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Yvonne Pt. 01

By: istanbulnoir



PRELUDE

'It must be ten years,' she said.

'Yes,' I said. It was eleven. That I knew.

'You still look good,' I said to her. 

She looked at me and said 

'You wouldn't have been brave enough to say that back then.'

'I was young then,' I replied.

She raised her eyebrows and said 'If you're not young anymore, then where does that leave me?' and she smiled. She looked older of course, but she still had it. I expect she knew.

'I'm 36.'

'Yes, you must be, you are the same age as Neil. And I'm older than that.'

She laughed.

Neil is her son and he was my closest friend at school, but we had lost touch years before.

'Do you have time?' I asked.

She thought for a moment and then said 'yes.'

'Let's go to the café on the corner,' she said, 'it's quite nice there.

So we walked together the short distance to the café on the corner. It was nice. I had never been before, and I had probably thought, if I had thought about it at all, that it could not possibly be good if it was in this town. Or that's what I would have thought twenty years ago, but no I had got over my loathing of the place. I had never come back after university, and it didn't matter anymore. I only come back now to visit my mother. I had become someone else. I wondered if she had also become someone else, or if she was still who she had been back then. You see, something had once happened between us.

We found a table, ordered coffees and waited for the waiter to bring them. When they came, and he had gone, we started to talk. We chatted about what I had done and what her children were doing, and how was my mother, but she did not say much about herself. So I asked her.

She answered with a question.

'How do I seem?'

'Fine. You look great.'

She raised her eyebrows again. I looked carefully at her. She had not gained weight, as so many people do with age. She had never been slim either, at least not when I had known her before, when she would have been in her early forties. She had been shapely, a little voluptuous even. And she had never been a great beauty; not the kind of woman to turn many heads on the street; but there was nothing motherly or housewifely about her either. And mother and housewife were two of the things she had been. She was attractive, but that not mean anything definite. She was very, very sexy, and in a way that was not contrived. That was why she had been so sexy. And she still had it, and the years had not been too unkind. Her face was lined of course, but not too much, and her skin was still good too. She had wide, hazel eyes and her hair had been dark brown, but now it was half grey. It was like her not to have coloured it. It went with her natural ness. That was it; if there was a word to describe her attractiveness, her sexiness, it was earthy.

It was as if she saw what was going through my mind.

'Have I still got it?' she asked.

I did not answer for a moment, and then I told her, 'yes, you have.'

She didn't smile. She just continued to look at me. Then she said

'Do you have time?'

'Yes. I will have to make a quick call, but I have time.'

'Then let's go somewhere else. We can't talk here. I wouldn't want to be overheard.'

'Ok, 'I said, and we asked for our bill, paid and left.

'My car is in the car park over the road,' she said.

As we were heading out of town on the main road, I asked her where we were going. 

'There's a place down by the river where I go sometimes, to get away. It's quiet and I like it. It's my place. Hardly anyone is ever there.'

For the rest of the drive neither of us spoke, but it was a comfortable silence. And it was in her car once, long ago, that something had happened.

We walked from the car into the trees and towards the river side and it struck me that among the catching up questions she had asked me, she had not asked me if I was married. Then, as we sat down on a fallen tree trunk by the water's edge, she asked.

'Yes, I am,' I said, 'for five years now.'

'Happily?' she asked.

'Yes,' I said.

She didn't speak for a little while and then she said

'I'm still married to Derek and I love him,' and then she added, 'in my way.'

She offered me a cigarette and I took it.

'You still smoke,' she said, as she lit it for me and then lit her own. 'I thought it had gone out of fashion.' 'You still smoke too,' I said.

Even though she had alluded to the incident in the car, we had not talked about it, not yet. But it was not as though we were skirting around issues either. There was a tension in the air, and like before, I was sure that it was not just me that was feeling it, but the conversation had flowed along and there was no sense of things being evaded. I had known her well enough to know that she was frank about herself and that she trusted me and that she felt comfortable talking to me about herself. We had talked after that moment in the car, soon afterwards, and then again a few years later.

'I was never any good at giving things up, 'she sighed; 'pleasurable things.' She looked distractedly away, out over the river. Then she said, 'Being in the car with me just now. Did it make you remember?'

'I don't need to be in a car with you to remember that; but of course, yes it did.'

Now we were talking again and it was as if only a few days had passed, rather than so many years.

PART ONE

Eighteen years before on a warm late afternoon in September, the something had happened; half of my life ago. I was eighteen and she would have been forty-two. She had taken me and Neil, her son, to a football match in London, and during the game she had gone to visit a friend, and she came to meet us after the game. I went to the right place, the place she had told us, but Neil and I had got separated in the crowd, and he never remembered things like where he was supposed to meet someone, so he had got lost. She had phoned home and he had phoned home and that way they had solved the problem and he knew where to come, but it was going to take him a half hour or so to come from where he was to where we were, so we sat and waited in the car. Neither of us spoke, but the sexual tension in that car that late afternoon was palpable, and I knew that I was not the only one who was feeling it.

It was the only chance I would ever get and somehow I found the courage to take it. I wanted her so badly, I was not thinking clearly. I was not thinking at all. I was lost in an adolescent trance of lust that I probably imagined was love. How could anything really happen in a car, on a residential street in London, on which it had barely begun to get dark, and when her son, and my best friend was going to arrive within half an hour.

I knew that she was an adulteress, and I was certain that she desired me and in the middle of my trance in that car, I reached out and put my hand on her leg. She did not shudder or jump when I did it, and she did not move her leg, which was clad in a black skirt that finished just above her knee, and black stockings, and she did not move my hand away either. She looked around at me and she said

'I never thought you would have the courage.'

Then she learned towards me and we kissed.

Her legs parted and she said

'Touch me. Touch my pussy, go on.'

I felt my hand moving up her leg towards the gusset as we continued to kiss, and she kissed me harder as my hand neared her. Reaching the material of her panties between her legs, I found that it was damp. I felt her tongue forcing its way into my mouth and then her hand on the bulge of my cock, which was fully erect and straining against the inside of my jeans. I don't think I even realise that she was opening trousers and boxer shorts, but suddenly I felt cool air and her fingers on my cock, so it must have been sticking out through my opened fly. That realisation must have been what gave me the courage to lead my hand to the end of its journey and I pulled aside her gusset and touched her pussy. Her lips were very wet and that encouraged me. She really was turned on, and it was me that had turned her on. I was the source of her excitement, as she was of mine. I had come to myself again, and I was glad that I had had that moment of mad abandon in which I had dared to make a pass at her.

She began to masturbate me and I was filled with lust for her as she did it. At the same time, I was frightened that I would come too quickly and be a disappointment to her. I tried to think of something else, or to be business-like. What should I do next? My hand knew. It began to move over her pussy until I felt a shock at discovering that she had no hair down there.

I was not a virgin, but all of my experiences had been with girls of my own age, and none of the four girls I had slept with had shaved off their pussy hair. That must have been the moment that I realised that I was with a woman for the first time, and not a mere girl. And this was the late 1970s and our boring town. It was only in porn that you found hairless vaginas back then. At least, that was what I thought.

I continued to hold my fingers and my palm over her pussy and I felt her push herself into my hand. I took that as a cue and began to run my fingers up and down her lips until she opened and my middle finger could find her hole. She was so wet that my finger entered her easily and she gasped as I pushed it slowly into her. As if she knew that I might come too soon, she stopped moving her hand on my cock and just held it in her fist and pushed her vagina harder into my hand. 

With my middle finger fully inserted in her, I searched for her clitoris with my forefinger. I found it and began to caress it gently.

She gasped again and sighed out

'You've done this before. You know what a woman likes.'

I knew something of what girls like.

I stroked her clitoris and moved my middle finger in and out of her pussy and she began to move in rhythm with the movements of my hand. We were still kissing and her fist was still clenched around my cock. Then she began to gasp more rapidly and more loudly, until suddenly her groin seemed to lock in place and she was perfectly still and she cried out softly and then let out a rapid succession of gasps, each a little louder and more forceful than the last. Then she relaxed again. He had stopped kissing me when that had begun. Then, after a moment she began to masturbate me again.

She looked at me as she did it and then she looked down at my cock and she said

'If I make you come like this, it will make a mess in the car.'

I thought that meant that she was going to stop, but suddenly her head was in my lap and my cock was in her mouth. This was ecstasy; this was pleasure, and I could barely believe it. Yvonne, Mrs Clark, my best friend's mother, 42 year old wife and mother of four, was performing oral sex on me, and I had just brought her to orgasm with my fingers. 

She was not just Mrs Clark, wife and mother of four, though. Not to me, anyway. She was Yvonne, the object of every erotic fantasy I had indulged in my hitherto young life, for whom I don't know how many pints of sperm had been emitted in nocturnal masturbation in the years since I had known her. I wondered if she knew this, or if she guessed it. I think she did. Later, she told me that she had known for a long time that I had wanted her. And she remained, and remains, the woman against whom all others have been measured over the years, even though she is twenty four years older than me, and the mother of my best school friend. She has become part of my soul, and if that sounds like erotic obsession, then maybe it is.

None of this is to say that I have not grown up and gone on to have girlfriends and relationships and plenty of sex over the years, and in the end got married. I have, but the memory of her remains. And over those years, every now and then I have thought of her, at night, and I would masturbate and dream of her as I did it. The things we have done together, in the theatre of my mind. So, have I been in love with her all these years? That depends; what's lust? What's love?

