"Really? But we have all day..."
"... and all night," I added. "I hope. But right now, some things can't wait."
"Such as?" you asked, watching me closely.
"I'm hungry," I told you, my tongue sneaking out to lick around the outline of your right breast. When you gave a small moan, I took your nipple in my mouth again and lightly pulled on it with my teeth.
"For these, but not for pizza," I explained as you moaned again. I left your breast and slowly licked my way up your freckled chest. "I want you, Jayne. Right now."
"What do you want?" you asked, dropping your hands to my hair. "Tell me."
"I want you," I murmured, lightly kissing your lips while my fingertips stroked along your legs. "All of you," and then waxing almost, but not quite as lyrically as you, I added. "Everything you have that you can give my Jayney."
"And now?"
"Now, it's the aperitif. I want to start by showing you what an old man can do. I'm going to make love to you, Jayne. With my lips, my tongue, my mouth, my fingers. I'm going to make you moan, Jayne. I'm going to have your body twisting in pleasure. I'm going to have you begging me to fuck you. But before then."
"Before then what?" you asked, and I swear your voice was unsteady.
I gently ran my hand over your hot pants, lightly pressing and rubbing along the length of your young pussy. "Before then, Jayne, I'm going to make you cum."
"Like you did before, you dirty old sod fingerfucking me in an office doorway?"
The soft moan you gave from my words, or the touch of my fingers on your sex, made my mind up.
My hands moved to the brass button on your hot pants and pinged it free. Watching your half-closed, blue eyes, I slowly pulled the zip down, as if every movement had to be exaggerated and unhurried so it was teasing to both of us. The pants slid easily down your thighs and you stepped out of them. The look on your face said you were unsure, but that you wanted to see where this was going, find out whether gramps knew what he was doing? My fingers went to the waistband of your almost opaque, blue tights. It was more difficult to peel those down your legs than the hotpants, but a few drags and tugs eventually did the trick, with you holding onto my shoulders to make sure you didn't topple over as I forced the material down your legs and off your feet as you wiggled the strappy, silver shoes off.
It had entered my mind to try to fuck you by, either ripping a hole in the tights or, with them just rolled down beneath your bum. On balance, I thought it wiser for such more overt stuff to be left for later. With just that thong to protect your modesty, you looked every bit the young temptress you were. I almost expected you to put one finger in your mouth, Lolita-like, and provocatively suck on it, but you didn't. Instead, you stood there, your eyes telling me this was my show. What next, they asked? Surprise me, they said. But they sent out a warning, too, be careful, because I'm moving out of my comfort zone. Glancing around, I tugged you across to your bed, gently easing you down, onto your back, not a word being spoken as I leant forward to kiss you. A soft kiss, one you returned, your hands raising themselves to stroke my hair. I pulled away a fraction, so we could look at one another, try and read each other's eyes, see what the other was thinking. At the same time, I reached down, taking hold of one end of the thong with my right hand, and another part with my left. Eyes on one another, I thought of tearing the material and ripping the flimsy garment from you. Quickly, though, I abandoned the adventurous idea as previous attempts at such a demonstration had taught me just how strong even a flimsy thong is. I realised that it really could make me look like an old prick if it didn't tear and I had to revert to pulling it down your legs after probably hurting you.
Instead, I growled. "One day I'll rip your knickers off you, you sexy little bitch."
"Mmmmm, you replied, promises, promises."
"Don't worry I'd buy you new ones."
Typically, you answered. "Yes, you fuckingwell would, these are sixty quid of AP's best stuff," making me wonder, but afraid to ask, if you had bought them especially for today realising quickly that was almost certainly wishful thinking.
