Jayne’s World

Jayne’s World Part 7.

The 55-year-old gets aggressive.

Her.

I had forgotten just how wonderful a feeling it is when a new lover enters you for the first time. It’s always something special. It might not last, though, sometimes not even to the end of the shag. It’s odd how women, well me at least, can fancy a man so much and to the point that I am on my back, legs spread and dripping for us to fuck, only for me to then be wondering, almost as soon as he is embedded in me up to his hilt, ‘Why the fuck am I doing this?’ It can be the attempts he’s made to get his angle of entry correct, he may not be hard enough, I may not be wet enough, he may use too much force, not enough, rush things or miss the sodding hole completely and slither his dick between my legs. He may grip me too hard, hurt me, squeeze me painfully or squash me. So many things. His breath may smell, his kiss may turn animalistic and he may simply not feel nice to my touch. And when any of those things happens, no matter what other skills he has and irrespective of how hard he tries, the fancying of him to the previous level can never return. But when it slides in easily first time, he holds me properly, it fits into me like a hand into a glove or, more appropriately perhaps, a cock into a condom, his body moulds perfectly to mine, the pressure of him and his hands on me is just right and when his back and bum are lovely to my touch then it really does feel as though he has come home at last and it’s as if I am welcoming the prodigal son back into my person. To my enormous relief, that was exactly how it was with us. And that is exactly how it was right through our first bout of lovemaking.

You made me cum very quickly, but then that is a problem I usually encounter with a new lover. I seem to get so keyed up, so excited, so aroused and so ready for him that almost as soon as he is in me and I have the relief that he is ok, then that causes the other relief and my outpourings in both my female juices and my emotional satisfaction are so strong that I climax.

“Oh yes James, oh yes, yes, yes,” I moaned, my legs wrapping themselves more firmly round your hips as, realising my need, you slammed yourself into me as far as you could go and held it there, ramrod straight and granite hard. “Oh yes, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me hard you dirty old bastard.”

“Is that what you want?” you asked rhetorically, seeming as if by instinct to grasp my mood and needs. “Is that what you really want?” You repeated, adding. “To talk dirty, to have me talk dirty to you as I fuck you, as I fuck your young, tight, juicy cunt.”

“Oh God yes,” I groaned thrusting my young, tight, juicy cunt as firmly as I could against your mature, smooth, hard cock.

“Tell me Jayne, tell me.”

“Tell you what?” I groaned almost out of it from delirium.

“What you want grandad to do to you, what you want the dirty old bastard to do to the sweet young baby?”

“To fuck me.”

“Hard?”

“Yes, fuck me hard as hard as you can.”

“Where do you want to be fucked Jayne?”

“In my cunt.”

“You want gramps to fuck your cunt?” You asked.

“Yes, fuck me, fuck me in my cunt.”

And that is exactly what you did for God knows how long; the next two minutes or two hours for all I know.

Him.

There’s something about entering a woman for the first time.

On one level, it’s the culmination of the chase. Everything, from meeting a woman you find attractive, discovering that there is chemistry between you and engaging in the mating ritual is leading up to this point. Sometimes of course, the chase proves to be more pleasurable than the end result, though on the whole, it’s true what they say; ‘Sex and golf are the only two things you can be crap at yet still enjoy.’

On a second and wholly different level, it’s the physical aspect. Does it feel like two different people that first time? Clumsy and uncertain? A coldness and feeling of distance, despite the intimacy. The sensation of two strangers coming together? And yes, I do mean coming together, as opposed to cumming together.

On either level, you actually know before you slide inside that this could be a mistake, that’s if the act of fucking can ever be described as a mistake, of course. Maybe sometimes there’s a feeling of let’s get this over with, and then it’s a race to the finish line to get it over and done with.

Conversely, when it feels right, it’s bliss and how heaven must be. And that’s exactly how it was with Jayne.

Everything felt right, from the moment I undressed you, gazed at your naked body, went down on you, tasted you, made you cum with my tongue and fingers. From the moment I took my clothes off, allowed you to see that fifty plus isn’t that old after all, felt my cock twitch merely by the fact you were looking at it, then asking if you could have it.

