10 comments/ 112846 views/ 12 favorites Miss Jameson By: reminnes My name's Jim; I'm 34, 6 foot, average build and looks, single, footloose and fancy-free. I'm a doctor – specialising in orthopaedics in a private clinic in London. I drive a black Mercedes SL55 AMG sports car, and own my own flat in a block in an upscale area of South West London. In short, I'm doing OK. If you had asked me on Friday when I came home from work I would have described my home and neighbours as follows: Although they are of widely differing ages, the other occupants of the block I live in all have one thing in common – they're all well-off financially. Some are nice and friendly, and always smile or stop to pass the time of day whenever our paths cross; one or two even invite me to the occasional dinner parties or social gatherings. Some, on the other hand are not. Unfortunately, I live next door to one of those not-so-nice people - a spinster, Miss Jameson, and I have to emphasize the MISS. If anyone ever addresses her as anything other than by her correct title, does she give them a telling off! I'm not sure, but I don't think anyone many people even knew her first name. Miss Jameson always wears her silver-grey hair up in a tight bun, a fierce looking set of pins and combs holding it all in place – and woe betide any errant hairs that decide to stray. I have also never seen her dressed in anything other than a frilly white, loose-fitting blouse, which is always buttoned up to the collar, and a mid-shin length black, pleated skirt. This ensemble is complemented by what look like thick black tights and a sensible pair of sturdy shoes. From this you may get the impression she is one of those thin-faced, anaemic looking women who are all skin and bone topped off by a sour looking, unattractive and severe face. Far from it; she seems to be well put together in a mature, middle-aged kind of way – big chest, well-padded hips and arse, and sturdy legs – although it's difficult to be sure because she always wears the loose-fitting clothes described above and, frankly, I've never been that interested. I would put her age at around mid 50s. She is also reasonably attractive and, rumour has it, has even been seen to laugh although, for reasons known only to her, she does seem to always give me stern, disapproving looks whenever our paths cross. As I said earlier that's how I would have described my home environment before last weekend. Not any more............... Having returned home from the clinic at around 6pm, I had the usual shower and was just finishing getting dressed while mentally planning my weekend, when the phone rang. Little did I know that picking it up would change all my preconceived ideas about life in the suburbs. "Hello?" I said into the mouthpiece. "Dr. Roberts?" "Yes." "Hermione Jameson here. I wonder if I could trouble you for a moment of your time?" She asked hesitantly, in a tremulous and painful sounding way. Hermione? "What seems to be the trouble, Miss Jameson?" I responded. "Well... I seem to have slipped and damaged myself, and am having some discomfort when I move. I wonder if I could prevail upon you to pop round for a moment or two." Thinking I'd only be a few minutes giving her a quick check up I said that I'd be right there. Slipping my feet into some casual shoes I checked to make sure I was presentable (zipped up chinos), grabbed my flat keys and my medical bag, and made the 3 second trip to next door. As I was about to ring the bell the door was opened by another of my neighbours, Mrs. Williams a widow, who is a retired school teacher. "Good of you to come so quickly Doctor; this way, " she gushed, leading straight to the master bedroom, where Miss Jameson lay on the bed, still fully clothed in her usual attire, minus her shoes. "Hello, Miss Jameson, what seems to be the problem?" I said. Grimacing, she replied that she had slipped on the bare tiles in the kitchen, and now had a serious pain in her side and down her right leg. "OK, I said. "I'm going to have to examine you thoroughly. You could easily have damaged your back, thighs or legs. This will probably take a while. Do you want Mrs. Williams to stay while I check, as it's usual to have a female nurse present when I examine ladies?" "Oh, I am sure everything will be alright," she replied. "Thank you for your help Betty, I'll talk to you tomorrow." As Mrs. Williams made her departure, I asked Miss Jameson if she could stand. She did so, but visibly seemed to be in pain, so I told her to lay back on the bed. Moving to her bedside I said that I was going to have to loosen her clothing to check for damage. As I pulled her blouse out from her skirt I noticed she had on a silken camisole. This too was pulled from the waistband of her skirt. For the next couple of minutes or so I thoroughly checked her back for signs of major problems and, apart from a slight swelling in her right side where a small bruise was developing, the only remarkable thing I noticed was that she had amazingly soft and smooth skin – a highly surprising fact for a woman of her age. Running my hands gently over her thighs and buttocks on the outside of her clothes I identified another couple of areas where she winced in pain. "I'm sorry Miss Jameson," I said. "I'm going to have to examine your thighs more closely." Nodding her acquiescence, I proceeded to push her skirt up, exposing her thighs as I began to check for any damage in this area. Imagine my surprise when, instead of thick tights which I believed she always wore, my hands slipped smoothly up sheer silky stockings to the bare skin at the top. Hiding my surprise at this revelation, I slowly examined the outside and back of each thigh and was relieved to find that although painful, it appeared she had only suffered bruising. "Well, Miss Jameson, it appears you've been very fortunate," I said. "I don't think you've suffered any major damage – some bruising to