They are church-going Catholics who send their children to local parochial schools and who apparently adhere to all the tenets of Catholic family life. So, it was a bit of a surprise when Nancy showed up on my doorstep that early Sunday morning at a time when they are usually at Mass. (I am sort of a lapsed Methodist, and while my wife continues to attend church and is involved in seemingly dozens of meetings, committees, circles and share groups, I putter around the house on Sunday mornings doing those things I didn't seem to find time to do during the week. ) My wife and I are retired and semi-retired. That is, I am a fully retired educator and only put in a few hours each week at the local community college, helping out an old friend who is now the president of the college. My wife is a half-time secretary at the church. I tell the reader these things to set the stage for the tale I am about to relate. Nancy walked in and looked around. Though we are good neighbors and good friends, I realized as she looked over the living room/dining room combination, that she and Mike have really only been in our house once before. We just don't travel in the same social circles – big difference in ages, I suppose. She commented on the fireplace with the built-in bookcases on either side, and other items in our house that were different from hers even though the other half of the double is a mirror copy of ours. I could see she had something on her mind and offered her coffee. She accepted, and as I poured I asked her what she needed. Help with something heavy? Something from our kitchen? I asked where Mike and the kids were and she told me that Mike had taken the children to his mother's church this morning. She was not much for his mother and decided she had a very bad headache and could not attend. They would most likely spend the entire day with his parents and not get home until evening.
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She said she just wanted to talk a minute, then asked a very strange question. Did I think my wife would mind if I showed her the upstairs of the house? I chuckled a bit and told her that if my wife found out I had a beautiful young woman upstairs in our bedroom, she'd call the local mental hospital and have me committed because I would be certifiably insane. Nancy laughed a small laugh and moved as if to leave the table. I took her cue and led her back into the dining room and up the stairs to our bedroom. She looked in and just sort of hmmm-ed and then asked what we used the front bedroom for. I walked her down the hall, past the bathroom and the extra bedroom we use for our grandchildren when they come to visit, and into the front room, which we have converted into sort of a computer-room/den/office/exercise room. It is large, light and open and it is a great place to do any of the former activities. "Ahhhhh," she exclaimed. "Now I understand. " She was looking at my bike on the stationary trainer in the corner of the room next to the wall that separates this room from her house. "Does that make a noise when you ride it?" I told her it did, and asked why. "Well, my daughter has been complaining of something humming 'in the walls' in the evening when she is doing her homework. They could not figure out what it was and she thought she would ask to see our room to see if we had some sort of machinery against the wall. I asked if she wanted to try out the bike and see for herself. She agreed, and said she always wanted to get one of these to put her bike on for the winter months when she didn't ride outside, but wasn't sure if it would be worth it.
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I told her that it was certainly worth it and I kept this bike on the trainer year-round so I could get some exercise even when I was too lazy to go any distance. She made a move as if to mount the bike, but it was so high off the ground, she had to climb onto the pedal first and swing her leg over the saddle to get on. It was apparent she was not going to be able to do that as she was wearing a short denim skirt that didn't allow for much leg-lifting. I was just about to say that she could try it some other time when she was dressed properly, but she surprised me by loosening the tie in the back of the skirt – it turned out it was a wrap-around sort of thing – which gave her greater ease with her legs. She climbed up, flipped her leg behind her and sat on the saddle, turning the pedals at some deliberate speed. The hum immediately filled the room. I never realized that the bike made this much noise because I usually wore a headset connected to the stereo nearby so I could set up a rhythm to my riding. The bike was an old off-road model with a knobby back tire and it made a huge humming noise when it rolled on the base rotor. She seemed to be having a good time and began to perspire just a bit. I asked her if she wanted to get in a workout while she was here, but she said she didn't have time. She continued pedaling and told me she loved to ride but just didn't get enough time to do it with Mike's long days. She didn't like to leave the kids alone. I told her she could come over here and ride my trainer anytime she wanted to and the kids would be just next-door. She beamed at the idea, speeded up, and I could not help but catch a glimpse of well-muscled thighs and pink panties under the short skirt as she slowed her pedaling. Nancy obviously saw me look and giggled a bit.
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"What are you looking at, Ed? This isn't the outfit I would normally ride in, you know. " I told her I would just love to see her in Spandex shorts, but it might overtax my aged heart. She laughed out loud and said she thought I was flirting with her. I told her that, yes, I was; but at my age I had forgotten why. She laughed again and told me she was sure that was not true and that I was probably chasing the young coeds at the college all around the campus. I said, yes, I was, but by the time I caught them I was never sure why I had been chasing them in the first place. We had another laugh and she moved to dismount. Now, this was a challenge and she did not have exactly 100% success. When she moved to get off the saddle, her skirt caught and she wound up standing beside the bike with her skirt pulled up to her waist, giving me an absolutely riveting view of beautiful legs and high-cut pink panties. What surprised me most, though, was that she didn't immediately shriek and pull at her skirt. Instead, she turned toward the bike, which only served to pull the skirt apart in the back and give me a view of the cutest little ass I have seen in so many years I cannot remember. Let me give you a quick overview of what was in the room with me. Nancy is tiny. Perhaps only 5' 3" tall. Very small, maybe 105 pounds.