Sitting there with her by the river and talking, the old desire returned, and it was strong, and I was ready to reach out for her leg again, and if I did, this time I would not be in a trance of lust, but in control and conscious of what was doing. She is sixty now, but she has aged well. You would describe her as well-preserved, and as I said before, she still had it, whatever it is. I wonder if I still have whatever it was I had for her. But I didn't reach out and put my hand on her thigh. We just sat and talked, and we had talked about what we were doing and how we felt about it. 

There was an intimacy between us and it came naturally, and she spoke to me very openly about herself now that we were alone and no one would overhear us.

She sucked my cock slowly and deeply into her mouth, and her tongue ran around its shaft inside her mouth. I knew that she was going to take my come in her mouth, for she had said that, implicitly, when she had said that if she brought me to orgasm with her hand it would make a mess in the car. None of the girls who had done that to me had let me do that. They had always stopped when they knew I was about to come.

Her sucking got faster, as if she knew that time was running out, even though she had only been down on me for a minute or so, and I felt my excitement growing steadily. As I was getting close to coming, as hers had, my body seemed to lock and I could not move and the only movement was her head bobbing steadily up and down in my lap and my cock going in and out of her mouth. She would have known that my stopping moving meant that I was about to come and she sucked even faster and more greedily. It seemed to me that I was on the edge forever. I was there, but still my sperm did not come. Then I felt the muscular spasm, bucked, and began to empty my warm, oily cum into her mouth. She stopped moving and held her head still as it pumped into her mouth. When the spurts ended, she began to move her head up and down slowly again. Then she stopped. She came up again and smiled at me and said

'Put it away now, Neil will be here soon.'

We sat in warm and comfortable silence waiting for him, and she opened the window, as if to let the hot and tense air out of the car. The only other thing she said in the ten minutes that past before he arrived was

'I wanted you for a long time, and I think you wanted me for a long time too.'

She was right about me.

Neil arrived and we were both completely composed. He suspected nothing, even though he knew that his mother had had an affair. He could never imagine something between her and me. It was just not possible; not even imaginable. She had told him and he had told me; and not knowing how I desired his mother, he could not have known how that information fed my fantasies; turned them into hopes, perhaps. She was married, but she was available; to someone at least. It had made me desire her even more, if that were possible.

A few days after the car, I went to her house. I went to visit Neil. I could have called, and if she had not been alone, it would not have mattered. She would call me and it would have been as usual. I called him often. Or if he had, she might have said something or asked to come over and talk. As it was, I just went, maybe to take her by surprise. But she was not surprised. She was ready. 

Neil was at home and so was his younger brother. His father and his older brother and sister were not yet home from work. We three boys sat in the living room and she was in the kitchen cooking. Then she came in and told her youngest, Robert, to go and get on with his homework, and she asked Neil to go to the shop around the corner to get some flour. It was a strategy of course.

We were alone. I don't know what I was expecting, but what she said first took me by surprise.

'Did you enjoy it?' she asked and smiled. She was flirty with me. It seemed she could not help herself.

'Yes, of course,' I said, and she looked pleased with herself. 

Then she sat down and she became serious. 

'You won't tell anyone, will you?' she asked and she looked concerned.

'No, of course not,' I said.

'Neil already knows some things about me,' she said, 'things I should not have told him.'

'I know,' I said.

She looked surprised and worried.

'We were drunk one day on holiday. I started out explaining to him why we had gone on holiday without his father; just me and him and Robert; and I was not telling the truth. Then I did tell the truth and I told him too much of it. And we were talking about sex and he told me.'

'So you knew that I had been unfaithful to my husband. That's over now, and well, nothing can happen between you and me.'

She saw the look of disappointment on my face. She went on

'I have a marriage that I don't want to lose. And I have four children. You are young and I am not. You are my son's friend. And there are many other reasons.' Then she started to sound like the seasoned adulteress that I later learned she had been; but had not been that yet, not then. That came later.

'You are just a boy, but I will speak to you as an equal, given what happened on Saturday. Where would we meet? How would I get away to meet you? Where would it go? How would it end? Would you be able to handle it? Whatever happened, we are not going to run way together and live happily ever after.'

I felt I was being patronised, but now I know that she was right. I was already in deeper than I knew and if we had had an affair, I would have been out of my depth completely.

So you regret what happened?' I asked her and there was accusation and spite in my voice.

'No,' I don't, but this is too risky and too complicated. Can't you see that I have thought about it? Why else would I have asked you the questions I asked you just now? They are the questions in my mind. None of them have answers that work.'

'You don't trust me?' I asked.

'It's not that. And I would not have let myself go in the car if I didn't trust you. I trust you to keep quiet, but could I trust you not to get too involved? Come on. We both know that there is a feeling between us. I don't think I could. And I am not sure that I could trust myself either. I really want you and that' why we can't. I'm sorry.'

I did not say anything and soon Neil came back.

Things returned to normal after that. I did not know whether I was in love or lust or in danger of falling in love or what, but I managed. I still went to see Neil. I still enjoyed being in her presence and I still fantasized about her. Every now and then, when I was at their house and when no one was looking, she would look at me significantly or flirt quite heavily. It was the way she was, and I think I took it to mean that she thought that things were back to normal and that there was no danger that I was going to do something stupid. But every time she looked at me and every time she flirted and touched my arm or showed a little more leg than was 'appropriate' when she came and sat down in the living room when I was alone in there, it fed my fantasises and sent me home to spend another night of masturbation and dreaming of fucking her. And of course she knew. That was why she did it. 

Yvonne Pt. 02



Five years passed before I saw her again, but not one day passed when I did not think of her, at least for a few moments. I went to university and studied and had girlfriends and gained more experience, of life and sex and maybe even love, but the memory of her and the desire for her was always there. I never went back to live in my hometown, but I went back to visit family and friends every now and then. It was about a year after I had finished university that I decided to visit her. I was twenty-three. That would make her forty-seven.

I don't know why, but suddenly I could not get her out of my mind and one night the desire to see her became overwhelming. I was half drunk and lying in bed trying to sleep. My prick became erect immediately, and before I really knew what I was doing I was masturbating and imaging her seducing me. After that I could not get her out of my mind. 

I decided to go and visit my parents and while I was there I would drop by and see her. I went to call at the house, ostensibly to look Neil up, but really to see her. I had heard that he had moved out and I went in the middle of the afternoon, when I thought that she would be alone. I was terribly nervous as I walked the streets that led to her house. 

Finally I reached her street and then her house. My fear had risen with every step, but I made myself just walk up the path to the door and knock. I was just a young guy back from college visiting and friend and she was just his mum.

No one came; no one was home.

I turned dejected. My wild fantasy reached its inevitable conclusion. She was not home. It seemed like fate. I had to let go. It was no more than a memory that I desired. I wouldn't try again. 

I was supposed to be around for a few more days, and I almost made my excuses and returned to London early, but in the end I stayed. I didn't want to disappoint my parents. It was as well that they did not know the real reason that had brought me there. 

A couple of days later I was shopping at the local hypermarket and suddenly there she was. We recognized each other immediately. It seemed like a miracle. Fate had changed its mind.

We exchanged greetings and each of us asked how the other was. It was warm and easy and there was even a frisson. She was clearly pleased to see me. Then she asked

'Did you come to the house the other day?'

I paused for a second before saying 'yes.'

My neighbour told me someone called, and described you. I knew who it was straight away. I'm glad you came by; you have not forgotten us!'

'Of course not; how could I?' I asked. It was just a politeness, but she smiled and made strong eye contact for a second; finding a deeper meaning in it.

'Neil doesn't live at home anymore. Did you know?' 

'No, I didn't,' I lied.

'Yes, he moved in with his girlfriend a couple of years ago.' 

'I see,' I said.

'You're all grown up now,' she added.

'Yes,' I said.

Then she said 'you can come and see me though.'

It could have been a casual friendliness, or it might have been an invitation.

'Ok, I will.'

'Come tomorrow afternoon at three. I finish work early on Wednesday's.'

'Great, I'll come.'

'You will,' she said, and for a moment a glint came into her eye.

It was an invitation, and she had given me enough to hope that it was not only an invitation for coffee. But then that is how she was; you never really knew for sure.

The next day at half past two I set out for her house. I had none of the nervousness and fear in me than I had carried there a few days before. I did not quite think that I was on a sure thing, but I was confident that something was going to happen. The closer I got to her house, the more fiercely my desire for her burned.

She answered the door and smiled warmly and asked me to come in, and she led me through to the living room. We sat down and did the small talk you do with your friend's mum when you have not seen her for a long time.

'Is Neil doing well? What's his girlfriend like?' I asked.

'He is, and his girlfriend is a nice girl. She is called Teresa. Maybe you know her?'

'I don't think so,' I said.

'She is an improvement on the ones you both used to have when you were at school.'

'That was a long time ago now,' I said.

'Yes, you are all grown up now,' she replied, and then added 'I think I said that yesterday, didn't I?' 

On that note she went off to the kitchen and came back a minute later with a bottle of red wine and two glasses and sat down. 

'Would you like some wine?' she asked. 'I always have a glass in the afternoon. It's my little indulgence. One of them anyway.' She smiled that come on smile again.

She asked me to open the bottle. I did, and handed it back to her and she took it over to the cabinet where she had stood the glasses and poured. She filled both glasses. Then she came and handed me a glass and sat in the chair opposite the sofa. Immediately we were beyond son's friend and friend's mum and she was in heavy flirtation mode. She threw her left leg over her right, revealing a lot of thigh and stocking top as she did it.