your back and lower spine plus further bruising to the upper front and side of your right leg. I know it hurts, but I have some ointment in my bag which will bring out the bruising, and should help take away the pain." Opening a tube I extracted from my bag, I applied some cream to her bruised side. "To have maximum and prompt effect this needs to be massaged in gently for a while," I said. "Would you like me to do this, or would you prefer to do it yourself?" "Oh no Doctor," she murmured softly, (and uncharacteristically). "Please carry on." So I continued to rub the ointment in for a few minutes until it had all been absorbed, and she visibly began to relax. "OK?" I asked, when I had finished in that area. "Thank you," she replied. "It feels less painful already." "OK. Now Miss Jameson, I need to push your skirt completely out of the way while I apply some cream to the top of your leg. Also, we need to leave the areas uncovered for a few minutes, otherwise the cream may stain your clothes. Would you like me to find a towel so that you can preserve your modesty?" "No," she said, surprisingly. "After all, you are a doctor." As I pushed her skirt completely up and away from the bruising I was starting to have distinctly un-doctor like thoughts. She had beautiful legs and thighs, made even more appealing by the softness of her skin, and the fact that they were encased in silk stockings. Her white knickers even looked like silk. As I began to massage ointment into her upper thigh she groaned – in pain, I thought, stopping to ask her if she was OK. "No," she replied. "I'm fine, please carry on." As I began again I noticed that she was breathing rather heavily - her chest was rising and falling quite markedly. At the same time I noticed a distinctly musky female odour. I also spotted a damp patch beginning to spread out from the V of her knickers, and a large protuberance pushing out from the top of her pubic region. "Bloody Hell!", I thought. She's getting turned on by all this. Now I was really torn in two minds. Professional etiquette and ethics demanded that I defused this situation immediately. On the other hand, here was the previously unfriendly Ice Spinster showing signs of humanity; not only that, she was beginning to turn me on as well. So, deciding that a I could get away with a little more fun I continued to massage her upper thigh – only now I was doing it in a slightly more provocatively sensual manner. After a couple more minutes her breathing was becoming quite ragged, and she was gripping the bed cover quite forcibly with both hands spread out. The wet patch in her knickers was now very pronounced, and what could only be described as a monster clit was very well outlined. Good God, I thought. If she gets this worked up with a bit of massaging what's the real thing like? Rearranging her legs so I could finish off massaging the bruising on the front of her thigh I accidentally, (honestly), ran the back of my hand over her very prominent clit. That's all it took.... With a very large, long drawn out "OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH...!" she shuddered into a huge orgasm. Her whole body seemed to vibrate, and she fell into a faint. Leaving her briefly I went to her kitchen and soon returned with a glass of water, just as her eyelids began to flutter open. Thinking of the potential trouble I could get into if she took what had just happened the wrong way, I handed her the glass of water with a couple of pain killers and said, in my most professional voice, "take these, they will ease any residual pain, and should also help you to get a good night's sleep." After she had obediently swallowed the pills she looked me straight in the eye and said, in a small voice, "What just happened to me?" "Oh that," I replied, quite nonchalantly. "I think you may have had a small orgasm." "It's quite a common occurrence," I quickly added. "Especially after prolonged massage in a delicate area". In a bemused voice she replied, "There's nothing common about that sensation. I've never experienced such a concentrated sensation in my life." "Really?", I replied, genuinely quite surprised. Risking it further I continued, "I know you insist on being called Miss, but have you never experienced any sexual stimulation before?" After pondering for a few moments, she gazed directly at me, then replied, "Well.. I was once engaged to be married. He convinced me to try various sexual activities before we were married, all of which I found extremely painful and unrewarding." "How long did this go on for?" I enquired, now becoming interested in her story. "Several months. Then he seemed to lose interest, and eventually he broke off our engagement. Frankly I was quite relieved," She added. "The thought of enduring such physical abuse for the rest of my life was extremely horrifying." "Physical abuse? And you've never.." "Never been near or with a man since," she finished off. "So this was a first then?" "First what?" "This was your first orgasm induced by a man?" "First ever, FULL STOP.!" she replied. "I have never believed in self-abuse, so I certainly have never induced such a feeling myself. And after my experiences with Ronald, my erstwhile fiancée, I have never again allowed myself to be influenced, coerced or seduced by a male ... until now", she added somewhat wistfully. "I'm sorry if..." I began. "..Oh No," she interjected. "It was the most beautiful sensation I have ever felt. Please don't apologise. If I never experience it again I will always thank you for showing me what could have been." "What do you mean "..could have been", I replied. "Well.. If you caused this reaction by accident, I'm sure you would not wish to do it again deliberately, especially with an old harridan like me," she said. Surprising myself I replied, "Don't be silly, Miss Jameson. You are a very attractive lady under your camouflage. I would be honoured and extremely