A Passion Ignited

Cecelia looked down at him as she slowly rolled her hips, rubbing herself along his length. She was entranced by how soft and pale his skin was, it seemed tissue thin, in places almost translucent, his long muscles, sculpted by hard physical work, tightening at the slightest of movements. She touched her fingers to the faint tracery of veins on the side of his neck and, following the lines of his muscles, stroked down over wide shoulders and long arms to his hands. Lifting them she placed them on her breasts and gave them a squeeze, but, feeling how rough they were, she peeled one off and studied the palm; the years on his courses and working at the gardens had toughened them to those of a hardened labourer: the difference between them and the rest of his body was quite remarkable. She kissed his calluses then placed it back where it belonged, squeezing them both again, encouraging him.

She'd found him, or more accurately he'd found her, at the Horticultural Society's gardens an hours drive from where she lived.

She'd finally decided to do something with her pocket sized garden and had gone there for some inspiration. But, after walking around for an hour she'd been no further forward and was feeling quite overwhelmed by it all, so she'd decided she needed a break. Coffee: coffee and a cake, that's what she'd needed, maybe things would seem clearer then.

When, from behind her, a man's gravelly voice had interrupted her thoughts. "Mrs C?"

Cecelia had turned in a rush, surprised at the sudden interruption, and instantly recognised the speaker. "Rowan?"

His face had broken into a wide smile. "Hello Mrs C, how're you?"

God. He looked just the same and yet very different all at the same time. She'd always liked Rowan. He'd been in the same year, at the same school as her son and, although the boys hadn't been friends; her son was the athlete whereas Rowan was much more the studious type and they'd moved in entirely different circles, she and Rowan's mother had been part of a group of mothers who'd regularly met for coffee. That had started to drop off once the boys had moved to high school then ended completely when they'd gone to different colleges, but they still bumped into each other around town and always stopped to chat.

Back then he'd been a slight boy; thin and small, and with his pale skin he'd always seemed frail and sickly, but he'd still charged around in his little group of friends and had always had a wonderful smile whenever she'd spoken to him.

But now he was tall and upright with a real width to his shoulders. My goodness how he'd grown.

"I'm well thank you. And you?"

"I'm really good thanks." He'd replied.

"And you're working here?" It had been more of a statement than a question; he'd been wearing the Gardens livery of green and brown with the signature red handled secateurs in its leather holster at his hip, the answer was obvious.

He'd grinned proudly. "Yes, started when I was still in high school and I've just finished my Diploma."

She'd been genuinely pleased for him. "Well done you, in that case you can give me some advice."

And from under his wide brimmed hat, that smile of his had beamed out. "Of course I can, I'd love to. What is it you're looking for?"

Watching her fingers trail over his pale skin she remembered her thoughts and feelings during the hour or so she'd spent walking around with him.

At first it had just been a friendly catchup intermingled with useful advice and ideas, he really did know his stuff, but she had become increasingly aware of something else: something she'd struggled with; she had become increasingly aware of him as a grown man.

After his guided tour Rowan had helped her choose a few plants to start her off and given her a short list of what to get later if she wanted.

Things had changed as he'd stood to the side while she'd paid when an older woman, also dressed in the gardens 'uniform', had approached him.

"Rowan, I thought you were on a half-day today, weren't you due to finish at 12?"

Rowan had blushed and replied, "Sorry boss, just that Mrs errr, this lady needed some advice, I just got carried away, sorry, I'll just help her into her car and then finish."

The woman had glanced at Cecelia and smiled then, not unkindly, said, "That's fine, I'll see you tomorrow."

Once they were outside and heading towards her car Cecelia had been apologetic. "I'm sorry if I got you into trouble Rowan, but thank you for your help, I really appreciate it. It's lovely to see you again but I can manage now, you get off home, I don't want to keep you any longer."

"That's ok Mrs C, I enjoyed it, and it was great to catch up after all this time." Then, looking at his watch, he'd said, "The next bus isn't for twenty minutes and the stop is just on the main road, so I'll help you get it all into your car then go and get changed."

"You get the bus home?"

"Bus then train. But I don't mind, gives me time to relax, and it's a lot less hassle than driving."

