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Where it happened, her house... MATURE OLD
Where it happened, her house... MATURE OLD
Nancy was a little older than I, and my next door neighbor of almost 5 years. She and her husband, Pete, had had a marriage with some real obstacles since each had remarried some years before. A few of the problems were self-evident to anyone who observed the two of them for a while, but some were not so easy to discern. Like the fact that Nancy generally took the low profile and meek position in deference to Pete and his lack of concern for anyone's opinion except his own. And Pete was a very hostile person when he felt his territory had been encroached.
I heard stories of his escapades with various neighbors from other neighbors; paramount amongst his adversaries had been the couple from whom I bought my house. In all of those situations in the past, Nancy felt obligated to offer apologies to the other parties when these incidents occurred. She, herself, was very well liked by everyone, as well she should have been. Nancy is 5' 4" tall, about 110 pounds, reddish-brown hair just starting to gray, very active physically, and a pleasure to talk with. She has well shaped legs and a small to medium-sized bust. With her ready smile, sincere demeanor and soft-spoken presence, she endeared herself to all who knew her.
Pete was retired and usually seemed to be busy around the house and property. That was a facade. Nancy does all of the really important work inside and outside the house. But, like I said earlier, you would have to have observed them for a long time to pick up on the nuances of their actual relationship.
Recently Pete really retired; from almost everything. He hired a gardener to take care of the lawn so he wouldn't have to do it. That was probably a great relief to Nancy since she did everything except cut the lawns (Pete had at least been doing the lawns). He really had never done anything to help in the house, but I didn't know that until recently. And he had always left Nancy to take care of his youngest daughter's special needs (from his first marriage) which is one of the things I detected some time ago). But the worm was turning.
In his newest state of retirement Pete spent a lot of time on his motor home, usually without Nancy but often with his oldest daughter who never liked Nancy (another fact I didn't know until recently). Nancy finally had enough of her servitude role and rebelled. Even in her low key way I'm sure Pete got the message because he went off on a trip to Santa Barbara in his coach. In our fairly frequent conversations about life in general, Nancy had shared some of the things I hadn't known about her relationship with Pete, but in our latest conversation her woe's spilled out like a dam that had broken. She called me at about nine in the evening to say she wanted to give me an emergency call list in case Pete needed to be contacted and she wasn't available. I walked next door right away to get the list from her. She stood in her front door in a night gown, one hand clasped at her neck holding the top of the gown closed tightly, and handed me the list. It had the coach number and license, the frequency he monitored on the Ham radio, camper parks he frequented, etc.
Explaining about the list led her to tell me that she had experienced some shortness of breath and a discomfort in her chest (at which point she placed her right hand just under her left breast). When I asked if that had ever happened before, and probably staring at her hand longer than was prudent, she said that the only other time had been earlier this year when she and Pete had had a confrontation about his role in helping with his daughter and in maintaining the property. Then she went on to say that she and Pete had just had an argument about his actions, or lack of them, of late, and that Pete just took off saying he'd call her in a day or so. She was obviously distressed and obviously in need of talking to someone. So she stood in her doorway and I stood on the porch for almost an hour while she unloaded her burden to me.
When I got back to my house I sat and thought about all she had said, things she had said in the past, and things observed or shared by neighbors. This was clearly a lady who needed some relief from problems. Pete going away for a while was certainly good for her because she had already determined to put her foot down and deliver some ultimatums when he returned. Number one was that he either shaped up or she was gone, gone, gone. Two was that her days of being the only one to take care of the many needs of his youngest daughter were over. Third was that while it was wonderful that he and his oldest daughter rekindled a relationship that had long been lost, that relationship could not be at the expense of Nancy and his younger daughter.
When Pete returned all was quiet for a couple of days, which was a hopeful sign. Finally, after he had been home for four days I got a chance to ask Nancy if all was well on the western front. She said it was getting better in a couple of respects, so far, but there were still a couple of issues unresolved. Since he had hired the gardener, I knew that Nancy would no longer be slaving away in the planted areas around their house, so that was an obvious pick for "getting better". Also, his oldest daughter, Sandy, had been over for a back yard cook-out the day before and a lot of talking had gone on, so maybe that also was now a "getting better" issue. So what I was left thinking was that an unstated issue was still out there, somewhere, and I thought I knew what it was.
A couple of weeks later, she said that her effort didn't seem to work but that she wasn't sure yet. As conversations will, ours wandered through many subjects and landed on male/female violence. Something in the news sparked that topic, I believe. (I should say that most of our conversations take place with me standing in my driveway and Nancy standing in her driveway, under the carport roof, with us being separated by a two foot wide planter that divides our driveways. And where my front door faces the street, hers faces my house, and both of our back doors face the back yards. And, finally, where I have two big gates across my driveway at the back of my house, her back door further back behind her house, with no barriers.)
