So, the conundrum of the age difference between a mature man and a young woman continues. The ‘should they, shouldn’t they?’ question hangs over them and they find the answer.
It’s probably better if you read the previous parts although that’s not essential as hopefully this works as a self-contained story. And, by the way there are more parts to follow
Him.
Bit ironic, don’t you think?” I asked, unbuttoning the top button of your denim waistcoat.
Your blue eyes narrowed in puzzlement. “What is?”
“You calling me gramps, and yet you live in a granny flat,” I laughed, flicking open a second button.
Your eyes followed my fingers for a moment, before returning to meet mine. “Well, you should feel at home here, then, shouldn’t you?”
“At home here?” I asked quizzically, opening the third of the five buttons on the waistcoat you were wearing over the long-sleeved blue and white tee shirt.
You nodded. “Yeah… keep up. A grandad in a granny flat.”
“I understood,” I explained, flicking open the fourth button. “It was the assumption that I was going to be staying here. Thought you said it depended on how I behaved?”
“It does,” you grinned, glancing down at my hands. “What are you doing?”
“What you told me to do,” I answered, opening the final button and pulling the waistcoat open.
“Which is?” you asked, as I ran my fingers across your stomach, gently edging up the short, tee shirt.
“Using my instincts,” I told you, my voice not much more than a whisper as I eased the waistcoat off your arms and let it drop to the floor..
You leant in and kissed me as you felt my hands under your tee shirt, my fingers tracing a light pattern across your bare tummy. When we had kissed previously, I had the impression you were unsure whether you were ready to go further. This time, the soft, entwined lips the duelling and the unhurried kiss suggested you were, but I couldn’t be sure.
“That’s good,” you murmured into my mouth, your body trembling slightly as my fingers edged upwards across your naked skin. “I like it when you use your instincts.”
“Mmmm, me too,” I agreed, running my fingertips around the deliciously round undersides of your tits. “So, there I was, wondering whether you were a pricktease?”
“And now?” you interrupted, gasping as I cupped your naked boobs, palms gently kneading the flesh, thumbs flicking your hard nipples.
“And now,” I said, leaning in and running my tongue along one side of your neck, “I think your nipples feel wonderful.”
“Mmmm, your hands feel pretty good too,” your strained, presumably aroused voice told me in your typically understated style, as your hands went to the back of my head and stroked my hair.
“Good,” I murmured, trailing little kisses down the other side of your neck. My hands kneaded your tits, loving the warm roundness of them against my palms. “Think my lips will feel good, too?” I whispered as our lips parted.
“Your lips?” you asked, digging your fingers into my hair and pulling my head back, so that you could look in my eyes. You were giving me that Jayne-look and we both felt the extra surge between my thighs in response. I’d made a point of not grinding into you yet, but we were both aware of the hardness pressing against you. “Yes, they do feel good,” you mumbled.
“That’s good, Jayne” I murmured again into your mouth as I took each nipple in turn between my thumb and forefinger and lightly pulled. “But that’s not what I meant.”
Your eyes narrowed in both desire and puzzlement.
“I meant on your breasts,” I explained before you could speak again. “Kissing them, licking them. I meant on your nipples. Feeling them hard in my mouth, sucking on them. Think my lips will feel good on those fabulous tits of yours, Jayne?”
“Quite big into feelings, aren’t you?” I asked
“What do you mean?”
“Well, this all really started by you telling me that you wondered what it would feel like to fuck me didn’t it?”
“Yes so?”
“Not what it would be like to fuck me as most guys think but what it would feel like.”
“So, am I going to find that out Lady Jayne?” I said softly.
Her.
It came as a bit of shock being kissed and having my breasts fondled and nipples pinched and pulled at the same time. But it felt right. And in my book if it felt right, then it probably was right. And if it was right, then my inclination was to go with it. Like in the doorway, it felt right to let you finger but not fuck me. So that’s what I did. Now it was different. I felt different; you seemed different, more relaxed, cooler, more with it. Most importantly, I felt different. I was on my home patch, but where, strangely enough, I had never had sex. In fact, I had rarely even brought boys back here, let alone a mature man, I smiled thinking, one old enough to be my father, one older than either of my parents. Above all else I felt free and comfortable. I felt good about you and us, felt good about myself and what we were doing and I felt assured about what we were going to do.
