1 comments/ 22256 views/ 10 favorites Mature Bliss Ch. 01 By: MarcusWoolf I hated it. I had just turned eighteen, but still my mother and my stepfather insisted that I accompany them on their summer vacation to this summer resort by the sea; an old, crappy beach hotel that had seen better days. The only nice part was that I had got my own room, whilst my mother and stepfather slept in a family room together with my two younger, irritating sisters. That at least gave me some privacy. When the rest of the family went to the beach each morning, I retreated to my hide-out. I had no intention of enjoying the sun with them. The hotel had an old, overgrown conservatory that no one used, and here I had found a particularly gloomy space that suited my mood perfectly – just two cushioned benches hidden behind some large palms and a mass of green foliage. Here I could surely read my books about dungeons, dragons, doom and death without being interrupted. Or so I thought. On my second day there, I was interrupted in my reading by an older woman with bleached hair who seated herself on the other bench. I had noticed her before. She dressed in a rather sluttish fashion. My mother had pointed her out in the breakfast room on the first morning and criticized her appearance and my stepfather had made concurring noises and shook his head. To me she was an old hag – old enough to be my mother; older than my real mom even. But looking closer, I had to admit that there was something about her that I liked. She dressed as if she did not care one bit about what others thought about her. In the breakfast room she looked as if she had just risen from bed in a black, oversized, fuzzy knitted morning coat of the wrap-around kind – only held together at the waist with a matching belt - and added to that black high-heeled "fuck me" slippers and black fishnet stockings. She looked a bit out of place in a family hotel. She could have been an actress in some sleazy movie, I thought. Looking at her now in her warm and fuzzy wrap-around coat, a voice at the back of my mind admitted that I would not mind being wrapped up inside that soft, cosy coat, sharing its warmth with this mature woman, being caressed by the soft fluffy wool. What really put that idea into my head was that I knew her to be practically naked underneath. In fact, I had caught a glimpse of one of her tits during breakfast. I had seated myself a bit apart from my boring family, and this woman had seated herself at my table – not directly across from me, but near enough for me to peak down her cleavage. And a couple of times when she reached for her coffee, her morning coat fell sufficiently open for me to get a glimpse of her naked breast and a brown, jutting nipple. The sight had understandably sparked my fantasy. Her breasts must have received some surgical help, for they sat rather high and jutted out nicely, straining against the black, fluffy fabric. And she did not wear any bra – I could see that. And when I rose to help myself to some more food from the buffet, she had followed close behind. Normally, I have a distinct need for private space. I do not like people who stand too close. But she did not seem to notice – in fact, more than once I could feel her perky tits pressing against my arm or my back. And once I am sure that she stroked my bottom. Oddly enough, I did not recoil from her touch as I normally would. She smelled nice and those amazingly firm naked tits under that cosy knitted morning coat had sent my head spinning. And now she sat here across from me, dangling her high-heeled slippers in very enticing fashion. I tried to concentrate on my book and the young damsel in distress, but somehow, even though she was described as young and supple, the heroine in the book could not compete with the woman in the flesh across from me. This woman was after not a fantasy; she was very real and very alluring. I had noticed that her legs were quite nice too – their shape outlined by the texture of her fishnet stockings. She seemed to be totally absorbed in her reading matter; some kind of colourful magazine. As she read on, she seemed to stroke herself. Her long, scarlet fingernails looked like drops of blood against the dark knitted material. She seemed to caress her breasts and – if I was not totally mistaken – even pinch her nipples through the woollen coat. It was hard not to stare. It was also very disturbing when she constantly crossed and uncrossed her legs. From where I sat, I had almost an unrestricted view. Once her hand slid down towards her lap and slipped under her coat. I could feel my cheeks burn when I imagined that she maybe stroked herself down there. Could that be? She still was an old hag in many ways, but an interesting one and also quite sexy, the more I thought about it. A woman an older man would find quite attractive and a woman a young