Anyway, I commented that I never understood why there are men who have to touch their women with anger in their minds and hands when there were so many wonderful things to do with a man's hands on a woman's body. She agreed and shortly changed the subject. While I was looking at her slacks and blouse covered body, I couldn't help reflecting on the fact that she never wore tight clothes. Many women these days, and most girls, wear slacks, jeans or shorts so snug that you can easily see the cleft between their legs. Of course some of those women and girls shouldn't, but I sure wished on many occasions that Nancy would wear something like that once in a while that I could look at and salivate over.
Anyway, that conversation, along with some others over the few years I had lived here led me to a conclusion that just might be right. Oh, not that Pete was abusive to Nancy in the physical sense. I didn't believe that at all. He was probably verbally abusive though, and was quite obviously a withholder of affection for spite. That I had no trouble believing. Even though Pete and I laughed and scratched together in the driveway, or when he needed an extra pair of hands for some task, Pete was rather of the, "I'll let you know when I want you," persuasion, which probably extended to his lovely wife. That was okay with me, as long as we got along. Besides, I was much more interested in Nancy than Pete. I liked her a lot, and I liked her body a lot, and I was willing to bet he underused that body. A lot.
So for the past month or so, that has been the state of affairs; me doing a lot of thinking about her and her possible situation, casual conversations with Pete or Nancy or both in the driveway, and me taking note when talking to Nancy that she seemed to still be wrought about some undiscussed...
Pete had been leaving early and getting home late a lot the last few days. Not that there was any hint of discord, because except for what ever I think I see in the eyes of Nancy the few times I've run into her lately, all seems sort of okay. She says that Pete was sanding down all of the decking and rails on his daughter's patio and would be varnishing it for the next couple of weeks. That's all. No extra words. But each time I see her I say to myself, "Self. There is a lady who needs to be loved half to death so she can get herself back on track with the world." Of course, I don't know that I'm right, and the more I say that to myself, the surer I get that I am right, but I could clearly alienate a lovely lady and lose her friendship if I was to do something stupid. So I began to devise an approach that might work, yet would allow me to back away at various stages of the plan before I shattered either one of us.
I picked a day after Pete had finished his work at his daughters, and was going to Phoenix for a week with both of his daughters to visit family. Nancy was staying home but had been invited. She seemed a little relieved at being totally alone in the house with no one to deal with but herself. Seeing her going out to bring in the trash cans from the curb after the last of the collection trucks had passed, I waited until she was coming back with the last one, and then stepped out my back door, opened the gate, and asked, "How's the lady of leisure this afternoon?"
After putting the container behind the bushes along the wall between our back yards, she walked back the few feet to where I was standing and said, "The peace is truly blissful." After a short pause she continued with, "You know, Pete so seldom takes Cathy with him on his trips, unless I'm going along to watch over her, that this is a real treat for me."
Noticing that the late afternoon sun was in her eyes I stepped over to her driveway, for which she thanked me, and stood so that her back was to the street and the late afternoon sun (part of the plan, you know). Now I was the only person who could see her front (and a nice front it is, let me tell you), because we both have detached garages which are side by side and we both have lots of backyard growth which makes each of our backyards very private, visually. Her eyes still looked sad or haunted or longing-for-something to me. If there was ever to be a time to step into the abyss, this was it.
Looking into her eyes I said, "You look like a woman who is missing something critical in her life."
Her eyes opened a bit wider in surprise at my statement, then closed for a moment before she said, "Does it show that clearly, Tim?"
"I think so, but I pay attention to you and I worry about you," I replied softly.
Crossing her arms across her chest, right under her breasts I might add, she looked down at the ground saying, "I don't think I can last much longer," followed by a long pause, and then continued with, "He just won't see the major issues. Oh, he's done some really nice things since he came back from Santa Barbara, but they weren't really for me as much as they were to relieve the pressure from me on him. As if he was the only one who needed relief from pressure."
Wow, I thought. I think I've hit the nail on the head. Now for the big question for myself, that being was I taking advantage of a woman who was too distressed to really evaluate the situation? Well, my plan allowed for many escape routes, both for me and for her. She would have many chances to back away from my advances with no real harm done (I hoped). She was sort of fiddling with the top of a breast pocket on her dress with her right hand and that was capturing my visual attention, but I waited quietly for her to continue if she wished.
"We've talked about so many things over these past few years. Some of them I felt bad, no, uncomfortable about later, but I've really enjoyed talking to you. I don't mean that I wished I hadn't talked to you about some of them, Tim, but I shouldn't have involved you in my problems so much," she finished, and looked back up at me. Then added, "Now you know me too well".
I moved one step closer to her so that we were now only about three feet apart and said softly, "If you can't tell someone who cares about you, there isn't much left." She again looked a bit startled, and looked down at the ground again. While waiting I thanked the weatherman for adding so nicely to the plan. It was late August, hot as it usually is, but also very humid for LA. The result was that Nancy was wearing a very light dress through the top of which I could sort of see her bra, and thought I could see her nipples. Nice. With her arms across her chest tightening the dress across her breasts, and the humidity maybe adding a little bit of transparency, I was content to wait until she chose to speak again.