Also, I felt pretty confident that if I did ever introduce you to mum, heaven forbid, then she would make a play for you. As we kissed that got me thinking. Maybe we would fall in love and would want to live together or, for fuck’s silly sake, want to get married. Just what the hell that would be like with my parents, aunts and uncles all younger than you and your children older than me, I couldn’t imagine but I couldn’t help smilng into the kiss.
For some reason, I felt more womanly than I usually did when having sex. Most of the guys, all ten or so, I had been with, were mostly in their late twenties or early thirties and they treated me and made me feel like a young bird, a chick, but then I rationalised that’s what I was, or thought I was and what they thought I was. But you didn’t, you treated me so differently more like, well that I didn’t know but certainly differently, perhaps like a woman and not a chick! Why that was and why with you I felt differently I had no idea. But all the time both in the alleyway when you fingerfucked me and now in my home, I felt so different and it felt good.
It took me some time to work it out. As usual with a new situation eventually I put my finger on it and I did work it out. With you I was a woman. And it wasn’t me that made me that but you. Perhaps some sort of fucking defence mechanism about the inevitable guilt you’d have about picking up a young bird thirty years your junior and was just about to fuck her or, maybe in your world make love or, experience her.
And on top of all those interesting feelings there was another which was that I wanted to be a woman and not a kid for you, did you realise that though, I wondered as I made my mind up? Revelling in the lovely feelings your teeth and tongue were giving me on my breasts and the anticipation your other hand was providing by squeezing my bum, I wanted more. More felt right, and at that moment, right was good. And right meant for me to be grown up, become a sophisticated, mature lover so, I grabbed the hem of the tee shirt and with you at first not seeing that, for your eyes were otherwise engaged, I pulled it up. I had to struggle a bit, for what you were doing was hindering what I was doing. You looked up, your mouth still enjoying my boobs and our eyes caught, just before I yanked it over my head. Now I was excitingly bare above the waist and that felt great. When I am like that, naked above the waist and dressed beneath it, I feel sort of liberated and get some idea as to how the bra burners felt in the sixties. Rather tritely, but nevertheless sincerely I whispered as I cradled your head to my chest.
“They’re yours James take them.”
I pushed them more firmly against your face, loving your attention, patience and understanding. Purely by coincidence I promise, we were standing so we were reflected in a full-length mirror. Glancing at and seeing my half naked form with your hands on my bum, and your mouth on my breasts as I leaned back my hands behind my head, gave me a tremendous turn on. At that moment I knew we would not just fuck, but also make love. I said quietly.
“Did we decide whether it was the drink, pizza or me you wanted James?”
Him.
I glanced up at you as you spoke. Your eyes weren’t looking at me; they were looking over to the side at our reflections in the full-length mirror. I hadn’t really noticed that the mirror was there, and the sensual sight that surprised me instantly may have brought an extra inch to the length of my cock.
There was something about the reflection on display that was so erotic. Maybe it was the fact you weren’t totally naked? Dressed in just your hot pants and tights, naked breasts covered in saliva, with those diamond hard, succulent pink, nipples, you were picture frame perfect.
Add the fact that your hands were behind your head in a submissive pose and your back was arched, and the eroticism of the scene increased manyfold.
The fact that I was there, too, hands kneading your wonderfully firm ass, mouth paused to your tits ready to resume their pleasuring, only added to the arousal running through my body. You looked hot, but the sight was even hotter because of the aroused look on your face, and the knowledge that I was the cause.
