Yahoo allows you have a "signature" added to the bottom of all your messages. These are six of mine, of my own composing, that I've used over the years. I rather like them!
"Nuthin' since I retired 'cept sex and washin' up!"
"A woman's nipples are nature's Viagra....they do it for me anyway!"
"A dirty mind in a man is natural : a dirty mind in a woman is BEAUTIFUL"
"If I 'ad tits I'd be forever gropin' me!"
"age we may - but the lust? - it fadeth not - I pray"
Thongs: "They're uncomfortable, they're invasive, they're irritating, and they're just plain hornifying (that's an 'r' and an 'n'...not two> r's)."
Quoting Rose
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
"Labour of Love"
"Labour of Love"
by Julius
Copyright January 2008
Washing her underwear always stirred him wonderfully.
He’d fill the sink with hand-warm water, add a squirt of hand soap and pick up the garments.
He loved handling the hard-worked bra and the sluttish garter belt, feeling the caress of her stockings.
It was thongs that really turned his crank. God, but her thongs got to him! The little triangle that nearly covered hers, the strap that led back between her legs, violating her.
***
She’d often pull her thong aside and he’d fuck her while it chaffed his cock.
***
Then, the thong had special significance for him. The moisture-darkened fabric, the wetness that was theirs.
His fingers would lovingly toy with the crotch in the soapy water...
Two rinses and he’d hang it all in the laundry room to dry.
A day later he’d retrieve them. Breastless bra, empty hose, pussyless panties, laid out on the bed as if she were wearing them. She loved that little ritual offering.
All the while his cock would stir, eager for the next time.
Next time he’d nuzzle her pussy through another cruelly tight thong, then fuck her.
And, get to do her laundry again.
by Julius
Copyright January 2008
Washing her underwear always stirred him wonderfully.
He’d fill the sink with hand-warm water, add a squirt of hand soap and pick up the garments.
He loved handling the hard-worked bra and the sluttish garter belt, feeling the caress of her stockings.
It was thongs that really turned his crank. God, but her thongs got to him! The little triangle that nearly covered hers, the strap that led back between her legs, violating her.
***
She’d often pull her thong aside and he’d fuck her while it chaffed his cock.
***
Then, the thong had special significance for him. The moisture-darkened fabric, the wetness that was theirs.
His fingers would lovingly toy with the crotch in the soapy water...
Two rinses and he’d hang it all in the laundry room to dry.
A day later he’d retrieve them. Breastless bra, empty hose, pussyless panties, laid out on the bed as if she were wearing them. She loved that little ritual offering.
All the while his cock would stir, eager for the next time.
Next time he’d nuzzle her pussy through another cruelly tight thong, then fuck her.
And, get to do her laundry again.
Monday, November 10, 2008
"Lefty and Toffee"
With the posting of this story, I've moved all the 25 entries from my earlier blog which was called "Erotiquillyours".
Now I start adding new ones. .................................
"Lefty and Toffee"
by Julius
Copyright 2004
Doesn't seem a long time ago to me. But time's a relative thing, as Einstein said. Back then, all of us mechanics could remember when ALL airliners had propellers.
Prop-planes suddenly became old fashioned and the corporate image makers had to be seen to be at the cutting edge.
(Thirty years later the long-suffering public would be getting packed into whining little bug smashers. But then the new generations don't know any different do they?)
Perhaps the disappearance of the propeller was the nudge Lefty had needed.
Lefty was retiring. Impossible, he was part of the hangar. He'd made the magic eighty-one points of age plus service and was hanging up his wrenches. "Movin' west to live with that lad of mine," he'd told me happily.
Somebody suggested a going away bash for Lefty and the lunchroom discussed it. He'd said 'no' to a big party and seemed firm on that. So we decided on beer and pizzas at the hangar. Lefty loved both. Plans went ahead.
Lefty was a great eater. He loved his food. When the 'overseas' DC-8 got in from London, the chocolate cake in the first class galley was always a target, that and the cheese plate. Aircraft mechanics are awful vultures really. Whoever scooped the cake would smuggle it back to the hangar and the troops would do it justice. Unless, that was, Lefty got to it. Lefty could, and did, eat a whole chocolate cake from time to time.
His age was a bit in doubt. He'd flown Hurricanes and Thunderbolts against the Japs in Burma. He was a bit of a legend was Lefty. Eyesight not so good, so we tried to keep him away from doing walk-arounds. It was good that he never found anything, but you never know, he might miss something that was missing that was important.
He'd attained a sort of mascot status with us.
In due course, we settled on the date. The next week would be the last day-shifts for Lefty. That Thursday afternoon, we'd stock the lunchroom fridge with beer and order in the pizzas.
Then the conversation turned to Lefty and stews, as we called flight attendants. He seemed to have a way with them. They liked Lefty. They flirted with him and he flirted with them. One of those guys who love women, whom women love. He must have been a tiger in his day, must Lefty.
And of course in time somebody said it, "Why don't we get a girl from Ada's for Lefty on the day?"
Ada's? Ada ran a brothel it was said. Everybody seemed to know somebody who knew somebody who'd enjoyed Ada's place's services. We got a good laugh out of that idea.
The Thursday came and Lefty was hauled to the lunchroom. The pizzas had arrived. Beers were opened. The on-duty guys drank pop and kept an ear on the radio, hoping the incoming aircraft would respect Lefty's retirement.
We sat and listened to Lefty's tales of during and since WW2. A few were bored perhaps but most realised we'd not hear the stories again.
The door buzzer sounded, someone wanting to get in. Dick got up to answer it and returned grinning from ear to ear. He had Ada's girl in tow. What a girl!
"Hi!" she said softly to a silent and gaping bunch of mechanics, "I'm Toffee, where's Lefty?"
Lefty was dragged forward and Toffee took his hand. They were led to the old Flight-crew Rest Room and the remainder of us sat down to drink beer and advance theories as to Lefty's fate.
We'd all seen Toffee! Tall and what was once called buxom. Speculation spiralled as to what would happen to Lefty between those big, big tits and those long, long legs. Would he survive the hour? How would we explain his demise? Guesses grew wilder and wickeder as the hour peeled slowly away.
On the dot Toffee appeared in the doorway. She wore black stockings and garter belt .... and a smile.
"Lefty says to say 'Hi,' and could you guys praps have a whip round for another fifty bucks for him?"
We managed it, just, and the most beautiful ass atop the longest legs wiggled away round the corner. We heard a feminine giggle and a door slammed.
As the soberest guy, I was chosen to drive Toffee into town. I wasn't the safest driver that evening. My eyes spent much time peeking at those jutting breasts and endless thighs. I didn't care about the dark roots or the crows feet. We talked, about many things. I'd have driven forever.
Lefty? He survived, took his last paycheck and joined his son and daughter-in-law in Calgary.
The years slipped by and the rest of us began retiring too.
When my turn came I got no party. Toffee made them give me a clock ... she didn't trust aircraft mechanics. Not one little bit.
* * * *
Author's note: Fact? There was a Lefty, a Cape Bretoner who did fly in Burma in WW2. I did work with him. The incident? True also, although it happened to a different mechanic, at the same place.
A poignant postscript too: Shortly after I wrote this story a B747 Freighter crashed at Halifax Intrn'l Airport where my little story happened. All the crew dead. Makes you catch your breath somehow.
Now I start adding new ones. .................................
"Lefty and Toffee"
by Julius
Copyright 2004
Doesn't seem a long time ago to me. But time's a relative thing, as Einstein said. Back then, all of us mechanics could remember when ALL airliners had propellers.
Prop-planes suddenly became old fashioned and the corporate image makers had to be seen to be at the cutting edge.
(Thirty years later the long-suffering public would be getting packed into whining little bug smashers. But then the new generations don't know any different do they?)
Perhaps the disappearance of the propeller was the nudge Lefty had needed.
Lefty was retiring. Impossible, he was part of the hangar. He'd made the magic eighty-one points of age plus service and was hanging up his wrenches. "Movin' west to live with that lad of mine," he'd told me happily.
Somebody suggested a going away bash for Lefty and the lunchroom discussed it. He'd said 'no' to a big party and seemed firm on that. So we decided on beer and pizzas at the hangar. Lefty loved both. Plans went ahead.
Lefty was a great eater. He loved his food. When the 'overseas' DC-8 got in from London, the chocolate cake in the first class galley was always a target, that and the cheese plate. Aircraft mechanics are awful vultures really. Whoever scooped the cake would smuggle it back to the hangar and the troops would do it justice. Unless, that was, Lefty got to it. Lefty could, and did, eat a whole chocolate cake from time to time.
His age was a bit in doubt. He'd flown Hurricanes and Thunderbolts against the Japs in Burma. He was a bit of a legend was Lefty. Eyesight not so good, so we tried to keep him away from doing walk-arounds. It was good that he never found anything, but you never know, he might miss something that was missing that was important.
He'd attained a sort of mascot status with us.
In due course, we settled on the date. The next week would be the last day-shifts for Lefty. That Thursday afternoon, we'd stock the lunchroom fridge with beer and order in the pizzas.
Then the conversation turned to Lefty and stews, as we called flight attendants. He seemed to have a way with them. They liked Lefty. They flirted with him and he flirted with them. One of those guys who love women, whom women love. He must have been a tiger in his day, must Lefty.
And of course in time somebody said it, "Why don't we get a girl from Ada's for Lefty on the day?"
Ada's? Ada ran a brothel it was said. Everybody seemed to know somebody who knew somebody who'd enjoyed Ada's place's services. We got a good laugh out of that idea.
The Thursday came and Lefty was hauled to the lunchroom. The pizzas had arrived. Beers were opened. The on-duty guys drank pop and kept an ear on the radio, hoping the incoming aircraft would respect Lefty's retirement.
We sat and listened to Lefty's tales of during and since WW2. A few were bored perhaps but most realised we'd not hear the stories again.
The door buzzer sounded, someone wanting to get in. Dick got up to answer it and returned grinning from ear to ear. He had Ada's girl in tow. What a girl!
"Hi!" she said softly to a silent and gaping bunch of mechanics, "I'm Toffee, where's Lefty?"
Lefty was dragged forward and Toffee took his hand. They were led to the old Flight-crew Rest Room and the remainder of us sat down to drink beer and advance theories as to Lefty's fate.
We'd all seen Toffee! Tall and what was once called buxom. Speculation spiralled as to what would happen to Lefty between those big, big tits and those long, long legs. Would he survive the hour? How would we explain his demise? Guesses grew wilder and wickeder as the hour peeled slowly away.
On the dot Toffee appeared in the doorway. She wore black stockings and garter belt .... and a smile.
"Lefty says to say 'Hi,' and could you guys praps have a whip round for another fifty bucks for him?"
We managed it, just, and the most beautiful ass atop the longest legs wiggled away round the corner. We heard a feminine giggle and a door slammed.
As the soberest guy, I was chosen to drive Toffee into town. I wasn't the safest driver that evening. My eyes spent much time peeking at those jutting breasts and endless thighs. I didn't care about the dark roots or the crows feet. We talked, about many things. I'd have driven forever.
Lefty? He survived, took his last paycheck and joined his son and daughter-in-law in Calgary.
The years slipped by and the rest of us began retiring too.
When my turn came I got no party. Toffee made them give me a clock ... she didn't trust aircraft mechanics. Not one little bit.
* * * *
Author's note: Fact? There was a Lefty, a Cape Bretoner who did fly in Burma in WW2. I did work with him. The incident? True also, although it happened to a different mechanic, at the same place.
A poignant postscript too: Shortly after I wrote this story a B747 Freighter crashed at Halifax Intrn'l Airport where my little story happened. All the crew dead. Makes you catch your breath somehow.
"Broad Fitting"
The title I liked, perfect I thought, until my Lady pointed out that perhaps it's a little too 'English' for the bulk of my hoped for readers. It's a term used in shoe shops but not common over here on the west side of 'the pond'. But, I left it as was.
"Broad Fitting"
by Julius
Copyright 2002
A shoe store! Working in a shoe store at his age! Who'd have thought it? Well, if the down-sizing cuts deep enough, no one's immune. Then his wife had found a smart expensive suit with a handsome, young lawyer inside it. So, in no time at all he was jobless, wifeless and now, working in a shoe store. If it weren't for bad luck etc.
When Janine walked in he didn't know whether to hug or to hide. He compromised and shyly shook her hand. Janine, of great beauty and poise and of no fixed age. As a vice president's secretary she'd survived. They don't fire people who know as much about a business as Janine.
She didn't want shoes, she'd glanced into the shop and seen him. She asked how he was and, noticing the manager's gaze, said softly to John, "Let's pretend," and moved to a seat.
They went through the moves. She sat on the chair and he brought a pair of patent heels and sat on the stool. She slipped off a shoe and rested her foot on the sloped section. The phone rang and off went his boss into the back office.
Janine brought him up to date on office gossip and he pretended all his troubles were little ones and they laughed quietly together.
Everybody in that big office had been in love with Janine. When she passed, all the guys followed her with their eyes. Sophisticated and always perfectly turned out, her clothes, her make-up, her poise, her walk ... she seemed flawless somehow. Yet even the other office girls got along with her. She was much discussed of course by the male staff. Her age was anybody's guess, nearer fifty than thirty, or was she? Janine the Ice Maiden, well no, not really but her poise, efficiency and the company policy on fraternising made her seem remote, unattainable. Nobody seemed to know where she lived. Janine just was. She was really only a secretary but he and everybody else secretly thought she ran the company. Now here he was, holding her ankle!
She talked and laughed that deep laugh of hers. He listened and made responses but had no idea later what they had said. He was wrapped in her aura. Her perfume, faint and subtle enveloped him. Her nylon clad knees, inches from his face, hypnotised him. Spellbound was suddenly a very real word for John. The talk and the shoe trying went on. Slowly he came out of his dream state. He was enjoying the encounter by now and heard her ask, "When do you finish here?"
He told her and she said she had a pile of things to do and that maybe they could grab a bite to eat when the shop closed. Janine was asking him! If he'd had a tail he'd have wagged it.
"See you later," she said and stood and slipped her foot into her own shoe and walked away. He sat, staring after her, watching that perfect walk. He could hear the whisper of nyloned leg against nyloned leg with every step.