delighted to repeat the dose... and more." "You would?" She cried, in amazement. "Stay just where you are," I replied. "I must go and drop off my medical bag back to my flat. That will signify the end of my Doctor's visit. Can't have medical ethics rearing its ugly head, can we? I'll be right back." Inside a minute I was back gazing at this mature lady who was still lying on her bed in the exact pose I had left her, looking slightly apprehensive, but determined at the same time. "Right, " I said. "Let's continue the massage, shall we?" For the next few minutes I massaged and caressed all over her back, sides and stomach, carefully staying away from any overtly sexual areas. When she seemed sufficiently relaxed, I began caressing her thighs, alternately switching from left to right, passing high on her pelvic region each time. Gradually the room was filled with the musky scent of her as she grew more aroused. This time, instead of accidentally rubbing her clit, I surreptitiously pulled her gusset to one side – not an easy feat considering the fact that it was absolutely soaked and was clinging to her mons. This revealed a beautiful pink slit, tightly closed but oozing a whitish creamy liquid. The whole nestled in a tight bed of light grey-brown silky curls. Protruding from this was the largest clit I have ever seen. As it was stiff and seemed very eager, I just had to sample this. So, leaning forward I delicately circled my tongue around it. Within a micro second her hands had seemingly nailed my head to her, and she exploded into an amazing, quivering eruption. Yet again she seemed to faint clean away, allowing me the opportunity to get some air. Leaning back slightly I had time to enjoy her wonderful taste more, as I licked my lips. With a groan Miss Jameson slowly returned to consciousness. "My God, " she murmured. "What did you do then? That was even more intense than the first time." "That, my Dear Miss Jameson, was oral sex. I used my tongue to stimulate that marvellous clitoris you have been blessed with." "Oral sex – Never!" she cried. "When I had my monthly periods Ronald used to stick his thing in my mouth and make me swallow his gooey stuff – he called THAT oral sex!" "Make you?" "Yes. Whenever it was THAT time of the month and he wasn't able to use my vagina, he'd either make me use my mouth, or stick it up my backside," she finished, blushing furiously. "So he made you perform oral and anal sex for him. What did he do for you?" "Nothing," she lamented. "I have had more sexual enjoyment this evening than I have ever had in the rest of my life put together." "The things he forced you to do can be such wonderful acts, Miss Jameson. BUT, there should only be one rule in the bedroom: If you both enjoy a particular activity, or you want to please your partner, do it. If not – DON'T!" "What do you mean?" she replied intently. "Quite simply, Hermione: I want to make love to you. My penis, or prick, or cock, or dick as it is usually called these days, has been achingly erect for ages now. I have leaked what seems like pints of pre-cum into my pants... BUT....? "But what..?" "But until I judge that you are ready to engage in sexual intercourse, I have no intention of forcing myself on you. Anyway", I continued. "I'm having so much fun, turning you on, it's a stimulation in itself." "Turning me on?" she queried. "Yes, that's the current terminology for arousal." "How can that be stimulation in itself?" she asked. "Well," I replied. "There are basically two types of sexual activity – selfish and giving. If you are selfish all you are interested in is your own gratification..." "Like Ronald?" she interjected. "Yes, I would imagine so" I replied. "Once the selfish person has achieved their own orgasm they lose interest in their partner, and usually make excuses to be up and away." "That was Ronald," she murmured. "Always found reasons to be off once he had finished." "And then there's giving or mutual sex," I continued. "This is where each partner is in tune to the other's needs. One day you may want quick hard sex with no foreplay... the next you may both want to spend hours just toying with each other. The simple act of being the instrument of your partner achieving absolute pleasure may be as rewarding as actually having an orgasm, or more than one." "Oh.. and the types of sex?" "Well, we've already established that you love being orally stimulated, haven't we?" "Yes," she blushingly replied. "So what else do you think you may enjoy?" I smilingly quipped. "I don't know," she replied after a moment's thought. "I never ever expected I would experience what has happened tonight. So, providing you are sincere when you say that all one has to do is say "no" to stop any perceived unpleasantness then I suppose I really want to catch up on lost opportunities and time." "Meaning...?" "Well... With Ronald I was subjected to conventional sex in many contrived positions, and whilst wearing various different costumes. I also endured him using my anus and my mouth for his own release. So, provided you are patient and tolerant, I have no taboos. I just sincerely hope you can show me the delights of sex." "You have my word, that no harm will befall you, dear lady," I replied, taking her hand in mine. "So," I continued, lightening the mood. "Would you like more tonight, or would you like me to go away so you can reflect on events?" "This may appear very selfish," she murmured. "But I am totally overwhelmed by the events of tonight. I wonder if we could stop here and continue this next week... That is, if you want to. She added, hopefully. Even though I was suffering a major case of Lover's Nuts, I manfully said "of course.. but next week?" "I have to go to my sister's in the country for the weekend," she replied. "But, I really do look forward to continuing where we left off when we next meet". Looking at her laying there, confused but happy, I leant