7 comments/ 17699 views/ 7 favorites Where Is This Leading? By: blondechristine2012 I could hardly believe it. I had never been 'into older men' yet here I was just a year after my divorce in bed with Jon who was older than my dad. Yes, Jon was well into his fifties, maybe even early sixties. That did not, though, stop him being an amazingly good fuck and probably the most interesting man I had slept with and maybe had ever known. He was an actor. Not tremendously successful but a face that when seen in a film or on TV, would make many people say, "I know him who is it?" Recently though, he hadn't had much work. His style was a little old fashioned and there were just too many actors around with his looks, so he had become known as, what all in the profession dread, unfashionable. He did some lecturing at the college I was attending as a mature student and we immediately hit it off. That was largely due to me having produced at university the Joe Orton classic play "What the Butler Saw." Jon had once starred in that and had a love for it as I did. So, after one of his, highly entertaining, very interesting and really quite motivational lectures, he asked me about my production. That led to me staying behind chatting to him about it; that led to us having a drink in a wine bar down the street, near to the British Museum and that led to us agreeing to have dinner a few days later. It also led to; well you're going to find that out soon! It had started with. "I know there's a vast age difference Chrissy," he was saying as we finished the bottle of red wine that evening. "But I would be so honoured if you would let me take you out. Would you entertain the idea of having dinner with me one evening?" I smiled at the nice and rather proper way he phrased the suggestion. It was clever for he was polite, he followed an old fashioned etiquette, that he knew appealed to me, because I'd told him, but he made no pretence at all of hiding the fact that it was a date. Not just a dinner, not a chance to chat more about "What the Butler Saw", not a meeting to talk about "the business" and not an opportunity for him to teach me about the theatre. No it was going to be a date with all that implies. It was going to be a test as to whether we fancied each other; he was putting his aging self on the line with a woman twenty-five years his junior. Yes, there was a degree of arrogance there, but then actors are like that, they have to be. I had told him that I preferred the company of older people and, quite frankly, I was enjoying the drink with him far more than I had enjoyed several recent dates with guys around my age. I was taking a sip of wine when he said that. I lifted my eyes up over the rim of the glass and caught his gaze. I smiled as I put the glass down. I couldn't help joshing him a bit for, although I quite liked the formality of his phrasing, it was a little pompous. "I might entertain the idea Jon," I said and then paused, putting the ball back into his court. He also smiled and reaching out across the small table he rested his fingers on the back of my hand. "Ah, I see, entertain it you might, but agree to it still has to be confirmed does it?" "Of course," I smiled holding his gaze rather flirtatiously as he rubbed his fingertips softly up the back of my hand, onto my wrist then under it to where my pulse was beating, rather fast in fact. "And what, I wonder," he said, as if talking to himself. "Might persuade the young lady to confirm whether she will or not?" I didn't say anything. I simply enjoyed the feelings as he held my hand running his fingertips slowly round and round my palm. It was lovely. I couldn't recall the last time a man had held my hand and done that. Maybe it was a rather old-fashioned gesture; if so it made me hanker for the old fashioned times! But then I always have thought I was born in the wrong age and that I'm more suited to the fifties or before. As we sat there staring and smiling at each other, my hand in his, so I felt his knee against mine under the table. At first it could, of course, have been an accident, but when it returned and went away and then returned again all suspicion of that was removed. It was being done on purpose as a signal, a sort of request, an emphasis of the request for the date. Again, a little old fashioned perhaps, but nevertheless extremely intimate and alluring, I thought. It was down to me now. I could easily move away and all could be forgotten. I could remove my hand, say I was busy or had a boyfriend and no face would be lost. On the other hand, I could press back implying 'yes' in a very clear way. Or I could be a bit of a cow and do nothing, leaving the problem completely with him. What do you reckon I did? He knew the game, clearly he had played it before; he was obviously quite used to dealing with cows, but then he was in the theatre wasn't he? He realised exactly what I was doing and what I was playing at. He seemed to be able to read me, understand me and work out was I was thinking. That always intrigued me in a man and sometimes turned me on a little. I guess the sub in me respecting the domme in him, or something like that! He continued gently rubbing the palm of my hand and pressing his knee firmly against mine, as he looked right into my eyes. "You have the most beguiling eyes, Christina," he murmured adding a nice sound onto the end of my rather boring Christine as he stared deeply into them. As if talking to himself he went on. "It's as if I can see deep into your inner soul." As he was saying this, he was still gently rubbing my fingers, hand and wrist and now, blatantly, pressing his leg against my knee. "I can see through your eyes, I can see you are a passionate woman, an intense woman. A woman that knows what she wants and how to get that. I can see so much about you." As he heated up the conversation so his foot rested on mine then ran up the side of my calf. With some men, it would have been sleazy, but with him, it was quite heady stuff. I felt relieved that we were in a sheltered corner where nobody would be able to see what we were doing. This became particularly relevant when his knee pressed against my closed knees, firstly quite firmly, then, after a moment or two, even firmer. I suppose I could have resisted, for it would not have been physically difficult to stop him going further. I could I suppose have left