Imagine a big guy with a rubber mallet in your chest and he’s banging on a steel drum. That’s what it felt like the first time AJ touched me. I didn’t feel it with my first boyfriend and I sure didn’t feel it with my husband the first time. I was sitting at the kitchen table reading the paper. My son AJ was standing behind me. He kissed me on the neck and then reached into the top of my blouse and gently held my nipple between his fingers. He said “That’s the most beautiful thing I ever saw”, took his hand out and left without another word.

I was dumbfounded. It happened so fast and it was so surreal, I wondered if it really happened. It happened; my nipple still tingled.

Do you remember that rhyme you sang as you bounced the ball under your leg?
‘A’ my name is Alice and my husband’s name is Al.
We live in Acton and we sell apples.

In the game you went on to ‘B’; in my life I stopped at ‘A’. My name is Alice and my husband’s name is Andy and my son’s names are Andy jr. (AJ) and Alex and we take care of apartments. The ‘A’ thing just happened because my father who lives with us is named Alex and it made him happy to have my second son named after him.

AJ and Alex are so different; you would think they’re not only from different families but from different planets. Alex never says a word and always wants to be alone while AJ is warm, loving, handsome…this leads me to the difficulty. I love Alex but I’ve fallen in love with AJ.

As for my husband: he’s more interested in Mrs. Green who’s faucet always needs attention; (I think something else is dripping but I really don’t give a tinkers dam) we lost contact a long time ago.

AJ works with my husband and when he came home that night I asked him to come down to the laundry room to help me with the supplies. As we went down in the elevator, I said, “What was that all about this morning”?

“Mom, I’m not a kid and I’ve been out with a lot of girls. I know how a girl acts when she likes me. I hear the things you say and I see the way you look at me; it’s more than a mother looking at her son. I know Dad’s screwing the tenants (So it wasn’t only the Green bitch) and I gave him hell for it.

“Thank you baby but that doesn’t matter anymore. It’s just a business arrangement between him and me now.”

“Well he’s a shit anyway but I’m telling you ma, I know how you feel and I feel the same way.” He put his hands on my arms and the electricity started going through me. You have to understand, being touched for me is not like it is for most people. Some people’s hearing is better than others; some can smell things from a mile away while another person can’t smell it even if it’s under their nose. All of my skin is sensitive. That’s why I take off my bra whenever I can. That’s why my clothes are loose and silky and add to that that it’s my son’s hand that’s sliding over my breast and I’m already climbing the walls.

AJ takes my hand and leads me to the supply room and locks the door. It’s dark, warm, and wet: with stacks of detergent boxes and broken appliances on the floor and tools hanging on the walls. Who cares? AJ is kissing me. AJ is kissing me with the lover’s kisses I’ve been aching for. AJ is touching me and I’m alive. Everyplace his hand reaches seems to tremble on its own. Each breast is his as he fondles me. He lifts the dress and his hands are in my panties describing the curve from my waist down to back of my thighs. When he gets between my legs I’m electrified. I’m lost as he turns me and I bend over with my arms out over the old washing machine. He enters me from behind and I’m transported. I’m filled with my son and my legs are shaking.

“This is how I have you in my fantasy, mom: down here just like this.” As he pushes deeper up into my belly he tells me of the nights he’s spent and the things he’s done to me in this room. As he talks to me they become my fantasies too.

I can feel when he’s about to come and I want to come with him. I reach down to touch myself and as I feel the first spurts, I take myself over. The coming is so exquisite it almost hurts. As we’re coming down and my love is kissing my neck for the second time today, I’m hoping nobody was doing their laundry. Even though it’s a steel door, we made a lot of noise at the end.

He kisses me with love and touches me again; his gentle hands on my face tell me it was more than just a moment’s lust. I kiss him with my heart as his mother and his lover.

We go back upstairs and the usual dinnertime buzz is starting but I’m in another place. It’s almost excruciating to say and do what I’ve been saying and doing for years. I want to talk to AJ. I want to be with AJ. I want to touch AJ. Finally there’s a moment where we’re alone in the kitchen. “AJ we have to talk about all this.”

He comes up to me and says “sure mom but I’d rather kiss you”. His lips are on me and I’m sparked by his tongue but I pull back.

“AJ please, I want to kiss you too but please not here; it’s complicated enough without making things crazier. Go down to the park and I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”

I went to the end of the small park where my son was sitting on a bench waiting for me. It was getting dark enough and there were only a few kids hanging out. We had our kiss. “AJ what are we doing?”

“Mom, you know and I know and the hell with dad and anybody else.”

“Baby, it’s not him but your brother and poppa wouldn’t understand and neither would the people we work for and on and on.”

“Mom, are you sorry…”

“Baby I’m not sorry; I don’t want to be without you but we have to know what we’re doing. Just think about it AJ; you came in me and I’ve been off the pill for six months. What if I get pregnant?”

“I wouldn’t care; I’m sure you’re beautiful when you’re pregnant.”

Alice laughed, “You know what I mean”.

He teased her and cupped her breast. “You mean these get even bigger; that I’d like to see.”

“Oh AJ…”

“Look mom, do you think I could not touch you again, or stop loving you? Tomorrow I’ll get something or you go back on the pill and we’re going to find a way to be together even if I have to drag you down to the supply room at midnight.”

I saw the flash in his eyes when he spoke and I said, “Sweet baby you’ll never have to drag me anywhere if I know you’re going to make love to me”. We kissed like school kids and when we were sure nobody was around, we touched each other until we came.

The next day was Sunday so everyone was in and out of the apartment. I was so needy and almost out of control. I never remember getting wet like that just thinking about someone and I was sure that everyone around me knew. The crazy thing was that that we did end up in the supply room again.

AJ wouldn’t or couldn’t stop touching me. Whenever no one was around he would fondle my breasts or try to slip his hands under my dress. I begged him to stop; he begged me to take off my panties. He teased me and ‘blackmailed’ me. “Mom, if you love me you would do anything for me. There’s nothing you can’t ask me to do; if you said I should lick you in the middle of the living room, I’d do it. And you wouldn’t do this little thing for me?”

He was playing but the truth is there is nothing he could ask that I wouldn’t do and I want to spend forever proving it. This was silly but I took off my panties. At one point we were in the kitchen and he stood behind me and put his finger in me. I got so nervous and turned on that I told him to follow me to supply room. I spread five or six blankets on the floor. I took my dress and bra off. I was on my knees when he came in. “Come to me my beautiful boy” I said.

I unbuckled him and undid him. I wanted to do all the things I never wanted to do with other men. He felt like velvet in my mouth and I loved what it did to him. I wanted him to come like he never came with another woman. I wanted to be the woman in all his fantasies. I’d never tasted a man this way before. It gave me as much pleasure as it did my son.

The next evening AJ went out without a word and naturally I had to ‘explain’ that I was going shopping. We met and went to a movie across town. AJ loves to kiss – I’m not complaining. I felt like I was back in high school. He kissed me raw for about a half hour and I couldn’t take anymore and said, “Let’s go to a motel”.

There was a convention in town and at the third place they only had two suites. The first took AJ’s card over the limit but the cheaper one went through. We were on our first bed and he loved me until my hair was matted and my body dripping with sweat. He went into the bathroom and came out with a lotion to use as a lubricant. I knew what he wanted.

I never understood why a woman would want a man there but after the initial shock I realized two things: it felt good because my son wanted me that way, and it felt good.

When he first entered me I thought of Jane, a woman I was friendly with a few years ago. She confided in me that she had let (made?) her son suck her breasts as he grew up. I thought it was bizarre. Now here I was in the honeymoon suite on my hands and knees with my son in my behind. So Jane, how’s that for bizarre. I thought “You don’t get more bizarre than this” and then I remembered that AJ came in me the first time. Where does having your son’s baby rate on a scale of one to ten?