It wasn’t, though, just what I saw but also what I heard. If the phrase, ‘did we decide whether it was the drink, pizza or me you wanted James?’ was exciting the earlier one, ‘they’re yours James take them,’ was erotically explosive. They crashed into my mind like a sexual bomb going off and gave me such a buzz. Momentarily, I wondered whether it was something you said to all your men or perhaps it was something she had dreamed up for me and had rehearsed it. But no, it wasn’t, I knew that it was simply another Jayneism and I loved her for it.
Almost in daze of wanton desire I could barely mumble my reply.
“We didn’t decide,” I said, turning my gaze away from the mirror to look into your narrowed blue eyes. “Though if you believe in actions rather than words, I think my feelings are obvious.”
“And if you believe in words?” you asked.
“Then I need to tell you that I want you, Jayne. The drink and pizza can wait.”
“Really? But we have all day…”
“… and all night,” I added. “I hope. But right now, some things can’t wait.”
“Such as?” you asked, watching me closely.
“I’m hungry,” I told you, my tongue sneaking out to lick around the outline of your right breast. When you gave a small moan, I took your nipple in my mouth again and lightly pulled on it with my teeth.
“For these, but not for pizza,” I explained as you moaned again. I left your breast and slowly licked my way up your freckled chest. “I want you, Jayne. Right now.”
“What do you want?” you asked, dropping your hands to my hair. “Tell me.”
“I want you,” I murmured, lightly kissing your lips while my fingertips stroked along your legs. “All of you,” and then waxing almost, but not quite as lyrically as you, I added. “Everything you have that you can give my Jayney.”
“And now?”
“Now, it’s the aperitif. I want to start by showing you what an old man can do. I’m going to make love to you, Jayne. With my lips, my tongue, my mouth, my fingers. I’m going to make you moan, Jayne. I’m going to have your body twisting in pleasure. I’m going to have you begging me to fuck you. But before then.”
“Before then what?” you asked, and I swear your voice was unsteady.
I gently ran my hand over your hot pants, lightly pressing and rubbing along the length of your young pussy. “Before then, Jayne, I’m going to make you cum.”
“Like you did before, you dirty old sod fingerfucking me in an office doorway?”
The soft moan you gave from my words, or the touch of my fingers on your sex, made my mind up.
My hands moved to the brass button on your hot pants and pinged it free. Watching your half-closed, blue eyes, I slowly pulled the zip down, as if every movement had to be exaggerated and unhurried so it was teasing to both of us. The pants slid easily down your thighs and you stepped out of them. The look on your face said you were unsure, but that you wanted to see where this was going, find out whether gramps knew what he was doing? My fingers went to the waistband of your almost opaque, blue tights. It was more difficult to peel those down your legs than the hotpants, but a few drags and tugs eventually did the trick, with you holding onto my shoulders to make sure you didn’t topple over as I forced the material down your legs and off your feet as you wiggled the strappy, silver shoes off.
It had entered my mind to try to fuck you by, either ripping a hole in the tights or, with them just rolled down beneath your bum. On balance, I thought it wiser for such more overt stuff to be left for later. With just that thong to protect your modesty, you looked every bit the young temptress you were. I almost expected you to put one finger in your mouth, Lolita-like, and provocatively suck on it, but you didn’t. Instead, you stood there, your eyes telling me this was my show. What next, they asked? Surprise me, they said. But they sent out a warning, too, be careful, because I’m moving out of my comfort zone. Glancing around, I tugged you across to your bed, gently easing you down, onto your back, not a word being spoken as I leant forward to kiss you. A soft kiss, one you returned, your hands raising themselves to stroke my hair. I pulled away a fraction, so we could look at one another, try and read each other’s eyes, see what the other was thinking. At the same time, I reached down, taking hold of one end of the thong with my right hand, and another part with my left. Eyes on one another, I thought of tearing the material and ripping the flimsy garment from you. Quickly, though, I abandoned the adventurous idea as previous attempts at such a demonstration had taught me just how strong even a flimsy thong is. I realised that it really could make me look like an old prick if it didn’t tear and I had to revert to pulling it down your legs after probably hurting you.