In that moment I thought to myself how good she looked. She was sexier than ever, and I remembered a day long ago now when I had sat in that living room with her and Neil and she had been wearing a black suit like the one she was wearing today and I had got a raging hard on; just being in the same room as her. Now my cock was hardening again. Just being near her was enough to make me erect. This time, though, I felt sure that the erection she had given me was not going to be wasted, but I was doing my best to hide it, just as I had before.

She still knew how to flirt. At that she was expert. She was one of those rare people; there are men who can do it too, but they are mostly women, who could seem to be about to invite you to bed, but when you made your pass they would ask in surprise 'how could you have taken me to mean that?' and it would not seem disingenuous...the view of her skirt riding high up her thigh and the momentary flash of her gusset as she had crossed her legs were merely an accident.

The black business suit looked more expensive than the one she was on that long ago day; well cut and a black silk blouse and black stockings, and I had noticed a pair of expensive looking black high heeled shoes at the door as I had come in. Evidently, she saw that my look lingered on her longer than it should have and as if in explanation and as if to deflect attention she said

'You like my suit?'

'Yes, I replied.

'I'm working again now, back at the paper; my old job, secretary to the editor.'

'Great,' I said. 

Being a woman with a career again suited her.

'And what about you? How was university? You are all grown up, and a man of the world now and very well educated.' She smiled and then she said 

'And I imagine you have lots of women after you?'

She was as provocative as ever, but now she seemed more brazen than she used to.

'A few,' I said.

'You're surer of yourself,' she remarked and then she asked

'So, is university all sex and drugs and rock'n'roll, like they say?'

'It can be,' I said.

'And what about for you?' she asked. 

'I never got much into drugs, and I already liked rock'n'roll before I went, and as to the other, well...'

'Don't worry,' she said, laughing, 'I'm not going to ask you to go into detail. 'But,' she said, 'there is something to talk about. A conversation I've always thought we would have. I knew you would come and see me one day. And that day seems to be today.'

I didn't say anything.

Filling the silence before it became too heavy or awkward she said 'I have always found it easy to talk to you, and I'm glad that you seem comfortable talking to me.'

'I am,' I said and I was.

We had finished our wine and she offered me another and again I accepted. She poured two full glasses again and the air grew heavier.

Maybe she was just playing with me, or maybe she wanted to start leading up to it. As she sat down again, and arranged her skirt to reveal a little thigh, she said

'Look, there is no point in beating about the bush. I enjoyed what we did, but we couldn't have done anymore. I hope you don't still think that I treated you unfairly.'

'I don't,' I said, 'and I think that you were right.

That was not entirely true. I did resent it. She had denied me my Mrs Robinson experience; and I still had not had one. But it was more than that; it was her. I wanted her; even more now that had come to visit her. And I realised that I had not only hoped that we would make our way seamlessly to her bedroom, just because I had come; I had expected it, assumed it even. So she had been right when had said that I was more sure of myself. It was not an improvement; not if I was to gain what I sought. 

She would be in control. I saw that now. If something was going to happen, I must leave it to her. I was still too young, too gauche, despite what I might have imagined about myself. But if she wanted me too, she would forgive my gaucheness and my arrogant assumptions which she had guessed immediately. But then, if she had discerned that I had come there with the hope of having her, sex and the thought of having me must have crossed her mind too. I took hope from that.

She sat silently thinking and I wondered what her silence meant until she said

'Yes. I think I was right. But with that there in the past, there is something ... hanging ... between us; something ... unfinished.' 

The air was filled with expectancy and the ghost of sex hovered about us. We both knew it, but I did not dare speak or even move. It seemed the moment, if it was one, was going to be missed. 

Not by her. She said 

'You didn't come around here the other day to see Neil. How long are we going to keep up these...preliminaries?' she asked.

It was not subtle, but it would bring the moment to its crisis. 

'I think you came here today to see me.'

I didn't answer.

'I'm glad you did. I have thought of you over the years since you left. And you're all grown up now and I think you can handle it; handle me. Now I'm going to be very direct. Would you like to fuck me, Michael?'

I must have looked shocked, because she laughed. Then she stood up and came over to the sofa and sat next to me. As she sat, she placed her hand at the top of my thigh. 

At first she just let it rest there and did not say anything. 

She looked at the bulge in my crotch and said in a feigned matter of fact way, 'I see you still want me. Your cock has been hard since I came back from the kitchen. It turned me on, knowing you want me; still want me. I always hoped we would get a chance to continue what we didn't finish.'

'Now?' I said ridiculously.

She might have laughed again or withdrawn her hand and apologised and laughed some more; the old Yvonne would have; she was flirtatious, but not this bold. This one was bold; wanton even. She ignored my faux pas and simply said

'We are alone, and Derek won't be back for hours.'

She lifted her hand from my thigh and took a cigarette from her pack on the table and lit it. Then she took a long draw; the cigarette in her other hand now, and the hand that had been on my thigh she placed on the bulge of my cock. Gently, but in exactly the right places, she squeezed.

'Your cock is very hard,' she said; 'I had better help you. It's exciting to know that it is hard for me.' 

With that she unzipped my fly and dipped her fingers between the two silver lines of the zip and pulled out my cock. It was indeed fully erect. She began to wank me.

'Have you missed your Auntie Yvonne?' she teased.

'Yes;' I said.

'Did you ever do this yourself and imagine fucking me?'

'Yes,' I said.

'Good. I hoped you would. I like the idea of you wanking over me.'

'It's better to have you do it.'

'Mmmmm,' she said, 'of course it is, you naughty boy. Do I do it well? Do I wank your cock nicely?'

'Yes,' I sighed.

'Ever since I sucked you off in the car that day I have wanted to have this cock in my pussy. Are you going to fuck me this afternoon? Are you going to put your cock in Auntie Yvonne's pussy for her and fuck her?

'Yes,' I gasped as her fingers gripped my foreskin and rolled it slowly up and down over my helmet.

She looked me in the eye and asked me

'Did you like the way I sucked it? Did Auntie Yvonne give you a nice blowjob?

'The best,' I said.

'Good. Do you want me to blow your cock now?'

'Yes!'

'Then you must do something for me first.'

She stopped and stood up and told me to watch. She began slowly to undress. My prick twitched when I saw what she was going to do and she watched it dance and throb the whole time. 

She took off her jacket and then placing her cigarette in her mouth at a provocative angle, she began to unbutton her blouse. Slowly she opened the buttons one by one, revealing first a black lace bra and then the little bulge of her stomach. When her blouse was undone she did not take it off, but put her hands behind her back and I heard the ripping sound of the zip of her skirt. The skirt quickly fell to the floor and I saw her skimpy black lace panties and sheer black stockings and suspenders. She stepped out of the skirt and then lifted her left leg onto the arm of the sofa. I looked between her legs; where else would my gaze fix itself? She looked down at me. 

'Pull my panties aside and look at my pussy,' she purred.

I reached for her gusset and felt the damp material with the tips of my fingers. 

'I'm very wet,' she said, 'Auntie Yvonne's pussy is wet for you. Take a look.'

I pulled her gusset aside and saw her pussy for the first time. I had fingered her before, that afternoon in the car, but this was the first time I saw it. Yvonne's pussy. It was beautiful. Her lips were large and dark and they were wet, as she had said. I simply stared and my cock seemed to get even harder.

'Touch it. Touch me,' she said.

I did as she asked, moving my fingertips from her gusset onto her pussy lips. I was so excited I thought I was going to come. I had to get hold of myself. I did not want her to think I was still the boy of five years before. 

She sighed deeply as my fingers touched her and she gasped when I slipped a finger between her lips and inside her.

'Yes yes, play with Auntie Yvonne's pussy. Yes, yes, finger me.'

She had not spoken like this in the car that day. 

I pushed another finger into her and she gasped again and her breathing became more urgent and still she stared down at my cock, watching its responses to her.

'Wank for me, she said, and tell me how you imagined me when you did it by yourself.'

I took my cock between the fingers of my other hand and began to wank myself; slowly so as not to come.

'Tell me,' she said, 'tell me how you imagined fucking me.'

I began to tell her, but as I was speaking she gently pushed me backwards so that I was lying with my head resting on the arm of the sofa. Then she swung a leg over me and placed her foot beside my head. I was not sure at first what she was going to do, but it did not matter. I had surrendered myself to her entirely. Then her crotch began to move towards my face and she was pulling her gusset aside to expose her fanny. She was an inch from my face when she said

'You owe me a pussy licking,' and she giggled.

I could smell the musk of her pussy and see its delicious secretions as they shone on her lips and in a moment my tongue met her wet flaps and slowly I began to lick her. She was sitting right on my face, though giving me enough room to make the moves I needed to make to give her the pleasure she craved.

Eat my pussy,' she said between gasps and sighs; 'suck on Auntie Yvonne's pussy and make her come.'

I ate her for five minutes, giving it all I had. I pushed my tongue as far into her as I could and her juice tasted saltier the deeper I reached in. My root of my tongue ached with the effort, but I was not going to stop until she came. Finally, she began to grind her crotch into my face and I heard her cry out and she came, drenching my face with her love oil.

She sat and panted, fast and then more slowly and when she had recovered herself, moved off of my face and asked me

'Are you ready to fuck me?'

She looked down at my throbbing prick and there was no need for me to answer. She positioned herself over me and took hold of the base of my cock to steady it and slowly sat down and inch by inch her pussy sucked my cock into itself.