This all flashed in a few seconds and then I stopped thinking. I only felt: him in me, filling that small passage, his hands gliding over my skin touching off my nipples. He opened my flower and found me with his finger so I could come as he did. He kissed and bit my back and gave his mother his love. We collapsed and slept.

We awoke and I looked at the clock. Christ, who shops until eleven thirty? That was when I decided.

AJ stayed there overnight since he didn’t always come home. I went home and told poppa and Alex that I happened to meet Jane, and we blah, blah, blah and yes I should have called. I told my husband that I’d met someone and he was soon to be my ex – husband and he couldn’t have cared less.

I’m now in my own place and AJ has also moved out of there and is staying with a ‘friend’ until he gets his own place. Where we go from here I’m not sure but I’m sure we’ll go together.

We’re now working our way through the alphabet: we’ve done everything we can think of that starts with ‘A’, ‘B’, ‘C’ and ‘D’. When were through, we’ll start on ‘Alice’ again. We’re happy.

The post A mother and son in a ‘sticky’ situation appeared first on sexstories.org.

‘I don’t believe it. Gary, I haven’t seen you since you left our little grind joint for Caesar’s. What’s it been, six months? C’mon in but first give me a big hug and a kiss.’
After hugging and kissing, Gary introduces me to his friend. ‘Loretta this is my very good friend, Bobby.’
Bobby took my offered hand and said, ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you Loretta. Gary has told me so many good things about you.’
‘Glad to meet you Bobby. Any friend of Gary’s is always welcome here. Both of you have a seat. Let me get something to drink.’
As I headed toward the kitchen, I paused to ask, ‘What’ll you guys have?’
‘I’ll have a beer.’ ‘Bobby?’
‘I’m fine, thank you.’
‘No, you’re not. Tell you what. I’m going to open a bottle of wine. Would you like a glass?’
‘Sure. Why not?’

Loretta headed into the kitchen of her small apartment. I watched her go. At 5′ 8”, she seemed tall. At least taller than I was used to at the ripe old age of twenty-two. She had a cute face but her skin was dappled and weathered. She had large blue eyes, a turned up pug nose and full lips. She had on shorts and a halter. She had nicely shaped legs but there were patches of surface veining from being on her feet so much. She did have a shapely posterior but there wasn’t much definition at her waist. I determined she must be in her mid to late thirties. In other words she wasn’t bad but I initially thought she looked used.

That was my first impression of the woman that came to wield more influence on me than any woman and helped me develop into the man I am today.

I headed toward the kitchen. ‘Can I open the bottle for you?’

‘Thanks Bobby, but I wouldn’t be much of a cocktail waitress if I couldn’t open a bottle of Beaujolais,’ she said, peeking around the corner from the kitchen. ‘So tell me what good things has Gar told you about me,’ she added with a salacious wink.

‘He said you were smart and could help m–’ Gary interrupted, ‘I said you were nice and friendly. I told him you really know human nature and might be able to help him with his problem.’
I felt myself reddening. ‘Gary, Please! This is embarrassing enough!’
‘Do you want help or not?’ I nodded.
‘Do you want to tell her or me to tell her?’ ‘No, go ahead.’

Loretta smiled and said, ‘Alright already. Someone tell me the big secret.

‘Okay, Bobby was married to his college sweetheart for about sixteen months and then she took off and moved in with a guy.

I added, ‘I was very hurt for a while but now I’m over it.

With Gary’s help I hope to get back in circulation.’

‘Trouble is Bobby is a little backward when it comes to women,’ added Gary, ‘Mary leaving him and moving in with her tennis instructor really shattered his confidence, so I was hoping you could help him. You know, teach him how to act around women, what to say to them, how to make them laugh and how to seduce them.’

I was surprised. Bobby was a handsome, personable young man. Surely he couldn’t have that much trouble finding companionship? I decided I liked Bobby and would try to help him.
‘What makes you think I can help him?’
‘I don’t know. I just have a feeling. You’re friendly, jovial, have a great personality and you said yourself that you know a lot about foreplay and sex.’
I looked at Bobby. ‘Let me ask you a question, Bobby?
Are you a good lover?’ ‘What do you mean?’
‘What I mean, dear Bobby, is, do you consider yourself a good FUCK!’
Bobby turned bright red.
I laughed, ‘Boy, you are a shy one, aren’t you? I’ve got an idea. Did the two of you come together?’
Bobby answered, ‘Yes, I left my car at Gary’s.’
‘Gary, Bobby and I are going to get into some personal matters. Would you be a dear and leave Bobby here tonight and pick him up in the morning? That is if it’s all right with you, Bobby?’
Bobby turned even redder. ‘Ah…yes…I suppose so.’

Gary came over and hugged Bobby. ‘You listen to Loretta. She’ll get you straightened out.’
Then he hugged me and whispered in my ear. ‘He may not tell you this because it embarrasses him. Bobby has trouble getting and staying hard. He needs his confidence restored, if you know what I mean.’
Gary pulled away and said, ‘Take good care of my friend.’
‘You can count on it.’ I replied and winked.
Gary walked to the door and waved to Bobby. Bobby waved back and Gary stepped through the door.
I closed the door behind him and threw the deadbolt.
Bobby was all mine!

Loretta came up to me and said, ‘Bobby there are two ways we can approach this, platonically or intimately.’
I felt myself flush again. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I can be your helpful big sister or your sex therapist.’
My face must have registered confusion, because she continued.
‘To put it bluntly, we can talk or we can fuck and talk.’
I flushed again but this time I felt a stirring in my groin. For the first time I began to look upon Loretta as a potential sex partner and it excited me.
‘Which do you prefer?’ Loretta continued.
‘Can we sit on the couch and see where it leads?’ Why was I fighting it?
She took my hand and I felt a sensation that ran all the way to my penis. She led me to the couch and set me down before sitting next to me. She put her hand on my thigh, sending another shock to my genitals.
‘So tell me, Bobby. What exactly are your goals?’ ‘I want to go back to school and be a –’
She laughed. She had nice laugh.

‘No silly!’ she said interrupting me. ‘What is your goal here – with me. Do you want to be a player, a sexual predator, or get enough confidence and presence to find a girl and settle down again?’
‘I suppose I’d like to be a player until I can find someone special.’
‘Good. Let me ask you this. Your ex-wife left you for another man, right?’
‘Yes, except we’re still married.’
‘Alright, your wife’s cheating on you and it hurts like hell, doesn’t it?
I wondered where she was going. ‘Yes. Why are you bringing this up?’
‘Two reasons. First, if you become a player and then find that special someone, could you stop being a player and be true to that girl?’
‘Oh yeah. That’s the way I am at heart. What’s the second thing?’
‘The second thing depends.’ ‘Depends on what?’
‘If you find me attractive?’ She moved her hand halfway up my thigh, within inches of my growing phallus. I could barely breathe.
‘What difference would it make if I found you attractive.’ ‘We have to work on your naivety. Do you find me
attractive?’ ‘Yes, yes.’
‘Then I’d like you to take your hurt out on me.’
Loretta suddenly left the couch and got on her knees in front of me. She undid my belt, unzipped my jeans and pulled my hard-on out from my briefs.