Instead, I growled. “One day I’ll rip your knickers off you, you sexy little bitch.”
“Mmmmm, you replied, promises, promises.”
“Don’t worry I’d buy you new ones.”
Typically, you answered. “Yes, you fuckingwell would, these are sixty quid of AP’s best stuff,” making me wonder, but afraid to ask, if you had bought them especially for today realising quickly that was almost certainly wishful thinking.
My lips and tongue found the inside of one thigh, and then moved across to the other. An upwards kiss, lick, kiss, lick across both thighs and then I was there, staring at the treasure I wanted so badly. You were smooth, delightfully smooth; smooth just for me, I wondered remembering vividly that you had a landing strip when I finger fucked you? I let your eyes see my tongue – not lewdly, just a glimpse – as you stared down, propping yourself up on your elbows. My eyes surveyed your wet pinkness and then my head dipped forward. It was just the very tip of my tongue that licked across the full length of your opening, my senses savouring the feel, the erotic smell and your lovely taste. Your body shuddered, then trembled. Your hands reached down to my hair, perhaps unsure whether to pull me closer or push me away. I lapped again, with a little more pressure this time, my fingertips drawing the lightest of patterns on your inner thighs, a feather like touch, running up and then down your soft skin. I heard a noise. A murmur? A groan? A gurgle? A moan? I licked again, harder this time, pushing my tongue along your soft folds so that you could better feel the pressure. Your body trembled again, just a little. A tremble of pleasure, I hoped, though this was unfamiliar territory for both of us. Take it slowly, I told myself, though my arousal insisted I should feed on the wonderful offering open to me. My hands went to your knees and slid under each one so that I could pull and push your bum upwards. Taking advantage, I slid my tongue along that sensitive patch of flesh between your sex and your bum, for a second or two toying with your bum hole. Your body jerked in my hands, and I slid my tongue back on its return journey, this time slipping it inside your lips and tongue fucking you for a few seconds. The move was sudden, unexpected, and your body jerked as my hands pulled your legs a little wider apart. Your hands gripped my hair more tightly. To stop me? Or encourage me? Whichever, I changed the pace, sucking in the Jayne-juices that were flowing into my mouth and then moving upwards, my whole mouth engulfing your clit. I sucked it inside, as much and as deeply as I could, until I felt your body move, your bum press upwards, as if involuntarily offering yourself for more. Then I released the wonderful mouthful of flesh and allowed my tongue to get back in on the act, slowly lapping up and down the little bud, then drawing figure of eights all around it. For a brief second, I wondered if this was giving you as much pleasure as it was giving me?
Her.
From the moment when it had become obvious that you were trying to pull me and from the time when I had realised that I didn’t particularly object to what some might consider that rather ambitious aim on your part given our ages, two things had occupied my mind.
The first was whether your maturity and experience would make it much different. Would you go about having me in a different manner to younger guys: are there techniques that men acquire with experience and do they give more pleasure? I simply didn’t really know, but somehow doubted it. Sex could well be a little like rock and roll, there’s quite a low ceiling; that’s why stuff from the seventies sounds as good as new, with rock that is, but maybe sex as well. I mean there are only so many ways a clit can be pressed, a nipple sucked or a girl’s pussy can be stuffed with a guy’s cock isn’t there? Isn’t there? I wondered, but knew that I would soon find out. And second, was how you would feel. Daft I know, but I am a bit touchy feely; being tactile, isn’t it? By that I had wondered to myself, would your skin and flesh feel different to the other younger guys who had been in my arms? An odd thought maybe, but one that seemed important to me. Those thoughts had been occupying much of my thinking. They were there when I phoned you with that joking customer call, when we were arranging to meet, when I was waiting for the day and when I waited; aroused I have to admit, at the platform at Kings Cross. God aren’t railway stations and trains sexy things? Well, I think so.