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Blonde (I would think natural, since I remember her as being blonde as a young girl). Very slender. And the tiniest set of breasts I've ever seen on a grown woman. I am not much for bra sizes, but I would guess that she was no more than a 32 or 34 A-cup, I think that is how they are measured. But with all the exercise she does – running and riding – her legs are magnificently proportioned and well muscled. She is certainly a well-kept lady. Well, here I am, at 60+ years with a 34-year-old, adorable ass staring me in the face. What's a man to do? I whistled. Yep, childish though it may seem, I whistled, as I would have when I was 18 or so. Nancy laughed and managed to loosen her skirt enough to get it off the saddle and nearly back into proper position. "Like what you see, you dirty old man?" she laughed. "Absolutely! But I will probably have to get new batteries for my pacemaker," I joked back. Now she surprised me with another request. As she re-arranged her skirt and moved away from the bike and motioned down the hall, she asked, "Can I see your bedroom, Ed?" I was a bit nonplussed at this, but told her it was right down at the other end of the hall. She took the dozen or so steps it takes to get there and looked around for just a minute or two and then returned to where I was standing.
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"That explains it," she stated. "What in the world are you talking about? That's the second time you've said that today. " "You moved your bed. When I was a kid, my room was right through that wall. I could sometimes hear you at night … you know … in bed. But I don't hear you any more. " I laughed out loud at that one. "My dear Nancy; believe me when I tell you that moving the bed had no bearing on what you heard in that bedroom. We just moved the bed about a month ago when we re-painted. You haven't heard anything through the wall for years, dear, but moving the bed was not the reason," and I continued to chuckle. "OK, you dirty old man; what do you mean by that?" she casually asked. "Well, Nance, if you really want to know – and I think we've known each other long enough for me to say what I want to say without you getting all huffy and offended – there simply hasn't been anything to hear for more than 20 years now, if you know what I mean. " And I gave her an abbreviated run-down of my wife's slanted religious views of sex after a family has been established. I didn't pull any punches, but didn't add any embellishments, either. I just let her know that it was my wife's idea that there be no sex between us, as simply as I could.
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"Oh, my God!" she whispered, as she got redder in the face. "I didn't mean to pry…I'm so sorry … What was I thinking about to ask that … Oh, damn, I put my foot in it there, didn't I?" all ran out of her mouth in one long sentence of embarrassment. I took her by the shoulder and patted it as I would a very young daughter and told her not to mind her curiosity. I thought it was cute when she told me she could hear us years ago. I asked her if she ever laid over there on her side of the wall and wondered what we were really doing over here on our side, and she told me that she understood about what we were doing, but never really had any concrete information when she was that young, so she could only imagine what it was like. I asked her, "No books? No dirty magazines? No pictures?" and laughed again. She admitted that she and Kristen – the girl across the street – had stolen her father's Puritan magazines and had looked at a lot of pictures, but never actually did anything about it until a lot later when she went to college. "Well," I told her, "at least you waited until college. Too many kids get themselves in real trouble by starting too early and not knowing how to handle it. " "Oh, I started earlier than college," she admitted as we sat down on the sofa-bed in the office, "I just didn't ever go all the way until college. I was scared, that's all. " The conversation was taking a turn I had not truly expected, but found rather titillating, to tell you the truth. But her next set of statements rocked me back on my heels. "You know, Mike and I don't have sex anymore, either. I guess he's too busy, or maybe I'm not attractive enough anymore, or something.
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I know he's not fooling around anywhere, 'cause he's just too busy for that. But I miss it sometimes. I feel funny telling you all this, but I've known you since I was a little kid and somehow it doesn't seem all that bad, does it?" And she looked up at me with such a pathetic little smile on her face that I felt immediately sorry for her and her plight…incredibly young to have to look ahead to a sexless life. I knew she would not go out and look for an affair. She was a very good Catholic girl – too good for that sort of thing. I answered her little monolog with a few choice comments: "I don't ever want to hear you say that again about not being attractive enough anymore. That is pure bullshit, and you know it. Did you ever take a good look in the mirror, Nancy? You are absolutely delicious! Not in a movie-star-huge-bust-sexy-mouth-come-screw-me way; but in a delightfully clean and innocent way. You probably drive men nuts at the grocery store and in church and at the mall and never even know it. The truly sexy women never do, you know. " Her eyes got a bit wider and she breathed out, "Do you really think I'm sexy? You're not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?" I took a huge chance right then and there. I already had one hand on her shoulder, and I now followed it with the other and lifted up and bent down so that I could kiss her right on the mouth. I did it with as much slow, soft, tenderness as I could. I did not smash her lips into my mouth or tongue-wrestle with her. I just kissed her and held her very tightly by the shoulders so she could not pull away.