I thought Bobby would faint as I pulled his cock out from his pants; he was so uptight. Not bad-looking though. Tall and thin, wiry actually, with a boyish grin and a wave of blond hair falling just over his baby blues. This was like seducing a teen. I kept reminding myself that Bobby was a grown-up, even though I was almost twice his age.
His cock was average in size and appearance, standing straight up, awaiting the application of a warm, moist oral cavity. I love sucking cocks. I would never tell Bobby but I must have sucked a couple of hundred. Hey, practice makes perfect! There’s something about having a man’s sex filling up my mouth that drives me crazy. I don’t even mind the semen. In fact Bobby is so clean and sexy, I just might swallow his load.
I wrapped my right hand around the base of his six-inch tool and took the rest of him in my mouth. Bobby jerked around spasmodically while I applied all the sexual wiles I had accumulated in my thirty-seven years. Rotating my hand back and forth upon his staff, my other hand cupped his gonads and squeezed. My tongue flitted over the sensitive underside of his cock.

That’s what I loved about sucking cocks – Bobby was out of control and I, as long as my mouth held his cock, was fully in control.

I couldn’t believe it. Loretta freed my erect penis from the confines of my jeans. Held it in her hand, stroked it a couple times, stopped, stared at it, smiled and then swallowed it.

I don’t remember much after that. Mary and I had tried this a few times and it felt good, but it was amateur hour compared to what Loretta was doing. She was doing all kinds of nasty things. It was divine. I never knew oral sex could be so heavenly. That’s when I decided to learn everything this woman could teach me. I wanted to be her star pupil. I wanted to give like this as well as receive.

‘Oh Loretta! You are so fucking good please don’t stop. I feel wonderful. Ow ahhh. That’s it swallow my cock.’ I grabbed Loretta’s somewhat messy, blonde hair. I placed both of my hands upon her head above her ears, directing her mouth’s up and down motion. Then I began to raise my cock up in rhythm to meet her downward oral thrusts.
Then it began. The wonderful, tingly sensation that inexorably built up signalling the beginning of a massive orgasm. ‘Ohhh oh! I’m gonna cum,’ he warned her. But she didn’t pull away. If anything, she sucked me even harder, even as my cock ejaculated into her mouth.

With his cock still in my mouth, I looked up at my young plaything. He was trembling but he had a beatific appearance on his adorable face. He saw me looking and smiled. He still held my head in his hands and lifted it and me up. He brought my lips to his lips. Despite the fact that I had just swallowed his cum, he kissed me.
‘That was like a slice of heaven. I want you to see stars like I did. Take me into your bedroom and teach me.’
I grasped Bobby’s hand and led him into my boudoir. My bedroom is very feminine and sexy. Bobby’s eyes grew wide when I flipped the light switch.

Holding my hand, Loretta led me into her bedroom. I was a step behind her, so I was able to admire her shapely ass. I was picturing it naked when she turned the light on in her bedroom. The room was large, inviting, frilly and very sexy. Decorated in warm yellows and peaches, there was the occasional red or pink accent. The white-washed furniture appeared to be antique and contained a plethora of knick- knacks and trinkets. Several tasteful paintings of nude

women dotted the walls, except for the far wall, which held a ballet bar and was fully mirrored. The king-sized bed jutted out from the wall to my right. The ceiling above the bed and the headboard were mirrored and a sign above the headboard trumpeted what was about to happen:
This is where I sleep and if I’m lucky – FUCK!
‘What do you think?’ she asked.
‘I think it looks like a fun place to sleep…and FUCK!’ ‘Now you’re getting into the spirit.’
Loretta went to her closet and grabbed a garment. She walked over to me and gave me peck on the lips. ‘Since you just climaxed, we’ll take it slow.’ She handed me the garment – a blue satin robe. ‘Here, put this on. I’ll be back in a minute.’

Loretta gathered something out of her dresser and glided into the bathroom. I took off my clothes and slipped into Loretta’s robe. Anticipation was stimulating my libido. By the time Loretta emerged from her bathroom I was semi- erect. Seeing Loretta completed my erection. She was wearing black nylons, a black garter belt, with no panties and a non-functional black bra that was designed to show off the breasts rather than support them. And show them off it did. Loretta possessed a fine set of C-cup knockers with sexy raised pink nipples. The garments acted as an enhancement to her nakedness. All the best bits were exposed, but tantalisingly hidden with bits of lacy cloth.

I came out of the bathroom practically naked. I had hoped to get him excited enough to make love. Two reasons: I thought that would get his mind off of his cheating wife and I wanted his hot cock inside me. Unfortunately the expression upon his face resembled more a lamb going to slaughter, than a man being led to sexual bliss.

I sauntered up to him and started to make a comment about the robe but he precluded that by taking me in his arms and kissing me. His tongue entered my mouth, sought out and found mine. He went through the motions but because of inexperience or other reasons he wasn’t a very good kisser. Something I need to tutor. I did notice something positive though. A stiff bulge was trying to penetrate my belly button.
I reached down and grabbed his erection. ‘My, my. It didn’t take you long to get rejuvenated, did it?’ He smiled that shy little boy smile. God I loved that smile. It’s too bad my goal was to trade that innocent smile for one of cocky self-assurance. But, at least for the time being, he was my innocent little hunk. As I stroked his cock I told him, ‘Suck on my tits, Bobby. Good. Put your hand under it. Move your tongue around the nipple. That’s it. Now, do that with your hand on my other nipple. Good, I like that. Nibble on it, but not too hard. That’s it. Now suck on the other one. Ohhh, that’s good. Bobby?’
‘Yes?’
Pulling him toward the bed, I said, ‘I’m ready for you to bury it inside me now.’
I laid on the bed and spread my legs. I pulled him down and opened his robe. He shrugged the robe off and it fluttered to the floor. Still holding his cock I placed a condom, which I had tucked away, on his staff and said, ‘I want you to make me lucky.’

He looked confused, so I used my free hand and pointed over the headboard. ‘My sign, remember?’
Recollection flashed in his eyes as I inserted him into my warm wet pussy.

He wasn’t bad. He had good movement and a varied technique. As he fucked me he began sucking on my tits once more. My hands were on his fine tight ass urging him in and out. I said to Bobby, ‘Honey, if it’s all right with you, we’ll spend a lot of time together and I will teach you to be a great lover and seducer, but would you mind if I just enjoy your stiff cock inside me tonight?’

Bobby didn’t answer. His response was to smile and double the pace of his thrusts. Ooooh! He was good! ‘That’s it baby fuck me hard. Ummm. Fuck my brains out. Give me every inch of your cock. Ooooh, ahhh! Give it all to me, don’t save any of it. Fuck – fuck – fuck! Can you reach my tits? Fondle my tits, tickle my nipples. Suck on them. That’s it lover. Run your tongue around them but don’t stop giving me your hard cock. You’re a fantastic lover. Oooh, yeah! Take your hurt out on my pussy with your vicious weapon.’

‘That’s it. Feels good doesn’t it? Now roll me over. I want to be on top.’ After rolling over, I straddled Bobby. ‘I want you to watch me fucking you! Look beside and above us in the mirror. Watch us fuck. Pretend that Mary is watching us fuck. I want to make you forget that cheating bitch.’

I began riding Bobby like he was a saddle, gnashing my entire vulva into his pubis as his pretty penis was buried to the hilt inside me. Soon, I reached my own Sexual Joy with a seizure-like display that made Bobby come once more.

I thought, Bobby isn’t going to need much help when it comes to fucking. I hope I can rejuvenate him again. If so, this is going to be a long night.

I’ll have remember to send my friend Gary a thank you note.

The post The Sex Therapist appeared first on sexstories.org.

I peered out of the carriage as it rumbled its way along the rough stone road.

‘This is the beginning of Lord Harestone’s land Miss. It’ll be another five minutes till we reach the Manor.’

Exhausted though I was by this interminable journey, I studied the land. It was bleak with lumpy hills reminiscent of an old hag’s face with the odd tuft of sedge grass. The hillocks were cropped by sheep who stared as we rattled past, then went back to pulling at what nourishment the impoverished earth afforded them. Heavy drips of rainwater spilled off the sheep’s grey wool, and off the edges of the carriage window, splashing on to my cloak. Hunger, the aching cold in my bones and hours of journeying all sapped my strength.