things as they were and did nothing. Perhaps that would have been the more sensible and more demure action. But I wasn't thinking sensible and demure, no I was thinking crazy and horny and I was loving the buzz iwas getting from being wooed like this. It wasn't a physical force, therefore, that made me slowly open my knees so his knee could slip between them. No, he didn't force his way there nor open my knees by his bodily strength alone. It was a completely different force that caused me to welcome his leg between mine, to invite it to examine my bare thighs and to let it slide between my legs until it found the hem of my, rather short, denim skirt. Yes it wasn't physical, it was part emotionally, but, I realised with a jolt, it was mainly sexual. And that shocked me for I rarely felt such a strong feeling for someone. I am a little odd with my regard to my attitude towards sex. This was just another example of that oddness. I've been chatted up by fantastic looking guys aged anywhere between my age and early forties and rarely if ever do I get a strong sexual yearning for them. Yet here I was sitting in a wine bar, my hand being held and caressed and my thighs being rubbed by the leg of a man well old enough to be my father. There I was almost creaming myself as such intimate and romantic things were said to me. Yes there I was, wanting to be fucked by a man that was more than thirty year older than me; and one that was balding and a bit paunchy at that! I think he realised what I was thinking? How? I have no idea but by some form of silent communication I'm sure he picked up my vibes; ESP perhaps. He took my hand in both of his and lifted it up to his lips. He kissed the back of my hand easing his knee further between mine as he did making me think, ' thank god for the red and white check table-cloth.' He leaned forward and kissed me softly on my cheek. I didn't resis or try to stop him. Why would I when I acknowledged that was what I wanted? "You're a very beautiful young woman Chrissy," he breathed, instinctively it seemed, knowing exactly the sort of thing I wanted to hear. He kissed my cheek again and whispered. "Very beautiful with the most alluring body and figure." I had remained silent as he had turned the pressure on, but now I was beginning to feel a bit like that scene in "When Harry met Sally." As he was verbally seducing me, caressing my hand, kissing my cheek and in a way, sort of fucking me with his leg, I wondered whether it was possible to be made to cum from those actions alone. I was more and more thinking that it was, for I'm sure my panties were soaked and I knew my nipples were exploding. "Come to my flat Chrissy, let me love you there," he whispered as he licked the back of my hand and stared into my eyes. * It was probably the most romantic fuck I'd ever had. In fact, that entire evening was probably the most romantic evening I had ever had, albeit in a rather old fashioned way. We caught a cab to his flat in that hinterland of an area between Euston and Camden Town; a nothing sort of area that didn't seem able to decide whether it was on the way up or on the way down. He didn't do anything or say much during the ten minute or so cab ride. Rather arrogantly I thought, he explained later. "The tabloids are after any smutt on actors." Sitting there in silence I was wondering what the remainder of the evening would bring. It was a second floor walk-up flat in a fairly large town house. It was nicely furnished with that sort of fading elegant look that so appeals to the well to do and aristocracy and, so it seems, to fading actors. He turned one lamp on but no more. The lights from the street created a nice, dim quite romantic glow to the large lounge. He made no pretence that this was anything other than us going to have sex. He made no small talk nor did heoffer me a drink or ask me to sit down. None of that was necessary, he knew it and I knew it. We were there for one reason and one reason alone, to make love. He took me in his arms and kissed me. No preamble or asking permission. It was a wonderful kiss; as far as I was concerned it was the kiss of a master lover. He held me tight, he moulded our bodies together and his lips found mine. Our mouths were closed as our lips touched but they slowly opened as they pressed against each other. His tongue licked its way round my lips, against my gums, over my teeth and into my mouth. He licked the roof of my mouth, the inside of teeth and my tongue. He sucked my top then my lower lip and then both of them together, He was patient, slow, methodical and amazingly erotic. I had never been kissed like it before and it was simply sublime. His hands were running up and down my back. They fiddled with my bra strap, the waist band of my shortish, denim skirt, and the hem of the pink, loose, short sleeved, scooped neck, silky top. They seemed to be saying they'll all be attended to in time, but not just yet. He knew as well as I did that I was powerless to stop him undressing me, that I wouldn't be able to resist him taking my clothes off and that there was no way anything could hamper me being naked for him. It was as inevitable as night following day, but there was no hurry; after all experts, master lovers have no need to hurry, do they? "I am going to make the most wonderful love to you Chrissy," he murmured into my ear as his fingers ran through my long blonde hair and up and down my neck sending shivers through my entire body. "Mmmm, that'll be nice," was all I could rather inanely murmur back. "That is what you want isn't it?" he asked piling my hair on top of my head. "Yes Jon, yes it is I gasped," unable to think or breath properly let alone make sensible conversation. "Good, Chrissy, that's so good, for that's what I badly want to do. I can't ever remember so utterly desiring any woman as I do you right now." God what language I thought. Sure a bit stuffy and formal, very old fashioned and quite grandiose but to a rather frustrated, recently divorced romantic like me they were pearls of wisdom, phrases from heaven and the words that make girls drop their knickers. As phrases such as: "I have so wanted you since the moment I saw you," "I lie awake at night thinking of nothing, but your face and wondering at the beauties your body holds," "I dream of seeing your firm, young breasts, your hard, pink nipples and your pert, firm