'Janine, well fancy that, Janine' he kept saying to himself. She'd been one of the delights of working in that office. Skirts always to just below the knee, jacket always buttoned just so and a white froth of lace hiding her cleavage. The way she filled those jackets, she just had to have a wonderful cleavage. The perfectly fitting skirts told of wide hips and long thighs. A big girl Janine, but always so beautifully dressed. Grey-shot chestnut hair usually in a short shiny ponytail. And her eyes, oh her dark brown eyes, you could drown in those eyes. A beauty was Janine, a beauty and she'd dropped in to see him! He wandered about the shop like a lost teenager. A teenager, he smiled to himself, the two of them could likely manage a century between them!
She thought about him as she walked through the mall. The only guy in that whole office that hadn't tried to make it with her. Oddly, the only one she'd really liked. Much marital good his faithfulness had done him! His wife left him after they'd eased him out the door. Now they'd got rid of Janine too. She'd not told John about that, she was still too much in shock. But it was good to see him. He still looked good and wore the same cologne. Still got tongue tied when she got too close to him. But his hands on her ankles, his breath on her knee had triggered something in her. She walked around, window shopping in the mall, for a while and thought some more about him. Janine had got herself a little turned on by the time she phoned him. She did it just for the fun of making him squirm. And it worked, squirm he did.
She called from the phone opposite the shoe store. He'd answered, little realising that she was only thirty feet away. She rather surprised herself by saying, "When you were sitting in front of me just now I suddenly wanted you to touch me, isn't that crazy?" He gave a little gasp which she heard over the phone."Do you realize that I'm standing here rubbing my knees together thinking about you?"
She'd said it to surprise him but realised that she had started doing just that. She was rubbing her legs together, enjoying the soft rasp of nylon against nylon.
From where she stood she saw him shift uncomfortably. Then he glanced around and reached into his pants. She'd made him hard! She'd made poor John hard over the phone. She couldn't resist and whispered, "John I saw you do that." He looked up and across the the mall. The shock of seeing her there registered on hisface. She saw his blush and added, "That's about theway I feel too." She blew him a kiss.
She looked left and right, nobody close. In the nearby stores everyone was either busy or browsing. She caught the phone between ear and shoulder, reached down, grabbed the hem of her skirt and slowly lifted it. Knees, thighs, she watched her reflection in a window close by and as soon as she saw the white of her panties she paused, held the pose for long seconds and then dropped the hem. She didn't believe it, 'icy Janine' was flashing a man in a public place. It felt wonderful! John's mouth was open a little and she could hear his breathing. She hung up, gave him a little wave and walked away towards the coffee shop.
She sat and sipped a too-bitter coffee and thought about John. Thought about him getting erect when she teased him on the phone. Wondered about how he looked without clothes. He was tall and carrying his years well. Then she started wondering about that cock he'd had to adjust, was he trimmed or not, big or average. Her Brian had been dead four months now and she'd been alone in a big bed ever since.
Maybe she'd already decided when she phoned him but now, as she drained her coffee, she ran the phrase through her head, 'Janine was going to seduce John.' A gentle glow had started when he had sat down in front of her. Now the glow seemed to intensify and she squeezed her thighs together. For God's sake! She was feeling horny and it felt beautiful. The waitress came by and refilled her cup, smiled and walked away. Now alone in the place, Janine reached down and slid her fingers up under her skirt, soon a damp Janine was a very wet Janine. She forced her hand to be still, knowing her orgasms were too noisy, too violent for public performance. Her heart rate was off the clock and she was breathing hard. How was she going to wait until five o'clock? She got both hands, one wet, both trembling, around her cup and waited for her body to come back to earth.
One thing was for sure, she wasn't going to suffer alone during the wait! She got up and headed for the washroom and locked herself in a stall and wriggled out of her soaked panties.
Walking back to the shoe shop, the feel of cool air exploring her dampness only served to remind her of why she was damp. She felt as if the word 'horny' was flashing over her head.
It was ten-thirty when she dropped by the store. He was serving a customer. She reached around him and pushed the crumpled, little wet ball into his shirtpocket and walked out with a quick backward smile at him.
When he'd finished serving he headed into the storeroom and fished in his pocket. Her panties, they were white and wet. A mix of her perfume and her musky femininity seemed to fill the air. He was stiff in a moment. Unable to resist he pressed the scrap of fabric to his nose and he ached for her. A picture formed in his mind of her, panty-less under that dark blue skirt.
A day of escalating surprises for John. The warm closeness of those knees, the wonderfully shocking phone call and now this. Dear God! He couldn't remember being this aroused in forever. He gentlyunfolded the damp delight and held it between hooked forefingers. White cotton panties, tiny things, two little triangles really. They seemed to still have her warmth. He very nearly came right then and there, just looking at them.
The next time the phone rang he was right beside it. It was noon and of course the call was from her, "Just having some lunch at the food court," she said. "I hate creasing my skirt so I'm sitting bare assed on this seat and the plastic's cold!" He groaned, she laughed softly, "I just thought you should know."
She'd done it quite deliberately, calling him on her cell-phone. A 'handy-wipe' from her purse to wipe the round, plastic seat of the stool. She'd flicked her skirt up at the back and sat down on the bare cold plastic. "So here I sit John, my bare ass and bare thighs on this seat, eating fries and drinking Coke. What are you doing?"
His answer was out before he could think, "I'm standing here wishing I was that plastic stool, dammit."
"Be patient John," she purred and switched the phone off. She couldn't believe she'd done it. When she'd left home that morning there was not a thought of anything but a few errands. She'd barely got up the energy to even dress properly and here she was flirting outrageously with this man that she barely knew.
Fifty yards away John tried to get his head together. Yet another erection was subsiding. He couldn't help his reactions. Janine's voice, the things she'd said, the pictures in his head. He could just picture one of those round yellow stools and her ample, warm ass, bare-naked and perched on it, sweet and soft. Five o'clock seemed forever away.
The phone rang in the shop perhaps six times during the afternoon and not once was it her. He almost began to hate her. He began to wonder if she really was going to be there at five o'clock. He'd seen her everyday at the office for years and had really known nothing about her except her beauty and her quiet efficiency. It seemed impossible that this temptress was the same woman.
Business had been slow all day and at four-thirty the boss began cashing up. At ten to five he said he'd things to do and handed John the keys. The girl who was the other assistant watched the manager out of sight and said she might as well slip away too. He began closing up and was sliding the folding windows across when he heard heels clicking down the nearly deserted mall. Janine!
"You weren't leaving early I hope," she said, slipping in through the gap in the windows. She walked to the rear of the store and sat in the same chair she'd sat in that morning.
He closed the gap and dropped the latch. He glanced towards her. She looked over her shoulder and smiled,"Well, are you going to sell me some shoes?" He walked around the shoe displays and stood facing her, looking towards the front of the store. The displays were between them and the mall but he still felt a little exposed. She leaned forward, reaching out to touch him, fingers seeking his zipper. "It's been a long day," she said softly, it was half question, half statement. He agreed that it had been a long day. He heard, felt the zipper as it buzzed slowly down. Her gentle hand was in his pants and she eased hiserection out around his briefs, out of his pants in moments. He groaned at her touch, looking down at her hands around his cock. "He's beautiful," she whispered.
"He's desperate," he groaned.
"I know how he feels," she said and bent him painfully down and kissed his cock-head loudly. She ran her long-fingered hands up and down his length, once, twice, her nails a wicked red and he almost lost it, his legs were trembling. "Sit down," she urged him. He obediently sat on the stool.
She kicked off her shoes and began to play with his cock with her feet. His shirt kept getting in her way and she sat forward and unbuttoned it, staring all the while at his cock which kept lifting away from his belly in time with the beat of his heart. She leaned back again and began rolling his cock from side to side between her foot and his stomach. The sight of her nylon clad toes moving his cock like that was erotic beyond belief. It was only a matter of time before he came if she didn't stop.
She didn't stop and he gasped suddenly and went rigid. His cock pumped once, twice and then again, spurts gradually becoming trickles. Her foot kept rolling his cock and it kept trying to come. She continued sliding it back and forth across his come-slick belly with her nylon covered toes. He had to beg her to stop. She could smell him, a clean sharp, almost bleach like scent. She licked her lips, wishing.
She eased herself forward on the seat. Her skirt must be wet at the back but she didn't really care. She moved her knees apart and slid her skirt up her thighs. He'd have expected her to be neatly shaved somehow but she wasn't. She was a mass of dark brown curls. He tried to imagine the tiny white panties nestled in that riot of fur. She glistened wetly at its centre, the hair there, was in wet swirls. She opened her legs yet wider, one of her hip joints clicked. She ran her left hand down through her bush, long fingers combing through it. "Well?" she whispered her eyes challenging his when he glanced up, "see something you'd like?"
She was desperate for pleasuring, her body screamed for his fingers, his tongue but she waited. Waited, watching his hunger for her, his torment. His erection had begun to subside but not, she guessed, his wanting.
She opened herself by spreading two of her fingers, she was every wet shade of pink inside.
"Maybe you can check my size?" She reached out and touched his cockhead with nyloned toes,
"then we can find something that would fit?"
"Broad Fitting"
by Julius
Copyright 2002
A shoe store! Working in a shoe store at his age! Who'd have thought it? Well, if the down-sizing cuts deep enough, no one's immune. Then his wife had found a smart expensive suit with a handsome, young lawyer inside it. So, in no time at all he was jobless, wifeless and now, working in a shoe store. If it weren't for bad luck etc.
When Janine walked in he didn't know whether to hug or to hide. He compromised and shyly shook her hand. Janine, of great beauty and poise and of no fixed age. As a vice president's secretary she'd survived. They don't fire people who know as much about a business as Janine.
She didn't want shoes, she'd glanced into the shop and seen him. She asked how he was and, noticing the manager's gaze, said softly to John, "Let's pretend," and moved to a seat.
They went through the moves. She sat on the chair and he brought a pair of patent heels and sat on the stool. She slipped off a shoe and rested her foot on the sloped section. The phone rang and off went his boss into the back office.
Janine brought him up to date on office gossip and he pretended all his troubles were little ones and they laughed quietly together.
Everybody in that big office had been in love with Janine. When she passed, all the guys followed her with their eyes. Sophisticated and always perfectly turned out, her clothes, her make-up, her poise, her walk ... she seemed flawless somehow. Yet even the other office girls got along with her. She was much discussed of course by the male staff. Her age was anybody's guess, nearer fifty than thirty, or was she? Janine the Ice Maiden, well no, not really but her poise, efficiency and the company policy on fraternising made her seem remote, unattainable. Nobody seemed to know where she lived. Janine just was. She was really only a secretary but he and everybody else secretly thought she ran the company. Now here he was, holding her ankle!
She talked and laughed that deep laugh of hers. He listened and made responses but had no idea later what they had said. He was wrapped in her aura. Her perfume, faint and subtle enveloped him. Her nylon clad knees, inches from his face, hypnotised him. Spellbound was suddenly a very real word for John. The talk and the shoe trying went on. Slowly he came out of his dream state. He was enjoying the encounter by now and heard her ask, "When do you finish here?"
He told her and she said she had a pile of things to do and that maybe they could grab a bite to eat when the shop closed. Janine was asking him! If he'd had a tail he'd have wagged it.
"See you later," she said and stood and slipped her foot into her own shoe and walked away. He sat, staring after her, watching that perfect walk. He could hear the whisper of nyloned leg against nyloned leg with every step.
'Janine, well fancy that, Janine' he kept saying to himself. She'd been one of the delights of working in that office. Skirts always to just below the knee, jacket always buttoned just so and a white froth of lace hiding her cleavage. The way she filled those jackets, she just had to have a wonderful cleavage. The perfectly fitting skirts told of wide hips and long thighs. A big girl Janine, but always so beautifully dressed. Grey-shot chestnut hair usually in a short shiny ponytail. And her eyes, oh her dark brown eyes, you could drown in those eyes. A beauty was Janine, a beauty and she'd dropped in to see him! He wandered about the shop like a lost teenager. A teenager, he smiled to himself, the two of them could likely manage a century between them!
She thought about him as she walked through the mall. The only guy in that whole office that hadn't tried to make it with her. Oddly, the only one she'd really liked. Much marital good his faithfulness had done him! His wife left him after they'd eased him out the door. Now they'd got rid of Janine too. She'd not told John about that, she was still too much in shock. But it was good to see him. He still looked good and wore the same cologne. Still got tongue tied when she got too close to him. But his hands on her ankles, his breath on her knee had triggered something in her. She walked around, window shopping in the mall, for a while and thought some more about him. Janine had got herself a little turned on by the time she phoned him. She did it just for the fun of making him squirm. And it worked, squirm he did.
She called from the phone opposite the shoe store. He'd answered, little realising that she was only thirty feet away. She rather surprised herself by saying, "When you were sitting in front of me just now I suddenly wanted you to touch me, isn't that crazy?" He gave a little gasp which she heard over the phone."Do you realize that I'm standing here rubbing my knees together thinking about you?"
She'd said it to surprise him but realised that she had started doing just that. She was rubbing her legs together, enjoying the soft rasp of nylon against nylon.
From where she stood she saw him shift uncomfortably. Then he glanced around and reached into his pants. She'd made him hard! She'd made poor John hard over the phone. She couldn't resist and whispered, "John I saw you do that." He looked up and across the the mall. The shock of seeing her there registered on hisface. She saw his blush and added, "That's about theway I feel too." She blew him a kiss.
She looked left and right, nobody close. In the nearby stores everyone was either busy or browsing. She caught the phone between ear and shoulder, reached down, grabbed the hem of her skirt and slowly lifted it. Knees, thighs, she watched her reflection in a window close by and as soon as she saw the white of her panties she paused, held the pose for long seconds and then dropped the hem. She didn't believe it, 'icy Janine' was flashing a man in a public place. It felt wonderful! John's mouth was open a little and she could hear his breathing. She hung up, gave him a little wave and walked away towards the coffee shop.
She sat and sipped a too-bitter coffee and thought about John. Thought about him getting erect when she teased him on the phone. Wondered about how he looked without clothes. He was tall and carrying his years well. Then she started wondering about that cock he'd had to adjust, was he trimmed or not, big or average. Her Brian had been dead four months now and she'd been alone in a big bed ever since.