Joy entered my heart as the driver announced, ‘Here we are, Miss. Harestone Manor.’ I stepped out in front of the imposing stone house and pressed precious pennies into the driver’s hand, he’d earned them. He closed his wet glove over them and pulled at his cap. ‘Thank you, Miss. You’ll be staying here a while then, as Governess to Lord Harestone’s heir?’

‘That’s right, at least a year, to complete the young master’s education.’
‘Well, good luck to ’ee.’ The driver handed down my one small bag and I watched as he clambered up and whipped the horses into action. I stood alone. All around me, for miles in the evening half-light brooded the empty sodden heath. Behind me, Harestone Manor. Having come this far, twelve hours ride from home, I would not get away easily, should the position not work out. I shuddered at the thought of being caught in the situation if it did not suit me, but lifted my chin, determined to see it through. After nursing a husband now dead from the coughing sickness and with only few pennies in my purse after paying off his debts, I had no choice. Here was my destiny.

I curled freezing fingers around the bell-pull and heard it clang inside the house, summoning a middle-aged woman. ‘You must be Miss Canning. Welcome. I am Mrs Alderly. My daughter and I keep house for Lord Harestone and the young master. Come and take off that wet cloak or you shall catch your death.’ We walked through a hallway lit by a central chandelier of candles which threw a ruddy light. Mrs Alderly showed me into a warm kitchen. ‘Come now, we’ll place your cloak across the chair to dry. You’ll be hungry after your journey. In future you will dine with his Lordship and the young master but tonight we have for you some hot soup and bread. Then I will show you your room and after that introduce you to your Masters.’

Feeling considerably revived after the steaming meal, I followed Mrs Alderly’s candle up a wide staircase decorated with green wallpaper of an ivy-leafed design. My bedroom was grander than any I had experienced, with a high four- poster bed in the centre. It felt a little odd when Mrs Alderly showed me a connecting door and opening it explained that the young master’s bedroom was attached to mine allowing for constant observation by myself of his movements. For a young child this would be the norm, but my young charge, Master Tom, would be nineteen years old this summer and surely able to look after himself. I thought I had been taken on to refine his education in respect of French and Latin before he entered the Church, not to nursemaid him.

Mrs Alderly left me, saying that I was expected in the front room at eight o’clock to meet Lord Harestone and Master Tom. After checking my grey woollen dress was not much affected by splashes from my journey, and neatening the hair piled on my head,

I ventured downstairs. The front parlour was a comfortable room with a roaring fire in front of which stood the two gentlemen. Lord Harestone, the father, immediately struck me, so much did his presence fill the room. Over six foot tall and wide-shouldered, he blocked the heat from the fire. Pale breeches clung tightly to thighs powerful from country pursuits and I registered that he was well endowed in every way. There was a stern darkness about him. He scrutinised me appraisingly before beckoning me to him.

Next to him stood Master Tom, a long-nosed pale youth utterly lacking the force and presence of his father. The callow youth smiled weakly at me whilst glancing at his father, as if fearful of his reaction.

I curtsied. On my rising, his lordship traced a finger along my jaw line and raised my face to the firelight. ‘What do you think, then, boy? A good choice or not?’ Both men studied me as though I were a prize brood mare.

‘Turn around, Miss Canning and let us observe you better.’ My cheeks burnt red with embarrassment. This intrusive appraisal made me acutely conscious of my figure which was a little too rounded for a woman my age and my rough dress which was all I could afford.

‘She’ll do extremely well, father,’ said the boy, eyes lighting up as if he were choosing buns in the baker’s shop. I swear I even saw him lick his lips.

‘Miss Canning, you will be pleased to hear you have my son’s approval.’

I curtsied, feeling as though I had passed some sort of test.

‘Thank you, sir. I would be pleased if you would outline my duties. You explained in your letter that I am to complete Master Tom’s education. I assumed this was in the classics and languages but perhaps you could elaborate.’

Lord Harestone laughed gently as if I had made some kind of joke. ‘Ah now, Miss Canning, permit me to offer you a seat, and perhaps a small glass of Madeira?’

Lord Harestone’s delay in getting to the point troubled me. I gratefully accepted the Madeira to calm my nerves. I was acutely aware of Master Tom’s eyes constantly upon me, as if he had never seen a woman before. I was also aware as I took the seat and kept my back straight and my legs together, as befits a lady, that Lord Harestone too never took his eyes off me. They roamed from the hem of my skirt, up my legs, over my waist and bosom and down again in far too direct a manner for comfort. His gaze gave me the sensation of being uncovered; so much so that I raised my hand to my chest to ensure my buttons were securely fastened and felt there the rise and fall of my bosom.

I jumped as Lord Harestone spoke again. ‘We discussed a wage in our correspondence, did we not?’

‘Yes sir, my Lord.’

‘I should like to treble it.’

‘But my Lord, why?’ I gasped. I was torn between my delight at this extraordinary news and concern that my duties might be too onerous to complete. Never had I been offered such riches.

‘Miss Canning, I will come to the point. I have a direct nature. My ward,’ he looked over at Master Tom who sat opposite me in silence, ‘has had an expensive education.

He is exceptionally bright and is in all ways ready to enter the Church. He needs no more coaching in normal subjects.’

‘Then why –?’ I stopped, aware that I must not interrupt my employer even though I burned with curiosity.

‘Your role, Miss Canning, and one I am sure you are eminently able to fulfil, is to teach Master Tom the ways of adults. We are so isolated here that Tom has become shy, particularly around women. He knows nothing of their…more intimate ways but he wishes to learn in this, his last year of freedom. He needs to partake of the pleasures of the flesh with one whom he finds irresistible before he enters the church and is denied that pleasure for ever. Tom, I can see, is very taken with you. He admires womanly curves and soft plump skin. In fact I think I can go so far as to speak for him and say that he yearns nightly for feminine charms like yours,’ Lord

Harestone looked over at his ward who nodded eagerly. ‘We will treat you extremely well, you have seen your room. Your only duties will be at night time. In the day you will be free to partake of my extensive library and live the life of a woman of leisure on an extremely good wage. Your only duty will be in educating and pleasuring this young boy. And being pleasured by him.’ I saw a glint in Lord Harestone’s eyes that made me swallow hard.

Hearing his words, my eyes became rounder and rounder. I had been a married woman so was well able to fulfil this task but never had I been asked to perform such extraordinary duties nor offered such wealth. My life of late had been unbearable, living in near poverty, and an escape from it was most appealing. But having the hands of this callow, pale youth upon me, could I cope with that? I looked at the father. So much more commanding than the son, a man any woman would be pleased to take into her bed, with his knowing eyes and masculine figure. Now if only he were the subject of my nightly task I would not hesitate.

Lord Harestone twirled the neck of his glass in sensuous fingers, lifted it to full lips and drained the glass. ‘I can see you are thinking it over; one more thing which may sway you. My son admires fine clothes and likes to see women in them. There is a wardrobe upstairs full of outfits purchased for his ‘governess’ from the seamstresses of Paris. I think you may like to take those into account when you think over our offer. We will leave you now, Miss Canning. If in the morning you have dressed yourself in one of the fine outfits upstairs we will take that as a signal that you accept your duties. If however you are still in the grey woollen garment you stand in now, I will arrange for a coach to be called to take you back home and we will assume you do not want the post. Goodnight.’

