PDA

Orijinalini görmek için tıklayınız : Going Where No One has Gone Before


admin
05 Şubat 2023, 11:03
I was a pretty green 20-year-old who had just started his science degree at a university ten hours drive from his home town. Being on my own for the first time in my life was both exciting and daunting. A sheltered life is how many would have described my teenage years. A religiously conservative family had made my life very prescriptive. Here I was looking to spread my wings, so to speak, but outside of meeting a few other students in my dorm block, I knew no one in this city. So imagine my surprise when I bumped into an old family friend, Mrs Sinclair, as I walked down the main street of the CBD. The chances of bumping into someone you knew, in the downtown area of a city of over a million people, when you had only just moved there was extremely slim. I actually didn't know Mrs Sinclair that well, in that I had never really talked to her, but I must have attended dozens of gatherings, many church based, where she was also present. I knew she was a business woman of some sort and that she was quite well thought of within our church, but beyond that I was in the dark.
We both recognised each other instantly. She was looking at me like I had two heads such was her surprise. She was wearing a very matronly set of clothes that seemed to swaddle her body to the point that you could deduce nothing about her figure although she was clearly not a big person. I presumed she was actually quite small under all those clothes. Everything she wore was brown or a shade thereof. Tan, fawn, beige, hazel. All very drab even to my simple eye. Sure, she was pretty enough but her conservative hairstyle made her look quite frumpy and older than I guessed she was. Maybe 50 would be my inexpert guess.
We took a few minutes or so to politely catch up. I learned that her husband had died around a year ago and she had moved here relatively recently to take up a position as a partner at a medium sized accountancy firm. She then made an unexpected invitation. Would I join her for coffee at a nearby café? I was going to attempt to demur but the look on her face was curiously eager. I agreed and we made our way to an outdoor table.
After pleasantly chatting for about twenty minutes, she looked at her watch and said that she had a meeting to attend. She hesitated for a moment, clearly wavering about her next course of action. She seemed anxious. To my surprise and, dare I say it, chagrin she made another invitation. This time to her house the next day, Saturday, for afternoon tea. While I had enjoyed her company, I had no real interest in seeing her again but I could see no polite way to decline her offer. I was raised to be a very well-mannered young man who would always respect the desires of an elder. Little did I understand what the desires of this elder were to be! As I walked away, I reflected on our conversation. I couldn't help but think that, given the questions she asked me, it had felt like some sort of surreal job interview.
The next day I knocked on her door and when it opened, I was flabbergasted. I barely recognised the person standing before me. She was wearing a long, slinky, black gown that seemed to shine. Is the material called satin? I'm not sure but it certainly got my attention. It seemed to swirl around her diminutive frame.
This garment, which was currently my most favourite item of clothing in the world, had a plunging V neck that revealed so much flesh that I could only make the delicious deduction that her breasts were unfettered by any sort of bra or underwear. My theory was awarded instant confirmation as she shifted her weight from one leg to another causing her generous breasts to swing freely like some sort of dual pendulum. Had she accentuated that movement intentionally? A bizarre image of a breast-based Newton's Cradle sprang uninvited into my mind. There were no nipples visible but they could only be lurking under a mere minor fold of the glossy material. Given that I was almost a foot taller than her, my line of sight down her cleavage was giving me vertigo. She shifted again and I gasped as I observed her pendulous breasts swing back and forth. I watched like a tennis spectator, my eyes moving left and right with each mesmerizing oscillation.
I was spellbound but self-aware enough to know that if I kept gawking like this I would severely embarrass myself. I managed to mutter an inane greeting with only a slight catch to my voice. She smiled warmly and bade me welcome, seemingly ignorant of the impact her appearance was having on me. This impact was causing a very embarrassing expansion within my trousers.
She turned and beckoned me to follow her into her apartment. I couldn't help myself but I audibly gasped. The side slit in the gown (for want of a better term) momentarily flashed open right up to her pelvis! It exposed a breath-taking expanse of shapely leg. I felt like I was being bombarded with sexual allusions. Although my knowledge of female underwear was rather rudimentary, I instantly leapt to the assumption almanbahis (https://almanbahis.pro/) that, if she was wearing panties, I would have certainly caught some glimpse of said undergarment. Holy hand grenade! Could this mean the gown was the only item of clothing she was wearing! Could she, was she... completely naked under this tormentingly tailored garment?