"Hmm, ok, but you must let me give you a lift today, and besides, your house is only just around the corner from me." She'd already established that he was still living with his mum.

"Oh, thank you, yes that would be great."

"Right, I can manage these, you go and do what you need to do and I'll be here when you're ready."

And within ten minutes they'd been on their way, with the hours drive seeming to fly by.

And all the way Cecelia had had a tightness in her throat that she hadn't fully understood. She'd already spent a considerable amount of time with him, but being in the restricted space of her car seemed to accentuate her awareness of him: the scent of his deodorant overlaid with the smell of grass and the outdoors was heady, then there was his voice; so deep that it almost rumbled. None of it fitted with her memories of him as a young boy and she'd struggled to accept her feelings.

Arriving back at her house he'd helped her carry her new plants and bags of compost through to her garden. Once that was done she'd invited him into the kitchen for a glass of water before he left.

But he didn't leave.

They'd found themselves standing inches apart with the tension between them palpable.

She hadn't had any kind of physical relationship in over two decades. In his short, adult life he hadn't had much more than she, and neither of them had known what to do, but both of them had known that something needed to happen. It was just a case of whether one of them would instigate it before the moment passed.

It was Cecelia who'd broken the spell.

She'd reached up and, with a shaking hand, touched his cheek.

Rowan had moaned and, twisting his head, had kissed her palm.

They'd come together with a bump. Their teeth clashing, their tongues fighting a battle that displayed a mixture of lack of experience and overpowering lust as they kissed too hard whilst tugging unsuccessfully at each other's clothes: Rowan at the buttons of her dress, Cecelia at the buttons of his shirt and the belt on his trousers, neither of them with much success as clumsy fingers that were too eager struggled to get a grip of anything responsive.

Then Cecelia's back had come up against a wall and Rowan had pressed against her: his groin rubbing unintentionally over hers.

Cecelia had nearly fainted: her knees turning to jelly, her pussy seeming to pulse in a bloom of heat. She'd almost collapsed and it had only been Rowan pressing against her that had kept her on her feet.

Squeezing her teeth into the muscles of his shoulder she'd pulled herself together and, with a renewed sense of purpose, had quickly unfastened his belt and zip and pushed his clothes down to his knees then, in a mad moment of haste, had forced him away, stepped out of her knickers, dragged him back in, entwined her fingers into his thick mop of hair and kissed him again.

She'd intended taking her time: she'd wanted to take her time. She'd waited long years for this: always telling herself that she could do without but always knowing how much she missed it. But then, with it literally in her grasp, she'd told herself to savour it, to make it last.

But every sense of control had vanished when his body had pressed against hers, the hard thickness of him pressing against her through her dress.

And she'd been unable to resist. She'd reached down and touched him, groaning as she'd wrapped her fingers around him, her knees almost buckling again at the feel of his hot flesh, at the knowledge of what she was touching, at the mental image of it in her hand, the sudden reality of what was going to happen next.

And that was it: sheer, undiluted need had taken over. She'd scrabbled one handed to lift her dress and pushed up onto her toes then, with her fingers still holding him, she'd tried to guide him, to show him where she'd wanted him, where she needed him: one second whimpering as he'd got the right place but the wrong angle, the next crying out as he'd got it just right and filled her like nothing ever before: one second empty, yearning for him, the next a feeling of something seemingly huge sliding into her.

There'd been a millisecond of panic: an automatic response of trying to get away from this thing that had invaded her. But, pinned against the wall as she was and on the very tips of her toes, there'd been nowhere for her to go.

But that millisecond had passed, and, in a small explosive flash of light, she'd cum. He'd pulled back, and thrust up again, then again, his face pressed into her neck, hot breath against her skin, again and again; thrust after thrust that had tears running down her cheeks, her fingers clawing at his back and her thighs trembling as her bum bounced off the wall.

There'd been a moment when she'd felt him shiver and had thought he'd cum, but he'd just kept going, arse squeezing with each push until Cecelia's legs could barely support her and her grip around his neck had begun to slip.

But Rowan had saved it; he'd lifted her with a strength that had surprised her, turned, and sat her on the edge of the table.