"Peter just doesn't understand. I'm not going to spend the rest of my life as his maid. Nor as the indentured stepmother of poor Cathy. I know that mentally she is only 5 or 6 years old, but after 20 years of taking care of her I need time off occasionally. I need him to say, 'Thanks, Nancy, for being here,' once in a while. And meaning it." She looked back into my eyes, then back to the ground. Then she said so quietly that I almost couldn't hear her, and maybe I wasn't supposed to hear her, "And I need to be loved."
Well, folks, there it was. Old Timothy was right about that part. Love Them And Use Them, Or Use Them And Lose Them. You can quote me on that. It applies to either gender, too. Trite sounding I know, and I don't mean for it to be trite, but a well loved woman will put up with a fair amount of shit from a man. Here was escape point one. I could be very sympathetic and go home, or I could continue on and see if maybe I could love her. You know what I chose.
Trying not to sound quivery, which I was, I asked, "Have you gotten the mistaken impression that there is something wrong with you?" She kept looking at the ground. "You are a sweet, intelligent, friendly and very desirable woman." Before I finished saying the word, 'Woman,' her eyes were locked to mine, almost as if she were in doubt that anyone could find her desirable. So I went on with, "In fact, Nancy, desirable is too polite and generalized a word. You are a sexy woman. The way you talk so softly, smile so readily, walk so undulatingly, and fiddle with the pocket of your dress so enticingly." A whole lot of things happened during my short speech. Nancy was taken aback by my openness, although after all of our many talks I can't imagine that she would be surprised at anything I might say at any given time. And her eyes were drilling holes in mine to see if I really meant what I was saying or just trying to make her feel good. Her hand stopped twiddling with her breast pocket button, started again, stopped again, and finally she dropped her arms to her sides, but promptly began to twist the sides of her skirt in nervous fingers. But the topper was that I could swear that her nipples swelled and pushed enough against her bra and dress that I could see the reaction. Believe me when I say that I wanted to be right about that part.
As if confirming my observations, Nancy looked down at her breasts and said, "I'm not used to hearing words like that and I'm afraid that I'm reacting poorly to hearing them."
"Reacting poorly, my ass!" I thought to myself, but didn't say aloud. Okay, Tim, time to redirect the focus away from her nipples a bit. "So I was right, and you don't think of yourself as desirable."
She looked behind her at the street as if she was sure every neighbor was looking at her, so I said, "No one can see the front of you except me, Nancy."
Looking back down at the ground Nancy finally replied, "Well, what else am I supposed to think after all this time? After all, it's been . . . ages since . . . we haven't exactly had much time . . . do you really think I'm attractive?" The pleading in her eyes was evident now because the look was accompanied by tears welling up.
"Nancy," I began, "I didn't say attractive, I said desirable. My gaze can be attracted to a Rolls Royce going by on the street, but when I see a beautiful woman who captures my gaze and makes my juices churn, I desire her."
Now here was an escape point for her, again. She could go into the house and close the door to cover her emotions. Instead she simply said, "I need a tissue," and walked past me toward her back door, then continued with, "I'll be right back." So I followed her.
When Nancy came back to her door I was standing just outside on the porch. She pushed the screen door open and although I held it open, I didn't move back to let her out. So she stayed just inside the door. "I'm afraid that I've made you uncomfortable, Nancy, and I'm sorry."
"No. No you haven't made me uncomfortable. But, well, sort of, I guess. Yes. But it's okay. I liked what you said. It's just that, well, I'm flustered, I guess. But it's okay, Tim. I'll be okay." With saying that and, I guess, resolving to stay in her house since I wasn't moving back to let her out, she crossed her arms across her chest again. Within less that a minute her right hand was again fiddling with the button of the breast pocket of her dress.
Part of the plan was to be in exactly this position at about this point because now she was totally unobservable to anyone in the whole world but me. The security type screen door blocked any view of her from over her back wall, while our garages and shared wall blocked the view from the yards behind my house, and the street was out of site to both of us. My hope was that, at least subconsciously, she realized that fact. She had to. It was part of the plan.
"So, Nancy, how often is it that you react so poorly, in your view, but which is so nice for my viewing?"
"You mean because I got tears in my eyes?"
"No, Nancy, I mean the other reaction," and I looked down to her breasts quite obviously. Immediately her fingers moved from the pocket fiddling to her left nipple, as if to check, and when she realized what she was doing she quickly moved her fingers away again. But it was too late. Her nipples were definitely showing again. Yes! So I took my first real risk of the day, and said, "That reaction, Nancy," and nodded toward her chest.
She looked down at herself for a moment, the effect seemed further enhanced, and she mumbled, "I've gotten out of the habit of having anyone notice things like that anymore."
"Trust me when I tell you that I'm noticing. Actually you can also trust me when I say that I like what I'm noticing. And I really like what I'm thinking." That got her looking back at me in a hurry. No words from her, but I clearly felt that she wanted me to explain further. Oh, well. In for a penny, in for a pound (that saying must have originated in England, I guess).
"I would like to see you touch your nipples and make them really stand out so I can see them clearly."