Thus dismissed, I retired to my room shocked at the offer made to me. I collapsed on the bed and stared at the ceiling, my thoughts in turmoil. In the next room, only a thin door separating us, I could hear Tom about his night time ritual. I heard him undress and the creak of the bed as he got into it. I wondered if he thought of me in my bed. I shuddered. Could I possibly allow that boy to make love to me, show him, guide him when I found him to be utterly repulsive. Like a greyhound, he was all skin and bones and angular features. And yet the money I had been offered would solve all my difficulties and allow me to start afresh. Pondering, I rose and went to the wardrobe. Inside were delectable dresses in silks and taffetas. Reds and golds sat alongside deep aquamarine and purple, the skirts a cloud of colour. I buried my face in their finery and rubbed the cool softness of the materials over my poor skin, chapped with cold, neglect and poverty. Opening a drawer, I beheld half a dozen beautifully stitched corsets. I ran my hands over the boning and the laces of one which was a glorious shade of turquoise. I lifted it up and held it against myself in the mirror. It was a work of art and I knew that if I were to wear it I too would feel like the most precious object. The fact that I would be pawed by that creature next door, who gave me a feeling of sickness every time I thought of him, was something I could possibly learn to block out.

I released the pins in my chestnut hair, felt it tumble heavily down my shoulders and lay myself down on the crisp cotton sheets. My mind was made up. However disagreeable I found Master Tom, I would accept my fate.

At dawn, after washing myself in the bowl provided, I opened the wardrobe again. The glare of the colours was even greater in the morning light. As I again fingered the turquoise corset there was a gentle knock on my door. I gathered my nightdress about me suspicious it might be Master Tom come to gain his prize early. But it was a young girl who announced herself as Sarah, Mrs Alderly’s daughter, and offered me help as a lady’s maid in dressing. Never had I had the luxury of a lady’s maid. As she assisted me into a fine muslin shift which fell over my breasts and would protect the fine silk of the corset from the oils of my skin I began to warm to my part. I did not have to like Master Tom to teach him, but I did enjoy the feel of the corset as Sarah laced me in. A pleasant sensation of constriction, like a frighteningly tight embrace overcame me as Sarah pulled harder and harder. My breasts overflowed like velvet-skinned apricots over the tight boning and my buttocks appeared lush and full underneath the tight silk. ‘These are the latest corsets from France, ma’am, with little suspenders to hold up your stockings. Here let me help you on with these silk stockings.’

The feel of the material against my ankles, then my knees and finally halfway up my thighs, delicately rolled and pushed up my legs by Sarah, made my legs tingle. I watched the girl kneeling as she clipped the stockings into their holdings after which she laced up my boots and helped me into a white muslin day dress. Never had my waist appeared so pinched and tiny and never had I been so acutely aware of my breasts pushing and straining over the top of my dress. As the corset pressed against the pubis at the bottom of my stomach I felt a sensation of desire for animal satisfaction which had never affected me before.

I went down to breakfast and witnessed Master Tom’s evident admiration at my hourglass figure and delight that I was staying. I almost expected him to salivate at the mouth in anticipation of his coming night’s education. I was given the freedom of the house and, as I moved about, became aware of eyes upon me. Looking around, I caught not Master Tom, but Lord Harestone, staring blatantly at my form. I stood examining a book in his library at the time. Whether some devilment had entered me in my fine new clothes I cannot say. But, aware of his Lordship’s eyes burning into me, I reached as high as my constricting undergarments would allow, and purposefully revealed a well turned ankle in black silk. Lord Harestone stared, smiled and walked away.

The evening came, dinner was done with, and feeling as though I were jumping into a pool of cold water, I announced to Master Tom that he and I should now go upstairs and begin his education. I felt very ill-disposed towards him, as if I wanted to tell the poor naive creature off for his lack of knowledge. At the top of the stairs I ordered him into his bedroom and commanded he kneel by the side of his bed and wait for me. Going into my room, I breathed deeply, feeling nauseous at the thought of his hands upon me, and trying desperately to summon up the courage for my task. My beautiful skirt swished as I walked across the room and just as I was about to enter through the open connecting door, I noticed a door at the other end of Master Tom’s room. Through the narrow slit I could just make out Lord Harestone, seated, his eyes directed at his young ward.

Of a sudden, a warmth spread through me and a pleasurable sensation shot up between my stockinged legs, moistness creaming my maidenhood. I had to squeeze my legs together as I walked, to stop the liquid dripping down my legs, as I imagined Lord Harestone’s eyes following me across the room. Acutely aware of his gaze, I did not give away that I knew his secret but looked down only at the kneeling Master Tom. Tom’s eyes looked up at me like a spaniel’s and I watched a flickering nerve tick at his temple. I moved around him, holding him with my gaze until I was sure I was in the best position for Lord Harestone to
view our antics.

‘Lift up my skirts.’ I commanded in a harsh voice. Tom’s hands fumbled at the layers in his eagerness. My heart quickened, not at Tom’s inept touch, but at the knowledge that as my legs were being uncovered, Lord Harestone leant forward in his secret place, in order to see me better.

‘Stay kneeling. Don’t you dare do anything until I tell you,’ I barked. Tom nodded his head, petrified and bewitched as he stared at my ankles, my knees and finally the ivory whiteness of my thighs bulging out of the stockings. ‘You may kiss my thighs,’ I said. The boy held my leg as if it were a soft feathered bird and pressed his hot lips against it. Like a starving man, he slavered and sucked. I watched the top of his head as he got carried away and saw him breathe deeply, enjoying my scent. I spread my legs a little wider, tempting him in but when he moved his mouth over my labia I slapped him hard on the cheek.

‘How dare you presume to do anything before I tell you.’ Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lord Harestone smile wickedly, enjoying my harshness. I directed my gaze at Tom but kept Lord Harestone in my sights as I leant down and kissed poor Tom, the pink marks of my hand on his cheek. ‘There, there, don’t be upset. Tell me what you’d like to do.’

His voice came so quiet I could barely hear although I knew what he said. ‘Louder,’ I demanded. ‘Speak louder boy, tell me what you want to do.’

‘Lick you,’ came his voice. ‘Go on then.’ I ordered.

Still kneeling, he moved around until his head was under my cunny and pressed his face upwards. As his pink tongue came out and the tip dipped into my juices I let out a moan of satisfaction, loud enough for Lord Harestone to hear and saw, with satisfaction, Lord Harestone’s hand move to rub the front of his britches. I held the back of Tom’s head, forcing him rhythmically up and down, pressing him into me. He slurped and pawed at my thighs, his tongue darting in and out. I used him to work around my sex again and again, riding on his face and savouring the pleasure of watching Lord Harestone’s brooding stare as his Lordship continued to rub himself.

‘Give me your finger.’ I commanded to Tom.

Still sucking at me, the boy put his finger slowly towards me and gasped, as I used it to mop up the trickle down my thigh and then buried his finger deep into my waiting redness as high as it would go. I had to congratulate the boy here. Instinct made him push his finger in and out without instruction and when he felt me get comfortable on it, he pushed a second finger in, stretching me most agreeably. Still laced up tightly, I felt as if my breasts would burst out of their confines: they were becoming so swollen, the nipples painful against the edge of my corset and straining against the thin muslin.

I now felt uncontrollable with desire. I knew I needed a real man inside me. This simpering youth was acceptable for starters but I was so heated I felt I would go mad without proper fulfilment. The time for subtlety was over. I turned blatantly to Lord Harestone. His secret was a secret no more. I watched petrified as, still seated, he kicked the door open with his foot. Tom barely flinched so intent was he on drinking my nectar. Lord Harestone ripped open the panel on the front of his britches and displayed a jutting, magnificently veined erection. Getting up, he strode over to where

I stood, and Tom knelt. Standing next to me, he pulled my hair back, and prised open my lips with his tongue, thrusting it viciously into my mouth. I kissed him back, wild with desire. With Tom still pleasuring me with his tongue, Lord Harestone moved his fingers over the muslin at my breasts and tore it away exposing my jutting bosoms topped with hard sensitive nipples. He took one feverishly in his mouth and nipped it in his teeth making me cry out with ecstasy. Once it was moist he took it between thumb and forefinger and rolled it like a cigar. Taking my other nipple, he sucked it mercilessly till it reddened and peaked. Once my breasts were fully sensitised, Lord Harestone moved around behind me, and pressed himself against me. His huge throbbing member forced up against my buttocks. He pushed me over the bed till I was bent double and commanded me to hold on to the bed rail, which I did to steady myself. His knee between my legs prised me open, spread-eagling me still wider.

