Summary:
Sexy college coed entwines lonely MILF in her sexual web.
Note 1:
This is dedicated to the real Elizabeth, who requested this story.
Note 2:
This is an
April Fools' Day Contest
story so please vote.
Thanks to:
Tex Beethoven, Robert, and Wayne for editing.
Lonely MILF: A Sexual Awakening
Sometimes you don't know you're in a rut until something happens to make it obvious.
I'm about as stereotypical as it gets.
I'm a stay at home mother, member of my two girls' PTA, a stereotypical housewife (aka the 1950s world where the wife cleaned, cooked and the man worked), married to a husband who was more actions than words.
Truth was, I never realized this until after meeting Sam ... but I was very lonely.
In retrospect, I can now say that I hid this loneliness from myself by keeping as busy as possible. In addition to doing all my household chores, I was heavily involved at my children's school as head of the elementary school PTA, and I was a regular volunteer in the kindergarten classroom. Which is where everything changed.
I was at school helping with my daughter's kindergarten class when I met her... Samantha. She was a first-year college student with an Education major, who was doing her required first-year classroom hours. She was an amazing young woman. Pretty, confident, friendly and sweet.
We were chatting one day a few days into her time at the school when she told me, "I've just got to say that for a woman with two kids, you look amazing."
I was stunned and flattered. I literally couldn't remember the last time my husband Jack had offered me a compliment, and for a few years now I'd been desperately trying to get his attention, which had used to be as easy as wiggling my nylon-clad toes, or walking into the bedroom in lingerie that showcased my 36C breasts.
Sex between us had never been amazing... I had never climaxed from sex with Jack... ever... and even from the very start of our relationship in high school if it lasted five minutes, including foreplay, that qualified as a marathon encounter.
My fingers and hairbrush had long been my regular finishing tools for what my husband had barely started.
I should also note that although this may seem unbelievable... especially in today's kinky sex-obsessed world, but I had only ever been with one man... my husband. I may have kissed a few boys before dating Jack, but before him nobody had even gotten to second base with me.
I replied to Samantha, "Thank you very much."
"You must work out," she said, as she admired my toned legs.
"I try," I admitted, thinking of my daily stair master routine. "The pantyhose help make my legs look more toned than they are."
To my surprise, she placed her hand on my leg and rubbed the nylons softly, "Oh, these are nice. What brand are they?"
"Donna Karan," I answered, a little flustered to have someone touching my leg.
"I really like the glossy shine," she said as if she were a TV ad, giving me one more rub before moving her hand away, "it enhances your look, and makes you look really sexy."
"Thanks," I said, feeling my cheeks burning red from this rather harmless conversation. Clearly the lack of attention from my husband was impacting how desperately lonely I felt and how urgently I felt the need for any sort of positive attention. I pointed out, awkwardly I'm sure, "Your outfit is really cute." I added, looking at her plaid skirt and red blouse and beige pantyhose, "I'm surprised to see you wearing pantyhose." My words were vanilla, but behind them was a compulsive need to prolong this conversation: if I said something nice back to her, then she may say something even nicer back to me, and etcetera, and wouldn't that be wonderful! You can see how pitiful I was.
"Why would you be surprised?" she asked.
"I'm... it's just..." I babbled, floundering for what to say, her casual question somehow achieving monumental importance to me and requiring the ultimate in witty or insightful replies. I settled for replying lamely, "Most young people don't think they're fashionable."
She shrugged and said, her soft tone shifting ever so slightly, "I'm not like most of my peers."
"That's good," I laughed awkwardly.
"You're intriguing, Elizabeth," she said warmly, giving my leg a brief squeeze before going away to help a student with his finger painting.
Over the next couple of weeks, we chatted a few times and I couldn't explain it, but whenever I glanced over to her, she seemed to be looking at me, or her eyes were roaming over my body. If she'd caught me looking at her, my focus would have fled instantly to some other part of the room, but whenever I caught her, she would just give me a warm, relaxed smile before eventually allowing her attention to wander someplace else.
At first I thought it was just me, but it continued to happen, and soon whenever we made eye contact she wouldn't avert her eyes at all, as if she welcomed my knowledge that she enjoyed looking at me.
She wanted me to know that I had her attention.
I couldn't explain it, but I felt like I was on display, and even though it was awkward, it soon became me who always broke the eye contact... I frequently looked back shortly afterwards and would feel a slight disappointment whenever she wasn't still admiring me, although often she still was.