Not a word from Nancy. Just her eyes locked to mine. Then, after about two minutes of frozen tableau, she uncrossed her arms, moved a hand to each breast and, with her thumbs and index fingers, she began pinching her nipples. With out moving a muscle, so as not to break the spell, I leaned slightly closer and stared at her hands. I was acutely aware that her eyes were drilling into mine to see if I was sincere, but I kept my eyes on her increasingly hardening nipples. After a time she slightly changed the position of her hands so that her palms were cupping and pushing up and molding the bottoms of her breasts while her fingers continued to manipulating her nipples. Sort of like she was enjoying the sensations she was creating in herself. I certainly hoped it was that. But the important thing was that she was doing as I asked. She was playing with her nipples for me. Maybe for her, too, but clearly because I had asked her to do it. She was, in a word, complying. Or compliant. There's two types of compliant. The compliancy she was used to was destructive over the long haul. The kind of compliancy I was trying to elicit would benefit her in spades, and also be of benefit to me. The most critical step in the plan was accomplished. What wonders lay ahead. That was not meant to be a pun.
The next step required another risky wicket. "I want to ask you something but I don't want you to get angry and slam the door on me and take away this sight I'm privileged to enjoy." That was a carefully crafted sentence, delivered with all of the sincerity I could muster, and calculated to further my aims to get this lovely creature some needed relief, a number of times, and absolutely from me, intimately. She didn't say anything but was clearly awaiting my question. "Would you consider going in and taking off your bra so that I could see your gorgeous nipples better through your dress? Please?"
"Is that what you meant before when you said that you liked what you were thinking?" she asked me.
"That's part of it, Nancy. Will you do it?"
She didn't answer, but in another moment she turned away and went into the little bathroom next to where she was standing. In somewhere between three minutes and 100 hours she came back. And now I could easily see the darker areas that defined her nipples and a button at the top of her dress that had been buttoned before was now unbuttoned. Life is good! She stood allowing my inspection. Waiting.
"Would you go back to what you were doing again for me?" As if eager to get back to that activity herself, but with no discernible change in her intense observation of my face, her hands quickly returned to their task. Clearly her palms found it easier to massage the undersides of her breasts based on the fluid movement of those lovely orbs under the light material. And now her finger tips easily surrounded her nipples, even pulling them out away from her body periodically. Oh, they swelled so nicely. If only I could wiggle my nose and make the dress disappear. Finally I asked her, "Does that feel as good to you as it looks to me?"
"Yes, it feels good, partly because you're watching me. I can't really believe I'm doing this in front of God and everybody. But I don't know how it looks to you." A straight line if I've ever heard one. And, boy, did I have a number of responses planned.
"No one in the world can see you except me. Not from the street, nor the back yards. Any one who looked over the back fence would see me standing here at the screen door talking to someone, but they couldn't see through the screen at this angle to determine who it was." Now that I could be sure that Nancy realized the total privacy of her show, I felt better. "Furthermore, I'm very glad that playing with your breasts feels good to you. You deserve to feel good a lot." How could any woman fail to find that a pleasing sentence? Continuing, I said, "And I would rather think that my watching you would add to your feelings, not detract from them." Long pause, but the nipple play continued unabated. Once in a while her eyes would slowly close, then reopen. At those moments I made little movements to get closer to her without it becoming obvious that the gap between us was closing. I eventually wanted to be about two feet away from her. With her elevated position in the house, my straight-ahead view was about at her collar bone level. Perfect for all that I hoped to accomplish in this first try.
"Nancy?" She looked back at my face again and made some little sound of recognition. "Would you reach inside your top and touch your bare nipple?" She nodded, and undid the obvious button that would allow her access and reached inside her dress with her hand. Oh, it looked nice. Timing things as well as I could, the next time she closed and then opened her eyes she caught me adjusting myself. Her eyes instantly dropped to my crotch, and I pulled my hand away quickly as if I was startled to have been caught. She pulled her hand out of the top of her dress and opened the button above and the button below the one she had already opened. Now when she reinserted her hand to play with her nipple, the top of her dress opened easily. I would say it gaped open except that from straight ahead of her, I didn't get any better view. But I hoped to improve that soon.
Added to her closing her eyes periodically was now a movement. She was squeezing muscles in her abdomen in some manner, which caused visible movement of her hips. Yes, yes, yes. The next time she closed and opened her eyes I again adjusted myself, taking longer than the last time. Of course I was fixated on what her hands were doing so I wouldn't have known she was watching me, would I? When I finally looked back up at her face she was looking at mine, intently. "I want to see what your hand is doing inside your dress," I sort of croaked.
"I thought you could see. Through my dress."
Aha! The game is afoot. Now she was becoming the temptress she had every right to believe she was. Staying in part I bumblingly said, "But if you could turn a little I could see your hand on your nipple. Not through the dress, I mean, but . . . inside the dress . . . your bare hand on your bare nipple . . . where you unbuttoned it."
Turning almost enough she asked, "Like this, Tim?" Before I could answer she moved more and said, "Or like this?" After I nodded, she continued with, "Is this what you were thinking earlier, Tim? Tell me what you were thinking about."