I resolutely, albeit reluctantly, dragged my eyes up from the lascivious leg spectacle and tried to reattach my lower jaw to my upper one. I felt rooted to the spot. She looked over her shoulder and encouraged me in again. Was that a tiny smirk that fleetingly graced her otherwise smiling face? Was that a flicker of a glance at my crotch? It made me wonder if she did indeed understand the effect her appearance was having on me. I plodded after her like an automaton, simply stunned by the revelations of the last 30 seconds. My hands dangled zombie-like in front of me in a forlorn attempt to hide my rampant erection.
She led me to a comfortable sitting room and asked me if I would like a drink. So much for afternoon tea I thought. She explained that she was having a gin and tonic. I said I would join her and a few moments later we raised our glasses to each other. I took a healthy sip and had to manfully fight not to gag explosively. This drink was pure gin over which someone had waved a bottle of tonic and murmured the word "lemon."
She sat languidly on an expensive looking leather chair. Her bare feet were tucked under her in the manner I normally associated with someone younger but, given that I was scoring flashes of leg, thigh and breast, I was in no mood to condemn. I was on a matching couch that faced her chair across a low coffee table. While we idly talked I was able to soak up the extraordinary changes that she had made to her appearance.
Her hair was different, don't ask me in what way but it was certainly far more attractive and her makeup accentuated her high cheek bones and piercing dark, almost black eyes. I particularly liked the dark make up around her eyes; mascara is it? It made her seem very exotic. She had made the astonishing transformation from homely, if attractive, middle-aged lady to premium grade A milf. I felt like I had kissed a frog. I recognised that she had made a considerable effort to look attractive and I took that as a complement though I couldn't help but think though that there was just a tiny shade of desperation in her efforts. I started to entertain the thought that this invitation to afternoon tea might pan out in a very unexpected way. Regardless, I thought she looked absolutely gorgeous. In an impulsive and, for me, very uncharacteristic moment, I actually offered a clumsy, blurted complement, "You look very attractive." I immediately regretted my rash remark but she responded with an expression that started with relief but quickly moved to one of satisfaction. I still thought however that my chances of getting up close and personal with her were as remote as the island of Tristan Da Cunha. (Go look it up if you want but, suffice to say, it is very remote.)
We made small talk for a further few minutes and she then surprised me by moving from her chair to join me on the couch.
She took a big slug of her drink, drew a deep breath and began a startling monologue.
"It has not been easy for me to decide whether to broach this subject with you, so I hope you will keep an open mind." She took another deep breath, another big gulp of her drink and then announced, "I must insist on your absolute discretion concerning what we are about to discuss and any subsequent..." She paused searching for a word; "activities that may ensue."
I nodded and said that I understood. In reality, I had no idea what she was talking about.
"Good." she resolutely pronounced.
"Firstly, I need to ask you some personal questions."
I was intrigued but also more than a little concerned about where this conversation could be heading.
She was empathetic enough to detect the reservations I was having.
"Sorry to be so intrusive but this is very important to me." She paused and took a deep breath. "Let me break the ice. I am 44 years old, have been married twice and have no children. I lost my virginity at the age of 17 and have had a total of 14 sexual partners, 2 of whom were women."
I involuntarily swallowed. It felt like I had ingested a whole walnut such was the lump in my throat. Her continued narrative did little to alleviate my condition.
"I have been involuntarily celibate for the last year since my husband died. We had a very active sexual relationship and I have discovered since he passed away that sex is essential to my general well-being. There are very slim pickings in terms of potential partners for a person of my age and standards. The situation is becoming untenable in terms of my mental health. What I am looking for is a no strings attached, uncomplicated sexual relationship."
She paused to let almanbahis giriş (https://almanbahis.org/) the shock waves from that little bombshell dissipate.