Maybe she'd already decided when she phoned him but now, as she drained her coffee, she ran the phrase through her head, 'Janine was going to seduce John.' A gentle glow had started when he had sat down in front of her. Now the glow seemed to intensify and she squeezed her thighs together. For God's sake! She was feeling horny and it felt beautiful. The waitress came by and refilled her cup, smiled and walked away. Now alone in the place, Janine reached down and slid her fingers up under her skirt, soon a damp Janine was a very wet Janine. She forced her hand to be still, knowing her orgasms were too noisy, too violent for public performance. Her heart rate was off the clock and she was breathing hard. How was she going to wait until five o'clock? She got both hands, one wet, both trembling, around her cup and waited for her body to come back to earth.
One thing was for sure, she wasn't going to suffer alone during the wait! She got up and headed for the washroom and locked herself in a stall and wriggled out of her soaked panties.
Walking back to the shoe shop, the feel of cool air exploring her dampness only served to remind her of why she was damp. She felt as if the word 'horny' was flashing over her head.
It was ten-thirty when she dropped by the store. He was serving a customer. She reached around him and pushed the crumpled, little wet ball into his shirtpocket and walked out with a quick backward smile at him.
When he'd finished serving he headed into the storeroom and fished in his pocket. Her panties, they were white and wet. A mix of her perfume and her musky femininity seemed to fill the air. He was stiff in a moment. Unable to resist he pressed the scrap of fabric to his nose and he ached for her. A picture formed in his mind of her, panty-less under that dark blue skirt.
A day of escalating surprises for John. The warm closeness of those knees, the wonderfully shocking phone call and now this. Dear God! He couldn't remember being this aroused in forever. He gentlyunfolded the damp delight and held it between hooked forefingers. White cotton panties, tiny things, two little triangles really. They seemed to still have her warmth. He very nearly came right then and there, just looking at them.
The next time the phone rang he was right beside it. It was noon and of course the call was from her, "Just having some lunch at the food court," she said. "I hate creasing my skirt so I'm sitting bare assed on this seat and the plastic's cold!" He groaned, she laughed softly, "I just thought you should know."
She'd done it quite deliberately, calling him on her cell-phone. A 'handy-wipe' from her purse to wipe the round, plastic seat of the stool. She'd flicked her skirt up at the back and sat down on the bare cold plastic. "So here I sit John, my bare ass and bare thighs on this seat, eating fries and drinking Coke. What are you doing?"
His answer was out before he could think, "I'm standing here wishing I was that plastic stool, dammit."
"Be patient John," she purred and switched the phone off. She couldn't believe she'd done it. When she'd left home that morning there was not a thought of anything but a few errands. She'd barely got up the energy to even dress properly and here she was flirting outrageously with this man that she barely knew.
Fifty yards away John tried to get his head together. Yet another erection was subsiding. He couldn't help his reactions. Janine's voice, the things she'd said, the pictures in his head. He could just picture one of those round yellow stools and her ample, warm ass, bare-naked and perched on it, sweet and soft. Five o'clock seemed forever away.
The phone rang in the shop perhaps six times during the afternoon and not once was it her. He almost began to hate her. He began to wonder if she really was going to be there at five o'clock. He'd seen her everyday at the office for years and had really known nothing about her except her beauty and her quiet efficiency. It seemed impossible that this temptress was the same woman.
Business had been slow all day and at four-thirty the boss began cashing up. At ten to five he said he'd things to do and handed John the keys. The girl who was the other assistant watched the manager out of sight and said she might as well slip away too. He began closing up and was sliding the folding windows across when he heard heels clicking down the nearly deserted mall. Janine!
"You weren't leaving early I hope," she said, slipping in through the gap in the windows. She walked to the rear of the store and sat in the same chair she'd sat in that morning.
He closed the gap and dropped the latch. He glanced towards her. She looked over her shoulder and smiled,"Well, are you going to sell me some shoes?" He walked around the shoe displays and stood facing her, looking towards the front of the store. The displays were between them and the mall but he still felt a little exposed. She leaned forward, reaching out to touch him, fingers seeking his zipper. "It's been a long day," she said softly, it was half question, half statement. He agreed that it had been a long day. He heard, felt the zipper as it buzzed slowly down. Her gentle hand was in his pants and she eased hiserection out around his briefs, out of his pants in moments. He groaned at her touch, looking down at her hands around his cock. "He's beautiful," she whispered.
"He's desperate," he groaned.
"I know how he feels," she said and bent him painfully down and kissed his cock-head loudly. She ran her long-fingered hands up and down his length, once, twice, her nails a wicked red and he almost lost it, his legs were trembling. "Sit down," she urged him. He obediently sat on the stool.
She kicked off her shoes and began to play with his cock with her feet. His shirt kept getting in her way and she sat forward and unbuttoned it, staring all the while at his cock which kept lifting away from his belly in time with the beat of his heart. She leaned back again and began rolling his cock from side to side between her foot and his stomach. The sight of her nylon clad toes moving his cock like that was erotic beyond belief. It was only a matter of time before he came if she didn't stop.
She didn't stop and he gasped suddenly and went rigid. His cock pumped once, twice and then again, spurts gradually becoming trickles. Her foot kept rolling his cock and it kept trying to come. She continued sliding it back and forth across his come-slick belly with her nylon covered toes. He had to beg her to stop. She could smell him, a clean sharp, almost bleach like scent. She licked her lips, wishing.
She eased herself forward on the seat. Her skirt must be wet at the back but she didn't really care. She moved her knees apart and slid her skirt up her thighs. He'd have expected her to be neatly shaved somehow but she wasn't. She was a mass of dark brown curls. He tried to imagine the tiny white panties nestled in that riot of fur. She glistened wetly at its centre, the hair there, was in wet swirls. She opened her legs yet wider, one of her hip joints clicked. She ran her left hand down through her bush, long fingers combing through it. "Well?" she whispered her eyes challenging his when he glanced up, "see something you'd like?"
She was desperate for pleasuring, her body screamed for his fingers, his tongue but she waited. Waited, watching his hunger for her, his torment. His erection had begun to subside but not, she guessed, his wanting.
She opened herself by spreading two of her fingers, she was every wet shade of pink inside.
"Maybe you can check my size?" She reached out and touched his cockhead with nyloned toes,
"then we can find something that would fit?"
Sunday, November 9, 2008
"Washday With Wendy" Part 2
Oops! As you can see, Parts 1 & 2 are in the reverse order, so please scroll down to Part 1 and begin at the beginning! Sorry about that ..............
Paul turned and put his cupped hands under her breasts and took some of their weight. He glanced down at the heavy fullness of her, "How could I leave these?"
They stood for a moment and she gave a little squeal of delight, as the head of his erecting penis touched her belly. She reached down and worked her panties off her hips and down her legs, and then hung the wet scrap over his penis. "Let me shower and I'll get dressed up in something pretty."
Paul and his cock would have been happy with her unshowered and in just the blouse but images of all that skimpy stuff on the clothes line popped into hismind. He said that showering was a great idea. Showering together, seemed like a wonderful idea but Wendy shooed him out of the bathroom.
She reappeared fifteen minutes later wrapped in a huge towel, "All yours", she told him, gesturing at thebathroom door, "this old lady has a miracle to perform."
He showered, trying not to hurry.
With a towel around his waist, he wandered through to the kitchen and into the living room. He heard faint sounds of her voice upstairs. She was singing.
In the living room, Paul found a half-finished crossword and he sat in an armchair to read through the clues. Out in the garden, her underwear fluttered in the sunshine. Her voice sang faintly above him.His cock lifted under the towel. He wished she'd hurry.
A door opened and closed. "Come tell me I look beautiful," she called.
He found Wendy on the stairs. She stood, looking down at him. She really had got dressed in something pretty. Every time he looked at this woman, she seemed more beautiful. Now she was dressed (or was that undressed?), in the cutest, skimpiest outfit. All black and all quite breathtaking. He was very aware of the towel and his nakedness under it. He gestured, "I'm sorry, I had nothing clean to wear."
Wendy looked down at him, silently giving thanks that he had stayed. Her hair was in its long pony-tail, defiantly grey and now with a velvet ribbon tied in a big bow. Her heavy breasts were in a too-small bra and her black stockings were held up by a lacy, black garter belt. A tiny, black thong that was silk and felt wonderful and very, very intimate down there at her crotch. A string of black pearls and pendant earrings completed the outfit. This was Wendy'smiracle. The expression on Paul's face made her heartbound.
He moved slowly up the steps, awed by the sight of her,"You're beautiful!" he murmured, "just beautiful," He meant it, very sincerely.
Wendy turned slowly on the step for him, "I've always wanted to be made love to on the stairs."
The thong was all but invisible from behind, hidden between the swells of her lovely ass, just a little triangle pointing into the cleft of her buttocks, like an arrow. Her white thighs contrasted with the tops of her gleaming black stockings.
He moved slowly up and stood two steps below her. The bare softness of her ass was inches away. He could feel the heat of her on his face. Oh the swells of her buttocks! Downy hairs gleamed gold in sunlight reflected from somewhere above! She was lovely. The scrap of black thong merely emphasized the nakedness of that ass. He bent and kissed the curve of a buttock, parted his teeth and gave her a little nip.She squealed, his cock throbbed. The towel slid off him.
Wendy turned back to face him. Her breasts seemed to be overflowing from the bra. Paul heard himself gasp and he wondered just how she could look so sexual and so beautiful and how he could be so lucky.
He realized that he now saw her as beautiful, where before she'd been 'old enough to be his mother.' Neither of them had really changed; or had they? Maybe he'd just opened his eyes? But she'd turned him on in her shorts and blouse, hadn't she? He shook his head.
Wendy read all of this in the seconds it passed through his mind and across his face. She saw the happy disbelief when he looked. She glowed hot inside, in her chest, then in the pit of her stomach ... thisyoung man was seeing her as beautiful, as desirable! She felt joy, utter simple joy. She felt young and hot on the heels of this awareness came a flood of desire that seemed to lift her heart, fluttering into her throat. Suddenly Wendy felt lust. No other word for it, pure, sweet, hot lust. She needed Paul's mouth and hands and cock ... now! Wendy was on fire!
She turned again, flaunting, displaying herself. Paul had to touch, to feel. He reached out and put a hand on each buttock and pressed the side of his face against her ass and closed his eyes, ... he was close to ecstasy!
He moved at last and peeled her buttocks apart and kissed her deep between. There it was, the tiny strip of her thong! She bent at the waist, and reached outand rested her hands on the step in front of her, the black-clad bulge of her pussy peeped out at him, beckoning.
She scrambled away from him then and climbed higher. Turning, she sat on the step and sprawled backwards on the small landing at the turn of the stairs. "Come kiss me Paul!" Her voice sounded deeper, husky.
He moved slowly up the steps after her. Her left foot rested on the first step down, the right on the second. She let her knees fall slowly open, an invitation.
"Would you kiss me and make me come?" she whispered, then added shyly, "Do you mind, I mean ...? Perhaps you don't like ..." she hesitated.
"Mind? Did you mind my coming between your breasts?"
A dreamy note crept into her voice, as she said shyly, "No! I loved that!"
"Well then, don't make this sound like a chore. I want to kiss you there!"
He bent and touched his lips to her centre, she smelled more of soap now and less of Wendy, which he thought a shame.
She moaned, "Do you know how long its been since anyone did this to me?"
He raised his head, "Let me try to make up for that. "Paul couldn't believe this was the woman he'd been so angry with, blaming her almost as much as his wife for his loneliness. He gazed at the black thong's sweet smallness, the dark escaping curls and the incredible contrast with the white skin of belly and thighs. His arousal was building, building.
She moaned and writhed, squirming her ass on the carpeting. "Please!" one word begging. The thong disappeared where it crossed her pussy, as if going up inside her and he wondered how it must feel being cut in half like that.
"Oh please, don't tease me!" Wendy was almost out of her mind with wanting.
He bent then and pressed his mouth against her again, pressing his lips into the softness of her covered mound. Silk he thought, the clingy animal feel of silk. Her moan was shut off by her thighs clamping over his ears, then she opened them again. Wendy writhed under his mouth and said "Yes!!" over and over again. She came quickly, suddenly. Hips bucking, she went from moist to soaking.
"No! she sobbed, "I'm sorry ... Oh god! ... I didn't want to come yet!"
She sounded so upset! He raised his head and looked at her, "What's wrong?"
"It happened so suddenly, I couldn't control myself," she sounded angry with herself despite the tears, "I wanted you to go on forever, it felt so wonderful."
He smiled at her and then bent again, "I'll not stop until you beg me," he kissed her crotch lightly, "I might not stop even then."
But her coming had excited him wickedly and now his arousal screamed silently for attention, his cock was begging to be where his mouth was. If not for the earlier tit-fuck, he figured he'd have come all over the stair-carpet or jumped on her at this point. 'God but he wanted it, wanted her, and bad!!'
He hooked a finger in under her thong and drew it aside, out of her slit, pulling it deeper, tighter between her buttocks. Her pussy fur was a riot of dark curls, damp and flattened against her mound. Her widespread knees held her open. She was all glistening lips and folds, convoluted wetness begging for exploration. Paul slid his hands up her thighs, over her hips, then down around her, fingertips burrowing between her ass and the carpet. She raised herself,his hands slid under her and she lowered herself, trapping him.
He made love to her then with tongue and lips and teeth. He licked and sucked and nipped and Wendy came once and again or was it just two peaks of one orgasm? But Paul was too aroused himself to care and he fought to control her with his hands gripping her ass. She bucked and struggled, her mound bruising his mouth and nose. She got wet and her ass got wet and the carpetgot wet. She laughed and cried and screamed. Finally, in extremis she begged him to stop, and then begged forhis cock. She told him she wanted his cock, his cock in her, up her and now and here and please soon, please now.
Paul struggled his hands free. Wendy sat up and he looked at her dancing eyes and heaving breasts and wanted her desperately. She struggled up and turned, feet as wide apart as the step would allow. She bent forward with hands on the landing and thrust out her ass. "Paul!" she said his name and the word was a prayer and an order.
The insides of her thighs glistened wetly, her come and his saliva ... he thought her the sexiest thing he'd ever seen!
Finally he slid that beautiful cock into her, she thought her heart would burst at the joy of it.
How could part of the human body be so hot he wondered, so honey-slick-hot, like butter, like cream. Later, she told him he'd said these words aloud.
