watershed this afternoon had been. It was in both me breaking out from the shackles of my, now, verging on loveless and certainly as good as sexless marriage, but also in seeking sex elsewhere. But it hadn’t just been elsewhere. I’d been elsewhere before, but hadn’t felt like this.
I had never felt the gay abandon, the freedom, the sheer fun and dreamlike nature of what we’d done in that field. I did worry a little at just how crazy we had been and thanked my lucky stars that no one came along, but they hadn’t.
In that field I had done things that no respectable, married, nearing middle aged woman would do. I had gone where they didn’t go and I’d had feelings they just don’t get. I’d been naked in a field, I’d been naked in a river, I’d been fucked in that field, I’d been fucked four times in that field and I had cum at least six times in that field. I had lived in the clouds, I had floated above real life and I had been given the sexual ecstasy that most women never get in their entire life, yet I still had tomorrow for more. Yes tomorrow certainly is another day when I have a man of twenty to fuck me continuously.