A note from Christine.
Whilst it is not essential, I strongly recommend that you read Part 1 first. It sort of puts everything into context.
Still whatever, enjoy and let me know what you think
C x
*****
There was Tom an Art Director at one of the agencies where I worked freelance. I had known him for some time, not that well and certainly not intimately, but on terms that were close enough for us to chat easily.
There was Stuart, a lawyer I met at a dinner party and there was Gordon a fifty year old Mancunian, self-made multi-millionaire I met while on a golfing holiday with seven other women in Spain.
Tom and I sat next to each other at an awards lunch and ended up in his bed that evening. Peter and I went on several dates before gradually getting round to it and Gordon had his hand up my skirt and my tits out on a lounger round the hotel pool at two o'clock in the morning. Quite a varied lot really.
The awards ceremony was at the Savoy. All rather grand and all crushingly boring, but as I had written some copy for an Tom had designed and we were nominated we had to be there. Fortunately, the client couldn't make it so we were able to overindulge in the free booze and by the time the room was darkened and the presentations started, we were both a bit tipsy. He pulled his chair closer to mine as many of the others on the round table turned theirs towards the stage. We laughed a lot taking the piss out of some of the ads and I felt his arm go round the back of my chair and his fingers rest on my shoulder.
"And what, Mr Mason, do you think you're doing?" I asked.
"Actually Ms Hunt trying to get into your knickers."
"Well as you know better men than you at your agency have tried and better men have failed," I replied jokingly. Such banter was not that unusual between the male and female staff in the ad industry where PC still doesn't seem to have arrived.
"Yes, but they haven't been close up to you when you're tipsy and just gagging for it have they?" he quipped back.
"Who says I'm tipsy?"
"Well OK pissed then," he retorted.
As the ceremony droned on so I felt his hand softly rubbing my shoulder. As we got nearer to our section so his leg pressed against mine. As we both drank more wine so his foot ran up and down my calf and as we realised we hadn't won so I felt his hand on my leg.
"Oh well that's that then," he muttered leaning over so that his mouth was close to my ear. "We might as well go and have a quick fuck then hadn't we?"
In my slightly, well fairly to be truthful, pissed state and with me now trying to be the sophisticated sexual creature it seemed sort of cool really to say.
"Yeah I guess we should I suppose."
So we did. Twice actually later that afternoon in his flat in Fitzrovia. And it was good. Neither of us was in that fit a state for sexual acrobatics so both times were leisurely and probably not that expert, but they were fun.
Until Tom, I'd never really looked on sex as being fun. But with him it always was. He didn't take anything that seriously, so why should he with sex was his belief? So for a two or three month period, when he introduced me to smoking marijuana again after what must have been a fifteen or sixteen year absence, we had fun as we had sex. We smoked, drank and laughed our way through a series of premature ejaculations, a number of 'oh fuck it I can't get it ups' and some absolutely monumentally mind blowing sessions.
At the same time, Stuart was pulling me. Slowly and methodically as his legal training prompted him, he did everything absolutely properly.
The first date all friendly and diplomatic and a peck on the cheek as we said goodbye. The second, dinner, at a posh Italian restaurant in Chingford was a little more romantic and talk of a more intimate nature followed by a lips on lips kiss in the cab on the way to my home. No thought on either part though of coming in for coffee, no not on a second date that would not be right. It was on the third, though, as was a full on kiss and tongues in the other's mouth. Up top only on the third date as he enquiringly at first touched my breasts. Finding only the appropriate level of resistance he persevered as we sat in his flat that was just round the corner from the Italian restaurant. Over what must have been an hour he undid a couple of buttons on my blouse. It took probably another twenty minutes for him to get his fingers inside my bra and another ten or so before he eased each boob out from its restraining cup.
Being the demure and modest lady I felt he wanted me to be, after he'd played with them for a while not, of course going so far as to suck my nipples even though that was exactly what I wanted him to do, I put my toys away and went home an intact and well behaved lady.
As I had got back into dating I'd worked out that the fourth or fifth date is the watershed. It's the one where you've both got to know each other quite well, where inhibitions have gone a bit and both parties are quite comfortable with each other.
So when he also suggested the new man thing of, 'come round and I'll cook you dinner' for our fourth date I assumed that this would be where the heat would be turned up.
As I rode over to his place by cab I recalled the old schoolgirl dating protocol of 'only up top for the first few dates and no up the skirt until at least the fourth or fifth!' I was quite pleased that I wasn't wearing trousers this time!
Out of his pinstripe suit and white button down shirt Stuart was a different man. Once he threw off the uniform and restrictions of his profession he changed completely. When naked he was godlike. I could hardly believe that the man who had been so diplomatically dating me could be so awesome in bed. He was an amazing lover. Quite the most technically adept I had been with.