Cecelia, suddenly having his face right in front of hers, had grabbed his head and kissed him with a ferocity that had caught him off guard. Her kiss had been hard and deep: their lips pressed tight together, her tongue thrusting into the back of his mouth as she'd pulled him against her.

And she'd kept him there: their bodies locked together, his cock pulsing inside her until the need to breathe forced them apart in a simultaneous gasp for air.

Cecelia, her hand still wrapped around the back of his neck, pressed her forehead to his and growled, "Come on, don't stop."

And Rowan had quickly picked up the beat, his urgency now evident, the force of his thrusts causing Cecelia to drop back to lie on the table and hug her thighs to her chest.

But, even though her heat had begun to rise, she'd begun to worry that he'd get there before her, so she'd touched herself; just a finger rubbing above Rowan's sliding cock, but that was all it took and, with years of practice showing her exactly what she needed, she'd quickly caught up. But once she'd got it there, she'd been unable to stop, losing herself in her own pleasure as the filling slide of his shaft added a dimension she hadn't had for so long, her need for it consuming her in a selfish hunt for that wonderful burst of pleasure that she knew was waited if she just kept going that little bit longer.

And it was there; she'd instantly recognised it; that warm glow behind her eyes, the soft tingle between her legs, the dull ache at the base of her spine. She'd growled as they'd grown; getting brighter, hotter, deeper, had urged them on, her finger a blur as they'd got closer and closer and closer.

Until they'd burst in a flash of fizzy tingles that met in the middle of her back and flowed up across her shoulders and down her legs in a cramp of intensity that left her gasping and moaning before she'd slipped into a dreamy, self indulgent state as she'd savoured the long, soft afterglow.

But, as she'd slowly begun to come to her senses she'd wondered what the hell had just happened. She'd had orgasms before, almost all of them self induced, but never like that. The intensity of it, the total loss of any sense of control was quite disorienting and she hadn't been sure what to think of it, even if she'd liked it.

She'd rubbed her hand across her face in an attempt to clear her head and had realised that Rowan was now shirtless, still inside her with her ankles up on his shoulders and fiddling with the buttons of her dress.

She'd tried again to pull herself together, taking a deep breath that had made Rowan look up guiltily.

"I'm sorry Mrs C, I was just...err." He'd glanced down at her half unfastened dress.

Cecelia, still not quite with it, had mumbled. "Oh that's alright Rowan, please carry on." Then giggled at the absurdity of her words.

"Oh, thank you." He'd replied, as though the brief conversation wasn't remotely related to undressing her.

Which he'd gone back to doing, quickly getting to the last button and watching as the two sides fell away. He'd spent a moment looking at her, then leaned forward and kissed between her breasts.

She'd smiled softly to herself and thought how lovely his little kisses were when she'd felt his lips move lower and his erection slide out of her. Then she'd suddenly realised what he was doing and her brain had cleared with a snap.

She could remember staring at the ceiling, all thoughts of 'what the hell just happened?' gone, her eyes wide and holding her breath, not believing he was going to do 'It'.

It!

The 'it' she'd always wanted. Wanted every time she'd had sex with her husband: the husband being the only other man she'd ever had sex with, the husband who'd already been gone months before their son was born. And every one of those times she'd mentally begged and pleaded, but had never dared ask.

But it was Rowan; this twenty three year old son of an old friend, this young man not yet half her age, whose lips had moved inexorably closer to that place until, finally, after an eternity of want, they'd brushed though her bush of hair and grazed across her tender flesh.

She'd shuddered and groaned at the contact, shivered at the tease of his warm breath, jumped at the faint touch of his tongue and groaned again at the press of his face between her thighs.

She'd spread her legs as wide as they would go, opened herself to him, her breath hissing as his tongue had explored her; burrowing into the folds of flesh, his hands pressing her thighs back, lifting her bum into his face as he'd squirmed in as far as he could get.

And already it had begun; the faint glow, deep in the depths between her groin and her bum. Until, when he'd swiped the flat of his tongue across that most sensitive place of all, he'd set off an instant chain reaction of exploding dots of light that roiled right up to the back of her neck and down to her toes leaving her arching her back and trying to catch her breath, all thoughts of whether or not she liked it dispelled forever.