My lips and tongue found the inside of one thigh, and then moved across to the other. An upwards kiss, lick, kiss, lick across both thighs and then I was there, staring at the treasure I wanted so badly. You were smooth, delightfully smooth; smooth just for me, I wondered remembering vividly that you had a landing strip when I finger fucked you? I let your eyes see my tongue - not lewdly, just a glimpse - as you stared down, propping yourself up on your elbows. My eyes surveyed your wet pinkness and then my head dipped forward. It was just the very tip of my tongue that licked across the full length of your opening, my senses savouring the feel, the erotic smell and your lovely taste. Your body shuddered, then trembled. Your hands reached down to my hair, perhaps unsure whether to pull me closer or push me away. I lapped again, with a little more pressure this time, my fingertips drawing the lightest of patterns on your inner thighs, a feather like touch, running up and then down your soft skin. I heard a noise. A murmur? A groan? A gurgle? A moan? I licked again, harder this time, pushing my tongue along your soft folds so that you could better feel the pressure. Your body trembled again, just a little. A tremble of pleasure, I hoped, though this was unfamiliar territory for both of us. Take it slowly, I told myself, though my arousal insisted I should feed on the wonderful offering open to me. My hands went to your knees and slid under each one so that I could pull and push your bum upwards. Taking advantage, I slid my tongue along that sensitive patch of flesh between your sex and your bum, for a second or two toying with your bum hole. Your body jerked in my hands, and I slid my tongue back on its return journey, this time slipping it inside your lips and tongue fucking you for a few seconds. The move was sudden, unexpected, and your body jerked as my hands pulled your legs a little wider apart. Your hands gripped my hair more tightly. To stop me? Or encourage me? Whichever, I changed the pace, sucking in the Jayne-juices that were flowing into my mouth and then moving upwards, my whole mouth engulfing your clit. I sucked it inside, as much and as deeply as I could, until I felt your body move, your bum press upwards, as if involuntarily offering yourself for more. Then I released the wonderful mouthful of flesh and allowed my tongue to get back in on the act, slowly lapping up and down the little bud, then drawing figure of eights all around it. For a brief second, I wondered if this was giving you as much pleasure as it was giving me?
Her.
From the moment when it had become obvious that you were trying to pull me and from the time when I had realised that I didn't particularly object to what some might consider that rather ambitious aim on your part given our ages, two things had occupied my mind.
The first was whether your maturity and experience would make it much different. Would you go about having me in a different manner to younger guys: are there techniques that men acquire with experience and do they give more pleasure? I simply didn't really know, but somehow doubted it. Sex could well be a little like rock and roll, there's quite a low ceiling; that's why stuff from the seventies sounds as good as new, with rock that is, but maybe sex as well. I mean there are only so many ways a clit can be pressed, a nipple sucked or a girl's pussy can be stuffed with a guy's cock isn't there? Isn't there? I wondered, but knew that I would soon find out. And second, was how you would feel. Daft I know, but I am a bit touchy feely; being tactile, isn't it? By that I had wondered to myself, would your skin and flesh feel different to the other younger guys who had been in my arms? An odd thought maybe, but one that seemed important to me. Those thoughts had been occupying much of my thinking. They were there when I phoned you with that joking customer call, when we were arranging to meet, when I was waiting for the day and when I waited; aroused I have to admit, at the platform at Kings Cross. God aren't railway stations and trains sexy things? Well, I think so.
All that had been near the forefront of my mind when we sat together on the Central Line to Loughton, tube trains are the exception to my sexy feelings with railways by the way, and in the cab to my home. And, of course, as I showed you around our suburban mansion, they were uppermost in my mind for I knew the time when I would get my answers was nigh. As we kissed, as you touched me, as you undid the waistcoat, as your hands went under my top and as you caressed and then sucked my breasts those questions were screaming out to be answered. Somehow, though, when I pulled the top over my head and bared my breasts for you, offering them to you, giving them to you to do with as you wished, things changed.
How you would go about taking me seemed rather irrelevant. It was merely the technical aspect of sex. As was how you would feel, did it matter? No not really. Those thoughts that had troubled me so much, that had been in my mind so frequently, that had kept me awake as I masturbated myself thinking about them, suddenly lost their significance. As you removed my little silly, little, 'come and fuck me' shorts, as you stared at my half-undressed form, your eyes boring through the dark blue nylon of my lower half and the total nakedness of my upper body, they didn't seem to matter. As so quickly you stripped those tights and the tiny thong from my tummy and legs to bare me completely, the technical and the feel slunk into the back ground. Yes, as you took me naked to my bed, all that seemed to matter was us. Not a young, blonde bimbo and a mature, aging, man, not a pick up and a seducer, not an adchick and a retired businessman, but simply a man and a woman. A man and woman about to make love. And make love we did.