man like me might easily fantasize about. In my thoughts I could see myself kneeling before her starting at her feet... Suddenly she looked at her watch and sprang to her feet as if she was late for some appointment. She left in a rush, and I saw she had forgotten to take her magazine with her. I reached for it and picked it up. It was an erotic magazine about women aged 50+ and young men. On the front there was a picture of a buxom mature woman hugging her soft breasts and captions like: "Ripe and Raunchy Redhead", "Inside: GILF on the Prowl" and "Mature Karen: Bang my Butt". I was shocked! Grabbing the magazine I hastened to my room and spent the rest of the day there, pouring over the magazine, inspecting the pictures and reading every line, including the readers' letters and the ads at the back. As I studied the pictures of ripe and sexy mature women displaying their wares and having sex with men young enough to be their sons, I must admit that my thoughts frequently returned to the owner of the magazine. Was she sending me a not very discreet hint here? I tugged hard at my dick and exploded at the thought. --- I returned early to my secret hide-out the next day. She was not there, and I felt stupid thinking that she would turn up again. But as I had for some time, in vain, tried to engross myself in the story about dungeons and dragons, I heard the sound of high heels tapping on the stone floor. She returned after all! She seated herself across from me just like the day before. She had brought a new magazine and read it intensely – not speaking or looking at me. And, like the day before, she started stroking herself quite openly and unashamedly. Again she stroked and caressed herself for some time, and I wished that it were my hands that were feeling the soft material, stroking the fuzzy fabric and caressing those perky breasts, feeling their shape through the soft fluff and pinching those erect nipples through the thick knitted material. I could see myself hugging her and burying my head between her breasts. I tried to concentrate on my book, but my eyes strayed over to her. I looked at her magazine. The woman on the cover was dressed in sexy lingerie, and I could read the captions "What is your Fetish?", "Aunty gets her Ass Filled" and "Fistfucking Feisty Fiona". My mind reeled. As she read her magazine, her coat fell slightly open and revealed a round breast. Her fingers pinched a nipple, making it stand out, hard and firm. She rolled it between her fingers, twisting it and torturing it. Losing all pretence, I stared intensely, not wishing to lose one bit of the action. Again her hand slipped down towards her lap and under her robe. Looking directly at me, she opened her legs and I could see a curly mass of blond hair. Her fingers disappeared inside the thick blond bush. The middle finger slipped in between swollen labia and came out glistening. She sucked on it loudly and joyfully. Her eyes, outlined in black mascara, locked onto mine. She re-crossed her legs and dangled her shoe as if saying: "Start here!" Mesmerized I slid to the floor and lifted her high-heeled slipper from her foot. I kissed it reverently and smelled the odd mixture of leather, perfume and her feet; an intoxicating mixture for a young man, a mixture I could easily get used to. We both knew that she was in control and that I had to follow her lead. And my humble position there on the floor before her only added to my excitement. It was not just the age difference. I was the puppy dog, and she was my mistress. I wanted to please her in every way I knew how. She held her foot against my cheek, and I kissed it. I stroked her stockinged feet, her legs, working my way up towards her thighs. Instinctively, I knew I should take it slowly, revelling in the experience. The rather rough surface of the fishnet stockings excited me. She had covered herself again, but I knew where I was going. She was only trying to tease me, and she succeeded. I bent forward and buried my face in the soft black knitted coat, inhaling the heady scent of her wet bush underneath. She rested her hands on my head, pushing my down between her soft thighs as she slid down in her seat. It felt so good; the soft wool against my skin and the knowledge that an experienced, mature pussy was inches away. Slowly she pulled the coat away revealing her blond bush. I inched forward, rubbing my cheeks against that soft pillow of bright, tickling growth. She opened her legs wide, welcoming me in. Soft, pink skin revealed itself between two rows of bushy hair, and I stuck out my tongue, gingerly licking my way inside. The smell and the taste were more intense than I had imagined; overpowering, intoxicating. I doubted that she had had her morning shower, but I loved it. I could not get enough. I rubbed my lips against her pussy lips, stroked my cheeks against her