down, kissed her briefly and took my leave. Miss Jameson Ch. 02 (Although this story stands alone it does briefly refer to the first instalment (Miss Jameson)) * My name's Jim; I'm 34, 6 foot, average build and looks, single, footloose and fancy-free. I'm a doctor – specialising in orthopaedics in a private clinic in London. I drive a black Mercedes SL55 AMG sports car, and own my own flat in a block in an upscale area of South West London. The only downside to where I lived (I thought) was that all my neighbours were considerably older than me – ages ranging from late 40s to around the 70+ mark. After the revelation of Miss Jameson's latent sexuality on Friday evening I wondered which of my "mature " neighbours was also not quite as demure as she seemed.... I did not have long to wait. The Saturday in question was a day off. So, having turned off the alarm the night before I slowly emerged into consciousness, stirred by a persistent noise. Glaring bleary-eyed at the bedside clock I saw that it was around 9.00 am, and that the noise in question was the phone. Fumbling it off the hook I murmured a hoarse greeting into the speaker. "Doctor Jim?", said this bright, vaguely familiar voice. "Betty Williams here. I was wondering if I could ask a favour?" "mmm....." "Well, I have this pain in my lower abdomen and, rather than call out my doctor, I wondered if you could give me a quick diagnosis." "What the... ," I thought. But, rapidly gaining consciousness I said, "Ok, Mrs. Williams. Give me an hour or so to get myself sorted out, and I'll come to you. Which flat is yours?" "Number 6, upstairs", she replied. "See you then". As I showered and generally got moving, my mind mulled over these sudden calls on my professional services. Miss Jameson was obviously in need of help yesterday, but this was not something I wanted to become a habit. My private time is very precious to me, so I decided to make Mrs. Williams aware of the fact that this would be a one-off favour. Now, I knew little about Mrs. Williams except for the fact that she is a friend of Miss Jameson, has "pepper and salt hair" black and white streaked hair, is about 5ft 5", late-middle aged - say around 60, has a typically chubby middle aged figure - huge chest and counter-balancing arse. She always seems to dress well and seems to have a friendly face and disposition. As I rang her door bell just after 10 o'clock I was hoping this would be a quick call so I could get on with my weekend. Immediately, the door was opened, and a grim faced Mrs. Williams answered the door. "Thank you for coming, Doctor," she muttered. "This way", she continued, turning and hobbling painfully into her living room. "Now where exactly is the pain," I enquired. "Just here," she replied touching the lower right side of her abdomen. Sitting down I eased her towards me and said, "OK, I need to examine you. This may be slightly painful." Gently probing the area, she winced and drew a few sharp breaths. When I had finished I asked her if she still had her appendix. "Yes," she said. "Well, I will need to conduct a DRE to see if your appendix is inflamed". "DRE?" "Digital Rectal Examination. Do you want someone to be present, to ensure maintenance of professional standards? "No, that's quite alright", she replied quickly. "OK." I said. "I'm sorry but I need you to find somewhere comfortable where you can bend over, and I can conduct my examination properly." Turning round she said, "will here be OK?", and proceeded to bend forward over a settee. "Hang on a minute, Mrs. Williams. I need to get some lubricant." "That's OK Doctor," she replied. "There's some Vaseline on the table by you." Surprised by this, but not reading anything into it, I donned a pair of thin latex gloves and opened the lubricant jar, and liberally smeared some on my index finger. "Ok, Mrs. Williams. Here we go," I said, lifting up her dress. "This may be slightly uncomfortable, but I'll be as quick as I can." Once again I was surprised; this time I found that her chubby thighs were encased in sheer stockings, which were held up by a black suspender belt, and that she had already removed her knickers. Was she expecting this I began to wonder? The two large globes of her buttocks parted neatly to reveal the clean little rosebud of her arse. Pressing forward my finger slid very easily straight in up to the knuckle. "How's that, Mrs. Williams?" I asked solicitously. "Not too uncomfortable?" Seemingly slightly out of breath, she responded, "No, it's fine Doctor. Do carry on." Pressing on I soon had virtually all my finger buried up her arse. As I began to wiggle it about, searching for the inflamed appendix her groans and sighs became more pronounced. Not finding any evidence of a problematic appendix I withdrew my finger, to yet another sigh from my patient. Was that a sigh of disappointment, I wondered. Or were my ears deceiving me? Standing back a way to mull over the findings I began to smell the unmistakeable aroma of a woman in heat. "Have you finished, Doctor Jim," she asked somewhat disappointedly, while still bending over. Finally realising that this was a set up, I replied, "Not yet, Mrs. Williams." Smearing lubricant over a second finger I pressed lightly on her back to keep her in the same position, then eased both fingers up her arse. Spreading her legs even further apart, she openly began to move her arse up and down on my fingers. Pulling out with a loud "plop" I said, "Won't be a minute Mrs. Williams. Must pop back to the flat. Stay exactly where you are, please." With that I grabbed my bag, raced out the door, down the stairs to my flat, flung open the door and dropped my medical bag inside. After shutting the door, I took my time going back up the stairs thinking that the old John Thomas was going to get some action this weekend after all. Arriving back at Flat 6 I walked in to find Mrs. Williams still bent over the settee, with her skirt pulled