Tom stopped for a moment to wipe his mouth and take his fingers out of my aching cunny. Then, taking the initiative, while Lord Harestone positioned himself behind me, Tom gently fingered my fanny and gazed lasciviously at the swollen red sex lips. Poking out his tongue he licked me with the whole length of it, flicking it mercilessly over my point of ecstasy. Driven to distraction, I clung on to the bedpost, my buttocks jutting upwards, the tight corset cutting into my flesh, waiting for Lord Harestone to enter me. Shockingly I felt his almighty prick drive into me as he gripped my shoulders, his fingers digging in. He pummelled me back and forth, panting like a demon possessed. Tom’s licking became more urgent as Lord Harestone drove his cock deeper. Lord Harestone moved his hands to grip my breasts, pinching the nipples between his fingers, giving me the most mind- numbing sensation of being totally and utterly dominated.

With the two men gasping and pushing, sucking and thrusting, I felt my eyes flicker and my swollen sex peak into a shuddering, bursting orgasm. Just after I came, Lord Harestone gripped my hair and yelled as he pumped his load into me, his seed running down my legs.

Thus began the best year of my life. Each night was a journey. Each one longer than the last. Tom proved an apt pupil, and an interested observer when my Lord and I allowed him the privilege of watching us sate our passions on each other. Tom is now a pastor at a small parish many miles from here. And me? I stayed on, for why would I not? The educator became the educated at Lord Harestone’s fine hand. And yes, dear Reader… I married him.

The post Educating Master Tom appeared first on sexstories.org.

It’s so hot this morning. So unusually hot. Global warming, I’m sure. It’s almost like being in a foreign country. I’ve already started sweating and I haven’t even stepped outdoors yet.

Outside, the birds are singing, plants and flowers are in profusion, the sky is azure blue, broken up with snow-white clouds, and that construction team is working away there, just across our garden fence, making a lot of noise.

It’s cooler in here, but still too hot for comfort. I’m feeling clammy and sweaty, drugged by heat, adrift with my thoughts. I feel a little unreal.

I can see him out there, working. In his T-shirt and tight jeans, laying bricks, one on top of the other, on the wall of that new house being built right next to ours. His hair is flopping over his forehead. His short-sleeved T-shirt is as tight as his blue jeans, emphasizing the rippling of his muscles every time he moves.

So graceful, yet so masculine; occasionally looking in this direction, expecting to see me looking out, as I’m doing right now.

I’m shameless, I suppose, though also absolutely helpless. Having visions of him finally getting the message

and coming over here to open the back door, slip inside, and then…

Oh, dear, what am I thinking?

God, yes, it’s so hot. My clothes are sticking to my skin.  I can feel my blouse clinging to my breasts, exciting the nipples. My husband, John, is out front, inspecting his garden, a Sunday-morning ritual, whiling away a few minutes until it’s time to leave. But I’m not looking at John. I’m looking at that other man, the real man. The sweat trickles between my breasts, my nipples harden and tingle, when he moves and I see his muscles rippling. That short- sleeved T-shirt, those tight blue jeans, the impressive bulge at the crotch…

No, this is ridiculous. It’s pathetic and disgusting. A woman like me shouldn’t be thinking of such things. Particularly since that young man’s half my age.

Though almost certainly more experienced. Looking like that, he would have to be. He’s probably had more women than I’ve had hot breakfasts. He probably knows things that I can’t even imagine, given John’s vocation and sexual inhibitions, our lack of electricity in bed.

Am I just frustrated at the thought of what I might be missing? Is that why I’ve been watching that young man for the past two weeks, ever since that construction team turned up on the plot next door? Is that why I’ve found myself pondering what it would be like if he sensed what I was thinking and decided to take his chances, walk over here, open the kitchen door and march in, to…?

No. It’s perfectly ridiculous. I’m standing here, slightly stunned by the heat, feeling languorous, dreamily sensual, having all sorts of crazy thoughts, these perverse sexual fantasies. I should be ashamed of myself. A woman in my position. And the thought that he might look over, see me looking at him, and decide to do something about it, is clearly preposterous. It’s just not going to happen.

Oh, God, I’m wrong! He’s obviously seen me standing here, looking at him, as I’ve been doing every day for the past fortnight. But this time, having seen me, he’s smiling and putting down his trowel.

Yes, he’s definitely seen me. Now he’s hitching up his jeans, emphasizing his bulging manhood, letting his hand slide across it, drawing attention to it, grinning crookedly as he stares directly at me, letting me know that he knows what I want.

Or am I simply imagining this?

No, I’m not He’s left the building site and is strolling casually towards me, grinning, heading deliberately, at a leisurely pace, for the door of my kitchen, at the rear of the house.

Oh, God, what have I done?

John’s still out front, still tending to his stupid garden, but he could walk in any moment… Walk in just as that young man opens the unlocked back door to…

Lord, what am I thinking? It must be the summer heat, this almost foreign humidity, making me feel all sensual and dreamy, encouraging these licentious, dirty thoughts, this debased wishful thinking.

Yes, that explains it. I’m a middle-aged, childless housewife, a decent, Christian woman, not particularly attractive, but I often find myself wanting to be someone else, a woman who has wild sexual experiences and suffers no guilt. Then I see that young man, so physical, so handsome, like the young Marlon Brando in his T-shirt and jeans, confident in his amoral, animalistic sexuality, and I imagine what it would be like to do it with him: to briefly feel like a younger, more desirable woman. So, yes, there’s a lot of wishful thinking. That’s what we have here.

But, oh God, it’s more than that. It must be more than wishful thinking. Because that young man’s actually opening the back door. I’m frightened that he will, but equally frightened that he won’t, concerned that he might change his mind and go back to the laying of bricks, leaving me here, still frustrated.

Yet mostly, I’ll admit, I’m frightened…surely with good cause.

My husband is outside, at the front of the house, tending his garden, and this young man is about to come in and…

Oh, God, I can’t bear this.

I should stop him, but I can’t. The heat has rendered me helpless. I’m drowsy. Too hot. My clothes are sticking to my breasts, exciting my stiffening nipples as he steps inside. Suddenly, there he is, silhouetted in the doorway, tall and broad, long legs outspread, sweat trickling over the muscles in his arms – pure maleness rampant. He stares steadily at me, looking me up and down, not saying a word,  then, satisfied that he’s doing the right thing, he grins and steps all the way in, closing the door quietly behind him, shutting out the bright sunlight.

So there he stands, in my neat country kitchen, surrounded by pots and pans, looking out of place in his working man’s clothing. With his short-sleeved white T- shirt and tight blue jeans, muscles rippling, crotch emphasised, he looks just like the young Marlon Brando in A Streetcar Named Desire.

Like sex incarnate.

My heart starts racing. I can hardly breathe. When I open my lips to say something, perhaps ask him to leave, he places his index finger to his lips – those thick, slightly brutal, sensual lips that I’ve thought about, dreamt about, for the past two weeks.

‘Don’t say a word, lady,’ he says. ‘You don’t have to say anything. I know just what you want.’

I don’t say a word.