fluffy bush and stuck my tongue up her snatch as far as I could reach. I worshipped her pussy for all it was worth – and it was worth a lot to me. This was practically my first experience of this kind and I was determined that it should not be the last. Fuzzy mature pussy must be the best there is. She grabbed her legs behind her knees, jutting out her ass and granting me full access to every part of her crotch, and I licked her from beneath her puckered asshole and all the way up past her stiff clit – over and over again. We could hear voices in the hall outside and doors opening and closing, but both of us were past caring. She tried to stifle her moans, though, when she came. Instead, she pressed my face hard against her crotch, scratching my neck with her long fingernails in the process, and I loved every part of it. --- This time she also left in a hurry, again leaving her tantalizing reading matter behind. I retreated hastily to my room, walking rather awkwardly with a stiff dick in my shorts and trying to hide a colourful magazine behind my shirt. Once I was alone, I wanked slowly, reliving the experience. I did not need any magazine to look at – the images in my mind were more than enough. To be continued... Mature Bliss Ch. 02 Later, though, I studied the magazine closely. The pictures of curvy, mature women were fantastic, but what interested me even more was a long, illustrated and informative article on all kinds of fetishes: anal sex, BDSM, face-sitting, long fingernails, female domination, fisting, latex, leather, mature women and young men, fancy shoes and boots, smoking, stockings and lingerie, and urine sex. It was an extensive list, and there was even a short paragraph about sweater sex. That was right down my street - I love the sight of women in soft, baggy sweaters, and fuzzy legwarmers always turn me on. ***** I never saw her in the afternoon, but she was there again at breakfast the next morning, dressed like the slut I knew her to be; my kind of slut. I did not see her as an old hag anymore, but as an alluring mistress that I would do anything to please. At the buffet, poking her perky breasts into my back, she whispered to me: "Now then, I'm sure you took a peak at my magazines. What are your fetishes? Name three." I blushed and hesitated, but she would not let me go. "Mature women ... eh, and pussy worship ... and well, eh, chunky woollen sweaters, any kind; soft, scratchy, fuzzy..." I whispered back. She smiled at me, knowingly. ***** Later, I waited expectantly at the secluded spot in the winter garden. She was late, and I was all the more pleased to see her when she finally arrived. She wore the same black woollen morning coat, but she let it hang open to reveal a long and fuzzy black sweater underneath, and her legs were covered in brushed mohair legwarmers from her high-heeled slippers to above her knee. With her dark makeup and bleached blond hair she looked unbelievably trashy and sexy. She kept up the pretence that we did not know each other and sat down on the bench opposite mine. I noticed that her magazine had a vintage look in black and white featuring stern looking women disciplining naked, handcuffed men. My dick reacted immediately to the pictures this provoked in my mind. I instantly knew that I would welcome being disciplined by her, crawling before her, if only I was allowed to pay my tribute to her sluttiness and lick her pussy. I tried to play the game too and concentrate on my book, but my eyes were feasting on her. Her long fingernails were painted black today, matching the dark theme in her knitwear. She stroked and caressed herself openly and with obvious pleasure. She even put her magazine down beside her and let both hands follow the contours of her body as she studied it; revelling in the soft, furry texture of several layers of wool, shivering - not from cold, but from pleasure. She performed a super slow teasing show for me. When she finally began to open her legs so that I could glance up under the hem of her black sweater, I could not see any blonde bush. She had donned soft mohair panties, and now she caressed her cunt through the soft material. She played a drawn-out teasing game, opening and closing her legs, stroking her thighs and all the time playing with her pussy covered by the black, furry panties. It was hard for me to see perfectly what was going on, as her crotch was partly covered by the long, baggy sweater, and before I knew it, I was kneeling before her, looking up her legs. Her cheeks flushed as she brought herself to a shaking, shivering high, clasping her hands between her thighs. I tried to touch her, but she kicked me away with her sharp heels, and I sat there as a hungry puppy dog, panting to receive a small treat from my mistress. She just sat there for some time, revelling in the afterglow of her orgasm. Then she rose to