Take me there and I will cum.
A bawdy tale by Cat
All the time we'd been chatting on messenger I'd insisted there would be nothing more. Despite the incredible intimacy of our chats I stressed that I'd never go further. Although we had the most amazing electronic sex where you would sometimes make me cum three and even four times I'd told you I was scared to talk to you or meet you.
At first you'd tried to persuade me to see you but gradually you came to accept that having a bird like me in the hand was better than several in the bush. You realised that it was more exciting to fuck me down the line than to lose me all together.
For me it was the perfect antidote to the incredible frustration I suffered from due to my husband, Richard's, neglect. That wasn't totally fair, though, for it was a sort of enforced neglect. Averaging a sixty hour work week as a successful corporate lawyer and travelling to America every month and to Europe most weeks, didn't leave a lot of time for providing his wife with a full and varied sex life. In any case, that didn't rank highly on Richard's priority of life experiences.
I'd tried before to overcome the frustration. I'd had a couple of affairs. Brief ones with two men I thought I had real feelings for and who I thought had them for me. As I got older and looked back on them I realised they came about because of my frustration and the feelings were lust not love. The affairs had been fantastic and terrible. The highs from having illicit sex in different places to the marital bed, hotels, cars even outdoors in a field and a shop doorway were tremendous. The lows from the guilt, the lies and the continual excuses were awful.
And of course after resolving to have no further affairs masturbation became my great ally. But then I found messenger and eventually you. Much younger then me with the sexual stamina and vigour of youth you had an understated enthusiasm, a laid back attitude, a polite and considerate nature and an amazing cock. I fell in love with it. It was beautiful, it was big, it had a great shape and the way you were able to make it grow almost by command thrilled me so much.
We got on well, very well both socially and especially sexually. You were the first man I'd met on messenger to whom I could say. "Pease fuck me" without feeling cheap. We had wonderful sex.
Then Richard and I had a trial separation. Our first in over twenty years of marriage. It had all become too much for us. The continual bickering. "If you don't work less hours and pay more attention to me then we'll have to part," I'd told him not quite sure I was completely serious. So we did. He moved to a flat owned by his firm and I stayed in the house. Fortunately it was term time so no one had to know immediately. We had time to see if it was what we wanted. Time to try things. Time when there would be no need for lies or excuses. Time when I could do as I wanted. Time when our sex didn't have to be restricted to electronic.
I told you what had happened with Richard and that we were having a trial separation.
"Would you like to meet Jon?" I typed a few days later.
We agreed to meet at a Marriott hotel just outside Canterbury.
"In the bar at 1.00," I said. "We'll have a drink, just to make sure we like each other in the flesh and then Jon, well we'll see," I'd gone on smiling to myself
I hardly slept the night before we were due to meet. I tossed and turned my mind whirring with wonderfully conflicting thoughts. It was the same the next morning when I was getting ready. I had a long bath slowly putting more and more water in until I noticed with a grin that just my face and neck and my two nipples were above the soapy water.
Naked, I dried my hair and painted my finger and toe nails with a vivid crimson varnish. I found myself becoming more and more excited at the prospect of what lie ahead. Of meeting you, of spending the afternoon and maybe the evening with you. Of being with a younger man. A younger man that was you. The tight, firm body and muscles. The flat belly and the lithe thighs and legs. The hardness of your erection. The way you could get hard again so soon and how you could cum many times. I hadn't had sex twice with a man in one session for such a long time and the prospect of you possibly making love to me three four or even five times filled me with such excitement. The vision of you spurting the huge amount of semen that I'd seen on your cam, of the way that, as if by magic, you made your penis hard again and the sheer beauty and size of it all went through my mind as I started to dress. The feelings and sensations were so strong I found myself stroking my breasts and they seemed so big and full. I contemplated masturbating but rejected that smiling as I opened the packages I'd bought specially for meeting you "why take second best when the real thing was waiting for me?" I asked myself.
I slid into the black, lacy tops hold-ups and admired myself in the mirror. They made my legs look slimmer and longer. I hadn't bought the black underwear we'd discussed. Instead it was deep burgundy an altogether more erotic colour or so the books said. Pure silk. Smooth and lustrous. The panties clung to me billowing out a little with the pleats of the French knickers. The silk moulded itself to my mound accentuating that. They hung loosely leaving I thought "just room for a hand to slip in." I did up the bra that could well have been half a size too small, or I'd grown, for my boobs seemed to burst out of the sheer silk and lace.
Slipping into the thin, black, typical cocktail party dress I was ready. The dress was high at the neck at the front and the material clung to my body emphasising my breasts but regrettably I noticed looking in the mirror also showing the slight bulge of my tummy. It was lower at the back of the neck and had a zip all the way up the back that I struggled to do up. The hem ended fashionably a few inches above my knee and I noted, as I sat down to put on the strappy, black high heeled sandles, slid way up my thighs to almost my stocking tops. That excited me as I knew it would you.