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But she really didn't attempt to, anyway. As I released her lips, I simply said, "What do you think I think?" She backed away from me and touched her mouth as if she'd been burned. I figured that it was all over and she was out of here and my wife would get a huge anecdote about her degenerate husband when she got home. But no, she hardly moved at all for a good, full minute. When she did move, it was directly to me, pressing her head to my chest and wrapping her arms around me and squeezing me so tight, I thought those tiny little breasts were going to punch holes in my stomach right through the t-shirt. I had the fleeting image in my mind of her crying, but it didn't last long. She stood up on tiptoes and I got the idea. I bent down and kissed her again. This time, her arms went around my neck and she pulled herself into me, tightly. I decided to really play the game here and stood up straight, with her arms around my neck and my hands at her waist. I lifted her entirely off the ground and her body slid against mine and stayed there. This time, our kiss was a bit more animated, with her taking an active part. Lips and tongues came into play and she hummed into my mouth when I moved my hands to her ass and held her up by those cute round hemispheres. We finally came up for air and she tilted her head back and asked in a very hushed voice, "What are we doing, Ed?" I replied that I thought we were preparing to make very romantic love to one another. I told her that was an idea I'd had in my head for the last half-hour or so.
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I also told her that I first had that idea when she was a teen-ager. She gasped a bit at that and laughed, "You really are a dirty old man, aren't you?" And she kissed me lightly and squirmed for me to set her down. I did, and she moved to the other side of the room where I had my old-fashioned weight bench set up diagonally to the corner. (Nothing fancy; just an old padded bench with two struts at one end extending upward about 30 inches from the bench to a pair of brackets that would hold the bar of any weight I chose to use for my fitness – not strength training – workouts. ) She turned to face me and asked what time my wife would be home. I told her not for a long while, and she could relax and not worry about our being interrupted with whatever she had in mind. It took only a half a minute for her to unwrap the denim skirt and flick it toward my feet where it landed in a tiny blue heap. I looked from the pile of denim to where she stood and noted that she was twisting the hem of the white t-shirt in her fingers – perhaps trying to decide what to do next – which gave me a very nice view of the front of her panties. Small, pink and delicate. Conservative, as I had supposed, but appearing at least one size too small for her. She saw me looking at her crotch and placed one hand lightly in front of her to shield her bulging nest from my view, I suppose.
I smiled a small smile and as if she could read my thoughts, she said, "They're not mine; they're Lauren's. I was doing laundry earlier today and wanted the panties I had on for tomorrow. I didn't have any clean ones in the laundry room, so I took a pair of Lauren's. I guess they're a little small, aren't they?" (Lauren is her 18-year-old daughter) I smiled a Groucho Marx smile and told her that they were "poifect" on her and that they brought out her "…most adorable feature…" She giggled – honestly giggled – and moved her hand to the hem of her shirt.
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I could tell she was about to lift it over her head when I stopped her by moving directly in front of her and taking her two hands in both of mine. I lifted her hands high above her head and ran my fingers down along her arms into her armpits and then to her sides, sliding them to the side swells of her tiny breasts. She shuddered just a little, but didn't move her hands. She looked directly at me – no eyes closed, etc. – just looked at me to see where I was going with this. In this position, her tiny little nubs were stretched upward and very taut. I could see the nipples poking hard against the bra underneath and trying to escape their confinement. I moved my hands to the undersides of her breasts and tried to cup them, but there was not enough flesh there to fill my hands. I opened my palms and lightly touched them to the tips of her nipples through shirt and bra material and moved them around in large circles, just causing enough friction that her nipples knew my hands were there – and they puffed up and dug into my palms within just a few seconds. For some unknown reason, this young woman was quite "horny" as the vernacular would express it. After a short minute of palm circles, I bent and kissed her lightly and moved my hands to the hem of her shirt and lifted it clear of her body and over her head. I left it tangled around her wrists so that she could not take it off, nor could she pull it back down. Her arms were still stretched upward, her breasts pulling up and her bra gaping at the sides of the cups. I bent down in front of her and slid my fingers beneath the lower edges of her cups and lifted them up and off her breasts and slid this garment, too, up along her arms, wrapping it around her wrists with the t-shirt material. I looked.
I inspected. I marveled at the tiniest pair of breasts I had seen on an adult woman in my entire life. Tiny, twin pointed cones of flesh. Topped with dark, dark brown aureoles that seemed to take up more than two thirds of the breast altogether. Compared to the size of her breasts, her aureoles were huge. They were not huge for a woman of 34 or 36C proportions, but for a woman who most likely sported a pair of 34A breasts, these brown circles were immense. Her nipples were as dark as the fleshy, lumpy circles that surrounded them. What was even more unusual was the length of those nipples. Exceptionally large. Large, even, for a woman with much larger breasts. I laid my pinky finger beside one of them as it swelled and distended. The nipple reached from the tip of my little finger to the first joint – puffy, swollen, hard as a pencil eraser and indented slightly on the very tip. Using my thumbs and forefingers, I took hold of the two nubbins and rolled them back and forth. With a breathy exhalation of, "Oh, shit!" Nancy sat down heavily on the end of the weight bench behind her with about three or four inches of the end of the bench (about twelve inches wide) protruding from under her ass between her legs. As I knelt down to follow her movement, her arms came down behind me and I could feel the material of her t-shirt and bra on the back of my neck.