She'd spent long minutes getting herself together after that one, the tingling aftershocks a new one for her, and when she'd finally managed to get her eyes to focus she'd found Rowan standing there wondering what he was supposed to do next.

Shuffling back until she could get her feet on the table she'd pushed herself up onto her elbows and looked at him.

He still had his trousers wrapped around his knees but otherwise was naked with his, to Cecelia, quite impressive and inviting erection pointing straight at her.

She'd almost giggled at the sight but, thinking it might hurt his feelings, had managed to stop herself.

"Bed bed!" She'd growled and, rolling off the table, had grabbed his hand, and, as he'd fumbled to keep himself from tripping over his trousers, had dragged him up to her bedroom and onto her bed.

Throwing him down, she'd ripped his shoes and socks off then tugged his trousers and pants down to throw them across the room. She'd felt strange, somehow not herself, her throat felt tight and her fingers had tingled, there'd been a nagging thought that she really should get a hold of herself but there were also bright thoughts of recklessness and the feeling that she'd gone this far and wasn't going to stop now.

He'd landed on his stomach and, in those moments of her inattention, had tried to roll over, but she'd grabbed at his legs and growled making him freeze. Running her hands up his legs she'd squeezed his tight buttocks, her fingernails digging deep leaving red crescents in their wake. She'd heard him gasp and had groaned at his vulnerability: his pale naked body laid out beneath her. Leaning down she'd kissed his bum then pressed her teeth to him, slowly increasing the pressure until he'd begun to shake, even then she'd held her bite for a moment longer before leaving him with her marks deeply embedded in his flesh, then, in a final, unthinking move, had smacked him hard across one buttock making him yelp.

Pulling on his hip she'd rolled him over and, lifting her dress out of the way, had clambered on top of him, sitting across his hips and, much to her delight and now fully awakened sex drive, still rampant cock.

She'd struggled out of her dress and bra, laughing at the look in his eyes as they'd alighted on her boobs: she'd always been proud of them; they were big and heavy, the nipples dark and sensitive and she could spend hours teasing at them, even occasionally giving herself small fluttering orgasms, she could even, in her younger more supple days, reach them with her mouth. But, sadly, that suppleness had long gone but she'd still idly pinch and squeeze herself, guiltily enjoying the sharp pain elicited.

Leaning down she'd kissed him, exploring his mouth with hers, forcing his teeth apart with her tongue and worming her way in until she'd heard him moan, only then pulling back a fraction leaving him gasping, his hot breath mingling with hers.

Flicking her eyes across his face she'd known she wanted more and, growling in her need, had clenched her fingers in his thick hair and turned his head from side to side as she'd licked, kissed and nipped at his face and ears, then, tipping his head back to expose his long neck, she'd carried on down, tasting him, chewing at him, feeling his pulse against her lips before moving into the cleft at the base of his throat then on to hungrily search for his nipples.

Her tongue had danced across one and she'd known her pleasure as she'd nipped at it, a whimper at the back of her throat as he'd gasped then flinched as she'd sucked hard while squeezing with her fingers at the other, knowing she was going too far and only just managing to restrain herself by forcibly pushing back against the urges she could feel pulling at her.

She hadn't had sex in twenty years, and all those twenty years of buried emotions, all those years of dreams and fantasies were surfacing and swamping her, bringing out the real her, showing her someone she hadn't fully known was there, someone she didn't fully recognise.

Slipping lower she'd wrapped her hand around his still bone hard shaft and swooped down, taking a good deal of him into her mouth.

That had been another first. She'd paused, breathing through her nose, and sighed. She'd never done it with her husband; sex with him had always been so quick, so mundane: usually when he woke with an erection, usually from behind and over almost before it had begun, for her anyway.

She'd taken more of him in, sliding slowly up and down, tasting him, feeling the shape of him, the size of him, marveling at his hardness, at how he filled her mouth.

She'd almost been overcome with excitement at the prospect of this, and had had to stop herself from dropping to her knees in those very first moments as she'd felt the tension build between them. She'd also expected a level of revulsion at having him in her mouth, but once she was there she'd found herself as far from repulsed as she could get; she'd just wanted all of it, wanted all of him.