Sometimes a plan has to take a back seat to plain old-fashioned voyeurism. Her breast was scrumptious looking. Her nipple was quite stiff and she kept tweaking it. I should ask her to wet her fingers. Eventually I had to get my hands and my mouth on her. I would do everything I knew how to do to drive her crazy with lust. She pulled her hand out but made sure her dress stayed open for me. What a beautiful breast. Then her hand reappeared in my line of view and she went back to her nipple. Damn. She had wet her fingers. One of us must be telepathic. Now her nipple really sat up smartly. By my watch, the light actually went off at 8:05. Having lived with that damned 500 watt argon gas light on all night, every night for the last five years, it was sort of shocking how dark it looked outside between our houses. There are no street lights on our street, which we all like, so except for the few houses like Nancy's, our street was very, very dark.
I had showered and shaved very close, with a blade razor, so that my face was as smooth as possible. Didn't want to abrade delicate woman tissue, you know. My 5' 10" body was as ready for this as it could be. I got hard every time I thought about what was to come. Or should I say to come. My goal was to eat her to one, let her fuck herself on me to one, and then fuck her until we both came. A simple, straight forward plan. And a lot of telling her how beautiful, succulent, sexy and exciting she was, with my words, my eyes and my actions. That would be easy to do.
At exactly 8:10 I opened my back door, went out through the gate, across the planter from my driveway to hers, and walked the ten feet back to her rear porch. She was at the door in a floor-length maroon robe of very shiny and supple material. Her face was radiant and expectant at the same time. Her hair was glistening, picking up some of the red highlights from the robe. She had maroon slippers on her feet. I had never seen her bare feet before, but she had nicely shaped toes, well-manicured nails, and slim, trim ankles. When she was on her back underneath me, I would be able to pull her legs up and nibble in her toes. I've never heard of a woman who didn't find that to be an erotic sensation. That left me to only wonder how she would feel when she was on top of me, bent forward so that I could suck on her nipples, mold her ass with one hand and touch her ass hole with a wet finger. But, I fully intended to find out.
Her fragrance was familiar. Yes. It was that nice, pink liquid soap. Subtle without being overpowering. And her make-up was light and delicate, as was her habit. A totally desirable package of sexuality. I guess I spent longer taking her in than was apparent to me because she finally asked if everything was okay.
"Okay? Nancy, you're gorgeous. Delectable, even. I'm so excited I'm quivering from adrenaline. This has been the longest two hours of my entire life."
"I'll bet you tell that to all of your women," she chided.
"No. One of the reasons I'm so nervous is that I haven't had a lot of experience. None before I got married, or at least none before my wife. Since she died ten years ago I have become painfully aware that I don't fit the mold of the typical male who can prowl and conquer."
"You didn't seem to have any trouble conquering me, Tim," she observed.
"You were very vulnerable and you would be amazed at the amount of planning I went through for today. At how many escape points I allowed for if you rejected me, or came unglued, or became hysterical, or whatever."
"I came unglued, all right, Tim. I have never in my life had an orgasm that ripped through me like that one did. I'm not sure I could stand another like it. At least not too soon."
"You could never understand the pleasure it brought me to watch you today. The totally sexual woman loving her magnificent body. And allowing me to watch."
Turning toward where her bedroom is and walking in that direction while holding my hand she said, "You did a lot more than watch me, Tim. Your words and your looks were something I didn't know I needed so badly. And you pushed me over the top when I was afraid I couldn't get there after so long. I'm still wet just remembering it."
"Good!" What a compliment. "I'll volunteer to watch you any time you want. I'm a born voyeur."
We entered her bedroom and she went straight to the bed and sat us both down. Turning to me she said, "You wanted to . . . to . . . taste me. I knew about oral sex. But I've always believed that was just something women did for men. And . . ."
"You mean," I interrupted her, "That you were told that men didn't do that to women in return, don't you?"
"Well, yes. But I've talked with women who said that they loved being . . . licked. But I was never sure that I believed them. And I was never sure I would like it nor that anyone would like doing it to me," she finished breathlessly. "Many, many men, who have learned how great the return from their woman is, have learned not only to perform cunnilingus, but to enjoy it. I absolutely do. Partly for the same reason that women can enjoy fellatio; the control it gives over the receiving party. Being able to manipulate and yet observe closely without worrying about your own climb to satisfaction. That can be a real turn-on. Especially when a woman tastes and smells as good as you do."
Looking sort of sheepish, yet kind of devilish, Nancy asked, "So are you going to taste me again?"
"Definitely, yes!" Then, remembering something I had planned to say at about this time, I added, "But, you have to do your part as well, which is to tell me what you want, when you want it, or don't want, if that's the case, and I want you to feel free to make all of the noise you feel like. I'll like that and you won't be concentrating on trying to conform to some silly notion about remaining passive and quiet."
Standing and starting to undo her robe, Nancy turned to me and asked, "Do you follow that same set of rules?"
"Well, sort of. I communicate what I like and want. That's easy because I like to manipulate, touch, taste, look, and direct. And, I suppose, I feel that many women want to be manipulated, touched, tasted, looked at, and directed. But that doesn't mean that you can't take over and do all of those things any time you wish, and return control whenever you wish. Like now." "What do you mean, Tim? 'Like now.'"