up and her full cheeks still openly on display. "There you are, Doctor Jim," she said. "Why did you have to rush off?" "Well Betty, I'm now off the clock, so to speak. So it's time for an anal invasion of a different kind". "Oh good", she said wiggling her arse in a most provocative way as she got more comfortable. "I'm ready, no need to add any more Vaseline." So, unzipping my chinos, I pulled out old John Thomas, who was throbbing at attention, slid forward, and with a single glide slid balls deep up her grasping arse. "Wonderful," she cried. "I just knew you'd do me right. As hard and fast as you like Doctor Jim. I'll be right there with you." After what seemed like only a few frantic strokes, I felt the familiar tightening of my nuts, and promptly unleashed jet after jet of scalding cum into her bowels, just as she grunted and yelled out that she was cumming too. Eventually, shrivelled and shrunken, my dick plopped out of her gaping arse. Pulling back I could see strands of my spunk begin to dribble out and run down her thighs. With a big sigh she straightened up, turned round and, seeing some cum pooled on the end of my dick, bent down and sucked him clean. Looking up at me she grinned and said, " Lovely hors d'oeuvres, Doctor Jim. When can I have the main course?" "And what might you want for the main course?" I replied, smiling. "Ooh," she said. "I can be a really naughty bitch..." (Which surprised me) ".... As you have already felt, I love a good hot stiff dick up my arse. But, basically, you can do whatever you want with me and to me." "And I mean anything!" She confirmed. "I haven't had a good shagging for years.. began to wonder if it was ever going to happen again. People think that, just because we're getting on, us mature ladies don't want sex anymore. That's rubbish," she continued. "It is now accepted fact that women in their 70s still like sex – some of them just take longer to warm up." "Really?" I said. "This is not my field, so I wouldn't really know." "Well," she continued. "Until I became widowed I used to make my Bert shag me every which way he could at least 5 or 6 times a week. When he became ill I used to make use of anyone who was willing. Lucky I didn't catch anything nasty really. After he died, I seemed to lose interest. But lately I have been desperate for a good poking. If I promise to be good... or REALLY bad, will you give me a good seeing to again, please? I'm game for anything your heart desires..." "Not a problem, Betty. If the main course is as good as the starter I'll be bashing your door down regularly" "Lovely," she replied. " Do you know you've been the topic of many a ladies bridge night; and I know at least five or six matrons in this block who would drop their drawers in a flash for you. I thought I'd be first and try the old appendix exam trick on you ... and I'm glad it worked" Before I could remark on this revelation she leant forward and ingested, for that's what it seemed like, ingested my dick, which soon regained its former glory, and stood proudly to attention. Leaning back with a smirk, she said," I meant what I said – anything. Now that he's awake again where shall we put him?" "Did you like my tight arse? Would you like to do that again? Or shall we be a little more conventional this time, and stick him up here?" "Here" was her sopping wet gaping hole, from which she pulled 2 very wet chubby fingers. Licking her fingers dry, she said, "You have awoken the beast Doc. You really do need to get down here and fuck me stupid." So I did. As I staggered back to my flat a couple of hours later, I wondered what exactly I had let myself in for. To be continued .... Maybe * (Once again many thanks to those Literotica readers who have been kind enough to send me some really lovely emails regarding my stories. As I have said before, these are really just the ramblings of someone who has delighted in the more mature figure whenever the opportunity has arisen.. This has doubtless been influenced by the fact that the first three women I had sex with when I was a teenager were all in their 40s and fifties.. and my first proper BJ was from a woman in her 60s... ahh, those were the days.) RI Miss Jameson Ch. 03 For the first time since I began writing these rambling tales I have had an accomplice. So, for her keen editorial eye and assistance, insight and all-round general support and encouragement, I dedicate this story to my new friend T., in Kentucky, USA. ----- This story is copyright Rem Innes ©MMVI, and may not be reproduced without explicit written permission. ----- (Although this story stands alone it does briefly refer to the first two instalments of Miss Jameson) ----- My name's Jim; I'm 34, 6 foot, average build and looks, single, footloose and fancy-free. I'm a doctor – specialising in orthopaedics in a private clinic in London. I drive a black Mercedes SL55 AMG sports car, and own my own flat in a block in an upmarket area of South West London. After the revelation of Miss Jameson's latent sexuality on Friday evening, and the interlude with her friend Betty Williams, I was eager to continue this voyage of discovery with older women in general, and Miss Jameson in particular. Having a really hectic working week and late nights at the clinic, I neither saw nor heard from any of my neighbours until the following Thursday. Arriving home late again, I opened my flat door and was confronted by the usual pile of correspondence. Standing out in this pile of (largely) junk mail was a light blue, delicately scented envelope. Intrigued, I rapidly tore it open, and was pleasantly surprised to find it contained an invitation to dinner at Hermione Jameson's the following evening. As it was after 11pm I decided against calling her; instead I quickly penned an acceptance, which I placed in an envelope and quietly slid it under her flat door. The following evening, showered, shaved and shining I knocked on her