bum." "We'll make perfect, totally wonderful orgasmic love Chrissy." I was ready for anything. He had been priming me all evening and was now ready to fire both barrels, hard and fast and that came with. "Come to my bed Chrissy that is what you want to do isn't it?" It was so totally what I wanted that I could do no more than mumble. "Yes Jon." As he took my hand and led me to his bedroom I was thinking that as a drama student with aspirations to be a script writer or producer I should have been able to coin a more suitable and eloquent phrase, but my mind was a whirl of other thoughts so I thought 'fuck it' and stuck with the 'yes Jon.' His bedroom was quite small but had a double bed. It was dim, but not so dark that we couldn't see. We stood facing each other alongside the bed, he was holding my hand. He brought that up to his mouth and kissed the palm; he took one of my fingers slightly into his mouth and softly sucked it. He ran his tongue up and down that finger, he chewed it, gently and then once more took it into his mouth, but this time as far as it would go. I was mesmerised by this. He was doing all the things to my finger that girls do to men during oral sex. As I watched so my finger became a cock and so I sort of became a man, he became a woman and we made this incredible oral love that ended up with him pulling my body against his as he sucked three of my fingers in his mouth. We didn't speak, I think we'd gone beyond words, they simply were not necessary He stopped face fucking my fingers, he let go of my hand and moved away a foot or two. His eyes boring into mine he started undoing the buttons on his dark blue, heavy cotton shirt. One by one slowly exposing the fairly matted hairs on his broad chest; I couldn't help noticing that there was a fair amount of grey amongst them. I suddenly thought I'd never been to bed with a man with grey hairs on his chest and I realised he must dye the hair on his head. I almost giggled at the thought. His shirt was fully undone and his fingers were now undoing his leather pleated belt. He was so confident and so assured and I found that very sexy and such a turn on. He still hadn't taken his eyes from mine, it was as if he was reading my thoughts and manipulating my mind. Manipulating it to the extent that, crossing my arms and reaching downwards, I took hold of the hem of my top. I saw approval in his eyes as his belt came undone and he slowly pushed his zip down, Between the opened edges of his shirt I could see that, although a little overweight and with the matted graying hairs, his chest was full and quite muscular. His eyes seemed as if they were telling me what to do and slowly, a bit like a stripper I suppose, I lifted my top up and up. It went over my breasts, onto my shoulders, over my face and head until it was off. I held it for a moment as we stared at each other. Then, as if on cue, we both dropped our tops to the floor. The look in his eyes as they roamed over my chest focusing more and more on my breasts almost made me squirm with sexual want. I looked down. I was wearing a white, almost transparent bra. I knew that he'd be focusing on the dark bumps in the bra where, even in the subdued light, my hugely erect nipples would be very evident. And the more he stared so the harder they seemed to become. And of course as they became harder so I became more and more aroused, more excited and more and more turned on. And as that happened so I became more and more receptive to the unspoken persuasions that his masterful gaze conveyed to me. I think I was smiling a little, for that was reflected by more of a glint in his eye and some movements in his lips, as now without thinking I reached both hands behind me. As I struggled momentarily with my bra clasp so, inevitably, my 33b boobs were pushed forward and thrust upward, thankfully making them look larger and less like the tits of a young girl, as they sometimes did. I loved the look in his eyes as he saw that and saw my breasts straining against the thin fabric of each cup. It was a look I'd seen more often since my divorce. A look I had seen probably far more times than I should. Yes it was the look of adoration of and lust for my body. I enjoyed seeing it on him as much as I had on the others. He broke the silence. Standing there just in his boxers, his erection clear and obvious and giving him absolutely no embarrassment whatsoever he sighed as I dropped my bra to join my top on the floor. "Oh Chrissy your breasts are wonderful." He reached his hand out and gently ran the back of his fingernails across the swell of one of my breasts, into my cleavage and then up and over my other one. He came back again. This time though, his fingertips fluttered across the equator of each mound, across each apex, across the circumference of each orb, across, of course, each nipple. Each straining, hard, aching, pulsating nipple; each inflamed, engorged, seething, sensitive nipple. Each nipple that was showing my arousal signifying so clearly my need both for him and sex, and clearly indicating my total and utter desire for this man to fuck me. As he so gently caressed my breasts and nipples he was making low moans and deep sighs. He was looking into my eyes and whispering how adorable I was; all very hedonistic and ego massaging stuff indeed. Considering our respective ages that he had a body that was rather paunchy, a head of hair that was died and grey chest hairs he was amazingly self-assured in the sexual arena. Without waiting for me, without checking to see whether I was ready and without any further ado, he slid his boxers down and off in one series of quick movements. He stood before me proudly naked and superbly and rampantly aroused. He was certainly no Adonis, but the way he held himself, the manner in which he behaved towards me and the total air of gravitas and control he had more than made up for that. Perhaps he's gone into porn movies I wondered with a wry smile? He stood with one hand on his hip the other hanging down by his thigh idly rubbing his erection. He smiled. He looked me up and down and said in his rich, deep voice. "I think it's your turn now Chrissy, don't you?" Again I had no thoughts other than to comply with his suggestions. He had a total hold over me and his almost mute power of persuasion was something I'd never before experienced. I undid the brass button on the