"Well, with you standing there with the robe on the floor, wearing exactly what I asked you to wear, stretching your arms over your head, which raised the shirt to just above your pubic hair, you are now controlling me." Then pointing to my very visible erection inside my shorts (no underwear), I added, "See?"
Pleased as she could be at such quick confirmation of her power over me, she ran her hands down over her breasts, on down her tummy, up under the shirt to her pussy, and then opened herself again for my viewing. After a moment she asked, "So are you going to do all of those nasty and despicable things to me that you said you were earlier?"
As well as I could I croaked, "Now that I see you again, those won't be enough. I'll have to think of more."
Jumping toward me and pushing me back on the bed she straddled my chest, looked down at me and said, "When are you going to start, big guy?"
"As soon as you lower the lights so that I can see you, but no one in the hall could. That way I'll have to do a lot of feeling around and sampling in order to know just what is going on." Off she leapt, turned on a little tiny light on her dresser and turned off the bedside lamp.
As I took off my shirt, shoes and socks I told her it was just perfect.
"Tim?" she asked as she came back to the bed, "Would you taste me first, just a little so I can see how it feels? Then we can do whatever you want to do."
I lay back on the bed. As she looked at me intently I told her to stand up on the bed with her feet on either side of my shoulders. She did that and looked down at me looking up her shirt at her pussy. When she asked me what I could see, I told her it was heaven I was looking at. Reaching up for her hands I told her to lower herself down until she was sitting on my chest. Now her pussy was two inches from my mouth. It was open and wet, with her clit peeking out of its hood. I knew it would come out more eventually, until just before her climax, but I liked looking at it now, too.
Pulling up her shirt so that she could see me under her she said, "Did you forget? I don't feel anything yet. But when I look behind me I see this strange bulge in your shorts. So something must be happening. And why do you have your shorts on, anyway. I would have thought O-o-o-o-o-o-o-oh, God that's goooood."
"And it stopped your jabber, too," I told her backing away form her love nest for a moment.
"DON'T STOP!" she ordered. "Please don't stop."
I was happy to comply, at least for a couple of minutes. But more later. Yes, a lot more.
VI During those couple of extra minutes I explored her breasts, much to her satisfaction and mine, and I played with her ass, a lot. If women didn't have nice, soft, globular, malleable asses I would have had to invent them. Having touched her ass hole once during that short time I knew of the almost electrical shock it gave her. I'd be back there, too.
After rolling her over to signal that we were going on to other things, I kissed her for the first time. I could hear her smell my face to see how she smelled. The kiss was long, satisfying, and ended with her licking around my lips to clean my face. "After you've had another orgasm you can lick my face clean again," I told her. "Then maybe you can tell the difference in the taste of your cream afterward."
"Is there a difference?" she asked.
"Yes, there is a difference, and I think it's because of your orgasm. Whatever the cause, I like it." With that, I moved down to her nipples. First one and then the other. After a while of me sucking and licking and her moaning and writhing I lifted my head up enough to say, "You know, I like having my nipples sucked and nipped, too." Taking the hint she started to slither down under me but I stopped her, saying, "You know, if you would get on your hands and knees over me and reverse to me, your breasts would hang in my face for me to suck and you could suck my nipples at the same time."
"That sounds good to me," she replied enthusiastically, and moved around so I could lie down under her.
"It's purely a selfish suggestion on my part, Nancy, because then my hands are free to explore your body. I'll be able to suck on your delicious nipples and touch you everywhere. Neat, huh?"
Lowering her chest over my face she said, "Boy, you really are selfish! What do I get out of it?"
Starting to run one of my hands over her ass above and behind me while the other moved along her tummy to her bush, I stated, "As long as I'm happy. That's what counts." But I'm not sure she heard me over her moans and groans of pleasure at being touched so intimately. So, back to her nipples. I love this.
After a few minutes of me manipulating her ass and pussy lips I felt a warm, timid hand sneaking down past the waist band of my shorts. It didn't take her long to find my cock since it was right there. Her ministrations on my nipples never slowed as she withdrew her hand and unbuckled my belt, unbuttoned my shorts, and ran the zipper down. I could feel the cool air on my overheated and too-long-restricted best friend. But the best part was when her hands found me again and she looked up from her sucking to say, "My God that's big." Bless her heart. Tell me a man who would not now do anything for her. Then the icing on the cake. "Tim. It's beautiful. Ohhhh. Keep doing that, Tim." What she was referring to was my finger which was making lazy passes up her lips on one side and then down the other, with occasional dips into her well for more nectar. That's what she had done earlier to herself, and I had watched closely. Soon I would periodically make little passes of my finger tip just under her clit, just like she had done. If I was right in my thinking, and despite what she had told me, there was another orgasm just waiting for an excuse to go coursing through her. As soon as I made the first little cross path under her clit she almost leaped off of me. By the fifth or sixth time I did that she was starting to clamp her passage. I could hear it. She had a death grip on my cock, her mouth was still on my left nipple, but she wasn't connected. I could feel, rather than hear, her rising moaning on my chest. It was time.