All that had been near the forefront of my mind when we sat together on the Central Line to Loughton, tube trains are the exception to my sexy feelings with railways by the way, and in the cab to my home. And, of course, as I showed you around our suburban mansion, they were uppermost in my mind for I knew the time when I would get my answers was nigh. As we kissed, as you touched me, as you undid the waistcoat, as your hands went under my top and as you caressed and then sucked my breasts those questions were screaming out to be answered. Somehow, though, when I pulled the top over my head and bared my breasts for you, offering them to you, giving them to you to do with as you wished, things changed.
How you would go about taking me seemed rather irrelevant. It was merely the technical aspect of sex. As was how you would feel, did it matter? No not really. Those thoughts that had troubled me so much, that had been in my mind so frequently, that had kept me awake as I masturbated myself thinking about them, suddenly lost their significance. As you removed my little silly, little, ‘come and fuck me’ shorts, as you stared at my half-undressed form, your eyes boring through the dark blue nylon of my lower half and the total nakedness of my upper body, they didn’t seem to matter. As so quickly you stripped those tights and the tiny thong from my tummy and legs to bare me completely, the technical and the feel slunk into the back ground. Yes, as you took me naked to my bed, all that seemed to matter was us. Not a young, blonde bimbo and a mature, aging, man, not a pick up and a seducer, not an adchick and a retired businessman, but simply a man and a woman. A man and woman about to make love. And make love we did.
Well to be precise, and at such times precision does seem important, you made love to me. Not that I complained or really saw anything wrong in it, but it was a little odd. It was exciting to be stripped naked slowly, with just the right touch of aggression, it was amazing to have my legs lifted, twisted, pushed apart and opened. It was so stimulatingly stirring to have your head go down on me. It was incredible to feel your tongue explore me and find all those sensitive places ‘down there.’ But it was odd, and somewhat lonely is the term that comes to mind, to be naked, to have a man orally fucking me and to find my orgasm growing, while he is still fully dressed. There was no skin on skin, no flesh to flesh. So, as your mouth anointed my cunt, as your tongue probed me and as your fingers accompanied that so you built up slowly, but very markedly my orgasm, yes as you started to make me cum, I did not get any real answers. Your mouth was as other’s mouths, both male and female, that had visited me there before and I did not ‘feel’ you, so my quest for that knowledge remained just that; a quest.
Him.
I’m not sure exactly why I wanted to make you cum. Well, that’s stupid, of course I did. What I mean is, why I wanted to take you to orgasm this way? With my mouth. Why I wanted to put your pleasure before mine? Why was this all about you, not me?
Perhaps, as I knew we had all day and night, I wanted to take things slowly, step by step.
Maybe I felt I had to prove myself to you?
Perhaps I needed to show you that a man of my age could give pleasure without the need to drag my cock from my trousers and get ‘down to it’.
Maybe I felt I should show you that it wasn’t all about me?
Perhaps the moon was made of blue cheese?
Fuck, I didn’t know! All I did know was that I so needed to put your enjoyment before mine, that I went down on you. I wanted your juices. I wanted your groans. I wanted to make your body squirm. I wanted to hear you grunt and moan. I wanted your fingers in my hair, urging me on. I wanted to feel you, experience you and yes, make you cum. I wanted your orgasm.
The way your body bucked when you did cum made my cock twitch, strongly. It sent a bolt of electricity through my body as well as yours. My befuddled mind, that had told me to take things slowly, changed its mind. How could I take things slowly when my need for you was so great?
No, not my need or desire for you, although that was undoubtedly true. Nor my lust for you, despite that arousal being self-evident. Right then, at that moment, you were the sexiest woman on the planet and there, in your bedroom, on your bed, I needed to sink my cock inside you.
I had to experience you. Experience what though?
Your velvet walls around my hardness!? The look in your eyes when I entered you!? Your young flesh pressing against my not-so-young flesh!? The way your face contorted as I slid inside!? The touch of your skin against my skin!? The way you reacted when we were joined!? The grip of your young muscles on my ageing cock?