skirt. I slid the short zip down. I wriggled the skirt down over my bum and hips and I let slither down my legs to the floor. I stepped out of it. I looked into his eyes and felt a surge of really high octane arousal at the sheer level of lust and desire I saw there. "Oh Chrissy, Chrissy," he murmured his eyes sweeping up and down my legs, round and round my boobs and then down onto the thin pink thong that was as good as see-through. I knew he'd be able to see my neatly trimmed pubes through the material and wondered whether my wetness had marked it. I also wished I was more conscientious with my washing, for then I'd have been wearing matching undies and not the odds and sods he was seeing. Where Is This Leading? My hands were shaking as I slipped them into the elastic of the thong. It always seems to me to be a really symbolic moment when a woman takes her panties off for her lover. More so than when he pushes them down or even when he rips them from her. By her doing it she's offering herself isn't she? She's voluntarily removing the last bastion of her defences, the remaining separation between her and her nudity, and the last vestige of respectability. Once they've gone she's vulnerable, open and wantonly available, well at least that's how I felt when I pushed my panties down and reached towards my foot to take them off. As I stood up totally naked apart from my strappy, mid-height heeled sandals, so Jon reached for my hand, the one holding my panties. He gently pulled them from me. His eyes boring deep into mine he put them to his face and rubbed his nose in the gusset, taking deep breaths as he did so. I'd heard of men smelling their lover's panties, but I had no experience of it. I would have thought I'd feel at least a little bit odd watching a man do that, but I didn't. As Jon ran them over his face standing naked before me, so I found it not at all off-putting; not a major turn-on, but certainly an action that very much went with the circumstances. Still holding my panties in his hand he put his arms on my shoulders. He looked deep into my eyes for a moment and then kissed me long and lovingly. Slowly his arms went round me, they pulled me to him, he pressed himself against me and our bodies moulded together. My breasts were squashed against his chest, the fronts of our legs were as one and of course his erection surged up the softness of my stomach. It was all rather lovely. He squirmed his cock against me and cupped the cheeks of my bum in his hands. He squeezed and kneaded them all the time kissing me so beautifully. He stroked my bum he pinched it, rubbed it and caressed it. He was doing that for ages, but I didn't care, I loved it. I have such a sensitive bottom, all over and between the cheeks. And somehow he seemed to know that, but then perhaps all women do. His fingers probed and prodded, slithered and slipped everywhere. Over my cheeks, between them, on the entrance and further onto and into the slimy wetness of my pussy that was wet to overflowing. I got my hand between us and my fingers tingled with want as they found and then ran up and down his erection. It was everything an erection should be; hard, warm, smooth and slightly throbbing. It felt lovely. At last we went to bed, but clearly not yet to make love, well not as I knew it. He positioned me carefully on my front and lay beside me. He kissed me and ran his hands through my hair, ruffling it, piling it up on my head and then, as he shoved his tongue very deep into my mouth pulling it, quite hard. "Oooo," slipped from my mouth. "Sorry my love, don't you like it?" He asked not in any way, though, lessening the tension as he added. "I am sure you will get to love it." In all my active life I had never been confronted with the pain thing. I had never had full anal intercourse, been tied up or restrained. None of my motley gang of male lovers that for some reason I suddenly recalled had reached double figures, had suggested any form of spanking, BDSM or anything that most people might call kinky. And to be truthful I'd never really given that side of sex much thought, but now having my hair pulled in a way that hurt me I was forced to. It was odd, but then many aspects of sex seem to be odd to me; so much so that I'm beginning to think that odd is natural and natural is, oh shit, I don't know, far too deep a topic for me. But it was strange to me that the pain from my head was merging with the sexual pleasures his other hand was providing by stroking all over the back of my naked body. And the rather aggressive nature of him tugging my hair as I lie somewhat restricted beside him, was in stark and I have to say pleasurable, in an odd way, contrast to the tender kisses he was planting all over my face and lips. Jon had slid the hand that wasn't tugging my hair down my back and had reached my bum, He'd stroked it and squeezed it and that, together with the kissing and tugging of my long blonde hair, had created the most unusual, yet wonderful combination of feelings. "Ok Chrissy?" "No, er yes, yes, it's ok Jon," I replied, not at all sure that it was ok or why I was saying that. "You have the most glorious arse," he murmured as he stroked it very gently. He repeated all he had been doing when we were standing beside the bed but now the emphasis of his caresses was between, as opposed to on, my cheeks. He eased my legs apart and with them went the cheeks of my bottom. He spent ages gently running his fingertips along that sensual groove, on, over and past the extra sensitive entrance to my anus, onto the base of spine in one direction and into the totally sodden mess that was my pussy in the other. I was starting to cum. I just couldn't help it. I don't think anyone, even my ex-husband had worked me up so much as this fifty plus year old man was now doing. "Oh God Jon, I'm cumming," I moaned as my entire body started to shudder. "I know Chrissy that is the idea you know." Even in the throes of my strong orgasm I couldn't help smiling and saying. "Oh shut up." All hell broke loose in my mind. As my body shuddered and shook with the sensations, I couldn't help realising that I was cumming without any form of penetration, without my clit being rubbed or the lips of my pussy being stroked. Yes Jon made me cum merely by stroking my body and my bum. As I soared up that wonder wall of such incredible feelings, another thing