I rolled her over on her back. She started to complain about the interruption but I shushed her and made her move up nearer the head of the bed. Then I spread her legs open and lay down with my face in her sweltering bush. As soon as my tongue made its first tenuous contact with her clit, she started moaning anew. It was music to my ears. Immediately her legs went around my shoulders and her hands flew to my head. Actually, she was closer than I had thought. Her stomach muscles were already taught and her nipples were stiffening. I could have made her wait to build the tension but I wanted her to have another if she could. So to help push her over the edge I said, "Since my hands are busy with your breasts, I need you to hold your pussy open for me so that I can suck your clit into my mouth and make love to it with my tongue. She raised her head to look down at me and as had been true earlier, her eyes were quite glazed. She was looking at me nursing between her legs with such a look of rapt desperation. But she moved her hands from my head to each side of her pussy. Then she spread herself for me. How much more vulnerable can a woman be than Nancy was now? I lifted her ass with my arms to curl her forward so that she could see as well as possible. There was her clit, still sticking well out for me to nurse on. As I moved my pursed lips slowly down to her clit her eyes were locked on the sight. She was making little grunting sounds in her throat as she watched my progress, but nothing intelligible. Just before my lips made contact with her clit I slowly licked my lips for her viewing. If anything, she bent toward me even more and her eyes absolutely drilled into the spot where my mouth and her pussy were about to rejoin. The clasping sounds of her cunt opening and closing on a cock that wasn't there were spaced so close together now that she'd probably have fired off just from her own contractions. Then my lips slid over her clit and my tongue started rubbing the underside. Her head flew back on the bed and an 'arrrrrrrrgh' type sound emitted from her. I hung on as she thrashed about on the bed. I didn't move my mouth or lick her clit, which was still between my lips. I just hung on. Nancy was gasping and crying out softly, making different sounds, repeating some of them, and slowly winding down. When I finally tried to let go of her clit as gently as I could, the movement still sent a huge jolt through her whole body. Avoiding her clit totally, I softly licked the rest of her pussy, dipped into her passage numerous times with my tongue, and just let her float back down to earth.
After not touching her pussy for about two minutes I got into a kneeling position, still between her legs, held her knees apart, looked at her soaking wet thatch. Smiling up at her dazed eyes I said, "Look at the wonderful job we've just done, would you?"
"How can it be wonderful when I'm destroyed?" she asked me weakly.
I bent her legs in front of me so that her knees were almost at her chest, nipped at one of her toes with my teeth and said, "You're not destroyed, you silly. You are woman. W-o-m-a-n!"
"I am scattered in little pieces all over this room and some in the hallway. And if you don't leave my toes alone by at least mid-night, I'll do something . . . well, something." Now I was sucking on her toes, one at a time. Knowing that I couldn't wait too long after such a shattering orgasm to start another, if there was another, I moved her feet and calves to my shoulders as I move my cock to within striking distance of my lover. She was watching me again. I don't know what she may have been thinking. Maybe, "Isn't this ape ever going to leave me alone?"
Well, if that was it then the answer was a resounding NO! Wetting my right palm I slowly moved my hand up and down and around my cock to get it wet. Again, Nancy was leaning forward, watching me, intently. When I lowered the head of my cock to line up with the entrance to her passage, she almost bent in half to try to see it enter. Even if she couldn't actually see it, she definitely felt it enter her.
"Oh you're big. Ohhh that feels so good. Slowly, please. I'm not used to such a big . . ."
"Cock," I finished for her.
Looking up to my face for a moment she said, "Yes, such a big cock. Oh, I love it. You're filling me to overflowing."
"No. The overflowing part comes later."
"Very funny Mr. Timothy. Ohhhh, itsssssss sooooo goooood." her head was back on the bed and her pussy was sort of munching on me. With each munch I slid in a little deeper.
Finally I bottomed out, so to speak. Then I started a series of very slow ins and outs. I loved the sight of my cock slipping into her inferno. And each time I pushed back in she was rising to meet me. Letting go of her legs I lay down on her supporting my weight on my elbows. I pushed her arms up over her head and put each of my arms under her upper arms and grasped her wrists. Now I was again moving slowly in her, but just little movements. Side to side sometimes and out a bit and then back in; trying to keep pushing and rubbing her clit. She was moving with me and kissing me all over my face.
"Can you taste your last orgasm on me, you sweet lover?"
"Yes, and I like it. But I don't taste anything different."
"Well, as long as I think I do, I'm satisfied."
"Why do you have my arms stretched out above my head in this death grip, Tim?"
"So you can't get away from me, of course."
With a wicked grin, Nancy retorted with, "I could get away from you." Saying that she started bucking and thrusting her hips up off of the bed. I rode it out with great satisfaction until she said, "I can't believe it. This can't be happening!"
Letting go of her arms and raising up in concern I asked, "What's wrong!"
"I'm going to have another orgasm. I can feel it. Oh. It's delicious."
"It's your own fault," I said, "For thrashing around like that. Wanna do it again?"