'Oh yes,' I cried and she looked down at me and said

'Is it better than the fantasy? Is it good to have your cock in my pussy at last?

'Yes, yes!'

Now let me fuck you!' she said and began to ride me. Her pussy was the tightest I had ever been in and it gripped my cock like a vice. And did she fuck me!

At last, after all of those years of dreaming of her and wanking over her and longing for her, I was inside her. My cock was inside Yvonne Clark's pussy and we were fucking. I felt like my life was fulfilled.

I held on as long as I could and she came once more before I exploded inside her. She came to rest and sat on my cock for minutes before slowly lifting herself off of me. Then she paused, and with her pussy suspended a couple of inches over my cock, she reached down and pulled herself open and allowed my spunk to drip out of her and over my cock.

When she felt she had drip-dried herself sufficiently, she returned to her chair and fell back in it. She took a cigarette from her pack and lit it and then allowed her legs to fall open, revealing her pussy to me. As she smoked, her hand wandered down over her stomach and found its way to her pussy.

'Watch me masturbate,' she said.

'Didn't I satisfy you? I asked.

'You did, she laughed, 'but I want you to satisfy me more and watching me play with my cunt for you will make your cock hard again for me.'

She said 'cunt'. She would have said that before.

She has turned into a porn star, I thought to myself, and I liked it, then.

After treating me to a very, very rude masturbation show, she beckoned me over and told me that now she was going to suck me off. Almost before I had got to her, her lips had encircled my cock. She sucked me avidly, making eye contact all the time and pausing every minute or so tell me how much she enjoyed eating my cock and how she wanted me to fuck her again. 

In the end she stopped sucking and threw herself back in the chair and told me to fuck her. I positioned myself and held my saliva coated cock in my fist and guided it towards her pussy lips. I paused for a moment as my helmet touched the warm velvet of her labia and then slowly I pushed into her. I began slowly, wanting to savour the sensations of her tight cunt gripping my cock. I speeded up when I could resist no longer until I caught her rhythm as she bucked and thrust herself at me. She came once, then twice, and then relaxed and laid back and took the fucking I was giving her more passively until, when she knew I was about to come, she told me to pull out and spray her face.

I did as she asked and withdrew and stood up until my cock was level with her mouth. I had to wank to finish myself off, but it only took a dozen or so strokes before my cum spurted from my cock over her.

In my fantasies we had had sex that was fucking and making love, but this afternoon she had simply fucked me. It had been the best sex I had ever had, but it not been what I had expected; and I was not sure, when I thought about it, that it was exactly what I wanted. I began to wonder if she was just a sex fantasy; my Mrs Robinson. Maybe what I had imagined was lust was really something else. I felt a deep longing inside me, even in the moment of my fulfilment. 



Yvonne Pt. 03



I thought about the afternoon that night as I lay in bed, unable to sleep. She had put on a show and she had been acting a role. I had had a great time, but she did not need to convince me that she was good. She must have known that. I had had fantastic sex with the woman I had wanted since I was old enough to want a woman at all, but it had felt like she had not been there.

I tried to remember everything from the past, right back to the time, a long time before that time in the car, when I had been sitting in her living room with Neil and Robert and she had come in and sat down in her usual black, and smoked, and cross and uncrossed her legs at times; without meaning to flirt, and I had got a fierce erection, and picked up a cushion from beside me on the sofa and put it into my lap to hide it, but perhaps more drawing attention to the erect prick in my trousers than concealing it. Maybe she had noticed and if she had, I wonder what she had thought. 

Now we were somewhere I had never expected. She had asked me to go and see her again two days later, and of course I did. It seemed, though, that I already had decisions to make and things to adjust to; and a great deal to learn. I didn't know exactly that they were, though. I did not even understand why I was not in a state of ecstasy at having just had what I had dreamed of all that time. 

What I did know was that she was in control; not only of what we were doing, but also of how we were going to do it and what kind of a relationship we were going to have. That was not quite how it had been in the fantasy script, but all I could do was go at the appointed time, enjoy more fabulous sex, and see if I could figure out exactly what scenario I was playing in. The waters were deeper than I had imagined and I saw that I was only just beginning to learn how to swim. I was going to learn though; fabulous sex with her would always outweigh moral qualms. 

She had asked me to call her an hour before the time I was to arrive. Everything was fine. She was alone and I was to come. Soon after I got there and we were sitting in the living room drinking wine and she was beginning to warm things up by pulling her skirt up over her thigh, I said to her that she had sounded like she was arranging a business meeting when we had spoken on the phone. I was hoping that she would say that she had not been alone when I called and that was why.

'It has to be like that,' she said, 'of course, it's not really like that, but you have to play the game the right way, or you fall in love and make a mess, and then you lose out. But we can talk about all of that later. I will tell you about what I do and why I do it; but now I want to do it.'

As she said that she parted her legs to reveal that under her business suit, she was not wearing any panties. She reached down and pulled up her skirt further, opened her legs wider and began to run her fingertip slowly up and down her slit. I made to stand up, but she told me to stay where I was and watch her.

As I watched, she told me to take out my cock. Already erect before I pulled it out through my fly, it twitched gently in my lap. I enjoyed her looking at it and the look in her eyes as she touched herself and gazed at my cock. I began to run my fingers over it.

'Mmmmm, I love to see how much I excite you,' she said, and with that she gently pulled herself open. I could see the fierce redness of her hole between the browny, dark pink lips. She pushed a finger in. 

After a few minutes of watching her masturbate, I went over to her. I wanted to give her oral sex, and I walked over and knelt down on the floor between her legs. She did not deny me and I knelt down and planted a wet kiss on her wet quim. She was open from the fingering she had been giving herself and I was able to push my tongue into her. I licked and sucked on her pussy for a few minutes, until I thought she was ready to be fucked; which is to say until I could not wait to fuck her any longer. I stood and began to position myself, but she said

'No baby, don't fuck me yet. I want to gobble you off first.'

'Gobble': you don't hear it anymore as slang for fellatio. Her generation's word and not mine, but it sounded deliciously dirty and I liked hearing her say it.

With that she had me stand and she leaned forward in the chair, and taking my prick in her fingers she stroked it a little and then I felt the warm wetness of her tongue slithering around my cockhead. She sucked me off for about three minutes and I thought she would stop and ask me to fuck her, but she continued sucking. I was getting close, and she must have known, but she kept going. I was there and she stopped and held my cock with about an inch of it inside her mouth. I came; three, four spurts. I felt the movement of her throat as she swallowed. Then she took my cock from her mouth and caressed it gently.

'Auntie Yvonne wants all your spunk,' she said, as she licked and sucked me clean.

'I thought you would want me to fuck you.'

I did, but then I changed my mind. I decided I wanted to taste your spunk. 

'Taste! You drank it!' I said.

'Of course; a man loves a woman who swallows.'

'I've never had that before.'

'That's because you've only had girls before.'

We sat and smoked and drank the scotch she had brought from the cabinet, and we began to talk again.

'There are rules to this game we are playing,' she said.

'Game?' I said.

'Yes, everything is a game; it has to be. And the first rule is we have to be honest with each other.

'Right,' I said, not really knowing what she meant.

'I know that sounds strange; requiring honesty in the middle of a web of lies and deceit. But that's how it has to be.

'You are an expert, it seems.'

She must have heard the irritation in my voice, because she said

'All that matters for us is the time we spend together and the fun we have, because that is what there is. You're not going to make me regret deciding to start this, I hope?'

'No...I mean, I don't want to, but I don't understand what you mean.'

'Maybe you are too young for this,' she said, quietly, as if to herself.

Then, before I could say anything in answer, she said 'if you want to come and fuck Auntie Yvonne a few times a week, you've got to handle it right; so handle it right, because I'm enjoying this and I don't want to stop.'

Please, explain what you mean.'

'How many girls have you had?'

About fifteen,' I replied.

'All around your own age, none of them married, maybe one of two were cheating on their boyfriends, maybe once or twice you were cheating on a girlfriend.'

'Yes, that's about it.'

'Did you ever get caught?'

'Once.'

'And...?'

'She dumped me.'

'Exactly. Multiply by a thousand, and you see what married, middle-aged people could lose if they got caught. I have never been caught and I don't intend to get caught. If I ever do get caught, it will be because I was very, very unlucky; because I will never be reckless and I will never be careless. People get careless when they get too relaxed, and they get reckless when they don't keep a hold on their feelings.'

'So it's just sex, then.'

'No, it's never just sex, but we have to act as though it is, and even pretend that it is; to ourselves. That's what I'm worried about. Can you do that?'

'Yes,' I said, not sure that I could. 

I saw that I would have to take what was on offer or end up with nothing but memories and unspent desires.

'We will see. Look; you are a handsome and very sexy young man, more than you probably know yet. Of course there is a part of me that wants to run away with you somewhere and live happily ever after and fuck you ten times a day, but it's just a fantasy, and it has to stay that. Remember that and everything will be fine.'

I guess I knew all of this in a vague and abstract way, but not from experience, and in a way I could not have articulated then in the way she was. It sounded cold and calculating, but it I supposed it must work.

'Can I ask you something?' I said.

'Yes, of course,' she replied.

The other day, it was great, but it seemed like you were acting a part, as though you weren't there, completely.'

'I was there all right,' she said, smiling 'One hundred per cent! I have imagined being with you many times and I always took the lead in my fantasies. And maybe I like to be in control. You have been one of my masturbation fantasies ever since before that day in the car.' 

'Wow!' I said. I really had never thought of that.