When we chatted, she often touched my hand or leg, and complimented me about this or that, frequently to point out some fresh aspect of my alleged beauty.
This should have disturbed me.
I was married.
I was straight.
I was a mom.
I was twenty-eight.
She was nineteen.
Yet somehow she made me feel more alive. I couldn't explain it, but I began to like her looking at me, it even made me feel lusted after (which surprisingly made me feel warm inside instead of objectified), even though she'd never said a word to imply that she might be a lesbian or into me.
Yet, they say actions speak louder than words, and her actions kept repeating that she was attracted to me.
I began looking forward to seeing her, and I felt disappointed on the days she wasn't there.
I started dressing a little sexier, always in nylons, since I wanted to give her more opportunities to admire and hopefully even touch my legs... even though such expectations were ridiculous. Even if she was a lesbian, I wasn't going to do anything with her... although the thought excited me and created feelings I'd never felt before.
Samantha was pretty much the polar opposite of me:
Samantha, although she went by Sam, had dark hair; I was a blonde.
Samantha had short hair; my long hair went halfway down my back.
Samantha was 5'4"; I towered over her at 5'10".
Samantha had small and, I assumed, perky breasts; mine were quite large 36C's.
Samantha was slim and athletic and even a track star; I was curvy with almost no athletic ability.
Samantha was tech savvy; I was a complete tech illiterate... which is what triggered what was about to happen.
Before I get to that, I should point out that although I never fathomed ever doing anything with her for real, visualisations of her began to pop into my fantasies.
Pleasuring myself after another one of Jack's quick cum deposits before he dropped off to sleep, I was fingering myself while still lying next to him, and I was nearing another self-induced orgasm in a lifetime of that being my only kind. Samantha's face popped into my head and I came immediately, barely managing not to cry out her name.
So the next day on my phone I searched lesbian stories for the first time on my favourite website Literotica (I usually read gangbang stories... my secret taboo fantasy until Samantha). I found hundreds of them, so I narrowed the search to seductions. I found quite a few of those where a younger girl seduced an older woman, and I dove right in. I was reading a crazy series called Lesbian MILF Seductress, where a young and pretty girl named Bree achieved a dozen plus conquests of older women. As I read each one, I imagined I was the MILF and Samantha was Bree. (It was a bit of a stretch to imagine myself as a lady cop or as a black woman, but if I focused on their thoughts and feelings as they succumbed to this powerful young woman, I found it wasn't a stretch at all.)
I was reading one of them about a woman celebrating her thirtieth birthday sitting in the balcony between Bree and her boyfriend at a musical, except as I imagined myself being her, I pictured myself as sitting between Samantha and my husband, while Samantha worked Bree's magic on me. The scenario drew me in completely and got me totally horny and I closed my eyes, fingering myself to a frenzy and a glorious orgasm, imagining Samantha taking me the way Bree took whomever the eye of this story was... me... where I knew I should resist, but simply couldn't. Since I was home by myself, I allowed myself to surrender totally to this vision just like this woman surrendered to Bree... to Samantha... in the story. I'd gotten to the point where the woman was rubbing herself furiously to a climax while Bree touched her leg and looked on from one side of her while her boyfriend gradually became aware of what she was doing from the other side. Meanwhile I was rubbing myself for real, while imagining Samantha urging me on from one side of me while my husband watched from the other, astonished that I had a sexual bone in my body that wasn't reserved exclusively for his own pleasure. I became totally lost in this vision as I brought myself to a screaming orgasm, calling out Samantha's name at the top of my lungs! "I'm coming for you, Samantha! Oh God, oh God!!"
As I recovered from my intense orgasm, thinking this was the second time in a row that my orgasm had erupted from a powerful image of Samantha, I realized I was going to be late getting to school.
I rushed to the school, ending up being a few minutes late.
I was only a volunteer, I wasn't on the payroll, but still.
I was never late.
Ever.
Carol, the teacher and a friend of mine, even teased me, "Elizabeth, what could possibly have made you late?"
Instant paranoia!
Do I look flustered?
I asked myself. I got flustered easily.
Are my cheeks still red from those naughty stories I read and my climax with Samantha's name on my lips?
I hoped not.
Can Carol tell I just had an orgasm?
I could feel some wetness in my panties, but there's no way anyone would be able to see that.
"I-I-I just lost track of t-t-time," I stammered awkwardly.