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It was almost as if I knew what was coming next. She abruptly pulled my face to her chest and I opened my mouth and swallowed one of those tiny cones nearly to the swell of her chest. I immediately began to suck on the aureole, which was surrounded by my mouth, and to flick at the nipple with the tip of my tongue. Lash, lash, lash, lash; my tongue worked at the stiffly swollen nub in my mouth. I pressed down hard with my lips and her breast bulged into my mouth with the aureole almost touching the roof. My other hand tugged, twisted, rolled and pulled at her other nipple and I could feel her breath rushing in and out of her chest under the demands of my mouth and fingers. "Oh, Jesus!" came out more than once as I worked on her deliciously tiny tits. From one to the other, never giving either a rest of more than a minute, I worked my lips and teeth and tongue. Her entire chest and neck were flushed red and I felt her spread her legs under her to more easily accommodate her position on the bench. I was ready for my next onslaught, but was she? We would both find out momentarily. I reached down and put my hands behind her knees, still sucking alternately on her two breasts. I began to slowly lift her knees until it was almost impossible for her to remain upright. She could not retain her balance without pulling my face even tighter against her chest, forcing her nipples deeper into my mouth where they were lovingly punished by my teeth and lips and tongue. She gave up and allowed my hands to slowly lower her back to the bench stretched behind her. Her hands came from behind my head, still wrapped in the t-shirt and bra, and her head ended up just under the bar of the weights on the raised brackets.
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She was panting and I could smell the beginnings of true sexual excitement in the air directly in front of me. Her legs were now being held up, perpendicular to the end of the bench, by my hands at the backs of her knees. Her calves and feet hung down and nearly touched my shoulders. I moved to spread them a bit and she resisted. I whispered to her, "You've come this far, Nancy, don't give up now. I promise I shall not hurt you, and nothing will happen that you don't want to happen. " That appeared to calm her misgivings as she immediately relaxed and my hands opened her knees and thighs to a point even with my shoulders. I looked directly in front of me and slightly down and there was the treasure of the centuries. Her pink, satiny panties were wet. The crotch panel was literally soaked through in the center. And I could swear I saw her pussy lips pulsating with the rapid thud of her heart, right through the panties. Before she could recoup her senses, I bent my head and kissed her directly at the top of her mound, on the edge of her pubic bone, and felt the soft mattress of hair beneath my lips and under the thin covering of her panties. Thank God she has not succumbed to the modern practice of shaving her pudenda. I happen to be an aficionado of full bushes and am terribly disappointed when a woman is bare to the skin where it counts most. I kissed her again and felt her lurch upward with her hips, almost as if by accident, and another "Oh, Jesus!" was blurted out by her mouth.
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I lowered her legs to the point where her knees were over my shoulders and her calves and feet extended behind me and down my back. I kissed her again, just a tiny bit lower, and felt another lurch. I used my hands to move to the waistband of her panties and began to roll them down her hips. I lifted her hips with my hands – with very little effort, I might add; it was obvious I was being helped in this – and the panties moved down to the tops of her thighs. My mouth was still paying homage to her crotch panel and this forced the panties almost fully into my mouth. What I did was open my mouth and suck in the wettest portion of the crotch as I pulled the panties down her thighs in one motion. I stopped at her knees, sucking and tasting the woman in front of me. "My God, what are you doing?" she almost whispered as she raised her head to look. "I'm just enjoying an appetizer, dear thing. And may I say that you are delicious, indeed!" "Oh, Jesus! Oh, Jesus! I never did this. Are you going to…you know…are you going to …" "Eat your pussy?" I finished for her; "Of course I am, dear woman. I am going to devour every inch of that delectable morsel that I see in front of me. " In point of fact, I couldn't really see her pussy because her panties were between her and me. "Really? Hasn't Mike, or anybody else, ever done this? What about in college? Nobody? I can't believe that!" She let her head drop down onto the bench and panted, "No, never; nobody ever did it. One time Kristen and I…" and she stopped dead in her tracks, having just realized what she was going to say.
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"Oh, one time you and Kristen tried it, but it wasn't really good, right?" I asked. "No, no, I mean, I did it to Kristen once in high school; but she chickened out and wouldn't do it to me. I didn't talk to her for a month, remember? But I didn't do anything except kiss her on her pants. She was wet from playing with herself with one of the magazines and we thought we'd try what we saw in the pictures, but I guess we both chickened out. Do you think that was gross or disgusting or weird?" I told her that it was the neatest thing I'd heard her say yet. I told her I often thought about putting my face between Kristen's thighs when I saw her in the summer in her bathing suits in the neighborhood. I also told her that if I had the choice of eating Kristen's pussy and eating hers, it would be hers without a doubt. She asked why and I told her because I knew Kristen shaved hers. I could see it when she used the backyard pool with our kids. It was also obvious, I mentioned, that she did not shave hers. And I liked that. "Oh, I always thought guys liked shaved…down there…I was going to do it with Kristen once, but I chickened out because I was afraid she would cut me or I would cut myself, and how would I explain that to my mom. " I explained that there were some men who did like shaved pussies – and I exaggerated the word as if to show her it was ok to say it. But I was not one of them. I wanted to know that I was tasting a woman, not a girl, when I put my mouth on her.