Despite their arousal, they were slow and gentle atfirst. They were new lovers. Cock and pussy strangers. Her breasts tumbled free of the bra, first one then the other. They hung and swung, as he slowly thrust in and she answered with her ass and hips.
He slid his hands round and found her, heavy and full and so soft. Her nipples were like hot pebbles. He swung her breasts apart and together, a soft, soft slap, But his cock never paused in its slow movements.
She felt his hands release her breasts and slide up to hold her hips. His cock withdrew until she was almost empty and then he began slamming into her.
Hours? Minutes? There was no time involved, just glorious giving and taking, taking and giving. A wonderful hunger. She just wanted and wanted, the slap of flesh against her ass, the plunging filling of her. He struggled and fought, seeking release. This he'd missed for weeks and months and a million years.
They would do this again, in a bed, gently, sweetly, taking forever ... but now! ... his belly and balls convulsed, a hot wire burned in his groin, down his cock. Boiling heat coursed out of him into her. Two of his scalding jets and she spasmed and flooded, rippling her orgasm along, around his cock, milking and sucking him with her pussy. He kept coming, they kept coming ...together.
For long seconds she bore both their weight. Then he shrank and withdrew, still drooling. Their mingling juices tickled and trickled down her right thigh. Somehow, tangled and gasping and laughing they collapsed onto the stairs.
Next? They went to bed and slept and woke and loved and were slow and gentle, frantic and hungry, loving and lusting.
.......... Wendy was beautiful again. Again? She'd always been beautiful but beauty needs to be seen. She loved Paul's eyes ... and his cock too!
Paul turned and put his cupped hands under her breasts and took some of their weight. He glanced down at the heavy fullness of her, "How could I leave these?"
They stood for a moment and she gave a little squeal of delight, as the head of his erecting penis touched her belly. She reached down and worked her panties off her hips and down her legs, and then hung the wet scrap over his penis. "Let me shower and I'll get dressed up in something pretty."
Paul and his cock would have been happy with her unshowered and in just the blouse but images of all that skimpy stuff on the clothes line popped into hismind. He said that showering was a great idea. Showering together, seemed like a wonderful idea but Wendy shooed him out of the bathroom.
She reappeared fifteen minutes later wrapped in a huge towel, "All yours", she told him, gesturing at thebathroom door, "this old lady has a miracle to perform."
He showered, trying not to hurry.
With a towel around his waist, he wandered through to the kitchen and into the living room. He heard faint sounds of her voice upstairs. She was singing.
In the living room, Paul found a half-finished crossword and he sat in an armchair to read through the clues. Out in the garden, her underwear fluttered in the sunshine. Her voice sang faintly above him.His cock lifted under the towel. He wished she'd hurry.
A door opened and closed. "Come tell me I look beautiful," she called.
He found Wendy on the stairs. She stood, looking down at him. She really had got dressed in something pretty. Every time he looked at this woman, she seemed more beautiful. Now she was dressed (or was that undressed?), in the cutest, skimpiest outfit. All black and all quite breathtaking. He was very aware of the towel and his nakedness under it. He gestured, "I'm sorry, I had nothing clean to wear."
Wendy looked down at him, silently giving thanks that he had stayed. Her hair was in its long pony-tail, defiantly grey and now with a velvet ribbon tied in a big bow. Her heavy breasts were in a too-small bra and her black stockings were held up by a lacy, black garter belt. A tiny, black thong that was silk and felt wonderful and very, very intimate down there at her crotch. A string of black pearls and pendant earrings completed the outfit. This was Wendy'smiracle. The expression on Paul's face made her heartbound.
He moved slowly up the steps, awed by the sight of her,"You're beautiful!" he murmured, "just beautiful," He meant it, very sincerely.
Wendy turned slowly on the step for him, "I've always wanted to be made love to on the stairs."
The thong was all but invisible from behind, hidden between the swells of her lovely ass, just a little triangle pointing into the cleft of her buttocks, like an arrow. Her white thighs contrasted with the tops of her gleaming black stockings.
He moved slowly up and stood two steps below her. The bare softness of her ass was inches away. He could feel the heat of her on his face. Oh the swells of her buttocks! Downy hairs gleamed gold in sunlight reflected from somewhere above! She was lovely. The scrap of black thong merely emphasized the nakedness of that ass. He bent and kissed the curve of a buttock, parted his teeth and gave her a little nip.She squealed, his cock throbbed. The towel slid off him.
Wendy turned back to face him. Her breasts seemed to be overflowing from the bra. Paul heard himself gasp and he wondered just how she could look so sexual and so beautiful and how he could be so lucky.
He realized that he now saw her as beautiful, where before she'd been 'old enough to be his mother.' Neither of them had really changed; or had they? Maybe he'd just opened his eyes? But she'd turned him on in her shorts and blouse, hadn't she? He shook his head.
Wendy read all of this in the seconds it passed through his mind and across his face. She saw the happy disbelief when he looked. She glowed hot inside, in her chest, then in the pit of her stomach ... thisyoung man was seeing her as beautiful, as desirable! She felt joy, utter simple joy. She felt young and hot on the heels of this awareness came a flood of desire that seemed to lift her heart, fluttering into her throat. Suddenly Wendy felt lust. No other word for it, pure, sweet, hot lust. She needed Paul's mouth and hands and cock ... now! Wendy was on fire!
She turned again, flaunting, displaying herself. Paul had to touch, to feel. He reached out and put a hand on each buttock and pressed the side of his face against her ass and closed his eyes, ... he was close to ecstasy!
He moved at last and peeled her buttocks apart and kissed her deep between. There it was, the tiny strip of her thong! She bent at the waist, and reached outand rested her hands on the step in front of her, the black-clad bulge of her pussy peeped out at him, beckoning.
She scrambled away from him then and climbed higher. Turning, she sat on the step and sprawled backwards on the small landing at the turn of the stairs. "Come kiss me Paul!" Her voice sounded deeper, husky.
He moved slowly up the steps after her. Her left foot rested on the first step down, the right on the second. She let her knees fall slowly open, an invitation.
"Would you kiss me and make me come?" she whispered, then added shyly, "Do you mind, I mean ...? Perhaps you don't like ..." she hesitated.
"Mind? Did you mind my coming between your breasts?"
A dreamy note crept into her voice, as she said shyly, "No! I loved that!"
"Well then, don't make this sound like a chore. I want to kiss you there!"
He bent and touched his lips to her centre, she smelled more of soap now and less of Wendy, which he thought a shame.
She moaned, "Do you know how long its been since anyone did this to me?"
He raised his head, "Let me try to make up for that. "Paul couldn't believe this was the woman he'd been so angry with, blaming her almost as much as his wife for his loneliness. He gazed at the black thong's sweet smallness, the dark escaping curls and the incredible contrast with the white skin of belly and thighs. His arousal was building, building.
She moaned and writhed, squirming her ass on the carpeting. "Please!" one word begging. The thong disappeared where it crossed her pussy, as if going up inside her and he wondered how it must feel being cut in half like that.
"Oh please, don't tease me!" Wendy was almost out of her mind with wanting.
He bent then and pressed his mouth against her again, pressing his lips into the softness of her covered mound. Silk he thought, the clingy animal feel of silk. Her moan was shut off by her thighs clamping over his ears, then she opened them again. Wendy writhed under his mouth and said "Yes!!" over and over again. She came quickly, suddenly. Hips bucking, she went from moist to soaking.
"No! she sobbed, "I'm sorry ... Oh god! ... I didn't want to come yet!"
She sounded so upset! He raised his head and looked at her, "What's wrong?"
"It happened so suddenly, I couldn't control myself," she sounded angry with herself despite the tears, "I wanted you to go on forever, it felt so wonderful."
He smiled at her and then bent again, "I'll not stop until you beg me," he kissed her crotch lightly, "I might not stop even then."
But her coming had excited him wickedly and now his arousal screamed silently for attention, his cock was begging to be where his mouth was. If not for the earlier tit-fuck, he figured he'd have come all over the stair-carpet or jumped on her at this point. 'God but he wanted it, wanted her, and bad!!'
He hooked a finger in under her thong and drew it aside, out of her slit, pulling it deeper, tighter between her buttocks. Her pussy fur was a riot of dark curls, damp and flattened against her mound. Her widespread knees held her open. She was all glistening lips and folds, convoluted wetness begging for exploration. Paul slid his hands up her thighs, over her hips, then down around her, fingertips burrowing between her ass and the carpet. She raised herself,his hands slid under her and she lowered herself, trapping him.
He made love to her then with tongue and lips and teeth. He licked and sucked and nipped and Wendy came once and again or was it just two peaks of one orgasm? But Paul was too aroused himself to care and he fought to control her with his hands gripping her ass. She bucked and struggled, her mound bruising his mouth and nose. She got wet and her ass got wet and the carpetgot wet. She laughed and cried and screamed. Finally, in extremis she begged him to stop, and then begged forhis cock. She told him she wanted his cock, his cock in her, up her and now and here and please soon, please now.
Paul struggled his hands free. Wendy sat up and he looked at her dancing eyes and heaving breasts and wanted her desperately. She struggled up and turned, feet as wide apart as the step would allow. She bent forward with hands on the landing and thrust out her ass. "Paul!" she said his name and the word was a prayer and an order.
The insides of her thighs glistened wetly, her come and his saliva ... he thought her the sexiest thing he'd ever seen!
Finally he slid that beautiful cock into her, she thought her heart would burst at the joy of it.
How could part of the human body be so hot he wondered, so honey-slick-hot, like butter, like cream. Later, she told him he'd said these words aloud.
Despite their arousal, they were slow and gentle atfirst. They were new lovers. Cock and pussy strangers. Her breasts tumbled free of the bra, first one then the other. They hung and swung, as he slowly thrust in and she answered with her ass and hips.
He slid his hands round and found her, heavy and full and so soft. Her nipples were like hot pebbles. He swung her breasts apart and together, a soft, soft slap, But his cock never paused in its slow movements.
She felt his hands release her breasts and slide up to hold her hips. His cock withdrew until she was almost empty and then he began slamming into her.
Hours? Minutes? There was no time involved, just glorious giving and taking, taking and giving. A wonderful hunger. She just wanted and wanted, the slap of flesh against her ass, the plunging filling of her. He struggled and fought, seeking release. This he'd missed for weeks and months and a million years.
They would do this again, in a bed, gently, sweetly, taking forever ... but now! ... his belly and balls convulsed, a hot wire burned in his groin, down his cock. Boiling heat coursed out of him into her. Two of his scalding jets and she spasmed and flooded, rippling her orgasm along, around his cock, milking and sucking him with her pussy. He kept coming, they kept coming ...together.
For long seconds she bore both their weight. Then he shrank and withdrew, still drooling. Their mingling juices tickled and trickled down her right thigh. Somehow, tangled and gasping and laughing they collapsed onto the stairs.
Next? They went to bed and slept and woke and loved and were slow and gentle, frantic and hungry, loving and lusting.
.......... Wendy was beautiful again. Again? She'd always been beautiful but beauty needs to be seen. She loved Paul's eyes ... and his cock too!
Friday, November 7, 2008
"Washday With Wendy" Part 1
by Julius
Copyright 2003
Fate intervened in small ways at least four times that day.
The first occurred when Paul decided to save his self pleasuring until the evening. It wasn't an easy decision, he'd woken up piss proud with an erection that a cat could have sharpened its claws on. But he resisted the urge to pull himself joyously into the morning. So he perched awkwardly on the toilet and struggled to bend his "rod-of-steel" down just far enough to void his screaming bladder.
The second? Fate gave him a glorious sunny Sunday contrary to the forecast, which led him to sit on the sun-deck with his second mug of instant coffee.
The third made Wendy decide to do her washing and to hang it all out on the line in her back garden. Her garden's back fence was Paul's garden's back fence and he sat and idly watched.
Before we get to 'Fate stroke number four' perhaps a word or three about Paul and Wendy. Both of them were spouseless. Spouseless because said spouses had run off with each other. Wendy's was older and richer than Paul. Paul's was a lot younger than Wendy. Older men like younger women and younger women have a thing about older men so it wasn't quite as inconceivable as this recently unspoused couple might have thought.
Paul and Wendy barely acknowledged each other. Each blaming the other, in part, for their empty bedrooms and domestic loneliness. Neither wanted reminders of their less than happy new conditions. Paul thought Wendy was old enough to be his mother. In fact Wendy was old enough to be his mother. Wendy didn't think about Paul's age, she just wished Paul had kept his wife satisfied and at home. With attitudes like that the good neighbourlyness had deteriorated into a sort of armed neutrality. 'twould have likely remained thus if the aforementioned fourth stoke of Fate hadn't struck.
Paul sat sipping and staring. The nearer pulley of Wendy's clothesline squeaked abominably. One wicked squeak for every couple of items of laundry. Squeaks that hurt his ears, threatened, he thought, to loosenhis fillings. Paul swore again to sneak out after dark and oil the evil thing.
Her washing surprised him and he began to wonder about this older woman. It must be hers surely! She lived alone ... now. The line filled with everyday nouns: towels and T-shirts and pants and pillow cases. But she was hanging out a lot of adjectives too: frilly and lacy and brief and outright outrageous. Wendy was too old and too big surely for what was moving along the line towards him, squeak by irritating squeak.
What about the fourth event? Well, it was a sharp, snapping noise and a woman's voice saying "Shit! Shit! Shit!"
The clothes line had broken and Wendy's wash lay on the grass. Paul had three choices really, get up and casually walk indoors or sit and watch the woman struggle, or help. Given that this woman's husband had screwed up his marriage and was now, presumably, screwing his sweet, young, delicious, unfaithful little bitch of a wife, options one and two had a certain poetic suitability to them. So, being the gentleman he thought he was, he chose option three and went to help.
By the time he'd scrambled over the fence Wendy was angrily unpegging clothes and throwing them into the clothes basket with considerable vigour.
Paul managed to re-rig her washing line. There was enough spare cable wound on the tensioner and hanging off the loop attached to it to let him knot the line at the break. With a struggle he got the pulley over the hook in the doorpost.
"That should do for now, but you need to buy a new one, this'll only break again," he told her, wiping his hands on the seat of his shorts.
"Thanks," said Wendy, "I'll leave the heavy stuff off and put them out later." She bent to pull a shirt out of the basket.
Paul picked up the box of clothes pins, stood it on the deck railing and reached for the shirt, "Here, let me help."