It felt right from the way we kissed, a mixture of tenderness and passion, deep and soft, sloppy and wet, exchanging saliva, tongues duelling with one another, searching, licking, entwining. From the way I held and stroked you, our bodies felt right being next to each other and how we fitted together.

All of the above combined to make the moment of entry truly special and for the age difference to be irrelevant

Your soft, smooth skin felt perfect against mine. Your young body seemed to fit under me so well. Your legs wrapped around me in just the way that enhanced my arousal. Your hands and fingers on my skin made me tingle. And the way your velvet insides cossetted my cock, accepted and welcomed ‘him’ so comfortably and easily, created a surge in my cock and balls.

This, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, was as close to perfection as I could ever remember.

To begin with, I pushed all the way inside you, my belly slapping against yours as I rammed myself home. As always happens when I start what I know is going to be the perfect fuck, I felt the surge inside me threaten to produce an early end. I did what I always do in that moment.

I stretched my body to its absolute limit and held myself there, ramrod straight and granite hard. Don’t fuck me back, not yet, I silently implored you, biting down on my lower lip. Thank God you heard my mute plea. Your legs wrapped themselves more firmly round my hips and we stayed like that for a nano-second, perhaps, two nano-seconds, maybe several seconds and possibly a minute or two, who the hell knows, who the hell cares and who the hell was counting? You and I weren’t for we were screwing, fucking and making love or starting too until my crisis had passed.

My relief was palpable. Now I could get down to business.

But even before I could react, your body was shaking and trembling. Were you cumming? So quickly? The thought made my cock harden even more, if that were possible. I wanted your orgasm, your orgasms, as many as I could give you before I would have to give in to the urges that would become unstoppable in my own body and psyche.

You began to talk dirty to me, and that heightened my pleasure more than I expected or it had in the past with a few others. Your skin, your fingers, your hands, your thighs, your legs, your young, tight, juicy cunt and your panting, gasping, husky commentary all combined to inflame my senses.

Oh, fuck!

I realised I wanted a video of this, but one that contained feeling as well as picture and sound, so that I could repeat the moment over and over again whenever I wanted. Momentarily, I wondered if you would agree to us making a video, I doubted it but I was hopefull. Or bottle it, bottle the whole sensation, so that I could dab it on my body whenever the mood drove me there.

I fucked you slowly, very slowly, but occasionally changed the pace to a sprint. Arching my back so I looked down on your writhing body I pounded hard inside you, watching your tits bounce, your eyes widen and your breath catch, before slowly easing back down again. Each time I dropped the pace, I leaned down so that our faces touched, whispering into your ear. Asking questions. Telling you things.

“Remember the alley,” I whispered, running my tongue around the soft flesh. “Did you like my fingers inside you?”

“Does my cock feel the same now? Tell me how it feels,” I said, pressing my pubic bone down on yours.

“Did you like my tongue on you, sucking your clit.” I murmured, rotating my cock inside you. “Mmmm… it felt delicious, Jayne. Want to know something? You have the youngest, juiciest cunt I’ve ever tasted. Or fucked,” I said, seconds before I went into overdrive for another good few seconds.

My balls slapped against your ass with each increase in pace. I could feel your juices flowing over my cock. Your youthfully, tight cunt muscles gripped me tighter. Your breath became a wheeze. Your body bounced up and down on the bed. And then I slowed again.

“Like that?” I asked, pulling down on your earlobe with my teeth. “Like being fucked by your grandad?” I added, licking along your neck. “Like having my old cock inside your young cunt?” I murmured, lowering my mouth to suck on your left nipple. “Like the feel of my hardness fucking your young pussy,” I mumbled, switching tits and sucking your other hard bud inside my mouth.

Then I went into overdrive again, leaning on my elbows and knees to derive maximum speed and force as I pounded your young body down into the mattress. The sweat began to form on my forehead. That familiar tingle began to garner in my balls and spread throughout my body. I could feel my seed begin to gather.

Slow down, I urged myself. For fuck’s sake, slow down

Her.