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So, I thanked her with a series of kisses up and down her thighs and 'thank-you's' murmured into her warm, soft flesh. It didn't take long for me to reach up and remove the panties completely, placing them in my shirt pocket. She looked at that in some alarm and asked what I did that for, and I told her that after today, she may never wish to do this again, and I would need some sort of reminder that it was not a dream. She sighed at that and laid her head back down as my trail of kisses reached her swollen pussy lips and began to lick and suck them with a tender vigor. She worked on getting her hands loose from the confines of the shirt and bra and put them on the back of my head, pressing just a bit into her, and I told her, "Not yet. The time will come when you will need to do that, but for now, let me control things. " She moved them up to the bar above her head and held onto it tightly as I slowly swiped my tongue, flat-sided, from the edge of her anus along the entire length of her clefted lips to the apex of her slit. Her hips rose off the bench and she let out a small shriek with an explosion of breath, and said, "What are you doing to me?" I spoke directly into her pussy hair as I answered, "My dear little girl next door, I am going to make certain that neither you nor your pussy ever forget this afternoon. I am going to wake you and her up to things neither you nor she has ever felt. I am going to wake you and her to the thought that there is more to life and to love than being stuck full of a piece of meat and shoved around until it shrivels and leaves. I am going to show you and her that she has a life of her own. Relax and let me show you what real lovemaking can feel like. This afternoon, dear one, you are a virgin. Relax and let me be your very first. While her next reaction was not one of total submissiveness, it was good enough to signal that I should continue.
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She sighed such a deep sigh, I thought she was expiring right there on the bench. Her entire body went slack and I could feel the pulse in the arteries in her thighs as they pressed against my cheeks. Now, I would make her mine. I spent the next forty minutes or so choreographing a ballet pas de deux, danced by my tongue and her pussy lips and clitoris. They roamed, they jumped, they leaped into each other; they slowed and loved each other; he stroked, then lashed, then sucked her swollen stiffness; and she rewarded him with an explosion of arousal that he had not expected. The juices let down in the climax of the ballet were as deliciously soft and light as any he had ever tasted in his entire life. He searched deep inside the source of that liquid for more…more…more; and devoured it with slurps and licks and satisfied sighs and groans. Nancy's body shook as if with a fever several times during the "ballet" and I realized she had become orgasmic while I was paying attention to the blonde buffet table in front of my mouth. How many times had she reached her peak? I had not counted, but it certainly had been three, at least. I slowed my motions and began to lift my head when she clamped both hands to the back of my skull and slammed my mouth deep into her heated chasm. "Oh, Christ, Ed, one more; one more; please; please, I need one more; I'm gonna explode; do it; do it again!" came out of her mouth in gasping phrases. And I obliged her. I renewed my oral attacks on that swollen set of lips that lay in front of me; and I sucked and nibbled and chewed on the rubbery inner pair, now slick and wet from our combined secretions. I used my lips and teeth to pull those lips outside of their protective warmth and moved my head around, stretching them to their limits and forcing Nancy to groan and arch her body into my face to escape the pressure. Allowing them to snap back into their places, I plunged my tongue deep into the slick crevasse between them and lapped at each and every surface attainable, all the while rolling and tugging her engorged clit with one set of thumb and forefinger.
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And she climbed the canyon wall one more time to release her grip on reality and fall back down, deep down, into the abyss of erotic fulfillment. She came. Her juices on my face and in my beard were light, sweet, delicate – unexpected, really – and I cleaned every drop, every trickle, every rivulet I could find on every surface of her pussy, stomach and thighs. And then I stood and leaned over her to kiss her mouth again, allowing my tongue to show her exactly how she tasted. I was rewarded with a soft, murmuring, "hmmmmmm" into my mouth as I did. When I finally released her, I softly whispered, "See, I told you that you'd need to do that sooner or later. Did you like it?" With that small remark, she began to sob. She cried and put her hands over her face to hide the tears as her small breasts shook with her sobbing. I bent and kissed each of them, sucking them into my mouth and nibbling on her swollen nipples. When I lifted my head, she was looking at me. I asked what she was thinking, and she replied that she had never felt that way before. I asked about orgasms, and she admitted she had only ever had one while masturbating (and that this practice was terribly guilt-producing for her) but had never reached orgasm with her husband. Not that he wasn't tender and loving; but just that it was over so soon, she could not ever reach any plateau that would get her there. I sat down on the floor beside the bench and we talked for a few minutes, to allow her to regain some composure. She finally sat up on the edge of the bench and swiveled to face me.
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I was greeted by a thatch of beautiful blonde hair on her pussy, wet with her previous excitement and my licking, and emanating a most remarkable scent that I could not get enough of. I began to slide my face back between her legs for another course at the buffet, but she pushed me away and said that she was so sensitive right now; she didn't think she could take any more. I spread her thighs as wide as I could and kneeled on the floor between them, pressing my stomach against her slickly-wet pussy and pulling her against me for a kiss. She lifted her legs and wrapped them around my waist as we kissed and I stood up with her fastened to my body. By this time, even a man of my age would be aroused; and I most certainly was. I began to lower her, an inch at a time, without breaking our lip lock. My hands were now under her ass cheeks, cupping her. When I had lowered her some three or four inches, the head of my cock came into contact with the center of her valley through my trousers and she shrieked, "No, Ed! I can't let you do that! We have to stop! Put me down, please!" And I did. I immediately slid her down along my body, rapidly. My cock found the path of least resistance and slid along the length of her slit and through her hair and wound up trapped between our two bodies as I pulled her against me tightly. "God, it feels beautiful, Ed; but I think we have done enough for the day, don't you?" she asked. "No, love; I do not. More than anything, I want to feel the head of my cock slide into that velvety playground where my mouth has just found a home. Would you deny an old man that pleasure?" She giggled again and broke our embrace to walk across the room and gather up her clothing, piece by piece. She was searching for something and I reached into my pocket and lifted her panties (Lauren's, really) out and sniffed at them, then tasted them.