She had reached down and touched her pussy lips as she had said it. Right through the conversation she had been sitting opposite me with her legs open displaying herself and I was naked too, and my cock was quite hard again and as always she was staring at it. 

'Of course you have, you silly boy! I can even tell you when it started.'

'Really?'

'It would have been a year or so before our 'brief encounter' in the car. You were here and you and the boys were sitting in the living room when I came home. I sat with you and we all chatted and after a while you picked up a cushion and put it in your lap. I'd noticed that you'd been looking at me; I was wearing quite a short skirt. I guessed why you had put the cushion there and it gave me a thrill. 

'You saw!'

And a bit later, you all got up to go and I saw the bulge in your trousers. I knew it was because of me. It turned me on. And after you had gone and I was alone, I went on got one of my dildoes and masturbated there in the living room and imagined that you were fucking me.'

'I'm amazed!' I said; 'you wanted me.'

'Of course I did, and after that there were a couple of times when I almost made a pass. Do you remember the party we had for Neil's eighteenth birthday? I flirted with you. I was a little drunk. Well, later in the evening, you must remember this; you came out of the bathroom and I was waiting outside. I had seen you go upstairs and I followed you. I was going to push you back into the bathroom and come in there with you and lock the door and ... but I lost my nerve at the crucial moment. And after that, I tried to think of ways of being alone with you, but I didn't want to invite you over, in case you panicked and refused, so I just imagined doing it until that day in the car. I wanted to make a pass at you, but I still wasn't sure of how you would react. But then you made a move on me.'

'So why did you reject me afterwards?' I must have sounded rather pathetic when I said that.

'I didn't reject you. 'Reject' sounds like 'dump'. You know why; because you were too young and you would have become reckless; we had already been reckless in the car, but I was so excited then that I decided to take the risk, just that once. There might not have been another chance, but if we had continued then it would have ended in a mess. And I would have been the one who lost most. I explained at the time. I wanted you; God! An eighteen year old boy lusting for me; it was the biggest ego boost I had ever had. But I had to be sensible.'

We sat silently for a short time and she took a cigarette and lit it, opened her always spread legs wider and threw one over each side of the chair and sat back and pulled on her cigarette. Again, she ran her fingers over her pussy lips.

I love to watch you looking at my pussy,' she said.

She masturbated as she smoked and I had never seen anything so erotic before. She stopped playing with her pussy when she finished her cigarette. My cock was rock hard and it pleased and amused her to see me so much under her spell. I wanted to leap on her and fuck her straight away. But she was not going to allow me to be as clumsily direct as that.

'Come on,' she said 'come and suck on Auntie Yvonne's pussy again. Pussy eating is one think I won't need to teach you about.'

'What will you need to teach me about?'

'You will see.' 

I crawled over to her on all fours and dived onto her pussy. As I ate her, she smoked and sipped at her scotch.

She told me to fuck her and I stood up and pushed my cock into her pussy. 

'Slowly, slowly, fuck me slowly,' she purred.

This time we were doing it the way I wanted to; but she was still in control. She knew I wanted to do it that way, so that was what she asked for.

She told me to stop, so I did, though leaving my cock inside her, and she asked me

'Have you ever done anal sex?'

'No,' I said.

I was thrilled at the idea.

'Good!' she smiled; 'I will have your virginity.'

I withdrew from her and she told me to go to the kitchen and fetch the bottle of olive oil that she said she had left on the kitchen table.

As I returned with it, I said

'You left the oil out especially?'

'Yes,' she purred.

I handed her the bottle and she unscrewed the top and poured a generous amount into her hand. Then she began to smear my cock with it.

'It's the best lubricant, and it feels good on the skin too.'

Then she got on all fours, leaning over the sofa.

'Put some of the oil in my bum hole,' she said; 'some outside and use your finger to open me. Do it gently.'

With a coating of olive oil over my finger, I began to touch her sphincter, and slowly I felt it soften and relax.

'Now, I'm ready,' she said; 'slowly, push your finger in.'

I pushed gently and her ring gave and my finger began to disappear into her anus.

'You see,' she said, 'it opens just like a pussy, but you have to take longer over it. When it is ready, you can put your cock in there and fuck me.'

My cock throbbed fiercely at the thought and I continued to caress the skin inside her rectum as it squeezed my finger.

'More oil,' she said; 'and put some more on your cock too.'

I did as she directed and she said she was ready.

I squatted behind her and took my oiled cock in my hand and held it with the helmet softly touching her sphincter.

'Slowly, slowly,' she said; 'push very slowly.'

I pushed and at first there was resistance, but then suddenly her anus relaxed and my cock began slowly to slide into it. When my cock was inside her rectum to the hilt, I stopped and savoured the feeling of the tight tube gripping my prick.

'Now, slowly, fuck my arse.'

I began to move in and out.

'You'll know when you can go faster,' she said.

As I found my rhythm she sighed

'You are a fast learner. Arse fucking is an art.'

I hoped I would become an artist.

'Fuck Auntie Yvonne's arsehole, you dirty boy!' she cried, as I pushed in and out of her as hard as I would at her pussy.

I did not last long. I had never been so turned on. I came inside her. She came too, in the moment after I had. I was amazed that a woman could have an orgasm from that, but she did. She was not even fingering herself. My cock fucking her arse had been enough for her.

I was in a daze of pleasure as I withdrew and crawled on the sofa and fell back into it. She poured us another scotch.

'I had better not leak over the sofa,' she joked, and she got up and went to get a towel to sit on.

It must have been the intensity of the moment, and the higher level of intimacy that we had made. I decided to be bold and ask her about her sexual life. 

'How much should I tell you, how much do you need to know,' she asked.

'Whatever you tell me,' I replied.

She looked at me and paused for a moment, as if deciding how much she was going to reveal.

'I think you knew at the time in the car that I had had an affair. How much did Neil tell you?'

I didn't answer at first.

'Oh! Come on,' she laughed 'it was years ago now, and did you and Neil really think that I didn't know that you were screwing those little tarts you used to bring around here. I expect even Robert was at it too, and he was younger. I mean, why else would you have associated with girls like that. I'm sure they are all check out girls at Tesco's and going nowhere by now; or married with kids and going nowhere. That was me once.' 

'He told me that it was late and he and you were drinking and you were both drunk and you asked him if he had slept with anyone. He told you that he had and you told him that you had been having an affair.'

'You told me that before. Did he tell you anything else?'

'Yes.'

'Well, what?' she said, between humour and exasperation.

'That you and your lover were into oral sex!'

'God, I was drunk that night! I shouldn't have told him that. How was he about it, did you think?'

'Probably more upset then he pretended. He made a joke of it.'

'And what about you?'

'Well, you weren't my mum and I already fancied you. . It turned me on. The idea of you sucking cocks was very exotic to me then. It encouraged me.'

'I hope you didn't let him see that.'

'No.'

'Did he tell you who my lover was? I told him that too. I shouldn't have.'

'No.'

'It was no one you could have known. Someone I had worked with in the past.'

I just nodded. The idea of her having sex excited me, but I felt a pang of jealousy too. When she saw that I was not going to say anything, she continued with her story.

'That day in the car, I had never had anal sex then. I was really quite innocent. My first affair introduced me to the idea of sex without strings, though it was not that exactly, as an affair. We were both unhappy and bored with our marriages and with our lives, and those are not good reasons to have an affair, but they are the reasons most people have affairs: sadness and desperation. Neither of us wanted to end our marriages, but we got attached emotionally and it could have been messy. I was getting out of that when we had our afternoon in the car. And then that was over and I stayed away from it for a while, to see if it was what I wanted. Now, though, I have had more than one affair.' 

The last sentence she said in an entirely matter of fact way. And she went on

'Adulterous sex makes me feel like I can be ruder, naughtier, and with you and me; you're being young: I like that a lot too. You are the only younger man I have had. And there won't be any others. That's my loyalty to you.' 

'What about to your husband?'

'I am loyal to him in my way; loyal to what he wants to believe our lives are. I make sure that he never sees anything that would destroy that.'

'But it's deception all the same,' I said.

'Yes, but necessary deception. If I didn't do it, I'd be lying to myself as well as to him. I think that would be worse. I am a happier woman here with all of this because of my infidelities'

'Yes,' I said vaguely. I thought of the Freud I had read at university and remembered a line about how there are few marital problems that adultery won't solve.

'It's not that I'm unhappy with my life: my marriage, my family, my job. They are great now. It's just that they are not enough. It's something inside me. My sex life with my husband has always been fine, as married sex goes, but I need more. And I found another lover and then another, and I didn't get emotionally attached and I didn't feel guilty and I did what I wanted to do. So while you were fucking your way through the young girls at university, I was having fun too. I got married at twenty and I had only slept with two men before I married Derek, and I was faithful to him until that first affair. If someone had told me ten years ago that I would become a serial adulteress in my forties, I would not have believed them. But my children grew up and were leaving home and I was only just entering middle age and I wanted to live. I wanted to do things I had not done before and enjoy myself, and I discovered that I have a much more powerful and adventurous sexuality than I ever knew. My first affair was my awakening, but my second was my ... shall I say ... education. '

I was amazed that she was telling me all of this, but I was not amazed by the fact of it; not now. She another woman from the one I had known before I went away to university.




Yvonne Pt. 04



It was the day before her forty-ninth birthday. We had been having sex all afternoon and enjoying it as ever, but there was an undercurrent and in the breaks between she was wistful and quiet. In the end I asked her

'What's wrong?'

