"Before then?" 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, Sammi, I'm going to make you cum..."
The soft moan you gave from my words, or the touch of my fingers on you sex, made my mind up.
My hands moved to the brass button on your hot pants and pinged it free. Watching your blue eyes, I slowly pulled down the zip, 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 unpeel you, 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. It had entered my mind to try to fuck 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 gripped and ripped, the sound of the material ripping in my hand surprising you enough for your eyes to blink, your mouth to open. I took advantage, kissing that open mouth, our lips and tongues clashing at the eroticism of the moment as I pulled the ripped pieces of your thong away. "I'll buy you another," I whispered, my eyes smiling as my head moved downwards, my hands already taking hold of your long legs and directing them apart.
Typically, you answered. "Yes you fuckingwell should, that was sixty quid of AP's best stuff." 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? 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 opening 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 touch and your unique taste. You 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 tender flesh between your sex and your ass, 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 wetness 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 Sammi-juices that were flowing into my mouth and then moving upwards, my whole mouth engulfing you clit. I sucked it inside, as much and as deeply as I could, until I felt your body move, your ass 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 eights all around it. For a brief second, I wondered if this was giving you as much pleasure as it was giving me.
+++
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; 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, tactile isn't it? By that I mean 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. So 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. They had also 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 round they were uppermost in my mind for I knew the time that 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 hot pants, 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 from my tummy and legs and so wantonly wonderfully ripped the thong 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. Well to be precise, and at such times precision does seem important, you made love to me. Not that I complained or really saw anything wrong in it, but it was a little odd. It was exciting to be stripped naked slowly, with just the right touch of aggression, it was amazing to have my legs lifted, twisted, pushed apart and opened. It was so stimulatingly stirring to have your head go down on me. It was incredible to feel your tongue explore me and find all those sensitive places 'down there.' But it was odd, and somewhat lonely is the term that comes to mind, to be naked, to have a man orally fucking me and to find my orgasm growing, while he is still fully dressed. There was no skin on skin, no flesh to flesh. So, as your mouth anointed my cunt, as your tongue probed me and as your fingers accompanied that so that you built up slowly, but very markedly my orgasm, yes as you started to make me cum I did not get any real answers. Your mouth was as other mouths, both male and female, that had visited me there before and I did not 'feel' you, so my quest for that knowledge remained just that; a quest.
+++
I'm not sure exactly why I wanted to make you cum. Well - that's stupid, of course I did. What I mean is, why I wanted to take you to orgasm this way? With my mouth. Why I wanted to put your pleasure before mine? Why was this all about you, not me?
Perhaps I felt we had all day (and night) and I wanted to take things slowly, step by step?
Maybe I felt I had to prove myself to you?
Perhaps I needed to show you that a man of my age could give pleasure without the need to drag my cock from my trousers and get 'down to it'.
Maybe I felt I should show you that it wasn't all about me?
Perhaps the moon was made of blue cheese?
Fuck, I didn't know! All I did know was that I so needed to put your enjoyment before mine, that I went down on you. I wanted your juices. I wanted your groans. I wanted to make your body squirm. I wanted to hear you grunt and moan. I wanted your fingers in my hair, urging me on.
I wanted your orgasm.
The way your body bucked when you came made my cock twitch, strongly. It sent a bolt of electricity through my body as well as yours. My befuddled mind, that had told me to take things slow, changed its mind. How could I take things slowly when my need for you was so great?
No, not my desire for you, although that was undoubtedly true. Nor my lust for you, despite that arousal being self-evident. Right then, at that moment, you were the sexiest woman on the planet and there, in your bedroom, on your bed, I needed to sink my cock inside you.
I had to experience you. Experience what?
Your velvet walls around my hardness!? The look in your eyes when I entered you!? Your young flesh pressing against my not-so-young flesh!? The way your face contorted as I slid inside!? The touch of your skin against my skin!? The way you reacted when we were joined!?
Would your hands grip my ass? Or dig into my back? Or grab my head? Would you bite or scratch? Would your legs widen to welcome me? Would they wrap themselves around my back? Would your feet plant themselves firmly on the mattress? Or cross over the top of my buttocks? Would your heels dig into my ass, forcing me deeper?