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"Oh, God; I always thought that would be so gross! But just seeing you do that to my pants makes me wet all over again. I have to get the hell out of here before I do something I will certainly regret. " And she turned toward the door to leave. I reached out with one hand and turned her to face me.
In one smooth movement, I slipped my left hand around her waist and my right hand into her crotch where I allowed the thumb to inspect the folds of her pussy opening. She stiffened, but I was already in orbit, and my thumb sunk itself deep into the steaming circle of flesh that was the girl next door. I pushed my mouth against hers and kissed her while my thumb worked on her inner walls, finding that spot on the front wall where that tiny pad of rough skin held the thousand nerve-endings that would trip the switch on her control. I located it, massaged it, and felt her fall apart in my arms. Her blood pressure was probably sky-high at this point and her breath was ragged in her throat. I lifted her against me with my other arm and kissed her deeply as I massaged her into submission. Her body overcame her mind and she nearly cried as she again reached that little death of orgasm when your body is totally past the point of holding back, and she erupted against my hand, wetting it with another discharge from deep, deep within her. She slumped against me as I lowered her to the floor and removed my thumb from her pussy. I gave her the thumb to suck on. She licked it tentatively at first, then opened her mouth and allowed me to insert it and rub it on lips and tongue. "Now, dear; that is what you taste like when you are excited.
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You liked my thumb there, didn't you? It was your first real orgasm. Now, wouldn't you like something a bit longer and thicker stuffed inside there? Wouldn't you like to look into my eyes while I was sliding my thickness inside you? Wouldn't you like to feel so full that you know you are going to burst? Let me love you, dear thing; let me love you," I whispered to her. "How? Where will we do it? I don't want to use your bedroom. It wouldn't be right. " I lifted her again and moved to the bench. I turned toward her and removed my shirt and my Topsiders. I used her hands to unbuckle my belt and urged her to unbutton and unzip my pants. She never took her eyes off what she was doing and I kissed the top of her head and urged her on with small murmurs of love. She opened the pants and the fly and took them by the waist and tugged on them until they fell to my feet. I pushed her away and she stepped back. I flipped my pants aside and kicked my shoes out of the way. She was still staring at my crotch. My cock, though not humongous by any stretch of the imagination, was tenting my Jockeys and I slid them down and off in a matter of seconds. "There, love; take a good look. He is ready for you.
I know you are ready for him. What do you think? Will you like it when he is sunk deep inside your wet little hole? I think you will. " "Oh, Jesus!" again slipped out of her mouth. "Mike is not as fat as you…. I mean your. . your. . thing; not that you're fat," she stammered. I laughed out loud. I told her I knew what she meant and asked about Mike. She said he was just about as long, maybe a half-inch shorter, but my…thing…was at least twice as thick as his. She looked up at me and I actually saw fear in her eyes. "Will it hurt?" I took both her hands in mine and whispered to her, "My little girl next door, if it hurts, it will be the most delicious pain you have ever felt. Come here.
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" And I sat down on the bench and pulled her toward me. I moved her legs so that they were spread apart and helped her to bend her knees and begin to sit down on my lap, facing me. As she sunk slowly downward, I used one hand to bring my cock up to the direct angle where it would meet with the center of her pussy in another three or four inches. As she slowly descended, she looked down at the point of juncture and her breath started to come faster. "Relax, love; relax; it will feel so much better if you do," I told her. She stopped when the head presented itself against her hot lips. I used one hand, wrapped around my shaft, to move the head in circles. I circled around and around, stretching and pulling at her lips and making the surface slick with both her juices and my pre-cum leakings. I found her clit, still engorged and swollen, and flicked it a half-dozen times with the tip of my cock and circled her hidey-hood as well. When I felt the temperature of her pussy lips increase, I knew it was close to the time I would claim her. I held the head directly against her opening and lodged it there. I removed my hand from my cock shaft and used both hands on her breasts, caressing, tweaking, rolling the nipples and finally pinching them rather hard as I humped upward, slipping the fat head between her lips. I could feel her initial resistance disappear and her pussy muscles relax to allow the head to slip inside in one fluid motion. "See, my little girl next door; this is going to be easier than you thought. I'm already in.
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" Her eyes flew wide, because I truly believe she did not realize I was inside her. "Oh, no, you're…" "Fucking you," I finished for her, and used an upward motion of my hips and a downward pull of my hands on her breasts to sink the remaining inches inside her. Tight? Absolutely! Heated? Of course! But something else. I could feel the walls of her pussy chamber sliding along the head and the shaft of my meat. I had never felt anything so lovely. I was in a wet velvet grip and did not ever want to be let go. I let up on my own pressure and she sank down of her own accord until her pussy hair was enmeshed with mine and she was flat against me with not one fraction of my cock shaft still showing. She started to speak and I swear it came out as a purr. "I did it! Jesus Christ, I did it! We're fucking, aren't we Ed? I'm now committing adultery. And I'm loving every minute of it. Are you going to fuck me, Ed? Are you going to come inside me? I could get pregnant, you know. I'm not sure if I should take the chance. "I have a condom around here somewhere, if you'd like me to use it. " I told her. "No, Ed, that is more wrong than fucking you.