happened. Jon smacked my bottom several times. It was not that hard and not that much, but enough to make my bum sting and me recognise what he was doing. I did not think that much about it. I put it down to being just one of those spontaneous things we might all do when hugely, sexual stimulated; like pinching too firmly, squeezing a breast or a cock too hard, scratching, sucking or biting. Nevertheless, the combination of the pain from him pulling my hair, the stinging from where he had spanked my bottom and the pleasure he was giving me with his fingers made me cum, very heavily indeed. He then fucked me. Straightforward, me on my back, him on top, my legs wide open and wrapped round him. It was quite quick and quite hard. There was obviously no foreplay. He didn't need to get me wet and I didn't need to get him hard, what we had been doing for the past half hour or so had done both of those necessities. He didn't mess around either. I'd hardly finished my bum oriented orgasm when he turned me onto my back and I watched as he slid into a condom, a black one I noted with a tad of amusement. My pussy was still tender and my breasts and nipples were still pulsating from what he had done to me moments ago with his hands when he laid on top of me. I willingly opened my legs and wrapped my arms around him as he held his cock against my lips. I was obviously soaked and my lips were inevitably bloated with the blood that rushes to them during an orgasm; I'm told that makes a woman's pussy tighter. I had no complaints, just a straightforward hard and fast fuck and that, to be honest is what I wanted. Well actually what I most wanted would have been to have waited for a while to let my climax fully subside, have a few drinks, maybe smoke a weed, enjoy loads of foreplay and then a long languid fuck or two. But I wasn't experienced enough to even say to him what I would have preferred, let alone directed events that way. And in any case I think I am much more of a follower as far as that's concerned. So it was a quick fuck and I was on my way home shortly after. * We agreed to have the dinner we had discussed earlier on the coming Friday, the day after tomorrow. Even though I was busy with studying lighting and sound for college and doing some freelance copywriting on the Thursday, I thought about Jon and what we had done quite lot over those two days. My thinking about my actor lover was along these lines. I liked Jon and clearly, I fancied him, I mean I had fucked him hadn't I? He did something to me no others had done. Just how and why I couldn't say, but he did. I found him intellectually attractive. Maybe a father figure, was that it? A deeply buried desire to have sex with my dad? Shit, I had once had hots for my mum, not dad as well, surely? Not a threesome with my mum and dad? I told you I was odd as far as sex is concerned didn't I? But there are limits aren't there? Could I really feel comfortable on a date with a man of his age? Could I cope with the stares and the whispers and the questions if anyone at the college found out, as they were bound to do? Working away in my cubicle in the ad agency in Covent Garden, my mind kept returning to Jon. I thought of his obsession, or so it seemed, with my bum. I thought how amazing it had be made to coaxed to cum with hardly any vaginal or clitoral stimulation and no penetration at all. I would never have believed it, but it had happened. I thought about the way he had pulled my hair and how surprisingly that had added to the excitement. Also, of course, I thought about how as I was climaxing he'd smacked my bottom several times. I had no experience of this pain and pleasure concept. I could not envisage being hurt and becoming turned on by that. I had no realisation at all as to how a man could hurt me and that would give me sexual pleasure. * I could hardly believe it. I had heard of it of course, but so far had never experienced it. Jon's cock that was just about to fuck me had gone soft. One moment he had a full erection that I had stroked as he'd kissed me and the next as he tried to enter me so he lost it. "Oh fuck, bollocks," he moaned his head falling onto my chest. "I'm sorry." "What is it, what's the matter?" I asked genuinely concerned that perhaps he was ill, or worse was having a heart attack. "I've lost my fucking erection, that's what's the bloody matter," he groaned rolling off me and lying on his back. "Never mind, don't worry, it'll come back." "Yeah, you reckon." "Yes. Yes of course it will, I'll make it come back Jon," I whispered in his ear as I ran my hand down his body, across the slight swell of his stomach and into his pubic hair. I was so used to finding a man's cock sprouting up from them and pointing northward that I was surprised at first not to feel his like that. I could hardly remember ever before holding a flaccid penis; I mean it would be such an insult wouldn't it to be naked with a guy who hadn't managed to get it up? But that's where we were and that's what we had to cope with. It's not all plus points, I thought ruefully, having a yen for older men! I pulled the condom off and dropped it on the floor. I worked hard. I stroked, caressed and gently rubbed it. I put my fingers round it and I pumped it up and down. There may have been a marginal hardening, but not much and certainly nowhere near what I wanted or needed to be fucked. However, now I badly wanted that. We had been in his flat for an hour or so after a nice dinner at a charming French bistro in Southampton Row. This time we had undressed each other and he'd made me cum with his mouth. He was really good at oral. We played with each other for another twenty minutes or so I suppose, when he rolled me onto my side facing him. He turned onto his side away from me and fumbled in a drawer on the bedside cabinet. Rolling back again, I saw that he'd got a condom, not a black one this time, and was undoing the foil. He had pushed it on and then turned to face me the slightly greasy rubber pressing into my tummy. We kissed very deeply and I felt him moving to position his cock ready to enter me; the latex covered tip was pressing right against the lips of my pussy. It was, though clearly at the wrong angle so when he pushed he did not go up me, but merely slid along my slit and came to that cul de sac at the back end of it. Nice though that was, it wasn't penetration and