Wendy wore a loose, white-cotton blouse. The first time she bent over she advertised her lack of bra. At each subsequent bend Paul was treated to a view of swinging breasts. His brain told his cock this was a good thing and his cock agreed. Paul wore nothing under his shorts and by her glances he knew Wendy knew about his cock's unashamed enthusiasm.
They made no eye contact, she seemed to be cleverly avoiding it. This spared him the worst of the embarassment of a jutting erection. Eventualy he and his cock managed to get the latter vertical and only moderately obtrusive. There was something mildly irritating to him about the uncontrollable reaction to this older woman. 'You just don't lust after little girls or old women ... it's indecent!' his brain told him sternly. The same brain of course that had promped the soaring of his cock in the first place!
Then the underwear started arriving in his hands. Brief they were but tiny they weren't. His eye caught several labels, 'Large' and 'Extra Large' but the brevity and the design of them kind of threw him. There were thongs and crotchless panties and lacy half bras and a teddy or two. On his wife, the styles would have been delicious, on a woman of Wendy's generous size, not to mention advanced years, they bordered on, on, ... well, on indecent. That's the way his mind served it up anyway.
Inevitably the phrase, 'She's old enough to be my mother,' popped into his mind again. But she kept reaching down into the basket and flashing her well endowed chest and his stupid cock kept its upright posture. Well, they were big breasts and Paul was a helpless focuser on breasts. He had always thought 'the bigger the better.'
Wendy slowly regained her earlier good mood as the washing line filled up again. Paul, she'd had a job even remembering his name, had delighted her with his male reaction. She was having a hard time avoiding his eye and at the same time keeping her gaze off the very obvious swelling under his shorts. She enjoyed his eyes on her breasts every time she bent. It was good to have a male eyeing her and thinking male thoughts. 'Damn it!' it was good to be near a male again, even if it was the fool who'd let his wife slip away. His silly, air-headed wife who'd lured away her own husband. Her Frank, no not her Frank anymore, who'd given the bitch a lift at the bus stop and never really come back except to sheepishly gather his possessions.
Wendy watched his reactions to her underwear as he took it from her and hung it up. His every thought flitted across his face. Surprise and embarassment, curiosity and not a little disapproval. 'She was too old for such things, too full of figure' she could almost hear the thoughts ... she thought him too nice to use the word 'fat'.
She offered coffee, he declined, she insisted and he accepted and sat while she went inside. Wendy found herself in the kitchen wanting to get changed into something prettier, smarter, more feminine. That would be too obvious. She wanted to have him stay a while, not to frighten him off. She craved company, male company. She was too horny too often for her years she thought. Could she get him to like her? The double break up had made them both hostile. With a jolt she realised she wanted him and immediately called herself a fool.
She went to her bedroom and found a narrow belt and slipped it throught the loops of her shorts and buckled it snug, drawing the shorts into her waist, making them ride higher. She undid another button of her blouse. Taking a ribbon she swept her grey hair into a pony tail wishing she'd gone blonde again the way she kept intending. Stepping into a pair heeled sandals she went back to the kitchen and the coffee.
When she re-emerged with a steaming mug of coffee in each hand Paul noticed she was different. The ponytail, the sound of heels on wood. She seemed changed too in some way, happiness up/sadness down. Her air rather than her appearance. He sensed his mood improve too. His loneliness lifted a little, company at last, even if she was ... he pushed the thought away.
They talked and sipped. He commented on how odd it was to see your own house from a different viewpoint. Theytalked of books read and movies watched and agreed about the lateness of Spring.
Then to his considerable surprise she asked, "Do you miss her?"
"I'm still angry and it's all mixed up with loneliness. But I don't want her back."
"I seem to go through a lot of batteries these days!" her hand flew to her mouth, "Oh my God I don't believe I said that!"
The chuckle that had bubbled in his throat at her first remark broke free at her second and they shared the humour.
She got to her feet, "Gotta go pee, don't go, I'll be right back."
He watched her go. Wide she was but she moved nicely and the worn and frayed denim shorts were worked between her ample buttocks in a rather bewitching way. The grey pony tail swung like any other pony tail, its youthfulness a happy contradiction of her years.
He grinned, they were sat not six feet apart. He listened with a smile to her steady tinkling flow in the bathroom and imagined her sitting there.
She sat, shorts at her ankles and wished yet again that she'd tinted her hair and put on her make up, most of all worn a bra. 'Oh well young Paul, take me as I am,' she said to herself, then added, 'Please!'
The toilet flushed and Paul nursed his cooling mug. She emerged again, with a tray with the coffee carafe, cream and sugar. "Thought you'd like a second cup, you haven't pulled a face about my coffee."
"No I haven't, I mean yes please."
She'd put on lipstck, a pale glisteny pink, it suited her. She poured coffee and left him to add cream and sugar. She sat and asked, "Were you married a long time?"
He started to talk and, without realising it, rather opened his heart about the seven year marriage, childless and steadily cooling. Wendy was a good listener and just let him talk, her eyes never leaving his face. She shifed position from time to time. When she drew up her right leg and wrapped her arms around it, resting her chin on her knee, she wasn't being deliberately provocative. But it was that pose that sparked Paul's desire or at least made him aware of it.
As soon as his eyes dropped she knew too that it had affected him but she chose not to change her pose. The denim of the shorts was tight on her, they were old shorts and had worn and stretched to accomodate a little more Wendy than the when she'd bought them. In this position they were more than just tight, they sliced deep between her legs. Just a scrap of faded blue with a frayed, faded fringe of white and blue on either side. And ... another fringe on either side of that; dark, almost black curls that gave the lie to her grey mane. Any warm blooded male would have trouble looking away and it took several long seconds before Paul could get his eyes up to meet hers again.
When he glanced at her she was gazing off into the trees, but she felt his look. She closed her eyes and said, "Go on."
Poor Paul, trying to tell his tale to this woman, while his eyes kept wandering down to that cruel scrap of denim. The fronts of her thighs lightly tanned but on the insides they were white. He imagined how soft and silky that pale skin would be. His erection was back now, an isistant thing, hot and eager in his shorts.
Wendy allowed her eyes to slit open and watched him through her lashes. His hunger was very apparent. She sensed he was beginning to forget her years, she could almost feel the want in him. God knows she was feeling her wants. Her insides had strained towards him even as he'd climbed the fence and since then, conscioulyand unconsciouly her longing, her need, had been growing stronger.
In her head the words, 'Just ask to fuck me, just ask!' formed. Her pussy seemed to glow. Her breathing was faster and she could feel her heart in her throat. 'Just ask to fuck me, damn you!'
His eyes crept up from her crotch to the low pitched swell of her braless breasts. He wondered how they'd feel in his hands, heavy and soft, warm and fluid. His eyes came up to her face. He actually gasped, her eyes were open, grey and wide, a small smile on her lips. She stared at him saying nothing.
Then "A penny for your thoughts?" she asked softly.
"I was thinking how attractive you are," he reponded. He thought it sounded pretty lame but he could hardly tell her what he was really thinking.
She thanked him as a lady would and wondered why people weren't more honest.
Wendy let her left leg move to the side, opening her thighs wider, then she moved it back, slowly opening and closing, opening and closing. It was hypnotic, Paul's eyes kept flicking down. She wondered how it would look if she were naked, opening and closing herself like that.
Paul wondered the same. He wondered if she was wearing panties under the shorts or a thong like those he'd helped to hang on the line. His erection ached, he was struggling with emotions he could barely control.
"You're not wearing any underwear are you?" she asked him.
He shook his head, wondering how she knew.
"Girls look at pantylines too Paul," she said, answering his unspoken question.
Now she'd taken the iniative she almost relaxed. "Take him out, before he hurts himself" She gestured at his crotch so there'd be no doubt about what she meant.
Paul glanced around nervously, but she reassured him. The sundeck was invisible to neighbours but for his house ... and he was here! "Go on!" she urged, "let me see him! You're not shy are you?"
He sure as hell was, but her tight-denimed crotch and the swinging knee and the challenge in those grey eyes seemed to leave him no choice. He reached awkwardly into the leg of his shorts and struggled his erection out into the sunlight.
"Oh my!" she breathed. It wasn't a bigger than average cock but it looked rather splendid and the sight of it jolted her senses. She felt her face flush, the blush of arousal across her chest and the hammer of her heart in her throat. She just stared and the beautiful cock stared back
They were both now caught between self-restraint and hunger. He was happy to let her set the pace but the effort to control himself was awful. Something inside just wouldn't let him move towards her. So he sat waiting, his cock jutting out. His hand still clutched his shorts and he kept slowly pulling and easing on the fabric gently squeezing his balls and this made his cock wave up and down at her.
Wendy lowered her foot to the floor and as if pulled towards him she got to her knees and moved across the deck. With a hand on each of his knees she knelt with her mouth just inches from the head of his cock. It was nearer purple than red and its slit glistened wickedly. Thick veins ran the length of this beautiful penis and she fancied she could see the hot blood pulsing in them.
Paul was all but screaming for her lips or her fingers to touch him. His arousal seemed to thunder in his ears. He suddenly realised that he might just come all over her face without either of them moving. He stared at his cock, it lifted with every beat of his heart. She looked up at him, "It's beautiful, may I touch it?"
"Oh God, yes! Yes! Yes!" he almost sobbed the words.
She took him between a thumb and forefinger gently, oh so very gently, knowing he was on the very edge of coming. She lowered her head and pressed her cheek gently again his cock. He groaned at the touch. She sighed at the hot velvet feel of him. She'd yearned, and prayed for a cock since forever. Dreamed of one like this. Alone awake, alone in the shower, driving alone, alone on the street, always wanting, wanting, wanting. She pressed her closed eye against the head feeling the slickness of his drooling precum making him slippery against the lid. She turned her head and did the same against the other eyelid. He squirmed in the chair. He felt his balls churn, his insides trembled, he was a caress, a heartbeat from gushing.
Wendy released his cock and got to her feet. She stood astride his thighs. She undid the belt and the big copper button at her waitband, slid down the zipper and forced the shorts down her thighs as far as her opened legs would permit. The scent of her swept overhim. Perfume from soap was there but it was the woman's muskiness that forced the half groan, half growl from him. She wore tiny blue panties, light blue at the waistband, but the darker blue of her wetness where they dived into her cleft.
"Unfasten my blouse Paul, please," she asked softly. Paul almost protested, the wet crotch of her panties hovered inches above his desperate cock and she wanted tit play. She read his mind, "There's no rush Paul. Tease me a little, please me a little, we don' twant you going off early do we?"
She was right he knew but he was desperate to have her sit that sweet thing down on him, impale herself. He feared his cock would split soon, it was so hard!
She watched his hands tremble as he unbuttoned her blouse. His eyes bored into hers, begging. She realised he was horny beyond anything she'd ever seen. To think she'd done this to him! The last button slipped undone and he opened the blouse exposing her breasts. His "Oh God!" delightedWendy.
He forgot the throb of his cock for a few moments ashe gazed at the swell of her breasts. Her nipplesglowed like big raspberries begging for lips andteeth. Her breasts round and heavy sagged with theirweight. White and wonderful, he'd never seen anythingso beautiful.xxx
She could tease him no longer.
Wendy stepped back and knelt again, moving herself between his knees. She lifted her breasts, held them apart and leaned forward letting his cock nestle between them. Then she brought them together enclosing his cock.
He watched, not daring to breathe. She leaned her head forward and let a mouthful of saliva drool down into her cleavage. "Let yourself go Paul, before you burst,we've got all day if we want."
Instinct took over and he thrust up and out and his erection slid up between her breasts. Squashing herself between her hands she made a wonderful tight tunnel for him to make love in. Helping, encouraging with words and movement Wendy leaned foward burying her face in his shirt making her cleavage a hidden private place for his cock. Together, in just a few breast-squeezing thrusts they took him to the promisedland. He came, sobbing and moaning. She felt his cockpulsing between her breasts, felt his essence spurt from him out from between her breasts, hot, so very hot on her throat, splashing on the underneath of her chin. He seemed to come forever, bucking and writhing under her with a sobbing desperation.
Wendy loved every moment of it. The movement between her breasts, the pressure on them, the wonderful feel and smell of Paul's orgasm.
Further down, her wet pussy, still wearing the triangle of her panties wept and begged and begged for attention. Wendy crouched, head and breasts on his lap. In her mind she whispered to her pleading pussy "Shh! patience, we've not finished yet!"
She sat up, her face radiant. He opened his eyes and stared at her. She seemed to glow. He smiled then looked down. She was wet everywhere from his coming. Chin, throat, those lovely big breasts, the cleavage between. The smell of him was strong, drifting up with their heat. A bolt of joy, a woman who didn't care about the mess of sex, its wetness, the sweet smell of it.
She looked down too and gave a low chuckle, she slipped her hands under her breasts and hefted them. They glistened. "Been saving that for a while haven't you?"
He laughed, "No not really," then blushed furiously at the admission he'd made with that phrase.
She heard the words and saw the blush and then smiled, "Don't worry, I'm playing alone a lot lately."
Then a thought crashed in on her. He'd likely make some excuse now and get up and leave her on her own again. She'd been kneeling, wet pantied, happily dreaming of this lovely man's cock doing wonderful things to her. The desperate longing was still there, still waiting, waiting. Patient Wendy and her patient pussy, 'Oh God!' how was she to stop him leaving.
Paul moved in the chair, trying to sit up. 'Oh no!' Wendy began to panic, sure enough, he was going!
"I gotta go for a leak," he said.
She reached out and took his now shrunken cock in her hand, "Poor little guy," she bent and kissed its head, tasting him, revelling in the scent of him.
"Lucky little guy," Paul said happily.
She fondled him and murmured, "Does he have to leave so soon?"
"Maybe he can hang on a little while if you'd like him to stay."
"Oh I don't want him to leave just yet, he looks tired, Silly words she thought, but she was so scared she would have said, done anything.
To Wendy's joy Paul's cock stirred in her hand and began to swell, stiffen. She watched with delight."Maybe we can find him some other fun things to do?" Gently she nursed him back to full erection and began to hope that Paul and his cock really would stay.
Paul's hand strayed to touch her nipple, making her gasp. "I think he'd like that," Paul said softly and now Wendy dared to hope.
She got carefully to her feet but stayed bent over, resting her free hand on his shoulder. Her shorts slid down her legs to rest around her ankles. "I gotta go too, maybe you could hold her for a little while."