He walks across the kitchen and then stops right in front of me. He has a crooked grin, like the young Marlon Brando’s grin, and his lips, like Marlon’s lips, are full, almost feminine, making me wet between the legs at the very thought of what they might do to me. He doesn’t say a word. He just holds that challenging grin. Then he slowly slides his hand around the back of my neck, takes hold of my hair, jerks my head back, looks me straight in the eyes, grinning, calmly taking my measure, then mashes his lips down on mine.

I feel his tongue in my mouth, licking my teeth and gums, filling my mouth with saliva, as he kisses me, passionately, almost brutally. Then I helplessly, shamelessly, respond in kind, kissing him back, pressing myself into him, writhing in his embrace, rubbing my burning belly against his groin, his hot, masculine hardness.

His hand leaves my head, moving down to my spine, the fingers outspread, his strong arm locked around me. His other hand, his free hand, is cupping my rear, squeezing my buttocks, fingering the crack. And as my legs start to tremble, threatening to give way beneath me, he pulls me tighter to him, grinding his hips, deliberately letting me feel his hard…thing…pressing into my belly.

‘Do you like that?’ he whispers, removing his lips from mine, leaning his head back to look at me, his gaze steady and mocking. ‘No,’ he adds before I can answer. ‘You don’t have to reply. I can see by the look on your face that it’s what you’ve been wanting.’

He grins as he says it, pulling me even tighter to him, then he slowly moves his hips from left to right, rubbing his belly against mine, letting me feel his heat and hardness, as he strokes and squeezes my buttocks, still fingering the crack, where, in truth, to my eternal shame, I’ve never been touched before.

I’m so excited, I can hardly breathe. My heart’s racing and I’m trembling all over, too weak to resist, filled with a desire that’s only increased by my dread of being caught.

John is out front, still tending his stupid garden, but he could walk in any moment and see us like this.

The very thought of it, though terrifying, is also exciting. Yes, come in, I find myself thinking. Catch me in the act,

John, darling. It might do you some good.

But I automatically push the young man away from me, offering token resistance despite what I’m feeling.

‘Get out of here,’ I say without conviction. ‘You want me to leave?’

‘Yes,’ I say, ‘right now.’

‘No,’ he says, ‘I don’t think so.’ ‘I think so.’

‘No, you don’t.’

Grinning, he slides his hand around my neck, gently stroking and pressing, then lets his fingers trail down the front of my throat, to the swelling of my bosom, then under the open collar of my blouse. He cups my breast in his hand, squeezes it, kneads the nipple, sending waves of excitement quivering through me. Then he unbuttons the blouse with his other hand, slides it down my arms as if peeling a banana, and lets it fall to the floor.

‘Nice tits,’ he says. Then he lowers his head to kiss each breast in turn, while I tremble, eyes closing, becoming senseless with desire, aware only of his lips on my skin, his hands sliding down my spine, the heat and hardness of his…thing…as he presses his belly against mine, his hips moving languorously.

‘Mmmm,’ he murmurs. ‘Nice.’

‘Yes,’ I gasp. ‘Oh, yes!’

Encouraged, he unclips my bra, lets it fall to the floor, to join the discarded blouse, then bends down to kiss and lick my naked breasts, sucking on one nipple, then the other, as if preparing to eat them. My breasts come alive, the nipples almost on fire, waves of heat radiating out from them, to travel up to my bone-dry throat and then down to my belly. That fire spreads below, making me wet and receptive, excited beyond control, with everything inside me crying out to be penetrated and filled, ravished and consumed. I want to feel his throbbing hardness, his – Oh, say it…his cock – inside me.

Nothing else matters.

With a shock of disbelief, I slide my hands around him, fingers outspread, to stroke his sweat-slicked spine, dig my nails into his skin, squeeze his firm, though quivering, buttocks, pulling him into me with greedy desperation, wanting to feel the rapid growth of his cock beneath his zipped-up blue jeans.

Now his cock feels as hard as a steel rod and I’m helplessly groaning.

‘Yeah, baby,’ he whispers.

Just like Marlon in A Streetcar Named Desire. God help me, I’m dying here.

Lord, yes…desire. I’m consumed by desire. I’m reaching down to feel his cock, wanting to cup it in my hand, to squeeze it and feel it pulsating. And when I do, when I feel it, a real cock in my real hand, even though it’s still covered with the coarse material of the blue jeans, it feels like a small, hot-blooded animal.

‘Try this for size,’ he says.

Before I can unzip him, he pushes me backwards, down onto the kitchen table, causing cups and plates to rattle, then he tugs my dress up over my hips and gropes between my spreading, slippery thighs. He strokes and squeezes me there, pressing down on my pubes with the palm of his hand, rubbing his hand to and fro, massaging me, driving me crazy, then he slips a finger under my knickers and dips it into my wet…

No, I can’t say it. That’s one of those words that John would never let me utter. Another word like ‘cock’. He’d never let me use words that might have made us excited. Crude words. Sexy words. Words deemed to be erotic or pornographic. So I could never say…

Fuck! I could never say fuck. And of course I could never use the word… Cunt!

Lord Almighty, I’ve finally done it – described my cunt as a ‘cunt’. And, even sweeter, young Marlon, my nameless stud who looks like Brando, is moving his finger in and out of my wet cunt, first a finger, then a thumb, to make me writhe and moan, a slave to whatever he might desire. Then he takes hold of my clit and plays with it while I gasp and groan helplessly.

‘God, yes, fuck me!’ I cry out. ‘In my cunt! Fill my cunt with your cock!’

He rips my knickers off, unzips himself, takes out his cock, hard, engorged and pulsing, then puts the tip of it to me – down there, where I’m wet, warm and soft – making me open out like one of John’s flowers, offering honey to the bee. Then I feel his cock moving up inside me, in my cunt, and he’s fucking me.

Yes, he’s fucking me. I can use that word at last. And just using it excites me all the more, encouraging me to raise my hips up off the table, opening my legs farther, my feet meeting on the blade of his curved spine, locking him to me. ‘Don’t stop, Marlon,’ I moan, forgetting who he is, imagining for a moment that he’s actually the real item. ‘God, just do it to me. Do what you want to me. Anything!

Any way! Just do it and do it really quick, before my husband comes in. Do anything you want, show me everything you know, and don’t stop until you hear the front door opening. Oh, Christ, oh my Lord, oh my master, I’m all yours for the taking. Fuck me blind. Fuck me rigid. God, I want you, I need you, I love you. Anything you want. Anything!’

He’s thrusting in and out, first violently, then more slowly, in deep, languid motions, moving this way, then that, touching me here and there, filling up my insides in a way that I haven’t known before…because John is so useless.

Ah, God, that’s beautiful. Ah, Jesus, give me more. Belly slapping on belly, groin to groin, as he squeezes my tits, bites my neck and puts his tongue in my mouth. Just keep doing it, don’t stop, keep going for now and all time, till death do us part.

What…?

God, no! He’s pulling out. Straightening up to look down at me. He’s grinning and letting me see what he’s got and it’s something to see. I’ve never seen a real cock close up like this before. I mean, I’ve never looked at John’s. When we do it, we’re always under the blankets and John does it furtively. Him and his damned religion. His puritan thinking. Pretending he’s not really doing it, even when he’s hard at it, though in his inexperienced, woefully inept way, held back by his many inhibitions.

No such inhibitions with Marlon. He’s looking down at me, grinning, as he curls his fingers around his cock, pumps it gently, teasing me, then leans forward to put his hand behind my head and tug me upright. I slide off the table, onto my knees, and there it is right in front of me.

He’s still holding it, thrusting it at my lips, letting me know what he wants. I’ve never done this before (it would

shock John if I tried) but right now I want to make a meal of it and so I open my lips. I’m taking it in, sucking it, licking it, trying to swallow it, and he’s holding my head with his free hand to ease it backwards and forwards. It’s so thick and smooth, so hot and hard. I feel its tip at the back of my throat and almost swoon from the feeling.