flat door at the appointed time, armed with a decent bottle of champagne and a bouquet of mixed summer flowers, the centrepiece being one long-stemmed red rose. As she opened the door, my jaw dropped in astonishment: WOW! There she stood in a semi-formal mid-length, "classic" black dress with an exquisite diamond encrusted broach pinned on her left upper chest, black stockings and gleaming patent leather shoes. Her face positively glowed, and her eyes radiated happiness, albeit with perhaps a touch of hesitation. Her hair, usually tightly bound and pinned, flowed freely down to her shoulders – the mixed silver and black perfectly matching her attire. As she ushered me in to her flat I caught the subtle aroma of what could only be some form of Chanel scent. The whole effect was intoxicating. This surely was not the Ice Spinster? Struggling for the right words (which never seem to come at the right time do they?) I muttered a very lame, "You look absolutely beautiful!" Lame it may have been, but it seemed to have the right effect, as her face broke into a huge smile. When I handed her the bouquet she murmured, "They're lovely, but you shouldn't have.." "Nonsense," I replied. "They are a poor substitute to your beauty, but I hope you like them." Smiling, she ushered me into her dining area, bade me to sit down at a table already set for two, then went off into her kitchen, murmuring something about putting the flowers in water. The next hour or so passed in what seemed to be a continuous blurry moment, as we ate an exquisite meal of who knows what, drank our way through the bottle of champagne by toasting everything and anything; then also put away the best part of a bottle of Australian shiraz. Eventually, and feeling no pain whatsoever, we moved into her living area for coffee and a liqueur. "Thank you for a wonderful meal and evening", I said as I took her in my arms. Bending down slightly I gently kissed her on her lips, which remained stubbornly closed. Sensing her fear and general level of discomfort, I sat down next to her on her comfortable settee, and said, "That kiss was a simple thank you for a lovely meal in delightful company. You do realise that I am NOT going to force myself upon you, don't you? If you have had second thoughts about following on from last Friday night, then so be it." "I will, of course, be extremely disappointed, but I can live with it." I continued. "I'm sorry," she cried. "I have loved every minute of our meal tonight. Yet, at the same time I have dreaded this moment. I absolutely loved your attention last Friday, but it seems I cannot get Ronald and his self-seeking abusive attitude out of my mind – even after all these years." "Then there's the difference in our ages", she continued. "What relevance does that have", I quickly replied. "Well.... I am at least 20 years older than you," she replied. "So what? I could have sworn that I was the teacher and you the pupil last Friday. Age had nothing to do with what happened then, did it?" "No-oo I suppose not," she reluctantly conceded. "Then there was the chemistry between us", I continued. "You seemed to become overwhelmed with the emotional reactions my ministrations caused." "The feelings you evoked in me were wonderful," she admitted. "And, of course, you always have the magic "STOP" button, if you feel you are entering territory you are not comfortable in or with." "So you say" she replied. "Believe me, you do," I reiterated. "The last thing any man should do is force himself on a lady purely for sex." "An old female family friend of my parents said something to me when I was in my teens which has always lurked in the back of my mind," I continued. " And that is: 'sex for its own sake with someone you don't really care for is simply masturbation in the womb.' In other words if all you want is physical release then go and do it yourself – don't demean a woman purely for your own release." "Really! She said that? She must have been some woman," replied Hermione. "She still is." I replied. "She's well into her eighties now, and still tells it like it should be. She also said to me 'If you ever sleep with a woman just because she's there' come and tell me what your reactions were. About a year after that conversation I slept with a beautiful Australian redhead whom I chatted up in the West End. One thing led to another and we ended up back at my flat. After we had finished I just wanted to get up and run away – it was just emotionless, and not very good sex. The problem was we were in my flat, so I had to endure it until the morning, when I couldn't get rid of her fast enough". "That sounds like Ronald – running away afterwards," said Hermione. "So, did you tell your ageing friend?" "Oh yes," I replied. "And that's when she reiterated the comment about masturbation in the womb." "So, what would it be with you and me?" she hesitantly asked. "I don't know exactly, but I do know that it wouldn't purely be sex for its own sake." I replied honestly. "However, I do know that we both thoroughly enjoyed what happened last Friday night, didn't we?" "How can you enjoy it, when you achieved no release?" she replied. Taking her by the hand, I smiled reassuringly, and said, "As I said at the time, in the right circumstances, and with the right person, you can achieve a great deal of pleasure from your partner. I'm no saint." I continued, with a wry chuckle, "I went home with the most awful need for release, but at the same time I felt really good because what happened gave you a great deal of pleasure. It was also heightened by the fact that it was the first time you had experienced such pleasure." After a moment of reflection she nodded to herself and said, "I'm sorry, but these negative feelings have been ingrained into me for much too long." "That's perfectly alright," I replied. "We'll just have to put last Friday down to a moment's aberration in the right circumstances. I