"No. I want you to turn me over so that I can do what you said." I must have looked quizzical because she looked me dead in the eyes and went on, "I want to straddle you and impale myself on Timothy Junior." I almost lost it right then and there. But I pulled out of her, both of us moaning at the loss of contact and I flopped down beside her. She got up on her knees and put one precious leg on either side of me, with her cunt poised just above my cock. "Are you watching this, Tim?"
"At this moment there is nothing else in the world to watch, my love." Now she had reached under herself and was holding my cock aimed at her sweet cunt opening.
"I'm now going to lower my pussy down onto your rampant cock, Tim. And you're going to watch it disappear up inside of my body." With that she started to lower her pussy. I watched, amazed as I always am, at the sight of me disappearing into a gorgeous woman's cunt. When she was all of the way down she said, "Now I'm going to . . . I'm going to fuck myself on your cock until I come again. Oh, Jesus I need this. I need you." Then she began bouncing up and down on me. Her breasts moved with a life of their own, and I reached for them.
After a couple of minutes of rapture supreme, a feast for the body and a feast for the eyes, she leaned forward and held one nipple for me to suck. And suck I did. She got more frantic in her movements and was moaning. I raised my knees a bit so that I could thrust up to meet her backward lunges. My hands grabbed her ass cheeks of their own accord. Now she was moaning with each breath and was starting to have a patina of perspiration all over her body. I was getting close to coming, myself. I had to hold off until she gushed. Her face was buried in the crook of my neck by then. Her constant moaning was music to my ears.
Remembering something I'd temporarily forgotten I brought one hand back to my face and wet my middle finger completely. Then I moved my hand back to her ass. Using the rest of my fingers to tease my way down the crack of her ass I stopped when I knew my wet finger was right over her ass hole. I touched her lightly. She made a higher sound in my ear. Touching her again I started moving my slick finger around the edges of her anus. I could feel her clenching and pushing back against my finger. Her moans got louder and she had my head in a death grip between her hands. I was moving my mouth back and forth between her nipples again. Reaching further down I picked up some extra moisture from her pussy and my cock on the outward strokes. Then I went back to her ass. This time I concentrated my finger movements exactly at the opening of her anus. It was alternately relaxed and locked with her clenching. Finally she yelled, "I'm coming. Oh, God I'm coming." Then she demanded, " Come in me. Come in my hot pussy. Oh, Jesus, I'm exploding."
I felt the pressure, too. Unable to hold back from her movements and her words I began gushing my come into her body. It was such a sweet and powerful orgasm. I didn't want the bliss to end. Nancy was crying on my shoulder, I guessed in relief, and I was still experiencing little tremors and dabs of semen leaving me for her insides. I sure couldn't blame the semen for making a bad choice. This woman was so hot, such a turn-on, so into sex once she got started, that I doubted any man who had actually used her to the fullest extent of his abilities would ever want to ignore her needs again. Instead he should live for satisfying her. Because she would definitely satisfy him in the end. Yeah! Her end.
Nancy lay on top of me like a dead woman. Slowly her breathing returned to normal. I was stroking her all over; from her finger tips to her toes. She made appreciative little sounds, but nothing you could have called coherent. That was okay with me. I was content to just stay buried in her heavenly cunt and stroke her body with my hands for as long as possible.
I turned my head and kissed her ear. "You are one fantastic woman, Nancy. You have turned me every way but loose. And, hopefully I did the same for you."
"Oh, you did. You definitely did. The things I've done and said today would have me in stupefied shock if it weren't that I'm in no condition to feel anything but gloriously wrung out."
"Well, you inspired me. The way you look, smell, taste, feel and make love is as much inspiration as I can stand at my age. Your problem now will be one of defending yourself from my mental onslaughts whenever I see you outside. I'll always want to peel you like a juicy grape and taste your fruits before I consume you completely."
"God! That sounds like an absolutely disgusting way for me to have to live from now on. Could you be ready for those mental onslaughts by tomorrow morning when I wash my car, Mr. Timothy?"
"Of course I can, Missy Nancy." Then I added, "I'll talk about the weather, or Pete's progress on the porch, or the traffic problems, but you'll be buck naked in my eyes, bent over your car, with Timothy Junior and I working you over from behind."
"That sounds appropriately disgusting to keep me buoyed up for quite a while," she said, smiling. "In fact, maybe I'll just go to sleep tonight thinking about that disgusting picture. Who knows? I may wake up in the morning and be all wet from thinking of it."
October starts tomorrow. Neither Nancy nor I have mentioned our adventure. I know she sees the lust in my eyes whenever we're outside together. Sometimes I ask her if she is going to be washing her car. She shades her eyes, looks directly into mine, and her look lets me know that she hasn't forgotten about being bent over the car. A return match would be nice someday. But I know, in my heart, that Nancy found whatever she needed inside of herself, to lay down the law to Peter, and get her needs met. All of them. She just needed to get some of the cobwebs out of the way so she could see her path clearly. Humph! "Timothy and Junior. Cobweb Removers." I wonder how I'd explain a business card like that to anyone.