Ok, the scene has been set, the characters established, both parties' needs are clear and the game is ready to start. Let's turn up the sexual volume!
++
I think it was the languid, unhurried pace more than anything else that so appealed to me. The way that you seemed to have time for everything. The way that you completed one task, such as anointing one breast or arousing one nipple, before moving on to another, that appealed so much. Your patience, your diligence, your concern for me and your conscientiousness in ensuring that you did everything sort of, how could I best describe it, ah yes, as well as you could do it all contributed to making that surreal period in that booth so fucking horny that I almost had a climax. Almost, but not quite.
'Why the fuck am I doing this?' Suddenly came into my mind as you sucked my nipples and then slid your hands up my skirt and grabbed my arse. As nice as that I felt, I stopped you. I was having a mental battle with my alter ego.
I don't like ageism, but for Christ's sake, he's in his sixties, I thought? So? I countered, what's the problem? He's got a cock, you know that, he gets it very hard, you know that. He wants to fuck you, you know that and, so far, he's been a great lover, you know that very well. But, he's old. So? You will be one day and wouldn't it be nice if a young bloke took a fancy to you?
"Come on," I said. "We have to go."
"Why?"
"Because Alan this is not a knocking shop, we can mess around a bit, but there are limits and we're in danger of breaking them."
"Oh sorry."
I laughed, "It's a strange new world isn't it A?" I said, as I did up a few of the buttons on my blouse and put the pashmena back round my neck in preparation for outside, but didn't tie it. "So I take it the answer's yes?" I said as we threaded our way through the very busy 'ordinary' peoples' area.
"To what?" You asked
I replied rather louder than necessary as we walked past a large group who looked at 'gramps and young bird.'
"As to whether my tits are better than Lita's?"
"Course they are girl," a bloke standing with his mates watching a girl strip on a plasma said. His mate added. "Well give us a flash and I'll tell yer."
"Bloody cheek," you said gallantly.
"Let it go Alan, we're in a man's world here."
We wandered out of the club into the hustle and bustle of Wellington Street.
"I never knew it was common for girls to go to such clubs?" You said.
"Well it's becoming so," I told you. "You did enjoy it, I take it."
"Yes of course. And the answer Sammi," you said as we came to a narrow alley that ran down towards The Strand, I think, actually near the celeb restaurant Joe Allen. "Is that yours are better."
"My tits you mean," you said as we turned down the alley.
"Yes," you said putting your arm round my waist, and resting your hand on my bum. I wiggled it.
"You liked looking at them did you?"
"Of course, any man would."
Smiling, I said as I fiddled with the pashmena. "So would quite a few women, you know."
"Yes of course," you smiled rubbing my bum through the denim. "You're the bi generation aren't you?"
Laughing I said "Something like that," as I turned into a deep doorway.
"What's this?" You asked your hand leaving my bum as you followed me into the darkness of the doorway.
Going as far in as I could to where there was just a little light, but where we would be unlikely to be seen, I turned and leaned back against the plate glass of the office doors. As I did I pulled the pashmena from round my neck and said.
"Well you can look at them again now Alan."
Your eyes were as big as organ stops when you saw that I had again undone the buttons on the blouse and had pulled it open. The cooler night air on my tits, not only felt good, but also made my nipples pulsate to their hardest erection.
+++++
My cock was aching. Aching with arousal, aching with lust, aching with excitement. Aching with the need to fuck.
I had decided some hours earlier that I wanted this young woman, though truthfully, our age difference had suggested that was highly unlikely. I mean, it was a problem for me, wondering whether it was 'right' to pursue someone so much younger, whether I could satisfy you if you succumbed to my 'charms', whether my sixty-year-old body would be a turn off for someone as young and attractive as you.
So if it was an issue for me, God knows what must be going on in your mind. Hell, you must have major doubts! But if so, you were disguising them well. Not only had you taken me to a lap dancing club, you'd hinted at your bi sexuality, flashed your tits at me in the club, and were now doing the same in the dimly lit area you'd provocatively led me into.
For some reason, the thought of you with another women had been running through my mind. Every man's fantasy! This talk about the bi generation was inflaming my arousal, the thought of you with another woman, or women even – maybe your blonde hair entwined with a brunette or redhead, or all blondes together – her/their mouths on your pussy, those wonderful tits, oh fuck!
Oh God, if I didn't do something about my cock soon, the mind wanks you were invoking in me would bring on an orgasm without the need for any other stimulation. And the sight of you in this secluded alley, those Sammi-cum-to-bed eyes glinting at me as you leant back against the plate glass of the office doors and exposed your tits again.
For a few seconds, I struggled with myself. I wanted to yank my trousers open, expose myself. I wanted to grab your blonde hair and force you to your knees, experience the feel of your mouth on my hardness. I wanted to rip that thong in half, spread your legs and jam myself inside you.
I wasn't aroused – I was beyond arousal.
What stopped me from doing any of those things was partly respect for you. I've never forced myself on anyone, though I had an almost definite certainty that either action would be welcome to you, too – would enhance your arousal as well as mine.
But what really held me back was my age. Okay, maybe my body couldn't compete with the sort of young bucks you were used to. But perhaps the way I could give you pleasure, could?
Until either of us decided otherwise, this was all about your pleasure before mine.