really wouldn't want you to put yourself in a position you may regret later." "I'm not sure what I feel at the moment," she cried. "The only thing I can say with any certainty is that I am still amazed at the feelings you evoked in me last Friday. In some ways I wish it hadn't; in others, it was the most wonderful time of my life." "Oh! I am confused," she lamented. "Well, I think I had better not prolong your anguish," I replied. "Thank you for a wonderful evening. The company and the meal were wonderful." "Before I go," I continued, taking her hand in mine, "I can't for one minute understand the depths of despair and degradation you were subjected to by your erstwhile lover Ronald, although I can see the effect it still has on you after all these years. All I can do is offer you an insight into another kind of male. Whilst I would dearly love our relationship to move onto another plane, the last thing I want to do is cause you further pain and anguish. He may have been a real cad... I am not. So I'll leave you now. Do rest assured in the knowledge that whatever does or doesn't happen between us physically, you have become a friend in the short space of time we have known each other. So I hope to see you socially whatever the outcome." Bending down and softly, but chastely kissing her on the cheek I bade my farewell, and went home. As it was still only 10-ish I debated going out to a club, but decided I'd had enough of socialising for the night. So I poured myself a stiff Scotch, kicked off my shoes and slumped on the settee flicking channels with the TV remote, in the forlorn hope I would find something to take my mind off the mature beauty next door. Without really watching what was on the screen my mind cycled through so many conflicting emotions: - She was right to call a halt to the physical aspects of a relationship because of our age disparity. - What had age got to do with it? - My god she was beautiful! - Was this just my need for a mature fuck? - Was it pure egotism because I had played her like a Stradivarius violin the week before? - Was it just unfinished business? - ... after all I wasn't falling in love with her, was I? - But.. she cooked wonderfully! - She has class and sophistication written all over her! - The conversation is very stimulating – not once did we struggle for things to say. The silences were comfortable, not awkward. - Perhaps it is best to just regard her as a friend, and I should try and gloss over the events of last Friday. - But.. she felt good in my arms - Her smile is very enchanting.... - Her eyes are bewitching.. - But she is 20 odd years older than me... - Still.. she has an amazing figure for her age.. And so on, these random thoughts and others kept scrolling through my consciousness. Having been lost in these thoughts it took a while to register that the door bell was ringing insistently.... Glancing at the clock I was shocked to note that an hour had gone by..... ah! The doorbell. Climbing to my feet, I went and opened the door.. .... and there she was, clutching a half full bottle of red wine we had started in her flat. "Well, don't just stand there. May I come in?" she said, sliding past me into my hallway. "Of..Of course," I stammered. "This is such a lovely surprise." "Well," she said. "Where are the glasses; we've still got some booze to finish off" Armed with a drink each we sat down in my living room. Surprisingly she sat by my side, and turned to look at me. "I owe you a great apology," she began. Before I could reply she held her hand up and said, "Please! Let me say what I have to, then we can discuss whatever you want afterwards." "After you left my flat I was in turmoil. You know, why did I act like I did...? Why didn't I do this or that?.... and so on. So, after I'd mulled over events in my mind I felt I had to discuss this with someone much more experienced in than me. So I called up my friend Betty." "Aaah..." I said, somewhat surprised by this. "And, before you become too embarrassed or uncomfortable she was very quick to tell me what went on between you two last weekend while I was away". "Well....." I started to say, only to be stopped cold when she carried on... "Surprisingly, I wasn't angry, only upset that it had been her and not me." Continuing, she said, "When I told her what had happened on the two occasions we had met she called me a 'silly cow', and immediately asked me if I had fallen in love with you or wanted to marry you. When I replied 'neither' she simply told me to make up for lost time and enjoy you as much as I can; and if it stopped between us, go and find someone else to take care of my needs." Reassured by her tone of voice more than anything else I began to relax. "She also went on to tell me how she had used a variation of my problem on Friday night as a means of getting you into her flat. And how she had lured you into give her 'the mother and father of all 'arse-fuckings', as she indelicately put it. She also gave me a lurid, abbreviated account of the rest of your stay, and how she said she couldn't walk or sit down properly for days – but it was worth it.... So much that she can't wait to have you again." "A bit graphic," I finally managed to say. I think I was actually blushing! "Yes," she replied. "But Betty says you are a wonderful lover, and that I would be a fool to suppress these feelings and sensations which have finally emerged." "That's very kind of her," I said, rather lamely. ".... And finally, she said that if I didn't let myself go, at least once, I would regret it for the rest of my days. So..." "Yes..." "Will you please be gentle with me?" "Of course." "Kiss me please." So I did... After what seemed hours but was probably only a minute or so, she pulled back, looked me squarely in the eyes, sighed and said, "Again!" This time, sensing that she had finally resolved her inner turmoil, I began stroking her hair, ears and neck as we kissed. This