It would be a good career move, my managing director told me. I'd overseen the drawings and costings for the project, so why not see it through to its completion, he insisted? So, I packed my bags, left my girlfriend behind and relocated to a comfortable hotel on the east coast.
It took me twenty-four hours to realise that the hotel the company had chosen was depressingly boring, so I determined to find a flat for the duration of my stay. Easier said than done. But the estate agent I was using for my search suggested I look for board and lodgings instead, and by chance she just happened to know a lady whose home would be perfect for my requirements. So arrangements were made and off I toddled to visit my prospective lodgings.
I didn't have to wait long for the door to be opened and the lady of the house to announce herself, but Mrs Crawley wasn't what I was expecting. She was a rather large lady who exuded instant friendliness and when she smiled her sex appeal was apparent. The lady's seductive appearance was enhanced hugely by her dress sense, carefully crafted to present her fine figure in the best possible way. The grey dress she wore now buttoned from cleavage to hem and flared elegantly into a full skirt finishing around her knees. Mrs Crawley's breasts were large like her hips and strained enticingly at the grey worsted material; I dragged my eyes from her shapely breasts and met her eyes, she stood aside and invited me in. As I passed her I was assaulted by the delicate aroma of perfume.
Mrs Crawley stood about 1.7 metres in the high-heels she wore - strange choice for wearing about the house I thought - and her blonde hair was styled short, layered and complimented a round cherubic face. Full lips painted bright red co-ordinated with the red shoes and the red belt around the waist of her grey dress, which I again noted seemed to be under a tremendous strain from her mature weightiness. When my eyes had completed yet another take of her massive breasts they returned to her face and I observed how perfect her complexion was ... that of a woman half her age.
I followed Mrs Crawley as she tottered down the hallway, high-heels click-clacking on the wooden floor. Her plump, but well-shaped legs were encased in black nylon and rasped softly as they brushed against each other. Whether the nylon mesh was pantyhose or stockings I couldn't determine immediately. However, once I'd taken the Cuban-heel pattern and seams into consideration, I erred confidently on the side of stockings; and very nice they looked on her.
Laura, as she insisted I call her, gave me a tour of my rooms and by the time we arrived back in the kitchen for a cup of tea and a slice of home-made cake, my mind was made up ... I intended to take the accommodation. Laura gave details about the rent and the extra charges for meals and laundry, and confirmed she would give me a monthly receipt so I could claim expenses. She said I could move in anytime, so I chose the weekend, which happily coincided with the start of the month.
It didn't take long to settle in and find my feet. Laura and I struck up an instant rapport and she went out of her way to make me feel welcome. Although large mature women had never held any sex appeal for me, thus far in my life, Laura was somehow different. Our age difference of twenty or so years was purely an arbitrary figure and had no bearing on my evaluation of Laura as a big sexy woman whose inviting sexiness was to become an ever present problem!
It was noticeable that Laura liked to dress neatly and attractively at all times, a trait I appreciated, and I never saw her without a touch of make-up, not even at breakfast time; I had the feeling it was an image she nurtured for my benefit and I constantly wondered whether she saw me as being more than her lodger? My lust, though, had to be kept in check, for my cosy billet, although temporary, was too good an arrangement to mess up in order to satisfy my cock; so jerking off in the shower was usually the order of the day!
But the woman's voluptuous presence and constant unwitting provocation were testing any resolve to try my luck. Naturally, I fantasised about any amount of different scenarios that might bring us together and even went a stage further by trying to plot such a physical encounter. But this only left me further exasperated, when, at the appropriate moment, I failed to take the chance or have the courage to make the required move. This state of affairs, however, was to radically alter in the space of a few days.
I returned from work one evening and on opening the front door shouted out to identify myself to Laura. She replied from the kitchen, where I discovered her standing on a stepladder trying to change a LED light bulb in the ceiling. It wasn't going well for her, so I told her to step down and let me do it; she thanked me and started to descend the stepladder. But her foot slipped causing her to fall and cry out. My instinct was to reach out and catch her from falling further, which I did by grasping her powerful thighs and holding her steady while she regained her footing.
We remained in this position for several seconds with my hands holding her thighs. Laura thanked me but made no move to descend the steps. She looked slightly flustered and commented on my strong hands before wriggling herself against them.
"I shouldn't have tried to climb the stepladder in this skirt, should I? It's far too tight." She giggled.
"You should have waited and asked me to do it." I answered. Then, as she moved her legs, I felt the unmistakable protrusion of suspender fastenings through the material of the snug fitting skirt. Not just one or two, but three, on each thigh! My hands stayed where they were enjoying the intimacy until Laura spoke somewhat
mockingly.
"Peter," she said. "Would you let me get down, please?" I moved my hands to grip her expanded waistline and lifted. Laura wasn't as heavy as I thought and when she was safely on the floor - her body and breasts pushing against me, asked. "Are you a stocking lover? Come on, don't be shy. Tell me, do you like to see your women wearing stockings and suspenders?" This was the moment that turned our relationship. I took a breath and answered her.
"Yes, I do."
"Even plump, mature ladies like me?" Laura persisted.
"Indeed, especially older, plumper ladies like you." I said.
Laura chuckled. "I can see I'm going to have to watch you, young man." She pinched my cheeks playfully before escaping my clutch and leaving me breathing heavily. I sensed the start of an erection. "Dinner will be a little while yet." Laura said changing the subject.
"In that case I'll take a shower and change." I replied feeling the need for some personal relief.
But Laura had barely reached the kitchen door when she cried out and dropped to the floor holding the back of her left leg.
"Cramp!" She cried. "I've got bloody cramp!" I rushed to help and managed to sit her on a chair. I began massaging the troublesome calf. "I always get it when I've been stretching my legs." Laura said. "Sorry I startled you by shouting out."
Stroking Laura's stockinged leg felt most pleasurable. My fingertips glided freely over the glossy mesh, occasionally reaching as far as her knees and the hem of her skirt; it was such a temptation to go further and slide my hands beneath the skirt.
"My word, Peter, you've got a magic touch and it feels so nice."