her feet, towering above me, and straightened her clothes, tugged her sweater modestly down over her hips, evidently just to prolong things and tease me unbearably. Then she brought her hands up under the hem of her sweater and ever so slowly tugged her woollen panties down. She held them out before me; black, fuzzy and with a shiny wet spot in front. I leant forward and took them gratefully out of her hands and sniffed them, buried my face in them and inhaled the heady scent of her mature pussy. She rubbed them all over my face, spreading the wetness contained in them all over my cheeks. Oh, it was so intoxicating. She sat herself down again, evidently very pleased with my unmistakable show of gratitude. I continued to caress her panties, inhale their strong scent, kiss them, and lick the wet spot. "Take off your T-shirt. You have behaved well, but I need to punish you a bit all the same. Come here." I whipped off my T-shirt and shuffled forward on my knees. Leaning forward she stroked my chest at first lovingly, but then she began to scratch me - long scratches dragging her black talons down and then up again creating a number red, sensitive scratches down my chest. Gradually she concentrated her efforts in the area surrounding my nipples, and then she grasped them between her sharp nails, tore them and twisted them. I was hard not to screech out, but I knew that I was meant to take it. This was a test, and I knew I must not fail. My whole chest was burning when she finally relented. She smiled down at me, overbearingly. I think that she was pleased with me, and I felt so proud. "Now, take off those ugly shorts. Strip yourself naked for me." Without hesitating I tore off the rest of my clothes. It was a bit difficult, because she prevented me from getting up - I had to stay on my knees. She liked me there, on the floor below her, so that she could look down at me. Again she rose and slipped her soft, knitted morning coat off her shoulders and put it around me. I wrapped myself up in it, marvelling at the soft feeling and how nice and cosy it felt. I stroked it and admired it. It felt so good on my naked skin. It also tickled and itched my sensitive, scratched chest, however, but that only added to the fuzzy feeling. "Thank you," I said gratefully. "I love your legwarmers, mistress. Can I touch them?" "Be still. You are not to speak. Now, I want you to take your time and worship my feet, my legs, my thighs and then finally, finally - worship my eager, mature, well-used, wet and slippery pussy. To grind your face into my splayed-out cunt as if you wanted to crawl into my womb. I want you to savour my pussy juices; to lick and suck and with your fingers, your lips and your tongue give me that superior orgasm only a young, dutiful slave-boy can give. And as you do so, I want you to imagine all the kinds of weird sex acts this puffy, sloppy, wet and willing cunt has experienced over the years, the fingers that have explored it, the stiff dicks that have hammered it and the tongues that have worshipped it. I know I will." She arranged herself comfortably on the padded bench, and I did as she had instructed me - starting at her feet. When I from time to time glanced up between legs, I could see her wet and glistening blond bush - the objective I intended to reach and conquer. I loved her legwarmers. The brushed mohair felt so lovely to touch, and I brushed my cheeks against her legs in adoring fashion. I spent so much time worshipping her feet and legs that she became rather impatient and lifted her legs in the air. That put her ass cheeks and the crack between them right before my eyes, and for a considerable amount of time I concentrated on worshipping her ass and slowly licking my way towards her hairy pussy. She opened her legs eagerly and let me proceed. Her wet pussy was nearly overflowing with cunt juice, and I licked it all up, savouring the taste, rubbing my face against her puffy, swollen lips. She used her fingers to open her pussy for my exploring tongue, and she was right; I definitely would have wanted to crawl inside her if only I had been able to. Instead I had to be content with exploring every fold, every nook and cranny with my tongue and my fingers. She twisted and turned in response. Her old pussy was pliable, plowable, open for my fingers, and I used both hands to widen it further for my sensitive tongue. I tried to see how many fingers I could push inside. My whole hand minus my thumb slid easily inside, and as I stimulated her with a sawing motion in and out, I searched for and found her sensitive clit with the tip of my tongue. She was twisting and turning, panting frantically with as she dug her pointed fingernails into my neck. Her bushy, wiry pussy hair was all wet with a mixture of pussy juice and saliva, and I buried my face in the sloppy, pungent mess. I folded my thumb down