To Wendy's delight, his hand dropped from her breast and slid betwen her legs gently cupping her mound. She let out a little squeal of delight at his touch. "Hold her ... tight," she told him and clamped her legs together as his hand curled to hold her.
She was helplessly, happily wet down there she knew and now he must know too. Her gone-away husband had hated that about her and Paul's next words horribly familiar, "My heavens but you're wet!" but these, words were said with surprise and delight.
"I'm sorry, I get that way when I'm aroused."
"Don't be sorry, it's beautiful," he said gently and his hand moved, caressing, massaging her sex, her helplessly wet sex.
She squeezed his cock, "Is it true a guy can't pee with an erection?"
"That's what they say." But Paul was finding speech difficult with them holding each other and her blouse open and her incredible breasts swinging in his face.
She stood, releasing his cock and taking her breasts away. He let his hand come away from between her thighs as she stepped awkwardly out of her shorts.
Wendy reached for the now freed hand and urged him to his feet and playfully grabbed his erection again and led him to the patio doors, "Don't want you to burst do we?"
At the bathroom door she told him "Ladies first," she saw the pained look and the beginnings of a protest. "You won't go away will you?" she said squeezing hiscock.
Paul groaned and said he'd not go away and would she please hurry. "I'll come with you, but just hurry," so Wendy led him into the bathroom with her and sat on the toilet, still holding him.
His cock softened and drooped in Wendy's hand and as always she wondered at the way this remarkable organ changed so much, so quickly.
She leaned forward and took its head between her lips. Amazingly the gesture was lost on Paul, the sound of Wendy's seemingly endless stream was driving him crazy and he bent at the waist and squirmed like a little boy.
Wendy thought she'd never seen anything so cute. Finally she was done and reached for toilet tissue. When she pressed the lever the rush of water was one of the testing moments in Paul's life. He was truly desperate as he dropped his shorts. She raised the seat for him and stepped aside. She rested one hand on his ass and slid the other over his as he aimed himself.
Finaly, with a groan, he let himself go and the flow began. "Please let me hold him," she whispered and he let her replace his hand with hers. There was a sweet magic to that moment for Wendy, holding his velvet smallness, feeling the trembling rush inside his cock. Tenderness swept over her and she actually began to cry, silently, tears trickling down her cheeks.
Intimacy denied for too long.
"Please stay a while!" said a glowing Wendy.
Copyright 2003
Fate intervened in small ways at least four times that day.
The first occurred when Paul decided to save his self pleasuring until the evening. It wasn't an easy decision, he'd woken up piss proud with an erection that a cat could have sharpened its claws on. But he resisted the urge to pull himself joyously into the morning. So he perched awkwardly on the toilet and struggled to bend his "rod-of-steel" down just far enough to void his screaming bladder.
The second? Fate gave him a glorious sunny Sunday contrary to the forecast, which led him to sit on the sun-deck with his second mug of instant coffee.
The third made Wendy decide to do her washing and to hang it all out on the line in her back garden. Her garden's back fence was Paul's garden's back fence and he sat and idly watched.
Before we get to 'Fate stroke number four' perhaps a word or three about Paul and Wendy. Both of them were spouseless. Spouseless because said spouses had run off with each other. Wendy's was older and richer than Paul. Paul's was a lot younger than Wendy. Older men like younger women and younger women have a thing about older men so it wasn't quite as inconceivable as this recently unspoused couple might have thought.
Paul and Wendy barely acknowledged each other. Each blaming the other, in part, for their empty bedrooms and domestic loneliness. Neither wanted reminders of their less than happy new conditions. Paul thought Wendy was old enough to be his mother. In fact Wendy was old enough to be his mother. Wendy didn't think about Paul's age, she just wished Paul had kept his wife satisfied and at home. With attitudes like that the good neighbourlyness had deteriorated into a sort of armed neutrality. 'twould have likely remained thus if the aforementioned fourth stoke of Fate hadn't struck.
Paul sat sipping and staring. The nearer pulley of Wendy's clothesline squeaked abominably. One wicked squeak for every couple of items of laundry. Squeaks that hurt his ears, threatened, he thought, to loosenhis fillings. Paul swore again to sneak out after dark and oil the evil thing.
Her washing surprised him and he began to wonder about this older woman. It must be hers surely! She lived alone ... now. The line filled with everyday nouns: towels and T-shirts and pants and pillow cases. But she was hanging out a lot of adjectives too: frilly and lacy and brief and outright outrageous. Wendy was too old and too big surely for what was moving along the line towards him, squeak by irritating squeak.
What about the fourth event? Well, it was a sharp, snapping noise and a woman's voice saying "Shit! Shit! Shit!"
The clothes line had broken and Wendy's wash lay on the grass. Paul had three choices really, get up and casually walk indoors or sit and watch the woman struggle, or help. Given that this woman's husband had screwed up his marriage and was now, presumably, screwing his sweet, young, delicious, unfaithful little bitch of a wife, options one and two had a certain poetic suitability to them. So, being the gentleman he thought he was, he chose option three and went to help.
By the time he'd scrambled over the fence Wendy was angrily unpegging clothes and throwing them into the clothes basket with considerable vigour.
Paul managed to re-rig her washing line. There was enough spare cable wound on the tensioner and hanging off the loop attached to it to let him knot the line at the break. With a struggle he got the pulley over the hook in the doorpost.
"That should do for now, but you need to buy a new one, this'll only break again," he told her, wiping his hands on the seat of his shorts.
"Thanks," said Wendy, "I'll leave the heavy stuff off and put them out later." She bent to pull a shirt out of the basket.
Paul picked up the box of clothes pins, stood it on the deck railing and reached for the shirt, "Here, let me help."
Wendy wore a loose, white-cotton blouse. The first time she bent over she advertised her lack of bra. At each subsequent bend Paul was treated to a view of swinging breasts. His brain told his cock this was a good thing and his cock agreed. Paul wore nothing under his shorts and by her glances he knew Wendy knew about his cock's unashamed enthusiasm.
They made no eye contact, she seemed to be cleverly avoiding it. This spared him the worst of the embarassment of a jutting erection. Eventualy he and his cock managed to get the latter vertical and only moderately obtrusive. There was something mildly irritating to him about the uncontrollable reaction to this older woman. 'You just don't lust after little girls or old women ... it's indecent!' his brain told him sternly. The same brain of course that had promped the soaring of his cock in the first place!
Then the underwear started arriving in his hands. Brief they were but tiny they weren't. His eye caught several labels, 'Large' and 'Extra Large' but the brevity and the design of them kind of threw him. There were thongs and crotchless panties and lacy half bras and a teddy or two. On his wife, the styles would have been delicious, on a woman of Wendy's generous size, not to mention advanced years, they bordered on, on, ... well, on indecent. That's the way his mind served it up anyway.
Inevitably the phrase, 'She's old enough to be my mother,' popped into his mind again. But she kept reaching down into the basket and flashing her well endowed chest and his stupid cock kept its upright posture. Well, they were big breasts and Paul was a helpless focuser on breasts. He had always thought 'the bigger the better.'
Wendy slowly regained her earlier good mood as the washing line filled up again. Paul, she'd had a job even remembering his name, had delighted her with his male reaction. She was having a hard time avoiding his eye and at the same time keeping her gaze off the very obvious swelling under his shorts. She enjoyed his eyes on her breasts every time she bent. It was good to have a male eyeing her and thinking male thoughts. 'Damn it!' it was good to be near a male again, even if it was the fool who'd let his wife slip away. His silly, air-headed wife who'd lured away her own husband. Her Frank, no not her Frank anymore, who'd given the bitch a lift at the bus stop and never really come back except to sheepishly gather his possessions.
Wendy watched his reactions to her underwear as he took it from her and hung it up. His every thought flitted across his face. Surprise and embarassment, curiosity and not a little disapproval. 'She was too old for such things, too full of figure' she could almost hear the thoughts ... she thought him too nice to use the word 'fat'.
She offered coffee, he declined, she insisted and he accepted and sat while she went inside. Wendy found herself in the kitchen wanting to get changed into something prettier, smarter, more feminine. That would be too obvious. She wanted to have him stay a while, not to frighten him off. She craved company, male company. She was too horny too often for her years she thought. Could she get him to like her? The double break up had made them both hostile. With a jolt she realised she wanted him and immediately called herself a fool.
She went to her bedroom and found a narrow belt and slipped it throught the loops of her shorts and buckled it snug, drawing the shorts into her waist, making them ride higher. She undid another button of her blouse. Taking a ribbon she swept her grey hair into a pony tail wishing she'd gone blonde again the way she kept intending. Stepping into a pair heeled sandals she went back to the kitchen and the coffee.
When she re-emerged with a steaming mug of coffee in each hand Paul noticed she was different. The ponytail, the sound of heels on wood. She seemed changed too in some way, happiness up/sadness down. Her air rather than her appearance. He sensed his mood improve too. His loneliness lifted a little, company at last, even if she was ... he pushed the thought away.
They talked and sipped. He commented on how odd it was to see your own house from a different viewpoint. Theytalked of books read and movies watched and agreed about the lateness of Spring.
Then to his considerable surprise she asked, "Do you miss her?"
"I'm still angry and it's all mixed up with loneliness. But I don't want her back."
"I seem to go through a lot of batteries these days!" her hand flew to her mouth, "Oh my God I don't believe I said that!"
The chuckle that had bubbled in his throat at her first remark broke free at her second and they shared the humour.
She got to her feet, "Gotta go pee, don't go, I'll be right back."
He watched her go. Wide she was but she moved nicely and the worn and frayed denim shorts were worked between her ample buttocks in a rather bewitching way. The grey pony tail swung like any other pony tail, its youthfulness a happy contradiction of her years.
He grinned, they were sat not six feet apart. He listened with a smile to her steady tinkling flow in the bathroom and imagined her sitting there.
She sat, shorts at her ankles and wished yet again that she'd tinted her hair and put on her make up, most of all worn a bra. 'Oh well young Paul, take me as I am,' she said to herself, then added, 'Please!'
The toilet flushed and Paul nursed his cooling mug. She emerged again, with a tray with the coffee carafe, cream and sugar. "Thought you'd like a second cup, you haven't pulled a face about my coffee."
"No I haven't, I mean yes please."
She'd put on lipstck, a pale glisteny pink, it suited her. She poured coffee and left him to add cream and sugar. She sat and asked, "Were you married a long time?"
He started to talk and, without realising it, rather opened his heart about the seven year marriage, childless and steadily cooling. Wendy was a good listener and just let him talk, her eyes never leaving his face. She shifed position from time to time. When she drew up her right leg and wrapped her arms around it, resting her chin on her knee, she wasn't being deliberately provocative. But it was that pose that sparked Paul's desire or at least made him aware of it.
As soon as his eyes dropped she knew too that it had affected him but she chose not to change her pose. The denim of the shorts was tight on her, they were old shorts and had worn and stretched to accomodate a little more Wendy than the when she'd bought them. In this position they were more than just tight, they sliced deep between her legs. Just a scrap of faded blue with a frayed, faded fringe of white and blue on either side. And ... another fringe on either side of that; dark, almost black curls that gave the lie to her grey mane. Any warm blooded male would have trouble looking away and it took several long seconds before Paul could get his eyes up to meet hers again.
When he glanced at her she was gazing off into the trees, but she felt his look. She closed her eyes and said, "Go on."
Poor Paul, trying to tell his tale to this woman, while his eyes kept wandering down to that cruel scrap of denim. The fronts of her thighs lightly tanned but on the insides they were white. He imagined how soft and silky that pale skin would be. His erection was back now, an isistant thing, hot and eager in his shorts.
Wendy allowed her eyes to slit open and watched him through her lashes. His hunger was very apparent. She sensed he was beginning to forget her years, she could almost feel the want in him. God knows she was feeling her wants. Her insides had strained towards him even as he'd climbed the fence and since then, conscioulyand unconsciouly her longing, her need, had been growing stronger.
In her head the words, 'Just ask to fuck me, just ask!' formed. Her pussy seemed to glow. Her breathing was faster and she could feel her heart in her throat. 'Just ask to fuck me, damn you!'
His eyes crept up from her crotch to the low pitched swell of her braless breasts. He wondered how they'd feel in his hands, heavy and soft, warm and fluid. His eyes came up to her face. He actually gasped, her eyes were open, grey and wide, a small smile on her lips. She stared at him saying nothing.
Then "A penny for your thoughts?" she asked softly.
"I was thinking how attractive you are," he reponded. He thought it sounded pretty lame but he could hardly tell her what he was really thinking.
She thanked him as a lady would and wondered why people weren't more honest.
Wendy let her left leg move to the side, opening her thighs wider, then she moved it back, slowly opening and closing, opening and closing. It was hypnotic, Paul's eyes kept flicking down. She wondered how it would look if she were naked, opening and closing herself like that.
Paul wondered the same. He wondered if she was wearing panties under the shorts or a thong like those he'd helped to hang on the line. His erection ached, he was struggling with emotions he could barely control.
"You're not wearing any underwear are you?" she asked him.
He shook his head, wondering how she knew.
"Girls look at pantylines too Paul," she said, answering his unspoken question.
Now she'd taken the iniative she almost relaxed. "Take him out, before he hurts himself" She gestured at his crotch so there'd be no doubt about what she meant.
Paul glanced around nervously, but she reassured him. The sundeck was invisible to neighbours but for his house ... and he was here! "Go on!" she urged, "let me see him! You're not shy are you?"
He sure as hell was, but her tight-denimed crotch and the swinging knee and the challenge in those grey eyes seemed to leave him no choice. He reached awkwardly into the leg of his shorts and struggled his erection out into the sunlight.
"Oh my!" she breathed. It wasn't a bigger than average cock but it looked rather splendid and the sight of it jolted her senses. She felt her face flush, the blush of arousal across her chest and the hammer of her heart in her throat. She just stared and the beautiful cock stared back
They were both now caught between self-restraint and hunger. He was happy to let her set the pace but the effort to control himself was awful. Something inside just wouldn't let him move towards her. So he sat waiting, his cock jutting out. His hand still clutched his shorts and he kept slowly pulling and easing on the fabric gently squeezing his balls and this made his cock wave up and down at her.
