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.
And for me it was the perfect antidote to the incredible frustration I suffered from due to, my husband, Liam’s neglect.
I’d tried before to overcome the frustration. I’d had 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 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 ti. 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 Liam and I had a trial separation. Our first in nearly seventeen 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.
“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.
As, naked, I dried my hair and painted my finger and toe nails with a vivid crimson varnish so I found myself becoming 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 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 put the black lacy tops hold-ups on and admired myself in the mirror. They made my legs look slimmer and longer. I hadn’t bought 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 garment.
Slipping into the black, crepe type of material dress I was mersin escort 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 the strappy black high heeled sandles on, slid way up my thighs to almost my stocking tops.
I was wearing lipstick and I had my hair held up with a few pins that I shuddered about when I imagined you later taking those out and letting my hair fall loose maybe, I wondered over my bare shoulders and naked breasts
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 BMW.
The traffic was welcomingly light down City Road and across town to the Commercial Road and quite quickly I was bombing down the A13 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 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 these wickedly arousing thoughts and running alongside those where my mind imagined what you’d be doing to me in just a couple of hours time were other thoughts. More serious, in some way,considerations. Different and certainly contradictory to those of excitement and adventure. Yes thoughts of my 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 Liam, 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?
I was as I passed through Essex and into Kent thinking, “I’ll stop and turn round, this is madness
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 thinking that you might not be there either through lateness or a sudden turn of heart. 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 the gaze up and down my body in a rather vulgar and suggestive manner. Men out of sight of their wife especially on business 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 Sarah or should I say Amanda or even Mandy,” 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 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 escort mersin 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 one approaches forty 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 generally forty and fifty, balding and greying, paunchy businessmen who it looked would have loved to rip your heart out.
“Did you have a good trip?” You asked getting the conversdation 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 and often more that are older 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.
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 towards you. 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 under the thin crepe material. 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.
So after you’d said. “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. The sight of my stocking tops probably thus 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 Amanda this is incredible,” you breathed as we stood hand in hand waiting for the lift. “I’ve never been with a girl in an 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 mannered 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, a false love affair, surrogate sex and so many enormously mersin escort bayan 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 answered concerns, 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.
“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 Mandy, 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 as if you were 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 my 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 my skirt upwards.
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.