to push it inside also, and suddenly my whole hand slipped inside her sloppy, soggy pussy. I could feel her muscles gripping my hand as I slowly twisted it inside her body. When I tried to pull my fist out, I admired how her pussy lips wrapped themselves around my wrist as if she was trying to suck my fist back inside. Fisting her in a regular thrusting motion I again buried my face in her hairy bush. She went practically wild and clamped my head between her thighs, shaking and shuddering. I was nearly out of air when she relaxed again, letting the tide roll back. She gripped my arm firmly with both hands and slowly drew me out of her. It had been an unforgettable experience, but I felt just as frustrated as she felt relieved. My stiff dick pointed directly at her as she licked the pussy cream off my hand and fingers. She messed with my mind. I was so full of desire and lust, and she did not release me. Instead she asked to have her coat back and wrapped herself contently in it. She bent down towards me and whispered her room number in my ear. "Come to my room after lunch. You can keep my panties for now. I am sure you can find some practical use for them. But bring me my magazines back. You won't be sorry..." Mature Bliss Ch. 03 My family had planned to be at the beach all day, but on my way to lunch I saw them in the lobby. My mother and my stepfather were clearly arguing, talking through clenched teeth in order not to scare the children or make a public scene, but my small stepsisters looked pretty sad and miserable all the same, and I think my mother had been crying, for her eyes were red. I pretended not to have seen them. I had other, more important matters on my mind; more mature pussy. Soon after lunch I found my way to my mistress' room and knocked eagerly on her door. When she opened the door, she exclaimed: "Oh shit, it's you." Not exactly the welcome I was hoping for. "Sorry, but there's been a minor emergency and I was expecting someone else. We have to postpone our little get-together until tomorrow. I will make it up to you," she explained, trying to turn me around and push me off. But I just stood there – very confused and very unhappy. Expecting someone else? Who? Why? I knew we were not lovers in the true sense of the word; we were not romantically involved – we were exploring the sexual side of ourselves. But I still thought we had something special; that I could give her some satisfaction she could not get anywhere else, and that she gave me an experience I sorely needed and hungrily sought for. I was flabbergasted and rooted to the spot. And she looked so tasty, still in her long fluffy sweater and legwarmers and her long knitted coat hanging partially open. I wanted to embrace her and feel her. The way she stood there, leaning against the door post and backlit from the window behind her, she looked so whorish, like the perfect slut, promising no end of sexual favours. She looked at her watch with exasperation and glanced up and down the corridor. "Oh, don't just stand there!" She grabbed my arm and pulled me inside forcefully. "I'm expecting company any minute. Hide in my wardrobe and, please, don't make a sound and don't peep. You will be very sorry if you do!" she admonished me. I hurriedly crept inside, stepping over shoes and boxes and making a space for myself between soft coats and dresses. Just as she shut the wardrobe door on me, I could hear a series of knocks. When she opened the door to the corridor, the wardrobe door clicked slightly open by itself, and I had a clear view of one side of her bed and the space next to it. I did not dare to move. I also heard a pleading and exasperated voice – a male voice belonging to someone I knew; my stepfather! He was begging her for something – for sexual gratification, but also to be released, or so it sounded. My mistress was standing with her back to me, but I heard that she referred to some previous pecuniary arrangement and received a little stack of bills from my father. When he said something more in an insistent voice, she slapped him – hard. He sank to his knees, and from the look of it she opened her coat and ordered him to make amends for his bad behaviour. He was to worship her legs starting at her feet. I could see him crawling on the floor before this woman he previously had shaken his head over in disbelief; the woman I had heard him denounce as a total slut. But now he was totally meek and compliant, crawling before her and kissing her feet; a puppy dog seeking favours from his mistress. I heard him plead with her, but she was unyielding. She expected him to worship her legs, and I could see him touching her soft legwarmers, letting his hands float gingerly over the soft fuzz and feel his way upwards towards her knees and thighs. She ordered him to worship pussy, and I could see his hands grabbing her thighs and