Wendy lowered her foot to the floor and as if pulled towards him she got to her knees and moved across the deck. With a hand on each of his knees she knelt with her mouth just inches from the head of his cock. It was nearer purple than red and its slit glistened wickedly. Thick veins ran the length of this beautiful penis and she fancied she could see the hot blood pulsing in them.
Paul was all but screaming for her lips or her fingers to touch him. His arousal seemed to thunder in his ears. He suddenly realised that he might just come all over her face without either of them moving. He stared at his cock, it lifted with every beat of his heart. She looked up at him, "It's beautiful, may I touch it?"
"Oh God, yes! Yes! Yes!" he almost sobbed the words.
She took him between a thumb and forefinger gently, oh so very gently, knowing he was on the very edge of coming. She lowered her head and pressed her cheek gently again his cock. He groaned at the touch. She sighed at the hot velvet feel of him. She'd yearned, and prayed for a cock since forever. Dreamed of one like this. Alone awake, alone in the shower, driving alone, alone on the street, always wanting, wanting, wanting. She pressed her closed eye against the head feeling the slickness of his drooling precum making him slippery against the lid. She turned her head and did the same against the other eyelid. He squirmed in the chair. He felt his balls churn, his insides trembled, he was a caress, a heartbeat from gushing.
Wendy released his cock and got to her feet. She stood astride his thighs. She undid the belt and the big copper button at her waitband, slid down the zipper and forced the shorts down her thighs as far as her opened legs would permit. The scent of her swept overhim. Perfume from soap was there but it was the woman's muskiness that forced the half groan, half growl from him. She wore tiny blue panties, light blue at the waistband, but the darker blue of her wetness where they dived into her cleft.
"Unfasten my blouse Paul, please," she asked softly. Paul almost protested, the wet crotch of her panties hovered inches above his desperate cock and she wanted tit play. She read his mind, "There's no rush Paul. Tease me a little, please me a little, we don' twant you going off early do we?"
She was right he knew but he was desperate to have her sit that sweet thing down on him, impale herself. He feared his cock would split soon, it was so hard!
She watched his hands tremble as he unbuttoned her blouse. His eyes bored into hers, begging. She realised he was horny beyond anything she'd ever seen. To think she'd done this to him! The last button slipped undone and he opened the blouse exposing her breasts. His "Oh God!" delightedWendy.
He forgot the throb of his cock for a few moments ashe gazed at the swell of her breasts. Her nipplesglowed like big raspberries begging for lips andteeth. Her breasts round and heavy sagged with theirweight. White and wonderful, he'd never seen anythingso beautiful.xxx
She could tease him no longer.
Wendy stepped back and knelt again, moving herself between his knees. She lifted her breasts, held them apart and leaned forward letting his cock nestle between them. Then she brought them together enclosing his cock.
He watched, not daring to breathe. She leaned her head forward and let a mouthful of saliva drool down into her cleavage. "Let yourself go Paul, before you burst,we've got all day if we want."
Instinct took over and he thrust up and out and his erection slid up between her breasts. Squashing herself between her hands she made a wonderful tight tunnel for him to make love in. Helping, encouraging with words and movement Wendy leaned foward burying her face in his shirt making her cleavage a hidden private place for his cock. Together, in just a few breast-squeezing thrusts they took him to the promisedland. He came, sobbing and moaning. She felt his cockpulsing between her breasts, felt his essence spurt from him out from between her breasts, hot, so very hot on her throat, splashing on the underneath of her chin. He seemed to come forever, bucking and writhing under her with a sobbing desperation.
Wendy loved every moment of it. The movement between her breasts, the pressure on them, the wonderful feel and smell of Paul's orgasm.
Further down, her wet pussy, still wearing the triangle of her panties wept and begged and begged for attention. Wendy crouched, head and breasts on his lap. In her mind she whispered to her pleading pussy "Shh! patience, we've not finished yet!"
She sat up, her face radiant. He opened his eyes and stared at her. She seemed to glow. He smiled then looked down. She was wet everywhere from his coming. Chin, throat, those lovely big breasts, the cleavage between. The smell of him was strong, drifting up with their heat. A bolt of joy, a woman who didn't care about the mess of sex, its wetness, the sweet smell of it.
She looked down too and gave a low chuckle, she slipped her hands under her breasts and hefted them. They glistened. "Been saving that for a while haven't you?"
He laughed, "No not really," then blushed furiously at the admission he'd made with that phrase.
She heard the words and saw the blush and then smiled, "Don't worry, I'm playing alone a lot lately."
Then a thought crashed in on her. He'd likely make some excuse now and get up and leave her on her own again. She'd been kneeling, wet pantied, happily dreaming of this lovely man's cock doing wonderful things to her. The desperate longing was still there, still waiting, waiting. Patient Wendy and her patient pussy, 'Oh God!' how was she to stop him leaving.
Paul moved in the chair, trying to sit up. 'Oh no!' Wendy began to panic, sure enough, he was going!
"I gotta go for a leak," he said.
She reached out and took his now shrunken cock in her hand, "Poor little guy," she bent and kissed its head, tasting him, revelling in the scent of him.
"Lucky little guy," Paul said happily.
She fondled him and murmured, "Does he have to leave so soon?"
"Maybe he can hang on a little while if you'd like him to stay."
"Oh I don't want him to leave just yet, he looks tired, Silly words she thought, but she was so scared she would have said, done anything.
To Wendy's joy Paul's cock stirred in her hand and began to swell, stiffen. She watched with delight."Maybe we can find him some other fun things to do?" Gently she nursed him back to full erection and began to hope that Paul and his cock really would stay.
Paul's hand strayed to touch her nipple, making her gasp. "I think he'd like that," Paul said softly and now Wendy dared to hope.
She got carefully to her feet but stayed bent over, resting her free hand on his shoulder. Her shorts slid down her legs to rest around her ankles. "I gotta go too, maybe you could hold her for a little while."
To Wendy's delight, his hand dropped from her breast and slid betwen her legs gently cupping her mound. She let out a little squeal of delight at his touch. "Hold her ... tight," she told him and clamped her legs together as his hand curled to hold her.
She was helplessly, happily wet down there she knew and now he must know too. Her gone-away husband had hated that about her and Paul's next words horribly familiar, "My heavens but you're wet!" but these, words were said with surprise and delight.
"I'm sorry, I get that way when I'm aroused."
"Don't be sorry, it's beautiful," he said gently and his hand moved, caressing, massaging her sex, her helplessly wet sex.
She squeezed his cock, "Is it true a guy can't pee with an erection?"
"That's what they say." But Paul was finding speech difficult with them holding each other and her blouse open and her incredible breasts swinging in his face.
She stood, releasing his cock and taking her breasts away. He let his hand come away from between her thighs as she stepped awkwardly out of her shorts.
Wendy reached for the now freed hand and urged him to his feet and playfully grabbed his erection again and led him to the patio doors, "Don't want you to burst do we?"
At the bathroom door she told him "Ladies first," she saw the pained look and the beginnings of a protest. "You won't go away will you?" she said squeezing hiscock.
Paul groaned and said he'd not go away and would she please hurry. "I'll come with you, but just hurry," so Wendy led him into the bathroom with her and sat on the toilet, still holding him.
His cock softened and drooped in Wendy's hand and as always she wondered at the way this remarkable organ changed so much, so quickly.
She leaned forward and took its head between her lips. Amazingly the gesture was lost on Paul, the sound of Wendy's seemingly endless stream was driving him crazy and he bent at the waist and squirmed like a little boy.
Wendy thought she'd never seen anything so cute. Finally she was done and reached for toilet tissue. When she pressed the lever the rush of water was one of the testing moments in Paul's life. He was truly desperate as he dropped his shorts. She raised the seat for him and stepped aside. She rested one hand on his ass and slid the other over his as he aimed himself.
Finaly, with a groan, he let himself go and the flow began. "Please let me hold him," she whispered and he let her replace his hand with hers. There was a sweet magic to that moment for Wendy, holding his velvet smallness, feeling the trembling rush inside his cock. Tenderness swept over her and she actually began to cry, silently, tears trickling down her cheeks.
Intimacy denied for too long.
"Please stay a while!" said a glowing Wendy.
"The Compartment"
Another very early story of mine. From seven years ago, 2001 in fact - that fateful year. This one has a goodly helping of improbability and perhaps innocense too. I like it because it has a glimpse into that very English 'place' - the preserved steam railway ..... as romantic in its way as is happy, consentual lovemaking.
It has a second intro. which was written at the time, feel free to skip that and get to the happy smut part. .................................
I suppose we all fantasise a bout the where and when of chance romantic encounters. The stuck elevator is one. Another, of mine anyway, is the railway train. But with the passage of time the "private" railway compartment has become a thing of the past. (I'm speaking of the railways of Britain here by the way) One of the reasons, 'tis said, was the real and imagined threat to lonely ladies from wicked predatory males. As a result the isolated passenger train compartment has pretty well gone the way of several flightless bird species.
But there is a glimmer of light ..... thanks to the English and their passion for preserving things ancient there are numerous 'preserved railways' dotted about the sceptred isle. On some of these a few of the older style coaches have been restored to their former glory. Rebuilt, repainted, re upholstered, revarnished they now roll sedately through England's green and pleasant land behind similarly rejuvenated steam locomotives. A sight to gladden the heart.........
All of which brings me to my story.....
"The Compartment"
by Julius
Copyright 2001
On a warm summer's day I was indulging in one of my favourite pastimes: wallowing in nostalgia on one of these railways. A beer, or was it two, and a chicken curry were safely stowed away. They had joined the warm glow of anticipation which makes a happy man a little happier. The railway seemed oddly quiet but the weather forecast of that morning had been of thunderstorms and grey skies. The public had listened, I was glad I hadn't. I was about to get gladder.
I climbed in and slammed the door and sank into the seat with a contented sigh. The compartment ran the full width of the coach with a door on each side to get in and out. This coach must have just come out of the 'shops'. The smartly-cushioned bench seats, with room for four people each side, were freshly upholstered. The smell of new varnish was still strong. I lowered the window on either side and sat down again to check the schedule on the leaflet I'd picked up.
The door opened and she got in. My momentary annoyance at having to share 'my' compartment was soon gone. I couldn't be annoyed for long with her company.
My thinking soon turned from third to second person singular! You are gorgeous. You said "Hello!" and I said "Hello' and with our hellos said, we sat silently for a while looking out of our respective windows on opposite sides of the compartment. But my eyes were drawn to you and I simply stared for a happy while. No doubt you knew about this but were kind enough to keep looking out and let me have my look.
A big girl by today's half starved standards, medium height, blonde and no dark roots showing. Your age is hard to guess, in fact the girl is really woman. Moment to moment you seemed to go from late thirties to mid forties and back. This, I hasten to add, is fine by me; you're still young either way in my eyes. It's hard to keep my gaze from your legs. You wear a cotton dress, pale yellow and rather short. You sat carelessly and the skirt has settled high up on your thighs. You've not noticed this but I have. Surprisingly for a summer day you wear panty hose or stockings. The thin cotton is tight over the swell of your breasts.
"You shouldn't stare" you said, turning to face me and you give me a wonderful smile. I mumble my apology. Acouple of smart responses occur to me but I don't want to prompt you to leave - you're far too nice to look at. I'd noticed you on the quiet platform apparently waiting for someone. It seems now that they didn't arrive.
While we wait for departure time we exchange a few sentences and then you tell me what had happened. Your partner was late and in the end you called him. The phone had been picked up by a woman. "The bastard!"you add with passion.
So, rather than lose the day, you decided to use your ticket anyway and had on impulse, decided to join the only other loner in sight. "You seemed to know something about all this." you tell me, making a gesture that takes in our surroundings.
I try to give a quick history of the railway and its preservation but my mind's not on the railway. I keep looking at your eyes and lips and trying no to let my gaze stray too often to your thighs. You're teasing me with that hiked up skirt and I know that you know that I'm hooked. Finally you get up and go to the window and look out, elbows resting on the ledge. "There's a man with a green flag, I think we must be going soon." You lean out to get a better look and I get a better look too. The skirt is short! Stockings, to my great surprise, in these modern times and on a sunny summer day! The backs of your knees and a wonderful glimpse of thigh. The thin cotton outlines your ass perfectly but no panty lines.
"Oh!" you exclaim, "another train, come and look."
I get and stand behind you, trying to look over your shoulder and out of the window. The smell of your hair, the pressure of your body as I lean against you. That wonderful stirring is happening. It turns to pain as my trapped penis erects. I move away a little and reach into my pants and ease my briefs to let him straighten out. Now I can get back to looking. Hissing and clanking the other locomotive passes with its train. You give a cry of girlish delight. You fidget a little in the excitement of the moment and your ass moves against me. I don't think you realise what you're doing but I do and suddenly I have an erection that's very hard. I want to press against you to let you know how you've affected me and I want to slip my hands under your arms and cup those heavy-looking breasts. But I manage some self-restraint, I don't want to spoil things.
I want ......... I want to get to know this sweet, fresh lady.
A whistle shrills, words are shouted, the locomotive gives its first puff and we jolt into motion.
You make no move to leave the window and I risk putting my hands on your waist and whisper, "It's a sort of magic I think."
You half turn your head and lean it back a little and I'm looking into your eyes, they're blue!Suddenly I'm very happy and you echo this by saying, "I'm glad I came."
The smell of the smoke, the engine's whistle at crossings, the warm air coming through the open windows, the motion of the coach. You laugh delightedly again, big perfect teeth. We sit down again, facing each other now. We relax in each other's company. Carefully passing details back and forth.
I discover that you'll not see forty again you but tell me you don't care about that. You've not seen your man in three weeks and now he's done this to you.
"This", you pluck at the skirt of your dress with finger and thumb, "and what's under, it were all intended to get him back today." Tears are there, mixed with your anger and I sit, wondering what to say.
The train draws into the next station. We don't notice, we're too interested in each other it seems. Your remark, -'and what's under it'- lurks in theback of my mind as I listen to you. A jerk and we're off again.
"I'm too angry at him to feel any loss," you say quietly, "but I have missed the physical side of the relationship; three weeks is a long time!"
My eyes go to yours and ask a question, you meet my gaze and nod "Yes, a girl has needs too!"
By now, your nearness and warmth, your charm and,above all, the ripe body under that dress have captured this poor male. I want you very badly and you've all but said you want me. All it needs now is some spark to tip us over that edge.