‘Yes, baby,’ he drawls, withdrawing, ‘that was nice. Now let’s try it this way.’

He slides his hands over my shoulders and down to my breasts. After squeezing my tits, he cups his hands under my armpits and raises me off my knees. When I’m standing upright, breathing heavily, feeling dizzy, wet as a swamp down below, he flips me over to press me face down on the table.

I spread my hands out to grip the sides of the table, my feet on the floor, my arse in the air. I think he wants to enter me from the rear, but he needs to prepare me.

‘Where’s the butter?’ he asks.

Instantly, I think of Marlon Brando again. This time the mature Brando of Last Tango in Paris. The infamous butter scene. Marlon and Maria, one on top of the other, him slipping his buttery finger in before penetrating her with the real thing, though still wearing his pants.

God, no, I can’t! It’s too awful to contemplate! On the other hand…

How will one learn if one doesn’t experiment? I mean, John would never attempt it. He might secretly think about it, licking his puritan lips, but I doubt that he’d have the nerve to try it. Poor John, so religious, so inhibited, that neither of us has ever had a good time between the sheets, never mind stretched out on the kitchen table, as I am right now.

‘The butter’s in the jar behind my head,’ I hear myself whispering. ‘But I don’t think…’

‘Be quiet,’ he says.

As he stretches out over my spine, trying to reach the butter-jar, the tip of his cock slides along my arse cheeks as if trying to get in before its time. It’s hot. It’s hard. My buttocks twitch in response. I hear the butter-jar rattling, feel his chest on my shoulder-blades, then he straightens up again, breathing heavily, until he’s standing behind me. I close my eyes and clench my teeth and hear a groaning that can only come from me. He pushes into me, slow and hard, and at first it feels too tight, but then, as I shiver with pain and pleasure, he pushes in all the way.

My thoughts scatter and spin.

Oh, God, this can’t be true. I can’t really be doing this. I’ve often thought about it, wondering what it would be like, but it’s not the kind of thing that a decent, Christian woman dwells upon.

I think I’m going to die. Now I’m nothing but sensation. I turn my face to the side and look out through the front window to see John bending over some flowers, sniffing them lovingly. He loves those flowers, I’m convinced, even more than he loves me. He loves me in his own way, but doesn’t know how to please me, because he wouldn’t want to believe what it is that I truly need. He’s a Christian, a puritan, and that makes him strictly limited. I’m deprived because he thinks it would be depraved to do what I dream about.

God, he’s just turned to look back at the front door. He can’t come in now!

Yet the fear of that thought only makes me more excited so I clutch the sides of the table even tighter, groaning with delight.

‘Don’t stop now!’ I cry out.

Thank God, he doesn’t stop. He just moves ever faster, thrusting ever more violently, breathing harshly and

grunting like an ape having a romp in the jungle. I’m feeling really horny now. Like an animal in heat. I couldn’t stop him now if I tried, but I’ve no intention of trying.

He’s standing right behind me, thrusting in and out, a stallion. Leaning forward, he runs his fingers through my hair, then slips his thumb between my lips and starts moving it in and out, just like his cock in my cunt, making me feel that I’m sucking on a second cock.

Instantly, I have visions of two men at me at the same time, one behind me, the other in front, and as his thumb moves in and out, as I hungrily lick and suck, imagining the thumb to be bigger and harder than it actually is, he continues to attack my rear passage with the real thing. He’s reducing me to a pulp, protoplasm, pure sensation, turning me into an animal that knows nothing but physical need, wanting only to satisfy its base instincts, wallowing in the mud.

‘Yes!’ I beg. ‘Yes!’

Then I see John again. He’s wiping dirt from his hands as he glances at the house. That means he’s about to come back in and tell me it’s time for us to leave. The very thought of it fills me with panic and the panic excites me more.

‘Don’t stop!’ I cry out in desperation. ‘Oh, God, don’t stop now!’

He doesn’t stop. Instead, he pulls out of my rear passage and flips me onto my back, preparing to slip into me that way. But he doesn’t get the chance. I’m now awash in my own juices. When I see him standing there, his huge cock thrusting arrogantly out of his unzipped jeans, I simply have to taste it again. So I slide off the table and fall onto my knees to slip my lips over his rigid tool and start gobbling frantically.

‘Oh, boy,’ he says, ‘that’s your husband out there. And I think he’s about to come back in. Christ, I’ve got to get out of here!’

‘Not yet!’ I cry, releasing his cock from my mouth, then I stand up and fall back onto the table, spreading my legs.

‘Oh, please God, just finish it!’

As I frantically reach up to pull him down upon me, the fear of being caught by my husband lances through me, making it all the more exciting. Young Marlon falls upon me, all muscle and bone. He’s biting my neck and his tongue is in my mouth and then I’m licking his ears, nose and throat as my legs lock around his rocking hips and my feet drum frantically on his buttocks. His belly smacks on my belly, his cock fills me up again. We move together, one on top of the other, my groin rising to meet his groin as he presses down upon me and pushes brutally into me.

I’m sobbing and groaning, whispering, ‘Fuck me! Don’t stop!’ as my husband, that dear man, that innocent buffoon, commences the short walk to the front door, about to enter the house.

‘Now!’ I shriek. ‘Come now!’

Marlon comes like Niagara Falls, like a dam breaking loose, and I come at the same time, spasm piling on spasm, everything pouring out as it’s never done before, satisfying me for the first time in my life. A sexual Nirvana, heaven- sent, a dream come true. And we both shudder convulsively and collapse into each other. And I’m just returning to earth, getting my senses back, when I hear the front door opening and realise that John, my dear husband, is entering the house.

Luckily, he’s entering through the front door, two rooms away from here.

Marlon pulls out on the instant, tucks his wilting cock back in, whispers, ‘You’re terrific,’ zips himself up as he

hurries to the back door. I roll off the table, sexually satisfied, feeling terrific, depraved on account of being deprived throughout the long years of marriage. Marlon leaves by the back door. I adjust my rumpled clothing. I quickly comb my hair and touch up my lipstick (always modestly, respectably, applied), then rearrange the crockery on the table, until everything looks normal again.

Which, of course, it is.

Because none of that happened. It’s only what I wanted to happen. What I often desperately wish and dream might happen.

I’m looking through the back window and can see that young man out there, a vision of pure masculinity in his T- shirt and blue jeans. He’s certainly not Marlon Brando. In fact, he looks quite ordinary as he lazily lays the bricks of that new house. He looks common, a bit of rough trade, but that’s what makes him sexy.

John has just made his way from the living room, through the dining room, and is now standing in the kitchen doorway, smiling lovingly at me. He has a kind face, but he’s prematurely bald, has a burgeoning pot belly, and  wears a black suit and clerical collar. He’s the one who’ll be giving the sermon and it’s rarely exciting.

‘Time for church, dear,’ he says.

‘I’ll just fix my hair and put on my hat,’ I reply. ‘I’ll meet you outside, darling.’

‘Excellent,’ he says.

When he leaves the kitchen, I look through the back window and see young Marlon Brando out there, laying brick upon brick in the rising heat. He knows I’m watching him. He sometimes smiles in my direction. Some day, if I get up the nerve, I just might invite him in for a drink – a glass of lemonade or a cup of tea, maybe something stronger. And if I ever get up the nerve to do that, who knows what might happen?

But right now, alas, I have to pin up my hair, cover it with my broad, respectable hat, then put my arm through the arm of my dear husband, so loving, so boring, and let him walk me to church, this sunny Sunday morning.

I’m a decent, Christian woman, after all, and we’re the kind who have to keep up appearances.

All the rest is a daydream.

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