from the motions of her hips it was evident that he was eating her out with great fervour, and that she was grinding her crotch all over his upturned face. They continued like this for a considerable length of time, she moving slightly to give him better access. She put one foot up on the bed, so that he could lick her from her ass to her navel and back. I could see that he loved it and that he must have done exactly this many times before. It suddenly dawned on me that my self-righteous and moralistically superior stepfather was this woman's pussy slave! My view was somewhat restricted, but I could clearly hear that she put a stop to his pleading with a few strokes with a riding crop. She ordered him to stop his whining and remove all his clothes. He was to stand before her – naked and with his hands behind his back. I had once overheard my mother brag to some of her friends that my stepfather was well-hung, but his cock did not seem impressive to me. Then I saw that it was restrained in a plastic cage, making it impossible for him to get a proper erection. It looked very uncomfortable in it, and he groaned when she placed herself behind him and wrapped him in her soft mohair coat, rubbing her soft sweater against his back. She caressed him gently and surrounded his naked body with soft, furry wool. She covered his face with her fuzzy sleeves and let her wool-clad arms slide down his front. Gingerly she scratched him down his chest, tickled him and let her hands roam all over his body. It was obvious that he loved the soft sensation, but also that his swelling dick inside its small cage caused him considerable pain. I squirmed myself in dark hiding place, for I wanted sorely to be caressed like that by her – without the dick-cage, of course. He begged her to release him from the dick-cage; to be let free of his restraints. He said the sharp points inside it hurt him cruelly, especially when he became aroused, as he was now. He confessed that his wife had wanted to have sex with him and found him restricted and restrained in this torture device. She had then learned all about his affair with his mature mistress, his shame and humiliation. He blurted out that his wife threatened him with divorce, and that their affair had to come to an end. My mistress reacted instantly and whipped him with the riding crop telling him to be quiet – she was about to be rather tired of his pleading and whining. The dick-cage was good for him, she told him, teaching him the special pleasures to be got from abstinence and self-restraint. His cum-sack must be pretty well filled by now, and it was time for his milking session, wasn't it? With an air of submission, but also of anticipation, he lay meekly down on his back on her bed. I heard rather than saw that she climbed into bed with him and placed herself on his face. I could see her hands moving down over his midriff, her fingernails digging into his skin, moving slowly towards his crotch. At the same time I heard slurping noises from his tongue lapping up cunt juices flowing freely from her greedy pussy. I knew myself how wet and slippery she could get. Now she was riding his face, adding both to his pleasure and to his humiliation. He was putty in her hands. Using a small key she carefully unlocked the dick-cage and released his cock. In almost no time it sprang to life and jutted proudly upwards. Using an oily cream she began to massage him in long, strong strokes. He began to move his hips, thrusting up and meeting her movement in similar rhythm, trying to gain the longed-for satisfaction, but she restrained him with her sharp nails. She urged him to let her set the pace. He must have been locked up for days, because he was so excited and so eager, but she prolonged the procedure deliberately, controlling his erection with a combination of soft, gentle strokes and painful scratches. She obviously liked him to twist and squirm under her, absolutely in her power. She asked him if he wanted her to follow the usual procedure, and when she briefly lifted her crotch off his face, he almost shouted his approval. Slowly she got out of bed and rummaged in a drawer. I saw her put on a harness around her waist and attaching a long, black dildo to it – a mean and savage looking strap-on. Grabbing his legs by the ankles, she placed the tip of the big plastic dong in the crack between his ass cheeks and plunged the black fake dick deep inside him. He shouted out, twisted and squirmed, but judging by his stiff dick it was obvious that he was used to it, welcomed it and fully enjoyed it. In my secluded spot I was shocked, disgusted with my stepfather, but also very aroused. I wondered what it would feel like. It was certainly very erotic to watch. I was torn between a strong feeling of jealousy and intense sexual excitement. One soft coat had come off its hanger and fallen into