Would your hands grip my ass? Or dig into my back? Or grab my head? Would you bite or scratch? Would your legs widen to welcome me? Would they wrap themselves around my back? Would your feet plant themselves firmly on the mattress? Or cross over the top of my buttocks? Would your heels dig into my ass, forcing me deeper? Would you groan? Would you grunt? Would you moan? Would you purr? Would you talk dirty and would you scream?
Slowly, I rose to my feet. I stood above you, looking down and devouring your naked body as I removed my shirt. My eyes watched your eyes. They ran over my body as I threw the shirt away. What were they thinking?
Did you expect my chest to be tanned? Not being a sun worshipper, it wasn’t. Were you disappointed?
Did you expect wrinkles? I giggled inside at the thought wondering if you actually expected my skin to be hanging from my body.
Reaching down, I took your hand and brought it to my chest, holding it there as I ran it across my smooth, moderately hairy skin. Your touch was cool. I was making a point, as well as reassuring you. What I hadn’t expected was the way my cock throbbed at the sensation of your fingers on my flesh.
I held your hand more tightly as I dropped it to the bulge in my black jeans, gratefully feeling you grip me. I couldn’t help but moan.
My hands went to my belt. I unfastened it with an urgency that was running through my psyche. I ripped it away and then unzipped myself, watching as your hand dropped away as I pushed my jeans down to my feet. I kicked them away and then dragged one sock off, then the other.
Your eyes were glued to my crotch and I pulled my boxers down, allowing your gaze to feast on my rock-hard cock.
Feast?
Okay, that may have been the wrong word. The good news was that I was fully erect, hard and aching, just for you. The bad news was that I was no larger than average. Was that a disappointment? The good news was that if and when you felt me, you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between me and the young bucks who I assumed you’d been with.
“Want me to put a bag over my head?” I asked, watching every emotion on your face, in your gaze. “See if it makes any difference?”
Her
It was a strong climax, a heavy orgasm; you gave me a monumental cum. Truth be known it had started when I took my top off. That outlandish gesture, something that really was out of character for me, had got things going. Your mouth and hands on my bare breasts, your eyes adoringly scanning my body, your removal of the rest of my clothes and you taking me to my bed, naked had increased the tempo. Kissing me, touching me, caressing me and opening my legs had started making me shudder. Your fingers visiting my clit, sliding along the length of my pussy then going inside had opened my floodgates and your mouth on my most womanly place had crumbled every single vestige of defence I had. As I lay whimpering my legs spread, your head between my thighs, your tongue doing such amazing things to me, every part of my body joined in a symphony of seemingly synchronised sensations. They combined to join up each sexually sensitive place I had. My clit felt as though it was hot wired to each of my nipples. My pussy seemed intrinsically linked to each of my breasts. They all exchanged ‘good vibrations everywhere,’ vibrant sensations, sensual messages, erotic signals and such fucking incredible feelings. I wasn’t just cumming with my body nor with just my mind, I was not climaxing just with my tits or nipples, clit or cunt, I was cumming with everything I had and I was cumming everywhere. My little toe seemed to be as affected as each of my ridiculously bloated nipples, my blonde hair felt it as much as my breasts and my kneecaps reverberated with such powerful sexual shudders as did my cunt. I trembled and shook, thrust and surged and almost convulsed as all hell let loose everywhere. I was a blubbering, moaning, groaning grunting and whimpering mess as it felt as though your head slid all the way up my cunt. That went on for some time, just how long I have no idea for time had ceased to exist. In fact, nearly everything else had also seemed to no longer exist. There was just you, me and, most crucially my body that was left to exist. But then things changed again, marvellously and so erotically. You started to undress for me; yes, for me not for you it seemed but at worst for us. That was perfect. Both the act of baring yourself and the moment you chose to do it. I always find it adds something to my arousal to be naked, or as good as, whilst my partner is dressed; I also find similar things happening if I am dressed and he is naked. Odd! So, when you ‘disrobed’ me you added even more to the already extreme excitement of the situation. I was still trembling. My tits felt so full and heavy. They also felt big, as big as I would like them to be, as big as my mum who has ample C going on D cups. My nipples were still aching with the need for further relief and my cunt, inside, out and all along each lip was on fire. I was coming down from the awesome height of my orgasm to the level where I needed to be held and loved before being fucked. And of course, you knew that, you were aware of my need and you provided that.