It was good. There’s no doubt about that. As good as all the others or better? Not sure on that, because there’s a lot more between one or two of them and me and you and me. But you were certainly a better lover than most men I’d had, although, to be fair I haven’t had that many men, most have really been boys. These were the faintly ridiculous thoughts that were going through my mind as I lay snuggled up against you, after your flaccid dick had slipped out of my still throbbing pussy, which takes ages to stop. Another nice touch was that you wanted to hold and cuddle me after you had fucked me. Some men/boys I’ve had, or more to the point have had me, want that like a hole in the head. It seems that after they’ve ejaculated, the furthest thought from their mind is sex and tenderness so, as soon as they can, they leave the bed and the bird. And that’s just at the time when she is at her most vulnerable. The emotional outpouring for a girl when a man gives her an orgasm is enormous. It’s largely, so I am led to believe, due to how she has given her body to him and he has taken that and her mind. Whatever their real relationship immediately post sex, the girl loves the man; she has to just to preserve her integrity at having given herself to him so fully. The problem is many men, post sex, hate the girl, maybe not hate, but lose respect for her; the old syndrome of get his way and fuck off. It was lovely for you to be so different, I thought, as our bodies rubbed against each other as we both came down from our climactic highs.

“So, James, let me pose the question again,” I said running my fingers over your chest and pressing my breast against your side.

“What question?”

“I asked what you wanted, tea, food, a drink or………………….. me?”

“Oh yes,” you laughed stroking my hair.”

“Well, you’ve had me, what now?”

Him.

“Not too difficult a question,” I said, leaning into you and gently planting a kiss on your forehead. “We’re still on the aperitif.”

Your head turned so that you could look into my eyes, at the same time as your hand reached for my cock. “Hmm, not sure you’re quite ready yet,” you suggested, as your fingers circled it and slowly began to stroke it in your closed palm.

“You’ll be surprised how quickly I can be ready,” I grinned, sweeping a strand of loose, blonde hair away from your eyes. “And if you keep doing that, it’ll take no time at all.”

“Really? Are you sure, gramps?” you asked, teasingly tightening your grip and feeling a surge in your hand, in response. “I don’t have a defibrillator here you know.”

“Sure,” I said, widening my eyes. “And I have never needed one but with you, young lady maybe we should get one, just in case,” I grinned. Even had I not had good recuperative powers, you could have corrupted an angel. That same look was back on your face, those blue eyes sending signals down to my sexual soul.

You leant in for a kiss. It was nice, tender, a firm brush of lips, a light joining of tongues.

“But,” I added, shuffling onto my side and glancing around. “I think we need six things. I’ve brought three of them, and you can supply the other three, okay?”

Your eyes narrowed and I gave a soft laugh. You were normally one step ahead of me, I’d previously noticed. I was going to enjoy my time in the driving seat, albeit a very brief time.

“Explain?” you asked.

“Okay,” I grinned. “I have three liquids, and something flammable.”

Your eyes raised to the top of your head as you thought, then returned to meet mine. If I wasn’t mistaken, there was a tinge of ‘get on with it’ in there.

I sat up and nodded at my cock. Your caresses had him well on the way to the required state. In fact, I was hardening so nicely that, for a second, I wondered about taking you right there and then again. I didn’t of course. Some variation is essential in any long sex session, I always think? Something that would make this different for you, make it special.

“Okay,” I said. “I have the Chilean Shiraz in my bag, you supply the glasses. I have the mango bubble bath, you run the bath. And if you have any candles, that’ll be really romantic.”

“A bath?” you spat out. The way your brow furrowed was delightful.

“Absolutely,” I told you, raising my eyebrows. “After a good bout of lovemaking there’s nothing like soaking in a romantic bath together, with a glass or two of vino. And afterwards…”

“Afterwards?” you said with that hint of wonder in your voice.

“I’ve brought some sensual oil, too. Fancy a massage?”

Her.