I was wearing lipstick and a little eye make, but nothing else. My ash blonde hair was down, the fairly straight locks tumbling nearly to my shoulders. Inspecting my face in the mirror I looked closely at the few wrinkles round my eyes and the lines from my nose to my upper lip and down my chin from my lower lip. I had sent you a few photos, both dressed and not so dressed and had told you many times that being old enough to be your mother I did look my age. You, courteously, had rebuffed that saying 'You look in your early thirties at the latest.' I just hoped that actually seeing me wouldn't change your mind and that you would still 'Fancy older women like hell.' Ready, I went down to the car and set off for what I guessed would be a fifty minute journey maybe to "sexual paradise, "I smiled gunning the engine of the Mercedes.
The traffic was welcomingly light down the M10 to the M25 where it got heavier, but not too bad so quite quickly I was bombing towards the Dartford Crossing. My mind was buzzing with the various emotions I was feeling so I kept my speed down for my concentration on the road and driving was continually being diverted.
Glancing down at myself and seeing my slightly parted stockinged legs, the hint of the stocking tops and the strappy shoes. Looking at the emphasised fullness of my breasts from the thin tight material and knowing that underneath I was wearing, what one of best friends called, "underwear to be undressed and fucked in," made me feel excited and desired.
Thinking of the sights I'd had of you on your cam, your tight youthful body and wonderful penis made me frequently shudder with sexual expectancy of such a level that even as I drove I found that my fingers were roaming over the mounds of my boobs and the smoothness of my stockinged thighs that I'd opened a little wider than the driving position required.
But accompanying those wickedly arousing thoughts of what I imagined you'd be doing to me in just a couple of hours time, were other thoughts. More serious considerations. Different and certainly contradictory to those of excitement and adventure. Yes thoughts of my son and daughter and my husband, our families and friends. Although parted this was only a trial, I was still married. I would still be cheating on Richard, committing adultery with you and being unfaithful to my marriage vows. I was still stepping outside my relationship. I was risking the temptation that once I'd done it, would I do it more and more. Was having sex outside my marriage a bit like smoking or the pangs of an alcoholic. All or none. Either don't do it at all or do it all the time. If I went with you would I then still be able to resist the other two or three men that were trying to get into my life?
*
As I passed through Essex and into Kent over the QE2 Bridge I was thinking, 'I'll stop and turn round, this is madness.'
But I didn't, I couldn't, something was driving me on so, in many ways against my better judgement, I continued down the M2. Turning off I followed the instructions on the satnav and soon I was pulling into the car park of the Marriott. Smiling as I walked across the lobby thinking about the scene from The Graduate when Dustin Hoffman was booking a room for him and Mrs Robinson I thanked the ease of the Internet and looked around for the signs to the bar.
Although I was purposefully fifteen minutes late I was still very nervous as I approached the bar for I couldn't help thinking that you might not be there either, through lateness or, a sudden change of mind. To be alone in a bar is something I hate and something, thankfully, I'm rarely forced to do.
I scanned the bar ignoring the stares of the mostly business men clientele many of whom ran their gaze up and down my body in a rather vulgar and suggestive manner. Men out of sight of their wife, especially on business, often become such lechers that it makes life difficult for women and could put us off men altogether.
You looked even younger than I remembered. Younger but better looking. Younger but leaner and fitter. Younger but more fanciable and certainly younger but so much sexier in the flesh as it were. We smiled at each other as I walked to the vacant stool beside you at the bar.
"At last Jon," I smiled leaning forward as you pecked me a little embarrassedly on the cheeks.
"Hi Cat, or should I say Sarah" you replied, referring to the false name I'd used until I got to know and trust you.
Resting my hand on yours I looked you right in the eye with the rest of the room looking on as I smiled.
"Well you could use darling if you like."
It's always difficult sitting demurely and ladylike on a high stool when wearing a skirt. When the skirt is rather short and loose and made of a thin, clingy material like crepe it becomes even more of a challenge. And when under that skirt there are lacy topped hold up stockings it becomes as good as impossible to retain one's modesty. And in that bar in which I was one of a very small number of women and a large number of men I didn't retain it.
As soon as I'd walked in I'd felt their eyes on me mentally undressing, leering and ogling me. In part that can be flattering and, believe me, as a woman roars into her forties some of that is good for the ego. Too much and too obvious, though, becomes simply tiresome. And that's what it was as I felt so pleased that I was with you, a young, virile and attractive young guy and not with the forty and fifty, balding and greying, paunchy businessmen in the bar who looked as if they would have loved to rip your heart out.
"Did you have a good trip?" You asked getting the conversation off in a very neutral manner.
"Yes fine thanks although I was a little nervous all the way."