'Hmmmm!' she said; 'I was trying to hide it.'

'You're not doing very well. What is it?'

'How long have we been doing this now?' she asked.

'About a year and a half.'

'That makes it my longest affair,' she said, even more wistful.

'Is that good or bad?' I asked her.

'Good, of course!' She looked at me archly, as though I had said something wrong, but it was not one of the looks she gave me when she thought I was going to tell her I loved her. We had taken care of that long ago. No melodramatic displays of feeling; no demands. Just fun and sex. 

'Tomorrow is my birthday.'

'I know,' I said.

'Forty-nine; one more year and I'll be fifty.'

'I know how to make you feel better: I'll help you to forget.'

I made my way slowly down, licking and kissing her breasts, pausing to kiss her stomach and lick her navel for a little while and then finally on down to her pussy. Its scent made my cock harden more. I heard the sound of her leg slipping over the material of the sofa and I felt her foot caressing my cock. She often stroked me with her foot when I was going down on her. She was very skilled at it and she would grip my shaft between her big toe and her second and slowly wank me. I often came as she did it, and she always joked that my tongue went into her more deeply than my cock when I came over her foot. She liked to feel, she said, the warm, oily sperm on her toes.

'You still want me, even though I'm old?' she said.

'You're not old; you're gorgeous, and even when you are old, I'll still want you. I'll still be fucking you when you're seventy.'

I really believed I would.

'Don't listen to me,' she said, 'I'm just being stupid and sentimental. Come on fuck me really nice and deep. That'll cure me.'

'Do you want it in your arse, darling?'

'I always want it in my arse, my naughty boy!'

Oh yes! Fuck Auntie Yvonne's bum, fuck her up her arse.'

She loved to be crude and I loved it when she was too. Sex is better when it's dirty, she would say.

Time had proved her right. A year and a half and we still burned for each other and when we were together, we had all of the natural power of two bodies that knew each other and the fire of newness. I would never have believed that it was possible keep that fire burning the way we did.

My cure seemed to work. She was in a good mood for the rest of the time I was with her that day.

Before I left I asked her what she was doing for her birthday.

'Derek's taking me out for dinner.'

They would play the happily married couple. I wished I could take her out, but I couldn't, and I knew the rules, and if I could take her out on her birthday, I would be the one in her husband's position, getting the crumbs that didn't fall off the table, while someone else was getting to eat all the cake hidden away in some corner.

I had become accustomed to how things had to be between us. And I had learned that they were advantages to the relationship we had. Lose the desire for possession and the flames of desire continue to burn strongly for longer. Possession quenches them. I had remarked upon it once and she laughed and said

'See, I told you.'

'You didn't tell me that.'

'I wanted to save a few pleasant surprises for you.'

What I couldn't understand was her anxiety about her age, but then I was still only 25. I thought that being desired by a younger man of twenty-five should have been enough to show her how she still had it; which only proves how little I knew.

I sometimes wondered if there were others. Soon after we had begun, she asked me if I had ever had a black woman, and said that she wanted a black man; or two together. Then, she had stopped talking about it, and I thought that perhaps she had found it and put out that fire.

Occasionally she asked me about other women. I answered very generally; that was permissible in her rules. There was one who was around for a few months. I had given her a first taste of anal sex. When I told Yvonne she grinned and said

'That woman would thank me if she knew! If I hadn't shown you how, that poor girl would probably still not be able to sit down.'

She had the look of a teacher whose star pupil had just got into the best college. 

I was in love with her, of course, and our meetings once a week; and occasionally twice, were the fulfilling of a need. If the were taken away, I could not imagine what I would find to replace them. It was unthinkable, so I never thought about it. And I was sure too that I had come to be something similar to her. She never said so, but there was something sometimes in something she would say or a look in her eye. It was enough for me to believe what I wanted to believe and to be able to believe that it was true. And she was not a faker. In the middle of the web of illusion and deceit she had had to spin around herself, she was honest with me. I think it must her been her way of ensuring that she did not lose herself to her appetites and desires completely. 

She was not the only one who was feeling nostalgic. On the day of her birthday I got out the photographs we had taken together. They were pornographic. We kept them at my flat because I lived alone. She could not risk keeping them at her house with her husband there. One afternoon she had been sitting in the chair with her legs apart and her just fucked pussy exposed and looking deliciously alive with the sensations of sex and I had said to her that I would love to photograph her in that pose, right then. Her face lit up at the idea and she said

'You've found something I've never done!'

'And you want to?'

'Yes I would,' she said; 'and why didn't we think of it sooner? You like photography; I remember you told me.'

The next time I went to see her I took my camera with me. It was oneo f the best afternoons we ever had.

She was dressed even more sexily than usual; as ever in black. Her bra and panties were sheer nylon that revealed every detail of her tits and her pussy, and I saw that her gusset was already damp. She wanted to start taking photographs straight away.  

She sat back in the chair with her fingers inside the top of her panties and her cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth. I clicked the shutter and got the picture. For the next one she was pulling inside the gusset of her panties to expose her pussy. We got one shot like that, then one with her legs open a little wider with a finger slipped inside her pussy and then a real continental shot with her spreading herself wide open. She was holding her piss flaps with her fingertips and she had fingered herself well, so that her hole was open. Next she turned over on all fours and did some spread shots with her hand coming through her legs from below to open herself.

I was aching to fuck her, but she wanted to be photographed more. The only concession she made was to tell me to take my cock out. She wanted to see the effect she was having on me; as if she didn't know already.

For the next set of shots she stayed on all fours and began stroking her sphincter. We started with a shot like that, and the she pushed her finger into her arse, and then she did a spread, just the way she had with her pussy. Her arsehole looked red and raw and angry as I snapped away, and how I wanted to fuck her there.

Still she wouldn't let me though. She turned over for some arse and cunt shots; a finger from one hand in her cunt and one from her other hand deep in her arsehole.

'I'm ready!' she said finally, and I ran over to her, still with the camera in my hand. 

I stood before her and she said 

'I'm gonna suck your cock, darling; and make sure you get a cum shot.'

She sucked me fast and furiously. All she wanted to do was make me blow my load as quickly as possible and get a photograph of my silvery spunk spurting over her face. It took some concentration, but I managed it; a perfect shot of a big glob of spunk caught in flight in the moment before it fell onto her tongue. 

I put the camera down on the coffee table and went and sat down. She picked it up and pointed it at me.

'Move your leg a little that way,' she said.

As soon as the shutter had clicked, I was hard again. I understood then why being photographed had excited her so much. She took several shots of me like that, and some of me stroking my cock. 

She wanted some of us together and we had to use the timer for that. We made a few mistakes with those and got some shots of me or her rushing back to get into position. Some of them worked though, and they were good. The best was of her straddling me with my cock about an inch inside her pussy and her peeling her lips apart for maximum viewing pleasure. I still look at those photographs and they still make me hard.

When we were finished we had a real fuck and it was the best we ever had; rude and dirty, but also loving and tender. She is still the only woman I have ever really achieved that with.

Afterwards we sat and smoked and drank as always and the air remained heavy with the anticipation of more sex.

She lit herself another cigarette and made to get up. I thought it was time for more, and it was, but it was not what I had been expecting.

'There's another photograph I want to take,' she said.

She stood and picked up the camera from the coffee table and came over to me. She held out her hand to me and said 

'Come.'

I took her hand and she led me from the room. I did not know where she was going to take me. Was she going to break the taboo and take me to the bedroom? That was her loyalty to her husband; anywhere, everywhere, but the marital bed. 

It was not the bedroom though. She led me into the bathroom. Were we going to photograph each other having sex in the bath, or the shower? I was in her hands as always. 

She looked at me and smiled, guessing my puzzlement.

'This is something very special' she said; 'don't be shocked. Just watch and take a photograph.'

She squatted on the toilet and reached down between her splayed legs and with the first and second fingers of her right hand, she opened her pussy. Her left hand held her cigarette.

'You're...you're going to pee!' I said, amazed.

'Yes,' she said; 'I have never shared this with anyone. Usually I play this game alone. I'm sharing it with you.'

I felt fear, disgust, excitement and joy. It was as though I was drunk.

'Make sure you get good pictures,' she told me.

I readied myself and the camera. I had her in the frame; squatting there on the toilet with her pussy held open and both of us waiting for her jet of urine to emerge. My cock ached at the sight of her like that. 

When it came, a few short spurts shot out, and then a steady flow in a golden arc poured from her. Most of it was overshooting the bowl and flying through the air onto the tiled floor, but it didn't matter. I had never known anything as intimate as this before; being shown what I was not supposed to see. Somehow I managed to concentrate and I got some superb shots of her like that. 

When her piss jet finally subsided, impulse took me and I flew at her. I was on my knees between her legs licking and sucking her pussy. It was only when I tasted the salty drips of her urine that had clung to her pussy that I understood what I was doing, and the realisation only made me lick and suck her more avidly.

Finally I stopped and she said

'I never thought you would like that this much!'

All I could say was 'I want to fuck you!'

'Then fuck me!' she replied.

I raised myself to a position where my cock was level with her pussy. I fed it into her immediately and she was so wet, my cock met no resistance. I fucked her right there on the toilet, and my balls bashed against the cold porcelain of the rim of the toilet bowl as my cock fucked in and out of her cunt.

Her peeing show had made us both wild and we fucked like a horny street dog and a bitch in heat. She came after a minute or so of the pounding I was giving her and I was close behind her. I felt the tightening in my balls and the churning and the sperm rising through my cock like mercury in a thermometer on a hot summer's day. I pulled out of her at the crucial moment and squirted over her pussy lips.