my lap, and I hugged it and used it to caress my cheeks and my neck, still with my eyes glued to the strange scenario before me: my uptight stepfather being drilled in the ass by a mature slut and loving it, begging for it. Taking it very slowly at first, she concentrated on gradually increasing the length of the strokes. Soon she was maintaining a steady rhythm. At last, she grabbed his cock and started to simultaneously jerk him off. He twisted and turned and egged her on. It did not take long before his whole body stiffened. Great loads of semen spurted out of the tip of his cock and plastered his stomach and chest. He lay there, whimpering, almost in tears over the blissful feeling of the longed for release and ultimate satisfaction, finally fully content. Before he registered what was happening, she swiftly re-applied the dick-cage to his rapidly wilting cock. When he noticed what she had done, he protested vehemently, but she was not to be persuaded. He was to wear his cock-harness "until next time, as ultimately agreed". He cursed her with a string of profanity I had never heard him use before, but she just laughed at him, threw his clothes in his direction and with a few final strokes with the riding crop ordered him to leave. She was just sticking to their agreement, she told him, and he had wanted "the usual procedure". --- The moment the door closed after him, I stumbled out of the wardrobe. I tripped over some shoes and fell on the floor, covered in a heap of soft coats and sweaters. My mistress grinned. She had removed her strap-on, but she still had the riding crop in her hand. From my low vantage point she still looked quite menacing. I had just observed a very dominant and brutal side to her that I had not known about before, and that scared me. What scared me even more was that I found it strangely and strongly arousing, too. "You peeping tom! Didn't I tell you not to peep!?" "I'm sorry – the door cracked open all by itself..." "Silent! Clothes off! Now!" I tried to get up, but she put her high-heeled shoe on my chest, pushing me down, hurting me with her sharp stiletto. Twisting and turning I soon lay naked on a bed of wool – a stiff dick pointing obscenely straight at her. She slowly removed her fuzzy morning coat and drew it over me, also covering my face. It was so warm and cosy. Through the knitted mesh I could just glimpse the shape of her legs as she straddled my face and ever so slowly sat down, covering my face with her soft buttocks. Leaning on my chest, she started to rub her crotch gently against my mohair-covered face. I moved my mouth about, searching for her pussy, trying to match her movements. Strong-scented wetness seeped through the wool, making my face wet with pussy juice. Her weight became heavier and her movements faster, more intense. Soon she was grinding her crotch hard against my face. I writhed and squirmed, loving my soft bed and her grinding pussy, but also struggled to get a breath of air. Suddenly she stopped, lifted her ass off my face and asked me if I was all right. I answered by lifting my face up into her ass crack, grabbing her by the hips and pulling her down again, spurring her on. She responded by resting the full weight of her ripe body on my face and performing wild gyrations with her hips on my upturned mouth. I think I loved it fully as much as she did. When she ultimately came, her coat and my face were a wet, sloppy mess, just like her lovely mature pussy. I nearly suffocated, and when she leaned forward, allowing me to fill my lungs again, I relished the heady scent of her wet crotch. Satisfied herself, she concentrated her focus on my stiff member, covered in soft, fuzzy wool. She kneaded it, stroked it and scratched it with the tips of her long fingernails, only rubbing my face gently with her pussy in a faint memory of her recent orgasm. I loved being surrounded by wool, every inch of my body being sensitive to the soft sensation of woolly fibres nuzzling my naked skin. I tried to hold back in order to prolong the extraordinary, pleasurable feeling, but it was impossible, and inevitably I was soiling her coat with a series of hard spurts of sperm. --- Afterwards, she wanted to send me away, but I reason with her. I told her that her relationship with my stepfather had come as a profound shock. I admitted that I felt threatened by it – that I sorely need assurance. I nearly blurted out that I loved her, but instinctively I knew that would not be wise. However, I did say that I needed her and could not stand the thought of leaving her. Somehow I persuaded her to let me stay, and that night I shared her bed. Not as an equal, mind you, but as a subservient young man worshipping a deserving mature woman. I slept in the foot end of the bed, falling asleep between her legs, hugging them and stroking them, resting my head on her thighs ...