elicited a much deeper response, as she began squirming in my arms. Becoming bolder I gently ran my hand down over her right breast, the nipple of which was already standing proudly to attention. Moving down further, I slowly ran my hand up and down the outside of her dress where it moulded itself to her thigh. Gently nudging the inside of her thigh, her legs parted slightly, seemingly involuntarily. I stroked up and down, each time her inching her dress slightly higher towards her stocking tops. Her moans by now were becoming louder and more frequent. So, feeling the almost liquid heat emanating from her core, I softly cupped the outside of her silk knickers. She was soaking wet! Her mind may have been in great turmoil but her body knew what it wanted. Peeling her gusset to one side I slowly ran my finger down her outer lips. As soon as my finger was coated in her juices I reversed the motion and slid it gently upward. The moment it touched her very prominent and super-sensitive clit, she shuddered into a quivering orgasm, and seemed to faint right away. Picking her limp form up, I carried her into my bedroom and laid her softly on her bed. As she revived she lifted her arms and pulled me down to her for another sizzling kiss. By the time we broke away from each other my cock was seemingly drilling itself into her side. After a couple of minutes she broke away and, pushing me off, stood up quickly, seemed to do something with the back of her dress – which promptly fell in a heap to the floor – and left her standing there in her all black underwear – knickers, camisole, lacy soft bra with matching suspenders holding up her black stockings. In short she looked like a mature, sensual goddess. "Your turn," she cooed. As quick as a flash my shirt, trousers and socks were all in a heap on the floor. As I went to lower my knickers she said, "No, leave that bit to me!" Moving forward, she sank to her knees, then hooked her fingers into the waistband of my briefs. Slowly lifting outwards and pulling down, my dick sprang into view, in all its throbbing glory. Now I am definitely not be in the porn star class – in fact I have no idea how big he is – but she gasped as it sprang into view, and cooed, "Is this the instrument which is going to make up for all the lost years after Ronald?" "I don't know. Is it?" I replied, gasping as she gently slid her hand up and down my throbbing dick. "It's so hard, yet so soft and velvety," she murmured, leaning forward until her breath lightly wafted all around it. As she moved further forward, as if to kiss it, I grasped her by the shoulders and, pulling her gently to her feet, edged her backwards until she was against her bed. "Later, if you want to," I said. "But first we have to give you a refresher course." Easing her back until she was prone, I moved forward and kissed her deeply on the lips. As she eased herself into a comfortable position I continued the kiss, my hands meanwhile roved all over her body – leaving her pudenda well alone. After a couple of minutes, and with her well relaxed, I began kissing her neck and shoulders. Her scent was almost overpowering, and her hair smelt wonderfully. Soon, sensing the time was right, I began kissing the upper slopes of her breasts, but slowly moving lower. I gently moved her bra and camisole straps off her shoulders so I could expose her breasts in all their glory. She had remarkably good skin for a middle-aged woman, and her breasts were no exception – smooth hand–sized orbs topped with vermillion nipples which protruded stiffly. After admiring them for a moment, I latched onto her right breast and began to give it a gentle, but firm, mauling with my teeth, tongue and hand. Heaven, pure heaven!!! It seemed to be having the right effect on her too, as she squirmed under this sensual onslaught, her breath becoming more ragged, and quiet mewling and purring sounds intermittently escaped from her open mouth. Her fingers gently caressed my hair, her hands held me tightly to her breast, but then eventually they began unconsciously pushing me lower, towards her treasure. Sensing that the moment was right I began my descent. Skirting her clothed navel I began kissing the inside of her pelvic crease. This resulted in her breath becoming even more ragged, as she muttered an insistent "..please.." My senses were becoming overloaded with the musky feminine odour emanating from her oozing pussy so, ensuring her gusset was well out of the way, I dived in with my tongue and began lapping up her wonderful nectar. Yet again, as soon as I touched her protruding clit she tensed up, cried out a loud "yesssssssss......!" and spasmed into what seemed to be a major orgasm. Eventually she opened her eyes and, mewling huskily, she whispered, "Thank you. That was as unbelievably good as I remember from last week. But now, can I now have the main course, please?" "Are you sure?" I responded inanely, almost drunk with the sensation of my oral ministrations. "Oh yes," she replied. "Just be gentle with me, please. After all these years I really am anxious to enjoy sex as it should be experienced." Was I ready? Was I! My dick was like a steel bar, glistening with lubrication in readiness. Before I could move however, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, stood up and quickly removed all her lovely underwear. "I hope you don't mind," she said, as she quickly lay back on the bed. "I just want to feel you everywhere against my skin." "Not at all....." "Now.. I want you inside me... now..." she said, as she opened her arms and spread her legs, and I hastily climbed into the missionary position, and slowly started feeding it into her. What a feeling! I savoured each exquisitely sublime sensation as my cock slowly inched its way into her hot, wet, and very tight cauldron. Each slight additional penetration caused her mouth to open wider and a new feral growl forced its way out of her.