"To be perfectly honest, I find you sexually attractive." Her lower lip quivered. "Exceptionally sexually attractive." She averted her eyes and seemed to be holding her breath. After a few seconds she exhaled with some force.
"So, I have been candid with you about my sexual experience. Can I now ask you to be equally frank about your own?"
I involuntarily gulped again, the ache in my throat was still there. No one had ever asked me such an intimate question, let alone the fact that it was coming from an old female family friend twice my age.
I mumbled, stalling for time. Should I bluster my way through with tales of numerous steamy conquests and advanced carnal expertise, or should I be honest and tell her my list of sexual experiences could be written on the back of a postage stamp?
She could sense my reluctance and made another attempt to draw me out.
"Let me tell you about one of my most compelling fantasies. I have often dreamt about the idea of having a tryst with a much younger male partner. In the ideal scenario my lover would be sexually inexperienced, and I would have the honour of educating him in the ways of the flesh.
It was my turn to take a large gulp of my drink. I then looked down at the floor. I made my decision surprisingly quickly and quietly announced, "I am a virgin."
She gasped loudly. I shyly looked up at her and saw her face was contorted into a strange grimace. There seemed to be shock, desire and maybe even greed present. She had started a gentle panting like she had just climbed several flights of stairs. I felt like a prey animal before an apex predator. Not that it was an unpleasant feeling. To be so clearly desirable in her eyes was quite the turn on.
Her next, quietly whispered words soothed my embarrassment, "I cannot understand how someone as intelligent, sensitive and, quite frankly, beautiful as you has not had many opportunities and offers of a sexual nature."
This drew a weak smile from me. There was a pause in the conversation that I had no idea how to fill.
She relieved the tension. "So to reiterate, I yearn for someone who is discrete, attractive and ideally younger with a touch of sexual naivety." She shuffled a little closer to me on the couch. "I know I am no spring chicken and there are many other women who are far more attractive than I but I am available to you if you want to take me as your lover."
My head was spinning with the realisation of what was happening. Did I want to take her? Does a bear have lips? This eye-popping milf wanted to bed me! She wanted to make me number 15 on her list!
"I take it from your expression that you are not adverse to the idea. Clearly this would not be a conventional relationship. I think the modern slang is that we would be fuck-buddies. Pure sex, plain and simple. Will you agree to that?" My head was nodding with childish enthusiasm. I must have looked like an excited puppy.
She moved closer still and raised a palm to my face. The distance between our faces had shrunk to the point where we were breathing in each other's exhalations. I noticed that both of us were breathing at a heightened tempo. In a surprisingly gravelly voice she whispered, "We are going to have so much fun together." Her lips approached mine in what seemed like slow motion. They touched and I was mildly startled to feel her tongue immediately insinuate itself into my mouth. I tentatively responded with my own and soon they were performing a sinuous salsa together.
Obviously with our lips locked I was breathing through my nose which drew in a new stimulus. Her smell was exotic and intoxicating, almost spicy. I involuntarily groaned at the additional sensory stimulation.
After a few moments of superb saliva sharing, I felt her take my hand in hers. She proceeded to guide my open palm to her left breast. Through the silky material, it felt like a very hefty handful. She made my hand move in a circular, massaging motion. Once I was showing some independence in directing the mammary massage, she slipped her hand down onto my thigh and gave it some firm squeezes.
Clearly, I had been given then glaringly green light to fully explore her bountiful bosom. After a few seconds of general purpose kneading, I made an interesting discovery. There was a significant lump in the middle of her boob which at first had me thinking that I had stumbled across some sort of fastening or button for her bra. My physical experience with bras was, unsurprisingly, very limited. And then I remembered that I had deduced she was probably not wearing one. As I rolled the mystery protuberance between my fingers, Mrs Sinclair released a throaty moan. Co-incidence or connection? I paused and then gave the lump another firm squeeze. Her subsequent vocalisations confirmed that it was definitely connected almanbahis yeni giriş (https://almanbahis.online/) to her nervous system. I do believe I had tweaked my first nipple! What astonished me was the size of this mini-organ. I had imagined nipples to be small and soft. Not huge, hard and super-sensitive. (It took a few years and a small handful of sexual partners for me to realise just how extra-ordinary her nipples were in sheer size and consistency as well as sensitivity.)