it was penetration we both wanted. He tried again. He pulled my leg up and placed it on his hip and once more pushed forward. Again, it did not go in. "Oh fuck," he said in frustration. "Come on let me help you?" I replied reaching down for his cock. Whether he was already losing his hardness or not I don't know but he pushed my hand away. "No it's ok. Lie on your back." I did as I was told and he manoeuvred himself on top of me and laid between my eagerly opened thighs. I felt him reaching down, presumably to hold his dick and guide it in that way; little did I know then just what his real problem was! This time when he pressed it against my lips it felt different, it was a feel I'd never had there before, it was new to me but somehow I knew what it was. Some instinct or intuition told me that he was losing his erection. And trying to shove a soft cock up a wet cunt just doesn't work does it? So there was I working on making him hard. My pussy had failed when he put it there, my hands clearly hadn't done the job so there was only one thing left, wasn't there? Oddly, despite the sheer romance, the enhanced eroticism and the deep intimacy of our lovemaking, so far I had not gone down on him. I wriggled around moving my body so I could get my mouth to him. On the rather narrow bed either, I had to get off it or, kneel alongside him. I chose the latter. Curled up pretty tightly I bent my face to his tummy, took hold of his soft dick and wiggled my body as close to him as possible on the basis that if he was touching my nudity that might turn him on, it always had in the past! The way I was positioned mean that my knee was pressing into his hip, my legs were at about a forty-five degree angle to the side of his body and my bum was about level with his armpit, but well in reach of his hands. I licked his rather hairy tummy first and, holding his limp dick up I ran my tongue along it. Nothing happened. I cradled his scrotum in the palm of my hand and rolled his balls around loving the feeling of them against my skin. At the same time I held his penis and kissed the uncircumcised tip. Again nothing. "Oh Chrissy I'm sorry, it happens when you get older." "Don't worry," I replied slightly turning my bent body so that more of my leg pressed against his side. I resumed my oral encouragement thinking a couple of times that there were some signs of movement. I had it in my mouth when I felt his hand on my thigh. It slid upwards. I felt such warmth towards him that despite his problem he still wanted to please and pleasure me. I opened my legs a little and sucked hard on the tip of his cock, something I'd read about in a novel; I mean where else does a girl learn to give blow jobs, there's no training manuals on it are there. His fingers slipped inside me. They ran round my lips, both the inner and outer ones. They touched my anal entrance and pressed on my clit. It was rather lovely and I wiggled my bottom and gave a low moan in appreciation. Suddenly thwack. His hand hit by bottom, quite hard, so much so that I jerked my head and he slipped out. Thwack, smack he hit me twice in quick succession. I grunted and put his cock back in my mouth. More thwacks and more smacks, each probably a little harder. He was spreading them all over both of my cheeks. I pumped him in and out of my mouth. He was hardening, very slightly and I am sure it was not my imagination. I looked behind and saw that my bum was in a position where it was difficult for him to reach. I wiggled myself a little further away and watched Jon half roll onto his side. That meant that not only could one of his hands more easily reach and smack my bum, but that the other could reach my dangling breasts and with some fumbling my clit as well. Clearly realising that I was not averse to what he'd been doing, he smacked me several more times. He was now doing it harder and it was stinging, but it wasn't too painful. Amazingly though, as each time he smacked me, and now he had found a sort of rhythm, his cock seemed to jerk in my mouth. Each smack saw him harden and grow a little. He was now spanking me with a steady series of smacks that covered every inch of each cheek and was now occasionally drifting down onto my thighs. He was grunting and groaning and moaning and muttering how wonderful I was and what a magnificent arse I had. Then I had what is in many ways, I now know, the most exciting thing a woman can experience; a man's cock growing to its full erection in her mouth. And as Jon's cock reached its fullness so now he was thoroughly spanking me. He was though, alternating smacking my bum with stroking my pussy and tits, combining giving me stinging pains with glorious sensations, yes he was using pain and sexual stimulation in equal ingredients to produce the most amazing cocktail of emotions in my mind and feelings throughout my body. He pulled my legs further apart so that my pussy was fully exposed from the rear. He then began slapping my lips. Not hard, but firmly and consistently. It was amazing and I began to tingle everywhere and especially on and in my pussy. I knew that meant just one thing. I was starting to cum. He must have felt that. When I cum I shudder, I almost convulse at times. My body stiffens and I find it hard to get my breath, especially when my mouth is stuffed full as it was now. I was moaning, groaning, grunting and whining, as much as one can with a cock in your mouth. I was shuddering hard. I was gripping his cock and slobbering up and down it as if it was the most delicious tasting object in the world. I was licking, kissing, chewing and sucking it. I was ramming it deep into my mouth and then sucking the bulbous head as if it was a lollipop. At times, I shook and shuddered, so his cock would pop out of my mouth and then I'd cuddle it against my cheek, chin or lips. At that moment, I was in love with his cock. As in love with that as I was, so he was with my bum. Whimpering and whispering how marvelous it was he had stopped his regular slapping of that and my pussy. Instead he was stroking my bottom, caressing it, rubbing my juices over it, licking it and mixing his spittle with my cum. The stinging was still there but that had become something I just cannot describe. Something mystical almost, a combination of the marks, the redness, the heat and the sounds as he'd smacked me and the combination of him hurting and