This was going differently to how I had imagined. More pertinently, I realised with a start, it was also not going how I wanted it to. I know my thinking and feelings might be unfair, but I felt that they were relevant and that yours probably were not. Was it an age thing? Another generational gap, perhaps, an expectation that people your age have about relationships, possibly the need to justify having sex, by bringing romance into it? I didn’t need to do that. I didn’t want it. I was perfectly comfortable having sex with you, without bringing other stuff, such as love, into it. However, it didn’t look as though you were, something I had heard from girl friends who had much older lovers. I didn’t want fucking romance, just fucking. Romance is all about love and long- term togetherness and neither of those had featured in my thinking about you. For Christ’s sake it was only the second time we had met and you were nearly into your sixties, how bloody long term could that make anything! You were also beginning to piss me off a bit. Sure, you had fucked me nicely and when you had gone down on me it had worked. You knew what you were doing and you did that well. But it was all a bit intense. I guessed you wanted to overcome the potential age problems. Prove to me that you were as good as a young guy. Impress me with your experience, turn me on by how much you knew and by how quickly you could recover, and I had to admit that getting hard so soon after shagging me was impressive and as quick as most blokes I’d had. But it was becoming a little mechanistic almost robotic. It was as if you had covered the first chapter of the ‘How an Older Man Should Make Love to a Younger Woman’ instruction manual. Get her undressed, fiddle around with her tits, using firstly your hands and fingers then, when she seems comfortable, move onto using your mouth and tongue. Show her how cool you are by not trying to shag her for some time and indicate that older men are so concerned with giving their partner pleasure, by giving her pussy a good lick and suck, making her cum as soon as you can without asking for anything in return; that’ll impress and please her. Only when you have done that should you fuck her and then do that using both fast and slow, holding yourself in her rigid and trying out every trick you’ve ever learned. I could hardly believe that you had brought a bottle of wine with you from wherever the fuck it was up north that you lived when there is a perfectly good Threshers just round the corner who sells eight quid a bottle Chilean Shiraz and three for the price of two. I had noticed, didn’t you think that I wouldn’t have baby oil? Oh no, of course yours is ‘sensual oil’ whatever the hell that is? All fucking oil other than what you fry chips in is sensual when it slides over your body so what, I thought, is special about what you had carted down from Yorkshire? As I thought all this, I knew it was unfair, unreasonable even, but I couldn’t help it. It seemed that we were so far apart in so many ways. For Christ’s sake you had called me honeybunch had talked about ‘a glass or two of vino.’ Vino, what the fuck sort of talk is that? No one, but no one I know would say that, would call it that, it’s wine for shit’s sake. Another example of the age gap, I thought wondering just where we were going. After, as you term it James, a good bout of lovemaking, I don’t need a romantic bath.

“No?” You had asked, sounding surprised.

“No, not really, why would I?”

“Well, it’s romantic, what with the candles and everything.”

“James,” I said, probably sounding rather colder than I intended. “What’s romance got to do with anything?”

“Well with sex and us.”

“Do you really think I invited you here because I had romantic needs or intentions? Did you?”

“Er well yes, I suppose I did, so, haven’t you?”

I sat up, crossed my legs and stared at you. “James, we live in different worlds and we’re from different generations, we both know that.”

“Yes, so?”

“I did not ask you here to have a romantic weekend or because I wanted romance in any relationship we might forge between us. Did you think that’s what I wanted?”

“Well, I didn’t really think about it.”

“Exactly.”

“What do you mean, exactly?” You asked.

“You assumed I wanted it because you do. You ascribed your standards, your thinking, your interpretation of the situation. You didn’t really think what I wanted, but assumed that you would need to prove you were better than younger guys, that your greater experience would surpass their stamina.”

“That’s not really fair,” you said in almost a whimper

“Love and war, mate,” I cracked getting up from the bed and slipping my tee shirt back on. “If I wanted more stamina, James, I’d have a young stud fuck me.”

“I’m confused,” you said pulling the sheet over you as your erection softened. “Why did you invite me?”

“Fun, curiosity, because I like you, an experience, lots of reasons.”

“And now I’m here?”

“You need to lighten up. Forget about trying to be young physically, be younger emotionally. Just go with the flow, trust your instincts. I couldn’t give a sod really if I had to work hard to help you get a hard on, stop trying to impress me by your experience and maturity.”

“Not sure I follow.”

“Ok great, you showed the patience to not shag me for some time, you undressed me and made me cum with your mouth and then you undressed and we had sex. Not once really did you consider what I wanted.”

“Yes, I did all the time.”

“No James, what you did was do what you thought I wanted. You thought I wanted you to undress me and make me cum like that with you still fully clothed, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I was trying to give you pleasure.”

“Your interpretation of what you thought would give me pleasure you mean.”