I was confused and more than a little disappointed when she took my hand and withdrew it from her breast. My consternation was quickly transformed into delight as she guided it inside her gown. My hand was introduced to naked bosom flesh for the first time! I felt faint. I also felt that very protuberant nipple. It felt rubber-like between my thumb and forefinger. It had the rigidity of a pencil eraser.
My enjoyment of her breast was wrested away by two other simultaneous developments. Firstly, she had removed her mouth from mine and relocated it to my ear. Here she blew, licked, kissed and sucked in a manner that had me squirming with pleasure. Secondly, in a clever flanking movement, the hand that had been on my thigh moved up towards my crotch. She explored the region and soon found the rigid tenting my erection had made in my pants. She whimpered in my ear in appreciation of her discovery.
After a few minutes of continued petting, she sat bolt upright and said "I can't wait any longer. I want to see and touch your naked body." She stood and forcefully pulled me to my feet. We faced each other and both of us tried to feverishly remove my shirt. When it was off she ran her hands over my chest and hissed through clenched teeth, clearly pleased with what she had revealed. Maybe that gym membership was worth it after all. She drew me close, pulled my head down to hers and gave me another deep kiss. I was making an embarrassingly futile effort to remove her gown. She smiled at me and accomplished the task in the time it takes for a dropped bra to hit the floor. But there was no bra. There were no undergarments of any sort. Just prime, naked milf flesh. For a woman in her forties her figure was genuinely spectacular. Trim and slim where is should be, curved and voluptuous where it ought to be. Those over-sized nipples seized my attention. They seemed to be looking at me, like a pair of dark, piercing eyes, demanding attention.
Now I had seen a lot of breasts on the internet but I still have to say these were beauties. Sure there was a little sag but the generous proportions and general shape were eye watering especially when they were capped with those nuggetty nipples. She laughed as she saw my reverent appreciation of her rack and she mashed them against my lower chest. I could clearly feel those nipples giving a me a delicious jabbing. It was my turn to groan.
She slowly slid down my body until she was on her knees. Her first move was to remove my shoes and socks. I held my breath as she started unbuttoning my pants. Was this really going to happen? She lowered my trousers and I stepped out of them. There was a veritable gazebo in the front of my boxer shorts. I was shocked when she burrowed her face into my still clothed crotch. She was inhaling my scent in greedy lung fulls so I was relieved that I had showered only an hour ago. Her face was exploring my genitals through the thin cotton of my underwear, snuffling and snorting in a manner that clearly demonstrated a depraved desire.
"There seems to be something very significant in here," she stated in a tremulous voice muffled by the material. After another minute of crotch rummaging, she pulled back and looked up at me with a serious look on her face. "I want you to be honest. Has anyone ever done this to you? Touched your genitals I mean."
I assured her that, other than when my parents bathed me as a child, no human had ever touched me anywhere near there. She shivered with excitement.
She clapped her hands in apparent delight and, using a turn of phrase that both surprised me and also warmed my Trekkie heart announced, "I am going to go where no woman has gone before!" Without further preamble and with obvious urgency she hauled my underpants down to my feet. My rigid member lurched ponderously into view.
"My Goodness! Unbelievable! You are the embodiment of the term "well-endowed". He is certainly the largest of the 12 penises I have personally encountered. You are going to be a real trail blazer."
I was champing at the bit to blaze her trail. From her description of my genital dimensions and the proportions she attributed to of her previous lovers, it appeared that I too was going to go where no man had gone before! It was my turn to shiver with excitement.
Incidentally, I already had a fair idea that I was reasonably generously outfitted in terms of dick dimensions. Nothing like a steady diet of porn to draw a deduction about how well you compare to other men, even porn stars, in the penis proportion department. Still, to have a woman wax lyrical about the size of your cock does no end of good to a man's sexual self-esteem, and also in this case, to the rigidity of said pussy pounder. Or to be strictly accurate; potential pussy pounder.