After that afternoon, when we were in the mood, we would always retire to the bathroom at some time during our bouts of fucking, and we progressed from watching each other to washing each other with our golden water.

We were to meet the day after her birthday in the afternoon. That morning she called me and said she wanted to do something different.

'You know the wood just out of town on the way to ........?' she asked.

'Yes,'

'Meet me there in the lane that leads down to the river. You can park there, and no one ever goes there ... except the odd couple, and even that's rare. We'll have the place to ourselves, and bring your camera.'

I had never had sex outside. I was excited at the idea.

We met there at two. I arrived a little early to make sure I got there before her. 

She was wearing black as always; a long skirt and a silky blouse. 

'Let's walk down to the river,' she said.

When we got there; it took ten minutes, we sat on the trunk of a fallen tree.

'Have you ever done it outside?' she asked.

'No,' I said.

'Take some photos,'

I stood and walked around so that I was in front of her and a few yards away. The skirt she had worn was split all the way up the side and she opened it to reveal her stocking clad leg. We took a few shots like that and then she moved it around so that the top of the split was aligned with her crotch and opened it again. Her pussy was immediately visible. She hadn't worn panties. I took a couple of soft shots and she leaned back a little and opened her legs further and began to rub her fingers over her lips, readying herself for some more explicit poses.

'Take your cock out. I want to see you getting hard for me,' she said.

I did as she asked.

'That beautiful thing is going in here soon;' she said, as she peeled open the lips of her shaved fanny and slipped a finger inside herself.

She masturbated more and more urgently as she leaned against the fallen tree trunk and I took photograph after photograph of her. She brought herself to orgasm and as she came I took shots of her face in ecstasy. When she had recovered, she turned and leaned facing the trunk and her hand appeared between her legs and she repeated the show and I took more photographs and her fingers caressed her ring and she pushed one into her anus.

I couldn't resist any longer and came to her and I was about to push my cock into her, when she said

'No, baby; just wank over me and spunk over my cunt.'

She turned around and with my twitching cock six inches from her cunt, still wet and glistening from her orgasm, I wanked my cock and aimed it at her hole. She licked the finger that had been in her arsehole and watched me pull away on my prick as I got closer and closer to showering her with the spunk she wanted.

She held herself open and finally it came. My sperm shot from my cock and spattered her open cunt. The moment it hit her she was smearing the pearly cream over her swollen lips and then licking it off of her fingers.

Then she sucked my dick clean. The summer heat made the air over the water hazy and I imagined that if I could see her cunt as she sucked me off, her cunt would be steaming. My balls twisted and churned, but she knew how to keep me simmering. I would boil when she wanted me to.

'I want to eat your cunt,' I told her and dived in and began lapping; lips, cunt juice, my own spunk. I wanted them all.

'Don't forget my arse,' she said, turning around to give me access to her dark hole. She leaned forward over the trunk and reached round and pulled her arse cheeks open to expose her sphincter. It was red and swollen and ready and I licked it avidly until it began to dilate and allow my tongue to snake into her arsehole. She tasted like heaven.

My tongue explored her sweet anus until she said

'Fuck it now, fuck me, fuck my arse.'

The analingus I had treated her to had got me hard again and I stood up and took my prick in my fist and place my helmet against her sphincter. I only had to push gently and first my cockhead and then little by little my shaft disappeared into her rectum. When I was in all the way, the brushes and scratches of her fingernails against my balls told me that she was fingering her pussy as I penetrated her anus.

'Mmmmmmmm, hard, darling, hard; fuck it hard!'

I fucked her arse as vigorously as I would her pussy and she gasped and let out little screams and I felt the velvet skin of her rectal canal caressing my shaft as I pushed it in and out of her.

'I want someone to come; I want someone to come and see you fucking my arse with your lovely cock.' 

My hands held the sides of her chest, and I gripped harder, as if for safety.

'Play with my tits,' she said, 'come on, squeeze momma's tits. Feel how hard my nipples are.'

'Momma!' she had said.

The sound of the word almost made me shoot, but I held it; I wanted to keep going like that forever, under the trees and beside the river.

I reached round and cupped her tits and took each nipple between forefinger and thumb. Their soft sagginess chimed with the word she had used, and with my arms around her and my hands squeezing her tits and my cock deep in her anus, I felt that I was part of her. I stopped for a moment, wanting to stay where I was. She understood; she stopped too, and after a minute and more, she said

'Ok, let me turn around; momma wants you in her pussy now.'

She directed me to lie on the grass, right beside the water. She stood over me and slowly squatted down. She held her pussy open over my cock and that hot box of hers swallowed me without effort. With my cock embedded as deep in her pussy as it would go, she lent forward and her deliciously sagging, pendulous breasts hung over my face. 

'Suck momma's titties,' she said, 'suck momma's titties and fuck her pussy.'

It was her who was fucking me of course, but that didn't matter. I was too far gone to think about it. All I could do was sit and feel her tight pussy loving my cock and her suck long, hard nipples one after the other and back again in my mouth. I sucked on them as though my life depended on it, and in so many ways it did.

She was gone too; there was no performance now. She was where I was. I felt her begin to buck and she came. The wetness around my cock increased and I could feel her coming. It was enough to bring me to the end too, as I did I heard her say

'Yes, yes, fill momma's cunt! Fill me with spunk, deep, deep, give it all to momma!'

With three generous spurts I filled her.

She didn't move. Her pussy went on loving my cock and kept it hard with its soft pulsing caresses.

She looked down at me and looked at the same time generous, gentle, imperious and benevolent. 

'Momma?' I said.

'Yes, in that moment.'

'And what now?'

'Something more complicated. Don't think about it. It doesn't matter what it was; it just was.'

She eased herself off of me and stood at the water's edge for a moment. Then she stepped into the shallow, slow flowing water, and as she did, she transformed from momma to one of her more familiar roles. Suddenly, the softness was gone and he looked like a hardened and vulgar bordello madam. With her legs a little apart and leaning forward a little she stood prone. She looked at me and I had never seen such a look of lasciviousness, even on her face. Then she smiled, wickedly, enigmatically; though there was no enigma. I saw what she was going to do.




Yvonne Pt. 05



We have been here together before,' I reminded her.

'I know,' she said.

'You called it 'my place'.'

'It's our place, or it was, but you were gone.'

'But here we are again.' I said.

'Yes, I should have known I'd see you again some day. I didn't think I would.'

'I always thought so too, and I always imagined that we would be in this place again together.'

'I'm sixty now; almost an old woman.'

'I'm thirty-six now. It doesn't matter.'

'That's still six years younger than I was the first time we were together.'

'It doesn't matter.'

'It's easier for men, aging.'

'Maybe.'

'I can't stay here long today. I only popped out to get some shopping. Derek is waiting at home. He's retired now.'

'Can we meet again?'

'You want to?'

'Yes, of course.'

'Then Saturday. I will pick you up at one.' 

Saturday came around and I was waiting on the high street where she had told me to, and she arrived right on time. We drove to the same place by the river that she had taken me to the week before. When she picked me up, she was in a playful mood, unlike the reflective and slightly melancholy way she had been at times the week before. I think that the fact that things had gone so well between us the previous Saturday, and my indicating to her that she was still desirable now, put her in a girlish and flirtatious mood. If she stayed in this mood, I would seduce her. I decided that in the car. And everything about her, from her manner to the way she had dressed suggested that she was in the mood to be seduced. 

We would come full circle. That first time in the car, when I had clumsily made my adolescent pass and she had accepted it and we had masturbated each other and she had sucked my cock. Then what I came to think of as the collision between us, when I had thought that all I had needed to do was put myself in her way and something would happen. And it had, oh it had; but not quite as I had expected.  I found that she had turned into a sort of secret suburban libertine, and the beginning of it had been more a clash than the gentle coming together of suburban housewife and small town boy turned educated young city dweller. It had been Yvonne who set the tone that time, and it was she who had educated me about what the body wants and what it knows, and how to find the answers to its questions.

This time it was going to be different. It would be a more conventional seduction. I would ask her for another date. We would go for lunch and then spend the afternoon together, and we would reacquaint ourselves with each other's bodies and to her surprise, I would take delight in the ravages of age that had gently, but indelibly marked her body, and she would be surprised that I still desired her so, despite the work that nature and experience had performed on her flesh and in her eyes. It turned out that one half of what I expected was the way it went.

I took the chance to look her over again, as I had when we had first met at the shops. I had been right. She still had it, though maybe she didn't believe it anymore. I looked carefully at her. She had not gained weight, as so many people do with age. She had never been slim either, at least not when I had known her before. She had been shapely, a little voluptuous even. And she had never been a great beauty; not the kind of woman to turn many heads on the street; but there was nothing motherly or housewifely about her either. And mother and housewife were two of the things she had been. She was attractive, but that not mean anything definite. She was very, very sexy, and in a way that was not contrived. That was why she had been so sexy. And she still had it, and the years had not been too unkind. Her face was lined of course, but not too much, and her skin was still good. She had wide, hazel eyes and her hair had been dark brown, but now it was half grey. It was like her not to have coloured it. 