So, to have you ‘perform’ for me was so in keeping with what was happening that I felt even more pangs of orgasmic delight. As you revealed your cock to me, I have to admit to a slight feeling of relief in that you were superbly hard, for I had some worries along those lines. Naked cocks in pictures do little for me. When the cock has little or nothing to do with me, but is simply an inanimate object owned by an unknown, I rarely look on it as a massive, or even moderate come to that, turn on. It’s not as the view of a female breast or thigh is to a man, then it is the look and shape irrespective of whose flesh is on show that is the turn on. Perhaps that’s part of the reason why men find it easier to shag someone they don’t know, whilst we struggle with that. So, a cock, as hard and as sturdily appealing as that you were flaunting at me has little appeal in isolation. If what you were showing was in a photo in a newspaper, I would probably turn the page and check the weather, it would be more exciting! But when a cock is as close up and personal and its target is clear and obvious and is me, everything changes. Then it does thrill, it does excite, it does arouse for it becomes an object of serene beauty. That’s almost certainly due to the realisation that soon it will provide me with the ultimate female sexual thrill, that soon it will become an invader, that soon it will enter and penetrate me. Yes, that soon, that hard, ready and so available cock will be fucking me. As both of my hands found my waiting breasts and caressed them, so I smiled gratefully at you. Stroking the tingling flesh and gently pinching my aching nipples, I said quietly.
“Thank you, James that was beautiful.”
Full of the confidence in your own nudity that comes with experience, and is often generally lacking in younger men or, so I have concluded from my moderate sample, you stroked your cock as you laid on your side beside me propping your head up with your hand.
“Oh Jayne,” you whispered as you stroked my face, “You don’t need to thank me.”
“Yes, I know I don’t,” I said, slipping my arm round your neck, pulling your face towards me and lifting my head so that we could kiss. “I just wanted to though,” I whispered.
“That’s lovely,” you said, stroking my breast. “So do you want to?” You asked.
“Yes of course James, I want to, very much,” I replied, thinking you meant did I want to make love.
“Have you got one then?”
“What?”
“A bag,” you replied laughing. We both realised the mix up at the same time and laughed.
“Don’t be silly, that’s not what I want?”
“So, no bag then?”
“No.”
“Not over my face?”
“No of course not.”
“What then, Jayne? What do you want?”
“This,” I groaned reaching out and wrapping my fingers round your erection. “This is what I want James,” I went on looking you right in the eye as I slowly pumped that stirring lump of blood engorged flesh. I want this, I want your cock James. Please give it to me.
Him
My cock was so hard, it ached. It ached because of your words. It ached at the sight of your stunning young body. It ached at the recollection of you moaning under my pleasuring tongue. It ached under the hand that was gently stroking it, making it even harder. And it ached at the thought of fucking you.
At last! At long last! Fucking Jayne!
“Of course, you can have it,” I said. “It’s yours for as long as I’m here. To do with what you want.” Twisting around to move my body against yours, I added, “And to do with what I want, too.”
At first, you mistook my movement. You thought I was preparing to fuck you. I wasn’t, not yet. Instead, I took you in my arms, pulling your head onto my shoulder, dragging one of your legs and draping it across my thigh. We had all the time in the world.
One hand gently stoked your soft hair, while the other caressed the soft skin of your ass. Just my fingertips. I traced along the heart shaped curve of your bum, softly, gently, loving the contented sigh that escaped from your lips. Slowly I adjusted position, so that my hand dropped from your hair to run along your face and shoulders finding and tracing your freckles bringing to mind the old Irish saying my nan used to say, ‘a face without freckles is like a night without stars.’