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I can't believe I am saying that word; but that is exactly what we are doing, isn't it? Fucking. " "Yes, dear, we are fucking. But I want to hear you say something else. What is it that I have inside of you? What do you call it?" "Oh, c'mon, Ed; don't make me say it. I said 'fucking' and that ought to be enough. " I thrust my hips upward, hitting the back wall of her pussy and she grunted as if someone had hit her in the stomach with their fist. "Did you like that feeling, dear?" I asked. "Oh, God, Ed; do it again. " "Not until you tell me what it is that is making you feel so good. Say it. " "It's your thing. Your penis inside me. " "BUZZZZZ…. wrong answer!" and I started to lift her off me. "No, no, don't! It's your cock! Your cock is in me.
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There, is that better? I said cock. " "Ahhh, yes, my love; my cock is inside you. And it's making you feel good, too, isn't it?" And I moved my hips around in a circle three or four times, watching her hips slide around in that circle, causing friction on her clit and her pussy lips while the head inside her bounced from wall to wall and rubbed each of them. Her entire body went stiff and I thought she was going to cum right then. I stopped my movement and as she calmed down I asked her, "Where is my cock, Nancy girl? What is it inside of? Tell me. " "My pussy; your cock is in my pussy. See, I knew that word. I always thought it was funny that people called it a pussy. I wonder why. " "Because when you stroke her just right, dear thing, she starts to purr. " I told her with another half-dozen hip rotations and thrusts deep into her. My one hand also found her clit, trapped between us, and flicked and tweaked at her, too. Fifteen minutes of this and she was at the threshold. Should I push her over or let her down? I was getting quite close myself and I knew I was leaking quantities of my own juice into her cavity, so I asked, "Well, dear, what about me? Would you like me to wear the condom? Would you like me to pull out at the last minute? If I do, where will I put my deposit? How will you accept my offering?" "No condom. Yes, pull out when you know you are going to … to …" "Cum," I finished for her.
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I agreed to pull out and not cum inside her, but only on one condition. "What's that?" she asked. I told her that I wanted to cum on her breasts. I wanted her to step off me when I was ready and kneel down between my knees and catch my present on her breasts. I told her I loved looking at her breasts and they would be absolutely lovely when I coated them with my own love offering. She started to protest about the size of her breasts when I began to thrust upward into her in a heavy, dedicated rhythm. As I did so, her head lolled back and her hands went to my shoulders, allowing her breasts to approach within inches of my face. I leaned forward a fraction and sucked one into my mouth where I licked and bit at it as I continued to fuck her, now almost brutally. No soft loving here. Now, there was raw passionate sex. I fucked her pussy hard and deliberately. And she came; and again; and again, as I bit her nipples and slammed her body down onto my cock. I knew I was within seconds of my own release and told her it was time. She slowly lifted herself off my cock and watched with bent head as the shaft appeared from out of her sweaty pussy lips, all covered in slime – hers and mine – and listened as the plum-sized head exited with a decided 'plop' sound and with some suction as well. I pushed her backward and she knelt between my legs.
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I took hold of my cock and pointed it down toward her chest. I rubbed the tip on each of her nipples, wetting them, and began to stroke it. She unconsciously lifted a hand to help and I asked her, "Would you like to do it, dear? Would you like to bring me off with your hand?" She didn't answer, but took my cock in her right hand and then her left hand, too, and began to stroke slowly up and down, stretching the shaft skin to its limit on each stroke. I told her that it would not be long and she knelt up straighter, putting her breasts directly in line with my cock. A half-dozen strokes later, I grunted and a thick, ropey string of ejaculate exploded from the end of my cock and splattered directly on her left nipple and aureole, completely obscuring them in a milky white cloud. Two more spurts followed, and as the angle of my cock had changed with her stroking, they landed at two different spots on her breasts and in the narrow valley between. But then something unexpected – though not unwanted on my part – occurred. Her hands were quite slippery by this time with the accumulation of my jism and they slipped off my cock shaft, allowing the head to pop upward on the final two spurts. They landed on her lips and as she opened her mouth to complain, the second one slipped into her mouth and onto her tongue. She immediately sat back on her haunches and began to make a terrible face. I grabbed her face in my hands and bent closely to say, "Lick your lips and swallow, dear girl; I've given you the best of me; now keep it. " She was not going to comply, I could tell; but I leaned in and kissed her full on the mouth, transferring some of my cum to her tongue with mine. I pulled back and whispered, "Now swallow, little girl. " And she did. I saw something behind her eyes as if she was just coming to the realization that she had become a slut this afternoon.