She continued to be flirtatious as she drove and as we were about to get out of the car, she turned to reach for a jacket, which she had put on the back seat. With her other hand, she held the dashboard in front of me, to balance herself as she turned, and as she turned back, she allowed her hand to drop low enough, and close enough to my lap for her fingers to brush almost imperceptibly over the gentle bulge of my crotch as she drew her hand back towards herself. It may have been that she let her fingers stop there, gently touching the material of my trousers over my cock, for a moment, but I could never tell, because ever since I had known her, it had always felt to me that whenever we were in the same room, it was as though she was touching me, even when she wasn't, right back to the time, a long time before the time in the car, when I had been sitting in her living room with Neil and Robert and she had come in and sat down in her usual black, and smoked and cross and uncrossed her legs at times, and without meaning to flirt, and I had got a fierce erection. 

'I wanted to make this a big seduction,' I told her, 'and take you to lunch or dinner and then to a hotel for the afternoon or the night, but now, here, I want you so badly that I want to do it with you here.'

'I want to do it here too,' she said, 'because I want to do it now. I don't want to wait. I don't need the usual procedures or the dressings up. I need your body and mine, I need your cock in my pussy, and I need you.'

I was kissing her and fondling her breast through her blouse, almost before she had finished what she was saying. And then the old Yvonne was there for a moment, for she added

'And I've always wanted you to fuck me again, and in this place, our place.'

I didn't think she quite believed it as much as she used to. Her last sentence seemed to contradict itself. She said she wanted to be fucked, when it seemed to me that it was something else she wanted, or the act of fucking, but by another name, not fucking, but something else. And that was confirmed by her saying this place was our place. And I think she wanted affirmation too; that even though she was sixty, she was still a woman and desirable. And desirable to a man so much younger than she was and one with whom she had such a history.

'No one comes here but me,' she said, 'so we are safe. We can strip off, and do whatever we like.'

Our sex that afternoon was different from how it had ever been before. It still had the urgent, animal quality that it had always had, but there was something else as well. We undressed each other as we were sitting there and kissing, until we were other naked to our underwear.

'You still wear the same kind of boxer shorts,' she said, as she undid the button on the fly and eased my cock out through the gap. She stroked it gently and then she said

'I have missed him.'

He had missed her too.

She still favoured black, and she was wearing a lacy black bra and panties and matching stockings and suspenders, though were less overtly sexy and more classic in style than the styles she had worn before. I held her and with my arms around her back, I slowly unclipped her bra and equally slowly took it off. Her generous breast fell forward as I released them from the bra. They were a little heavier and had more of a sag than they had had the last time I had touched them, but I liked them, I think even more like this, and the twitch of my cock between her fingers as they fell forward must have told her that; or at least that heavier and sagging they still excited me. I wanted to rub my cock over them right away, but I resisted the urge; have it happen in the flow of things. 

She began to pull my foreskin slowly up and down over my cock head and as she did so, I gently squeezed and caressed her nipples until they reached their full length. She sighed and placed her head in between my chin and my shoulder. When I had finished bringing her nipples to erection, I let my hand slide gently down towards her stomach. Just as her breasts had grown heavier, and in this sitting position, were almost resting on her stomach, there were a few more small rolls of fat around her stomach and just as her breasts had thrilled me, those rolls of fat make me ache for her even more. I allowed my hand to linger on her stomach and I ran my fingers over the little rolls and pushed my fingertips in between them until I found her navel and gently caressed it. I loved her body and I loved it as it changed, and seeing her only so infrequently, I saw the changes dramatically, the work of years all in one go, rather than as the slow and barely discernable process that aging is.

'Touch my pussy,' she said, as she had said before, many years ago.

I was about to push my hand inside her panties, but I changed my mind and instead, reached down with one hand between her legs and pulled the gusset of her panties aside to reveal her pussy to the warm and balmy afternoon air. I leaned forward and looked down at her as I did it. I wanted to see her. She still shaved and her lips, as they always hand, stuck out proudly and her large and protrusive clitoris sat proudly at the top of the long oval of them. I wanted to kiss her there again and take those lips and that lovely clitoris into my mouth as I used to, and I would, but there was no need to rush, and my fingers had work to do there first.

I looked at her pussy for a long moment and as I did so, she continued to slowly and softly stroke my cock. Then it was time to touch her and I moved my hand down from her stomach and began to brush against her lips with my fingers. She opened slowly like a late summer flower and already moist, she began to become wetter. Touching her there again, my cock strained until I thought it would burst. I rubbed her lips for a long time and listened as her soft moans turned into harder, more urgent ones, and when I felt that I had tuned her up to the pitch she wanted, I moved my fingertip to her clitoris and began to massage it softly. She gasped loudly at my first touch and gripped my hard cock more tightly for a moment, causing her fingernails to dig into my foreskin. She threw her head back and pushed her groin forward to meet my hand and as I continued to massage her clitoris, I felt her warm wet lips against my palm and heard her say

'Put your finger inside me.'

I changed from using middle to fore finger on her clitoris, and slowly but purposefully slid the middle finger inside her. She was still as lovely and tight as she had always been, and as my finger explored her hole, memories of all of the times that my cock had been in there, and thoughts of anticipation at putting it inside her pussy again, thrilled me.

I pushed in a second finger and her walls clasped them tightly. I began to move them rhythmically in and out of her, and all the while kept on stroking and massaging, squeezing and softly pinching her clitoris.

I could tell by the increasing rapidity of her gasps and sighs that she was getting close, so I began to rub her a little more vigorously. Finally she locked still and held herself that way; her only movement the pusher of her pussy into my hand, as she came. I felt her juices ooze into my palm and I almost came myself at the joy of it.

Her head was in my lap and my cock in her mouth and she sucked it slowly and lovingly. Gently I moved her round and moved myself with her, so that she was on her side beside me. Throughout she kept my cock in her mouth, as though she did not want to let go.

'Open your legs, darling,' I told her, 'I want to look at you.'

She opened them and her pussy flowered again.

As though about to pluck it, I took her clitoris between thumb and forefinger and reached with my tongue and began to softly lick it.

I wanted to make her come with my licking and I wanted to come im her mouth, but I wanted to push my cock into her pussy and fuck her again even more, so I moved back and she knew instinctively and lay back and waited for me. It as al I could do to stop myself from coming as my cock slid into her and I felt her tense and then relax as my cock reached into her.

I didn't move. I just wanted to feel her warm wetness around my cock and as I let it rest inside her I kissed her softly and told her that I loved her and she opened her eyes and said 

'I love you.'

After making love, we talked.

'Have you been faithful over the years?'

'Who to?' she asked; 'I have not been faithful to my husband, if faithful means not having relations with other men.'

'I felt disappointed. If she had not been faithful to her husband, she had not been faithful to me either.  How selfish love and desire can be.

'But you have been faithful to yourself,' I said, and I believed in that. She was the one who had taught me to believe it.

'Ah, yes,' she said; 'I have been faithful to myself; faithful to my faithlessness.'

'You don't sound like you used to sound when we had our affair.'

'Maybe,' she said; 'I wonder, why did we stop? Should we have kept it going, or should we have got together properly? Have you ever wondered about that?'

I had and I said 'yes, it has always been you who was in my mind, at the back of everything else.'

'So we were wrong to part when we did?'

'Maybe,' I said, 'and I think we stopped because we were getting beyond the philosophy we used to justify what we were doing.'

'So we would have been deceiving ourselves if we had gone on; telling each other and ourselves that it was just sex, just pleasure, just exploration.'

'Perhaps the instinct of self-preservation is stronger in the end than desire itself?' I said.

'I think it is now but I didn't used to,' she said.

Seeming to be changing the subject, but actually coming to the heart of it, I asked her

'Do you still have sex with your husband?'

'Hardly ever.'

'Any lovers?'

'Not for a while.'

'Until today,' I said.

She smiled.

'I want to have another affair with you,' I told her.

'If the first one ever really stopped,' she said.

There was a pause in our talk and we both looked out over the river. Then she turned to me and it seemed to me that she was about to say something important and significant, but she stayed silent, until after a short moment she said

'It's getting dark. I had better go. But we could meet again.'

'I'd like to,' I said.

'How long are you here for?' she asked.

I'm leaving tomorrow, but London is not far. I will come again next weekend.'

'You will probably have to lie to your wife, if you tell her you are coming again to visit your mother so soon. Breaking routines; it's a give away. And if you lie to your wife, you will have begun to be doing something wrong.'

'I want to see you,' I said.

'Yes,' she replied, 'there are things between you and me that are unfinished. I didn't know that until I saw you again, but talking here has shown me. And I thought I knew myself. I thought that was all past now.'

As her words trailed away, it was as though she was not talking to me anymore, but to the trees or the river or the sky, or perhaps only to herself.

She drove me back to town and dropped me off on the high street, close to the bookshop, and said 

'I will pick you up here at three next Saturday afternoon.'

I did not doubt for a moment that I would be there or that she would.

'But this time, we will be faithful to one another, after our fashion. We are both married now, and that makes us equal.' I would have added that we were thus as good or as bad as each other, but neither of us saw it like that.

She seemed surprised.

'You have an attractive young wife,' she said, 'and you want to risk it for a secret relationship with me.'

'I won't get caught,' I said.

'No, it's easy to get away with it,' she said, 'I only ever got caught once¸ the first time. Getting away with it; it's too easy to get away with it.'

'I know,' I said.

We were silent for a while and when we were almost back in town she spoke again.

'Is this love?' she asked me.

'We used to pretend it was just for the sex.'

'It's never just for the sex,' she said.

'But it works to tell oneself it is.'

'Yes,' she said, and looked out across the river again.

'That is the whole of the problem,' she said 'to experience the power of sex, it has to be as we do it, but I don't want to be alone.'