soothing me almost simultaneously. God if only my descriptive abilities were good enough to get across just what that felt like. Then he just exploded. He did warn me that he was about to cum, but that was too late. Too late for me to get his cock in me, so he could fuck me, too late to get it out my mouth and too late for him to stop. But then I didn't want him to stop. I am always a little charry of having any form of sex with a new partner when it's unprotected. I am especially concerned when it's with a guy in the theatre for so many are bi, so even greater extra care is needed. However, as is often the case we were both far too carried away to stop, far too aroused to do anything different and far too into each other and what we were doing to give a second thought to the safeness of it. His cum was spurting into my mouth. I couldn't keep his cock in there, I felt as though I might gag or choke. So then he was shooting over my face and as I leaned back onto my tits. I couldn't believe how much he was producing for it just seemed to go on and on and on So much for older guys not being able to get it up. * "Let me do your hair," Jon said. It was a Sunday afternoon two weeks later. I was in his flat. He had asked me to come round as he had a special treat for me. I had no idea what that could be. Our sex since that time he had cum on my face had been fairly straightforward, although he clearly had an anal obsession for his focus was so much on my bum. He'd lightly smacked my bum a couple of times since that first amazing time when he had lost his hard on, but nowhere near as strongly as he had then. Where Is This Leading? It had been the time, two days, after the spanking when he had asked if I'd ever had anal intercourse. I had told him no and I did not feel ready for it just yet. "I understand Chrissy and I'll never push you to do anything you aren't comfortable with," he had said in his polite and diplomatic, old fashioned manner. "Are you ok with what I did to your bottom last time though?" He had asked obviously referring to the spanking. "Yes Jon, I suppose I am." "Have you done that before?" He asked pulling me closer to him on the sofa. "No, never," I replied wondering what was going to happen when he made me stand in front of him. He turned me round and with that enormous sexual self-confidence that so turned me on he said. "Take your jeans down for me Chrissy please." My hands were shaking as I eased the zip down. It had not entered my head for one second to refuse, so quickly I'd pushed my jeans down round my knees. I was of course acutely aware that his face would now be right in line with the cheeks of my bottom. The full rounded cheeks, the cheeks that ballooned out from the white thong, the cheeks that were still a bright, burning pink in colour, yes the cheeks that showed the marks of the strong spanking, the cheeks that were covered in his trophy markings. "Oh baby," he'd breathed as he so gently ran the tips of his fingers over them. "My lovely baby," he had whispered. "What is it Jon?." "Oh I so love your bum." Looking over my shoulder at him I said with a smile. "Just my bum?" He smiled back and said, slightly worryingly. "Oh OK all bums, well nice shaped ones." I didn't pursue whether that mean bums of the male as well as female versions! "What do you want to do to my hair?" "I want to wash and dry it, comb and brush it and then put it into two pigtails. Is that ok?" Quite intrigued by the erotic possibilities of what Jon was suggesting I replied that it was. "Shall I undress?" I asked. "You wouldn't want to soak my clothes would you?" "Yes please, but wrap this towel around you," he said handing me a large, fluffy beige coloured towel. He walked out the room and I undressed completely and wrapped the towel round me. Jon came back wearing a rather old fashioned, long, silk, blue and green, paisley patterned dressing gown; I was almost surprised that he wasn't wearing a cravat! He led me to his bathroom. He placed a chair with its back to the sink and indicated for me to sit there. He pulled the chair back so that the front feet came off the ground and the back rested against the sink. "Lean back Chrissy, put your head back," he whispered. He took my long blonde hair in his hands and simply held it for a while just running his fingers through it, making low moans in his throat. My eyes were closed. He laid a small towel across my eyes cutting off my sight. That was weirdly exciting. I felt warm water being poured over my hair; water that was wonderfully the perfect temperature. Then he poured some shampoo onto my head and his fingers tenderly rubbed it into my scalp. It was gorgeous and I felt in heaven As Jon massaged my head and rubbed the shampoo into my hair so he moved from one side to the other of me and the chair. He pressed himself, mostly lightly, against my hip, knee or arm. Sometimes though, it was more overt and I would feel his tummy or his, what seemed to be at least, semi-erect cock against me. That was exciting. I was laying back on the chair the back of my neck and head over the sink. My body was at an acute angle, my feet tucked onto the rail between the legs of the chair. The towel had, inevitably, ridden up a little bit, but as it was such a large one, it was still only mid- thigh. I had wrapped the top edge around my body just above my boobs and one side was tucked into the other. As I was coming to expect from John he was once again creating a wonderful scenario. To him, so he'd explained, making love was like the theatre, it needed to be staged, it should be dramatic, it might require roles to be played, but most of all it had to be memorable. And I have to say, throughout my short affair with him, he continually achieved those objectives, even when he lost his erection as he did several times. This time, I had the continual sound of the running water merging with the lovely classical music that he was always playing; I think it was Bach violin concertos. I had the warm water on my head and the scented, creamy shampoo in my hair. His fingers were massaging my scalp, something I find highly erotic even when done by a stranger of a hairdresser, and his hands were running through my hair. I had the frequent unseen, as I had my eyes closed, touching of his body against mine, the silk of his robe on my skin and the vulnerability of my nearly supine, almost