My other hand advanced up to your back, running up to the top of your spine and then back down again. I could feel my cock twitch with each tender gesture and knew that you’d feel it, too. For the moment, we both ignored it. It would be time soon enough.
My fingers lightly caressed your back, out to the sides, up to your arms, and then back down again. When you twisted a little in my arms, I brought my hand to your stomach, circling your navel, drawing patterns along your tummy, and then sliding upwards to your tits.
I ran my fingers around the curve of one breast, and then the other. Slowly, exaggeratedly so. Then they found your nipple, hard and erect. The tip of my finger pushed it in a little circle, loving the hard feeling as I manipulated it.
My cock told me I couldn’t wait any more. It told me it shouldn’t wait anymore. Your soft moans suggested you were thinking the same. Not that they made any difference. I was in that moment when a man needs his willing woman, when it would take a wild horse to stop him from, what’s the quaint phrase, ‘fucking the arse off of her!
You were rolling onto your back even as I began to change position. My body slid onto yours, my knees pushing your widened legs even wider apart. I rubbed my cock along your wetness, but made no attempt to enter. Not yet. I sat up on my knees so that my cock could tease you further, while my hands took your wrists and pulled them together above your head.
Our eyes met and I leant down to kiss you. It was a gentle kiss to begin with, or a series of kisses to be more accurate. Our heads adjusted position to explore different angles, lips on lips, tongue flicking against tongue, teeth biting on lower lips, tongues searching around the inside and outside of each mouth.
“Want my cock?” I breathed into your open mouth.
“Yes,” you gasped.
“Want me inside you?”
Your grunt answered for you.
“Want my cock in your cunt?” I asked.
Your grunt turned into a moan.
“Want gramps to fuck you?” I teased. “Want gramps to fuck his horny young bitch?”
“Yes,” you groaned, finding the word from somewhere. “Yes, you bastard.”
I stared into your eyes. That come-to-bed Jayne look had disappeared. It was replaced with a fuck-the-life-out-of-me look. Without you even knowing I slipped a condom on and moved closer to you.
My cock was aching so hard, it hurt. I slid it against your oily, labial lips, searching for entry. But something wasn’t quite right, not what it should be, the angle of penetration I inwardly grinned was wrong. You knew it too and wiggled your lower self before reaching down and taking my cock in your hand.
“What the fuck’s this,” you muttered in almost a growl.
“A johnny,” I innocently replied.
“We don’t need that I am all pilled up so you won’t have any baby Jayne’s to contend with.”
“Not just that is it love?”
“You want to feel what it’s like to fuck me so I wanna feel what it’s like being fucked. And I am totally clean, aren’t you?”
If it had not been such an intense situation at a critical stage of lovemaking I would have laughed when I realised not only was I clean but also was incapable of making her pregnant as I had been snipped some fifteen years before when the woman I was about to fuck, now, was only eight!
“Yes of course and I forgot to mention when I gave you my CV, I have had a vasectomy.”
“Then grandad stop fucking about, take it off, here I’ll do it,” she said pulling it off and throwing it onto the bed. “And make love to me.”
Now with an uncovered green light I went for it and like a homing beacon, it found its way home. Exactly to where it belonged. Inside, Jayne.
Your legs raised either side of me, hanging loosely then resting on the top of my ass. I slid in an inch, then another. Slowly, like a surgeon carrying out a delicate incision. I love that moment of entry. The exquisite feeling is so unlike any other. The sheathing of a man inside a woman! But the fact it was you, Jayne, simply exaggerated the pleasure to levels I had rarely experienced before.
“Ready?” I asked, gripping your hands more tightly above your head. My tongue licked across the outside of your lips, tracing their shape. Your ass lifted from the bed a little, taking, no not taking it felt more like it was dragging half of my cock inside you. That sensation was even more amazing with you than usual. It was as if you were sucking me into you.
Suddenly, the teasing was over. I groaned. I moaned. I may even have whimpered. As your legs gripped me tighter, I threw my head back and thrust all the way inside. Home at last.