After the meal, we sat together on the sofa and he took up from where he had left off last time. Remember that? Bra still on, but tits out yet no sucking or nipple chewing. Of course, this time there was that. That and so much more. I had never had a man pay such homage to my breasts before.
He had undone the buttons on my blouse, gone through the cursory entry level of caressing me outside my bra before again getting them out. This time though he leaned behind me and undid my bra. I like that feeling as the restriction of the tight elastic is removed. I like the sensation as the cups are eased away from the mounds. And I enjoy the look on a lover's, well a potential lover in this case, face when he looks at them for the first time.
I am a little bit arrogant about my tits. I know they're not bad at all. I know I've got a good rack and I know that many/most men are suckers for full tits. And Stuart was no exception. Where he was different, though, was the time he took playing with them and what he did to me by doing that. He must have licked and kissed every single square millimetre of them at least once and for an age. He must have sucked and chewed each of my nipples for longer than News at Ten lasts and he stroked each of the orbs until I was in fear that he might rub them away. One way of losing a little weight I guess.
So, naked above the waist, skirt pushed up to mid-thigh my breasts being lengthily stimulated by this amazingly patient man, what did I do? Unusually for me I did just lay back and enjoy it. He was so in charge and was so systematically directing proceedings it didn't seem right for me to interject. Sure I kissed him back when appropriate and I did undo a couple of buttons on his shirt and yes I felt his, quite impressive, length through his trousers, but not much more. My part seemed fairly well defined and that was to be his plaything. So plaything I became.
And boy did he play. Although his concentration was on my boobs, and wonderfully so I must say, there was the occasional fingers sliding along my thighs and now and then the lightest touch on my panty covered pussy. As I tended to jerk when he did that, well girls do don't they, he would then apply a little more pressure right there. Right where I wanted that pressure. Right where all females love that pressure. Yes right alongside my clit that, unlike many men, he seemed to find so easily. Usually as he did that he was sucking, quite noisily in fact, on a nipple or licking the softer flesh of one of my tits. The combination of being strongly stimulated in two places at once had the inevitable effect on me. Yes I climaxed, twice for sure and maybe three times on that sofa.
It wasn't anything like it had been with Peter where I embarrassed myself by cumming far too early. No, with Stuart, my climaxes were an essential part of the sexual foreplay as he saw it. It was almost as if it was my duty to cum. And being a dutiful girl I did, willingly and explosively with his hand between my legs and his mouth on my tits.
But that was just the start. As I lay on the sofa in my mellow, post orgasmic state, he stood up and not taking his eyes from mine for a moment he undressed. As I said, out of his pinstripes he was truly beautiful, if that term can be applied to a male physique! He had an almost perfect body, at least to my eyes. Tall and slim without an ounce of unnecessary flesh he obviously looked after himself in the methodical way he did everything else including me. Lightly tanned with a covering of hair on his chest he had an absolutely flat six pack and a beautifully long and smooth cock that reared up from a thatch of golden pubes tinged with splashes of grey. Unlike many men, Paul was totally unselfconscious about his nudity, he picked me up and carried me to his bedroom.
You'll notice that I'm not including much dialogue and that's because we hardly talked throughout the entire episode. But then the way that Stuart made love didn't programme in talking.
Sitting on the bed with me standing next to him he slid my skirt up. He did make a noise then by sighing deeply as he looked at the white, pretty much see-through, satin and lace knickers I was wearing. As fthe weather was still warm and my legs still had the tan from my Italian holiday I was not wearing tights or stockings. Slowly moving the fingers of one hand in little circles right on my clit he eased the back of my panties down with the other. Eventually getting them down my thighs he took them and then my skirt off.
At last I got to lie on the bed and was thinking that now we would fuck. Wrong. Oh no. No it was not time in his programme for that. No this was the time for the beneath the waist foreplay. I won't bore you with the tedious details, but we then had another hour or so of him attending to every part of my lower body. Strangely though only with his hands and not once did he use his tongue or mouth on my pussy. But the intensity and, I have to say gentleness and expertise, with which he inflamed my lips both inside and out continued on my clit and all around my bottom made me cum again.
His lovemaking though quite expert and very giving was sort of mechanistic and so bloody drawn out. It was as though he could give for ever but not want anything in return. As though he took all I had, but never really revealed anything about himself. Even when, eventually, he did fuck me it was as if he were programmed. He did everything correctly, he took his time, he combined long and short thrusts and fast and slow ones but not once did he let himself go. No loud moans or words. It was like being fucked by a machine. True a powerful and very efficient one, but still a machine. A fucking machine actually.
So. in my raining men period I had one guy where it was all fun and another where it was mechanistic.