Actually, that wasn't quite true. Because giving pleasure can be such a turn on, the moans of a woman being more arousing than your own, the sound of a woman cumming on your cock, tongue or fingers almost as wonderful as the moment she coaxes your manjuice from you.
God, was I in verbal bollocksville again? Time for action!
I closed in on you as you leant back against the window, my hands finding your tits at the same time as my lips found your mouth. I stroked your twin beauties, caressed them, kneaded them, my fingers pulling on the nipples that demanded attention. God, they were as hard as my cock!
They were by no means big tits, B cups probably, in fact looking at them now, they were really quite small, but they looked good and felt fucking incredible.
You moaned into my mouth and I grunted into yours. Our lips fought. But as passionate as it was, this wasn't a quick kiss I was after.
My hands left your tits to take hold of your wrists, pulling your hands above your head and holding them there as I ground my hardness into your pussy. Our heads tilted at an angle as one set of lips forced the other into position, allowing our tongues to flicker against each other like candle flames in a soft breeze.
I paused for a brief second and pulled away a little, allowing me to kiss the corners of your lips, the left and then the right, licking across your top lip and then softly pulling down your bottom lip between my teeth. Drawing back a second, I watched the cloudy look in your blue eyes and slowly ground my cock into you again while I provocatively held your gaze.
Only when I felt your hips grind back did I close in for another kiss - wetter, deeper, passionate. Our lips collided, battled, co-operated, in a desperate need to mouth-fuck one another.
I tightened one hand around both your wrists, keeping your hands above your head as my right hand slid back to your tits, massaging them, feeling your hard nipples against my palm, rotating my hand to enhance your pleasure. Then it continued its downward journey, rubbing your cloth-covered pussy before diving under your short skirt and sliding down into your thong.
We both grunted at that first touch, the feeling of my fingers running up and down your wetness. God, you were soaking. A growl came from the back of my throat as I withdrew my hand to let you see me taste your juices, before sliding my fingers back to where, at that precise moment, they belonged.
Your legs willingly parted as our mouths clashed again, your tongue catching as much of your taste from my lips as you could, and swallowing it in. My kiss was more forceful this time, pushing my lips harder against yours, grabbing your tongue between them and sucking on it just as if it was your clit.
When I heard and felt a gurgly moan emerge from your lips, I pulled my head away again, no more than a few inches, but enough so that I could look into your eyes, and you could into mine. My fingers traced the wet contours of your vulva – gently, unhurriedly – adjusting each stroke in line with the way your breathing changed and yet another moan emerged.
Your eyes flickered closed, so I stopped all movement, forcing you to open them. Only when I had your gaze again, did I allow my fingers to resume their pleasurable torture. Your legs widened to allow me more freedom. I took it willingly, aroused by your arousal.
"Good?" I unnecessarily asked, as I slid a finger inside you and flicked your slippery clit with my thumb.
Your groan gave me the answer I wanted, and as your eyes closed again, I leant forward to run my tongue along your neck, just the very tip, feather-light, stroking your skin the way my thumb was stroking your clit.
"Oh, God," I heard you mumble as you rotated your hips against my hand, fucking yourself on my fingers. I sensed rather than felt the build up inside your body, feeling you begin to spiral upwards as your moans increased and evaporated into the empty air.
"Not yet," I teasingly whispered, licking along your neck again as I eased off until you calmed.
I waited until you looked at me before beginning again, ever so slowly finger fucking you. You opened your legs wider, your movements and moans betraying your urgent need. My cock needed action but I denied it; that would hopefully come later.
Instead I continued with the insistent tempo of my fingers, working faster in time with your moans and the sexy thrust of your hips. You gurgled again as I slipped a second finger inside, working them harder as I searched for your g-spot.
When I found it, you came. Instantly! Loudly!
God, I love a loud woman!
Your body began to tremble, your knees so weak I had to pull the hand away from your wrists so that I could wrap it around your waist and support you. As you flooded my hand with your honeyed juices, I dropped my head to your tits, suckling one, then the other, like a baby at its mother's breast.
Slowly, you recovered. Our joint breathing, pants really, began to return to normal. My hand continued to stroke along your wet pussy, in what I hoped was more a comforting gesture than any deliberate attempt to arouse you again. Caressing your pussy, suckling your tits, I felt your hands on my hair, stroking at first, and then pulling my head upwards.
Our eyes met.
"Not bad for a granddad?" I asked, with an aroused grin.
+++
I really don't know just what it was that made that orgasm so powerful. I have no recall as to why that finger fucking had such an effect on me: being in the open air, the possibility of being caught, the pent up excitement or purely your skill? Any of those, although I suspected that the amount of skill needed to bring a girl off by wiggling your finger up her pussy was not that great.
But there was something else, another emotion an additional feeling. What was it I kept thinking as you removed your hand from my knickers and I did the buttons up on my blouse, yet again? Then, as I tied the pashmena in place and wiggled the tiny skirt down to its 'full' eighteen inch length, it hit me. It was the position, how I was standing and leaning, how you were holding me. Yes it was having my hands held above my head. That position was so defenceless, one of total capitulation. It was a position of supplication, surrender and extreme submissiveness. What the fuck's got into me I asked myself as I said.
"No, not bad at all, what the fuck did you do to me, drug me?"
"Just what comes naturally to mature and experienced men, to granddads," you smiled kissing me.