naked position. I felt the edges of the towel on my thighs being opened and then nothing. He resumed washing my hair. They were opened more, but I couldn't tell just what was on show. They were replaced. He carried on washing my hair making sure my head was continually pushed back so I couldn't see; in any case with the water running over my forehead and at times across my forehead meant I had to keep my eyes closed. I felt him pulling on the tucked in edges of the towel across my chest. The pressure loosened and I felt the air on my body as he clearly opened the edges and looked at me. I could feel him pulling the two edges apart all the way down from the top to the bottom. It was a weirdly exciting sensation to know he was looking at my full nakedness, but I couldn't see him. His fingers so softly touched my nipples; nowhere else, just the tips of each nipple, just the very end, gently and softly. There were a couple of immediate reactions. My nipples, of course, exploded into hardness like two pebbles and shudders of sexual pleasure and expectancy, probably in equal amounts, rushed through me. I moaned, though I didn't say anything. The scene we were creating did not call for words, simply deeds Now he was holding each nipple, between his fingertips, his nails pressing into them, fairly hard. In effect, he was pinching them, hard, he was squirming them around and he was pulling them. Pulling them to a length, or so it felt, they had never been pulled before. Pulling and then letting go and then repeating that. 'A bit like milking a cow' I thought to myself almost smiling. It was remarkable, it was unthinkable and so surprising, but I felt as if I was going to cum. Could that happen? Could a man make a woman cum just by arousing her nipples? But then I suppose lying back on a chair, having one's hair washed as your lover slowly reveals your nudity and presses his evident hardness against your arm or hip is a little more than just having your nipples played with, isn't it? Whatever, he was doing it again. Just as he had when he played with my bum that first time, he was close to making me cum without penetration, or this time even touching my bum or pussy. "Please Jon, please?" I whimpered, as under the running mixer tap my head began to roll from side to side. "What Chrissy, what does Chrissy want?" "Oh you know Jon, you know," I groaned reaching out trying to touch him. In my highly aroused state, I suddenly wanted a cock. I wanted to feel it, hold it, rub it, have it against me or have it in me. But he moved away, apparently that wasn't in the script. "Tell me what you want." "To cum, I need to cum. I want you to make me cum." "You want me to make baby cum?" "Yes, yes please I do." He didn't say or do anything for a few moments other than to release my nipples and go back to washing my hair. I felt so frustrated. He had taken me this far and was now refusing me the needed outcome, the required result, the essential solution; yes, he not only refused me his cock, but also wasn't making me cum, or so it seemed, but then I felt him grip the backs of my hands. He lifted them up and pressed my palms against my breasts as he whispered. "Enjoy yourself Chrissy." Unseeingly due to the towel covering my eyes, my hands found my nipples and repeated what he had been doing. They found my breasts and squeezed and kneaded them, pinched and pushed the two mounds together as they continued squeezing and pulling the nipples. It was happening, well starting to happen, yes I was starting to cum. Even had I wanted to I could not have stopped my right hand, my masturbating hand that is, slithering down my body. It slid easily across my flat smooth tummy, into the little thatch of tawny coloured pubes and right onto my clit. I opened my legs a little. All other considerations fled from my mind as the extreme sensations reverberated out from that delicious piece of sensitive gristle. I rubbed myself and gripped my left tit as I masturbated myself to a full and wonderful orgasm. I had almost forgotten where I was when Jon's voice brought me back to reality. "Mmmm that's pretty naughty isn't it? Quite a dirty little girl aren't you?" he asked turning off the tap, removing the towel from my eyes and straightening the chair. I sat before him naked, my wet hair straight and hanging down around my face onto my shoulders, my upper thighs smeared with my own female excretions. "Aren't you?" He repeated. "Am I, why?" I asked, finding it quite easy and fairly natural to fall into the role-play. "Wanking yourself like that in front of me," he said tweaking one of my now soft nipples. "That's very naughty and when you're naughty, what should happen?" he asked. "I don't know," I replied looking at him. "Oh Chrissy I think you do know, or I think you can guess can't you?" I could guess now where this was going and my pulse started to race a bit. "No Jon," I replied as coolly as I could muster, "I don't" "Well when little girls are naughty they have to be punished don't they." I was now sure where this was leading and my heart started to pound. Was that with fear or excitement, trepidation or anticipation I wondered? "Yes," I heard myself saying in my confusion. "They do." "And how should she be punished?" Jon asked his voice tight and a little croaky. "I don't know," I said quietly, quite in dread of saying what I guess he wanted to hear and what I may well have deep down wanted to happen. "Then shall I tell you?" "Yes, yes please," I stammered. "You have to be spanked don't you? I have to spank your bottom, as I did the other day. That's what you want isn't it?" Having that question put to me seemed impossible. Hearing those words for the first time in my life when directed towards me was incredible. I had never thought I'd hear a man say he was going to spank my bum. Equally, I had never thought I'd hear a man asking if that's what I wanted. "Isn't it?" He repeated slightly tersely. Most of all I never thought I would hear myself say. "Yes Jon it is." "Tell me, tell me what you want Chrissy." He insisted turning the screw of extreme eroticism very tight. "Oh Jon I want you to spank me. I want you to spank my bottom." I whimpered near to tears with want. ***** Author's note: This did lead to Jon spanking me, several times. If you would like to read about that, please let me know, I would be most happy to tell you all about it.