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Before today, she had not even been truly fucked well, and here she was, swallowing the cum of her older next-door neighbor. I swirled one finger around in the cum on her breasts and offered it to her mouth. She never took her eyes off mine, but opened her mouth and sucked the finger clean. I repeated this movement four times until her right breast and chest area were cleared of my liquid. Then, I used the head of my softening but thick cock to swirl around the nipple and aureole of her left breast, coating it with a slick dressing of my juice. I held her under the chin with one hand and offered the cockhead to her mouth with the other. Resistance. I laid the head on her lips and said, "Kiss me, little girl. " And she pursed her lips and did exactly that. I moved the head back and forth, coating her lips, and withdrew a half-inch. She flicked out the tip of her tongue, tasting, and then licked them clean. I again offered the head and she willingly opened her mouth and allowed me to slide the head between her lips and teeth until two or three inches were warmly inside her, resting on her tongue. She closed her lips and I instructed her, "Lick around it, dear; clean it completely; then suck it like it was your favorite lollipop when you were a little girl. Suck me, dear thing. Like I sucked you.
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" It didn't take more than a full minute for her to begin a beautifully innocent session of cocksucking. And I smiled down at her. I told her she was beautiful with a cock in her mouth and asked her how it felt. She let go for an instant and said, "Like warm silk and velvet together. And the taste is not as bad as I thought it would be. I always saw pictures of this when I was a kid, but never thought I would ever do it. Now, it just seems like the right thing to do. I like it. " And she plunged her mouth down on my cock as far as she could go comfortably. As I continued to soften, she added that Mike never stays hard long after they make love. She says sometimes he can't even get hard. I told her that if she really wants to make love some night, and Mike can't, she should try this. I guaranteed that he'd be hard in a minute. She laughed and kissed the end of my cock before standing up. "I really ought to go, Ed; if I don't, I am going to want to do it again.
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I just want you to know that I have never done this, ever, with any man. I never fucked another man except Mike. I never let any other man except Mike touch me anywhere. And I NEVER sucked a cock before, not even Mike's. I'm not a slut, am I, Ed?" she asked. "If you are, Nancy, you're MY little slut and no one else's. Remember that. " She laughed and began to dress. I slipped my pants and shirt on. I kept her panties and we went downstairs to the living room. I offered her a drink and she said iced tea would be great. When I came back in the room, she had her hand inside her wrap skirt and was touching herself. "Can't get enough?" I surprised her. "Oh, shit, Ed; I'm sorry, but my pussy – see I can say it – is like itching, on fire kind of. " I told her that it was definite that she wanted more fucking or something and asked if she ever felt this way before.
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She told me that when she was a teen-ager, and used to make out with the boys after dances, etc. , she sometimes felt this way. That's when she learned about masturbation with Kristen across the street. It helped, she said, but it wasn't like having a cock inside her. I sat across from her and told her that I was going to reveal a secret. She said she liked secrets. I went into some detail about how I used to think about her when she was a teen-ager at Central Catholic High School. I told her that when she would come home from school, I was always upstairs watching her get out of the van that her friend drove so I could see her thighs when she stepped out. I told her that sometimes, when I was downstairs I got a flash of her panties and had to go masturbate to relieve the pressure. I told her that I used to climb up on top of the garage behind Kristen's house at night when I knew they were together. She never knew, I told her, that I could see into Kristen's room and could look into the mirror on the wall and see most of what they were doing. I told her I knew they were looking at porn magazines because I watched them when they touched themselves. I told her that sometimes I masturbated right there on the top of the garage while looking at them. She laughed out loud in the middle of my story and told me she and Kristen always thought I was a dirty old man, and that's why Kristen wore such skimpy bathing suits when she came over to swim. She was teasing you, Ed, she told me.
She said they often wondered what my cock was like, but figured I was too old to "do it" anymore. She said that she knows better now and maybe she would call Kristen, who lives in San Francisco now, and tell her exactly what we'd been doing. I told her that I thought that was a very good idea and maybe Kristen would fly in on the next plane to join us. We both laughed at that. She asked why I was attracted to her, because she knew she was skinny and homely when she was a kid. Assuming my most lecherous "dirty old man" leer, I told her it was the Catholic School uniform. I told her that porn film producers make millions off of models who fuck in their videos while wearing those little green, white and gold plaid jumpers or skirts and white blouses; and the white knee socks and the Mary Jane patent leather shoes were an erotic turn-on. She said she didn't believe me, so I pulled out a video from the collection I have hidden at the back of the shelf alongside the fireplace and popped it into the VCR. I fast-forwarded to the general vicinity of the scene I wanted and hit 'play'…. . Nancy's eyes damn near popped out of her head when she saw the girl in the video. She didn't appear to be much more than 18 or 18 – but we knew she was over 18 – and she was sitting on some guy's cock, who was lying on the floor; her little uniform skirt was spread out around his thighs and her legs were bent under her so she was kneeling on her knee socks, black patent-leather shoes still on her feet. She was facing away from him, towards his feet. Another guy had his cock in her mouth and was absolutely fucking her throat. Her white shirt-blouse was opened down the front and she was holding up two lovely little breasts that had been pulled out of her bra.
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She was pinching the nipples and moaning and groaning around the cock in her mouth. I clicked "stop" and Nancy nearly exploded with, "Jesus Christ! That looked like my daughter there! It could be any of the girls in my school when I was that age; or it could be any of the girls there now. Do men really get excited over stuff like this?" I pointed to my crotch, where my cock was pushing hard against the fabric of my trousers and asked her, "What do you think?" She jumped up from the couch, ran to the front door and hollered back over her shoulder, "Don't go away. Stay right where you are! I'll be right backTo be continued….