The brakes go on savagely and you're suddenly off the seat and flung into my arms. The train comes to a shuddering halt and you kiss me. I kiss you back. It's a clumsy kiss, teeth grate on teeth but tongues meet tongues, lips bruise lips and we're lost in our hunger. This is some first kiss!
There is a suddenly knocking from outside and a voice. You scramble off me looking sweetly guilty and go to the window. I hear a male voice explaining that there's a herd of cows, broken through the fence and wandering all over the tracks ..... "There'll be a slight delay" I get up and join you and we both peer out towards the front of the train and sure enough there are several cows on the track and people tryingto shoo them off. The guard moves along the train telling his news.
I realise I'm pressed deliciously against your ass but you make no move to avoid me. So I stand and enjoy thesweet sensation of pressing against your ass. Then you squirm gently and I hear you murmur "Ooh but that feels nice." My erection is back, of course and we can both feel its insistence between us.
To my amazement and delight you reach behind you and wriggle your skirt up your thighs, up over your ass and ask, "What you think?" I take half a pace back. A genuine gasp escapes me. you look utterly delightful. I see what you meant about 'what's under it'. Not stockings after all put a pair of crotchless pantyhose, the colour is what I think they call nude but with a hint of white to them and under that, a red thong, just a tiny scarlet arrow pointing down between the swells of your buttocks. "I think you're exquisite!" I tell you sincerely.
You lean far out of the window, up on tiptoe. Your thighs and buttocks tense and now I can see the thin line of red down that lovely cleavage and the beginning of the widening a the fabric stretches over the swell of your mound. My erection has become a raging focus now.
You look over your shoulder at me,"Press that thing against me again!" Almost without thought I unzip and struggle my cock out and move against you. Nestling it between your buttocks. I can't believe how good it feels. You tell me how hot my cock is. I tell you how good this feels. I'm leaking precum but this isn't enough and skin drags cruelly on skin.
You gesture towards your purse,"There's oil in there." Sure enough, a small bottle of massage oil. I unscrew the top and dribble some down into the top of your cleavage. Bliss! You like it too and squirm against me. I long to be inside you but the slick tight valley of your ass is perfect for the moment and I slowly plough your furrow and you writhe your ass against my groin.
The guard strolls back, glances up and smiles,"Shouldn't be long now!" You keep your giggles silent.
Deep between your buttocks I feel your thong with my penis and, drawing away from you for a moment I hook it with a forefinger and you give a soft cry as I draw it out and aside to lie across your buttock. Now I press against you again and we both moan our pleasure as I burrow in between your cheeks again. I reach round and cup your heavy breasts. Your nipples proudly tell of your arousal through your dress and bra.
You reach behind and your hand grabs my cock and cruelly bends it down, guiding me, urging me. In a moment I'm into you, you're scalding hot, wickedly tight. I thrust hard and deep, grinding against your ass. I hear your squealof delight. You match my lunging urgency with backward thrusts of you own and suddenly we're uncontrolled.
The train lurches into motion and we are almost thrown sideways, coupled, onto the seat. You put a hand on either side of the window to brace yourself and push back hard, I drop my hands from the softness of your breasts to your hips and begin slow deliberate thrusts into your clutching heat. My hands pulling, you to meet my thrusting hips. In moments your sobs announce your approaching climax, my movements speed as I strive towards mine. That wonderful pulsing glow begins deep inside me and then you're happening. Yourmuscles tense, for a moment you freeze then your voice and you body announce the flood of your orgasm. Now it's my turn and I thrust, withdraw, thrust, withdraw,thrust, withdraw ..... sobbing now.
Faces flash past, you struggle and yell, "God! Let me go! we're in the station!!"
We separate, you smooth your skirt down, I struggle my pants up. Struggling a weeping, fast drooping penis out of sight. We're like small children caught at something wicked. I'm in mental agony now at the cruel ending mere seconds from my ecstasy. But the realization suddenly blossoms that perhaps we now have the return journey to enjoy. You turn to look at me, your face is radiant and I know you'rethinking the same thing.
"Susan!" ..... a smiling male face at the window and something about a stupid sister turning up with her beastly kids.
The train leaves. I watch it go. My pants have a small wet patch. For a moment, only a moment, I wish I'd listened to that damned weatherforecast.
It has a second intro. which was written at the time, feel free to skip that and get to the happy smut part. .................................
I suppose we all fantasise a bout the where and when of chance romantic encounters. The stuck elevator is one. Another, of mine anyway, is the railway train. But with the passage of time the "private" railway compartment has become a thing of the past. (I'm speaking of the railways of Britain here by the way) One of the reasons, 'tis said, was the real and imagined threat to lonely ladies from wicked predatory males. As a result the isolated passenger train compartment has pretty well gone the way of several flightless bird species.
But there is a glimmer of light ..... thanks to the English and their passion for preserving things ancient there are numerous 'preserved railways' dotted about the sceptred isle. On some of these a few of the older style coaches have been restored to their former glory. Rebuilt, repainted, re upholstered, revarnished they now roll sedately through England's green and pleasant land behind similarly rejuvenated steam locomotives. A sight to gladden the heart.........
All of which brings me to my story.....
"The Compartment"
by Julius
Copyright 2001
On a warm summer's day I was indulging in one of my favourite pastimes: wallowing in nostalgia on one of these railways. A beer, or was it two, and a chicken curry were safely stowed away. They had joined the warm glow of anticipation which makes a happy man a little happier. The railway seemed oddly quiet but the weather forecast of that morning had been of thunderstorms and grey skies. The public had listened, I was glad I hadn't. I was about to get gladder.
I climbed in and slammed the door and sank into the seat with a contented sigh. The compartment ran the full width of the coach with a door on each side to get in and out. This coach must have just come out of the 'shops'. The smartly-cushioned bench seats, with room for four people each side, were freshly upholstered. The smell of new varnish was still strong. I lowered the window on either side and sat down again to check the schedule on the leaflet I'd picked up.
The door opened and she got in. My momentary annoyance at having to share 'my' compartment was soon gone. I couldn't be annoyed for long with her company.
My thinking soon turned from third to second person singular! You are gorgeous. You said "Hello!" and I said "Hello' and with our hellos said, we sat silently for a while looking out of our respective windows on opposite sides of the compartment. But my eyes were drawn to you and I simply stared for a happy while. No doubt you knew about this but were kind enough to keep looking out and let me have my look.
A big girl by today's half starved standards, medium height, blonde and no dark roots showing. Your age is hard to guess, in fact the girl is really woman. Moment to moment you seemed to go from late thirties to mid forties and back. This, I hasten to add, is fine by me; you're still young either way in my eyes. It's hard to keep my gaze from your legs. You wear a cotton dress, pale yellow and rather short. You sat carelessly and the skirt has settled high up on your thighs. You've not noticed this but I have. Surprisingly for a summer day you wear panty hose or stockings. The thin cotton is tight over the swell of your breasts.
"You shouldn't stare" you said, turning to face me and you give me a wonderful smile. I mumble my apology. Acouple of smart responses occur to me but I don't want to prompt you to leave - you're far too nice to look at. I'd noticed you on the quiet platform apparently waiting for someone. It seems now that they didn't arrive.
While we wait for departure time we exchange a few sentences and then you tell me what had happened. Your partner was late and in the end you called him. The phone had been picked up by a woman. "The bastard!"you add with passion.
So, rather than lose the day, you decided to use your ticket anyway and had on impulse, decided to join the only other loner in sight. "You seemed to know something about all this." you tell me, making a gesture that takes in our surroundings.
I try to give a quick history of the railway and its preservation but my mind's not on the railway. I keep looking at your eyes and lips and trying no to let my gaze stray too often to your thighs. You're teasing me with that hiked up skirt and I know that you know that I'm hooked. Finally you get up and go to the window and look out, elbows resting on the ledge. "There's a man with a green flag, I think we must be going soon." You lean out to get a better look and I get a better look too. The skirt is short! Stockings, to my great surprise, in these modern times and on a sunny summer day! The backs of your knees and a wonderful glimpse of thigh. The thin cotton outlines your ass perfectly but no panty lines.
"Oh!" you exclaim, "another train, come and look."
I get and stand behind you, trying to look over your shoulder and out of the window. The smell of your hair, the pressure of your body as I lean against you. That wonderful stirring is happening. It turns to pain as my trapped penis erects. I move away a little and reach into my pants and ease my briefs to let him straighten out. Now I can get back to looking. Hissing and clanking the other locomotive passes with its train. You give a cry of girlish delight. You fidget a little in the excitement of the moment and your ass moves against me. I don't think you realise what you're doing but I do and suddenly I have an erection that's very hard. I want to press against you to let you know how you've affected me and I want to slip my hands under your arms and cup those heavy-looking breasts. But I manage some self-restraint, I don't want to spoil things.
I want ......... I want to get to know this sweet, fresh lady.
A whistle shrills, words are shouted, the locomotive gives its first puff and we jolt into motion.
You make no move to leave the window and I risk putting my hands on your waist and whisper, "It's a sort of magic I think."
You half turn your head and lean it back a little and I'm looking into your eyes, they're blue!Suddenly I'm very happy and you echo this by saying, "I'm glad I came."
The smell of the smoke, the engine's whistle at crossings, the warm air coming through the open windows, the motion of the coach. You laugh delightedly again, big perfect teeth. We sit down again, facing each other now. We relax in each other's company. Carefully passing details back and forth.
I discover that you'll not see forty again you but tell me you don't care about that. You've not seen your man in three weeks and now he's done this to you.
"This", you pluck at the skirt of your dress with finger and thumb, "and what's under, it were all intended to get him back today." Tears are there, mixed with your anger and I sit, wondering what to say.
The train draws into the next station. We don't notice, we're too interested in each other it seems. Your remark, -'and what's under it'- lurks in theback of my mind as I listen to you. A jerk and we're off again.
"I'm too angry at him to feel any loss," you say quietly, "but I have missed the physical side of the relationship; three weeks is a long time!"
My eyes go to yours and ask a question, you meet my gaze and nod "Yes, a girl has needs too!"
By now, your nearness and warmth, your charm and,above all, the ripe body under that dress have captured this poor male. I want you very badly and you've all but said you want me. All it needs now is some spark to tip us over that edge.
The brakes go on savagely and you're suddenly off the seat and flung into my arms. The train comes to a shuddering halt and you kiss me. I kiss you back. It's a clumsy kiss, teeth grate on teeth but tongues meet tongues, lips bruise lips and we're lost in our hunger. This is some first kiss!
There is a suddenly knocking from outside and a voice. You scramble off me looking sweetly guilty and go to the window. I hear a male voice explaining that there's a herd of cows, broken through the fence and wandering all over the tracks ..... "There'll be a slight delay" I get up and join you and we both peer out towards the front of the train and sure enough there are several cows on the track and people tryingto shoo them off. The guard moves along the train telling his news.
I realise I'm pressed deliciously against your ass but you make no move to avoid me. So I stand and enjoy thesweet sensation of pressing against your ass. Then you squirm gently and I hear you murmur "Ooh but that feels nice." My erection is back, of course and we can both feel its insistence between us.
To my amazement and delight you reach behind you and wriggle your skirt up your thighs, up over your ass and ask, "What you think?" I take half a pace back. A genuine gasp escapes me. you look utterly delightful. I see what you meant about 'what's under it'. Not stockings after all put a pair of crotchless pantyhose, the colour is what I think they call nude but with a hint of white to them and under that, a red thong, just a tiny scarlet arrow pointing down between the swells of your buttocks. "I think you're exquisite!" I tell you sincerely.
You lean far out of the window, up on tiptoe. Your thighs and buttocks tense and now I can see the thin line of red down that lovely cleavage and the beginning of the widening a the fabric stretches over the swell of your mound. My erection has become a raging focus now.
You look over your shoulder at me,"Press that thing against me again!" Almost without thought I unzip and struggle my cock out and move against you. Nestling it between your buttocks. I can't believe how good it feels. You tell me how hot my cock is. I tell you how good this feels. I'm leaking precum but this isn't enough and skin drags cruelly on skin.
You gesture towards your purse,"There's oil in there." Sure enough, a small bottle of massage oil. I unscrew the top and dribble some down into the top of your cleavage. Bliss! You like it too and squirm against me. I long to be inside you but the slick tight valley of your ass is perfect for the moment and I slowly plough your furrow and you writhe your ass against my groin.
The guard strolls back, glances up and smiles,"Shouldn't be long now!" You keep your giggles silent.
Deep between your buttocks I feel your thong with my penis and, drawing away from you for a moment I hook it with a forefinger and you give a soft cry as I draw it out and aside to lie across your buttock. Now I press against you again and we both moan our pleasure as I burrow in between your cheeks again. I reach round and cup your heavy breasts. Your nipples proudly tell of your arousal through your dress and bra.
You reach behind and your hand grabs my cock and cruelly bends it down, guiding me, urging me. In a moment I'm into you, you're scalding hot, wickedly tight. I thrust hard and deep, grinding against your ass. I hear your squealof delight. You match my lunging urgency with backward thrusts of you own and suddenly we're uncontrolled.
The train lurches into motion and we are almost thrown sideways, coupled, onto the seat. You put a hand on either side of the window to brace yourself and push back hard, I drop my hands from the softness of your breasts to your hips and begin slow deliberate thrusts into your clutching heat. My hands pulling, you to meet my thrusting hips. In moments your sobs announce your approaching climax, my movements speed as I strive towards mine. That wonderful pulsing glow begins deep inside me and then you're happening. Yourmuscles tense, for a moment you freeze then your voice and you body announce the flood of your orgasm. Now it's my turn and I thrust, withdraw, thrust, withdraw,thrust, withdraw ..... sobbing now.
Faces flash past, you struggle and yell, "God! Let me go! we're in the station!!"
We separate, you smooth your skirt down, I struggle my pants up. Struggling a weeping, fast drooping penis out of sight. We're like small children caught at something wicked. I'm in mental agony now at the cruel ending mere seconds from my ecstasy. But the realization suddenly blossoms that perhaps we now have the return journey to enjoy. You turn to look at me, your face is radiant and I know you'rethinking the same thing.
"Susan!" ..... a smiling male face at the window and something about a stupid sister turning up with her beastly kids.
The train leaves. I watch it go. My pants have a small wet patch. For a moment, only a moment, I wish I'd listened to that damned weatherforecast.
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