-Part 3-
As I emerge from the wet room, a soft, white towel around my waist I can hear new music around the house. It is playing softly in every room. I love this enchanting voice, and the piano alternates between contemplative twinkling and passionate pounding (I later find out it is a collection of B-Sides from the single releases of the first three Tori Amos albums).
I wander the ground floor looking for the green-eyed lady, a second, smaller towel in my hand, which I use to diligently mop up the traces of wet puddles and footprints I have left in my wake.
“You’re so sweet,” a voice intones from just above and I realise she has been watching me from the top of the stairwell for quite some time.
“Left my clothes to dry,” I call out, unsure of how to steer the tone back in the direction it took in the kitchen. She descends the stairs, smiling again as the piano intensifies.
In other contexts, this pleasure I seem to be imbuing, merely with my presence would feel almost predatory. I’ve read plenty of stories where the foolish, horny teen boy is lured into a spider’s web. However, the look on her face, while most definitely hungry has a tinge of sadness about it as well.
“What is it?” I ask in clumsy fashion. As though someone like this is going to just unburden her heart to a complete stranger because they asked.
“It…” she chooses her words carefully and delivers them with relish “…is a good evening to be me.” She has had a shower herself, to wash the smoke of Croydon off her skin. Her makeup has been removed, her hair is wet and her face looks fresh, her eyes wide and observant behind those glasses. She is clad in a silk gown, dark, slate grey with tiny details of maroon flowers washing across her upper body. But I note she is still wearing satin stockings. She tosses me a dressing gown made of a towelling similar to the one round my waist. I thank her and pause, uncertain as to whether to fully undress in front of her. She leans upon the banister and watches me, expectantly. I allow a sly smile to creep across my features and in an act that might be interpreted as cheeky defiance I turn my back on her, pull on the robe and then remove the towel, having shown her nothing more.
“Spoilsport,” she mutters as she walks past me, back into the kitchen and pours boiled water from the kettle into two mugs. “This is coffee,” she states, plainly. “For energy. Chocolate, since you’re a fan.” At this she shoots me a look and we share the memory of our first contact. A shiver runs up my spine as I remember the taste of her fingers. “Plus, a little amaretto for your nerves?” It is a question. She proffers the bottle in her hands.
“That sounds lovely, thank you,” I say, and she pours in a generous shot. –‘But it is dull, son of Adam, to eat without drinking,’- the words steal through my head. Followed by Marissa Coulter offering Chocolatl to Tony Makarios, a poor, trusting kid she’s about to snatch off the street. I tell my literary side to shut its trap lest it ruin this for the both of us.
I receive the steaming mug, that she has applied exactly the right measurements with expert timing to make it cool enough to drink without burning my mouth. Wouldn’t want to injure my tongue now. “Mmm,” I sigh as she watches me over her cup. Then I take the plunge, because it is so strange that I don’t know the answer to the following question yet. “I’m sorry to be rude and blunt, but what is your name?”
An enigmatic expression passes across her face, and I already know her answer.
“No names,” she says, with firm authority.
“Understood,” I nod. “Then call me whatever you wish.”
She takes a step towards me, drink in one hand. I am very aware of her breasts, outlined beneath the robe. I have touched one breast before in a sexual context. On an exchange trip, I got together with Marianne, one of the French girls. We kissed a lot whilst my class was in France, and in a few months’ time when they visited England, Marianne and I met up again at a party. Regrettably we had perhaps left it too long; this was the last night we were going to see one another, and while I had stroked towards her chest during a make-out session before, she had steered me away. Now, I did not enjoy feeling like a grasping baby so I kept my hands respectfully upon her back and her hips, her face and her hair. But for this final evening something was different. Either she wanted to give me a treat or she genuinely wanted to feel my fingers upon her nipples, because she very deliberately guided me there that time. I remember little explosions going off in my head that I was being trusted to this degree and I was gentle in my caresses. My hand in her shirt as our tongues explored one another’s mouths.
But it has been a few years since then, and now a fully grown lady has designs on my hands and potentially more.
“Let me guess,” she says softly, looking me up and down, reading my body language, correlating that information with everything else I had done in her presence. “You know what you’re doing…” Uh oh, she was overestimating me wildly. “You just haven’t been able to do it yet,” she concludes. That was far more accurate. I take a deep breath.
“Correct,” I nod.
“So,” she let’s this simple, initiating word hang in the air and I catch a twinkle of mischief in her eye. “That would make me your teacher right now.”
“Let’s just say,” I venture. “That I have the theory down, but I need experience in the practical side.”
“Well then,” she straightens up a little and takes another step towards me. Teasing me with her proximity. “One assumes you have particular… tastes. Maybe a checklist of experiences long overdue to start adding ticks to?”
“Pretty much all of it,” I admit. “But,” and here I decide to be wholly honest. “I am just so happy being here with you. If you just want us to sit and talk that will be an amazing, memorable, no… an *indelible* evening for me.”
That air of sadness flits across her features once again. What is it? What is she hiding?
“Alright,” the lady says, taking the last two steps into immediacy. The atmosphere between us tingles as she lays a hand upon my shoulder, that maroon nail-polish again, applying subtle pressure, coaxing me to incline my left ear down towards her mouth. With a start I feel warmth on my earlobe. It is between her lips and I feel tiny measures of pressure from indentations in her teeth. She plants dry, passionate kisses in the sensitive area of skin where my ear meets my neck and I shiver hard as her other arm circles me. Then I hear her whisper. “Talking with you is genuinely a lovely experience,” she breathes. “But given free reign, what would you *most* like to do with me right now?”
I am in ecstasy as she kisses me further, parting my bathrobe. I feel hers, open now and glance down at her breasts. These are the first naked nipples I have actually *seen* up close, and they are pink and rigid with little goosebumps surrounding them. I caress the small of her back as I pull her into me, and the thumb on my other hand brushes her left nipple, making her gasp in pleasure as I hold her.
I don’t fool myself that it is just me doing all this. Something about the way she has set everything up is positioning the pair of us at maximum arousal. I am just thrilled she chose me to be the one to accompany her to this place. “What would you love?” she asks again. “Ask me and I’ll say yes.” Oh god, I adore this experience so much. This welcome acceptance. No, again with the understatement. As her arms encircle me and her nails lightly graze ten lines in my naked back, this is *need*.
I feel her pelvis push against me as we kiss deeply. This causes me to free my mouth from hers for a second as she looks up intently, eyes drinking in the sight of what she is doing to my expression.
“I would love…” I breathe into her ear. “I would love to eat your pussy.” I feel her trembling now as her hips undulate with mine, and a little chuckle escapes her as she gently frames my face in her hands.
“Is that not something you’ve done yet?” she queries. I shake my head and bite my lip as a powerful wave of wanton desire rushes through the both of us. “Well then,” she purrs, and gently presses on both of my shoulders as she shrugs her robe aside. I catch sight of her knickers approaching as I am compelled down to my knees. They are lacy and black, and once again I am reminded of a line. A border we have come to, and are about to cross. Once beyond this point things will be different between us. The moment hangs as we examine it together, shivering in anticipation.
I glance up, panting softly, breathing her in. Freshly showered but still so gorgeously, intimately scented in a way my sense memory will never lose track of. I study the area around her waist, her navel, the wonderful, soft, wide V that descends from her hips. She looks down at me and strokes my hair.
“You’re going to have to pull them down for me,” she states, matter-of-factly.
Lightning races through my body. I have never been so awake or so alive. I hook my thumbs around either side of those knickers, just a few inches above her stocking-tops, and I begin to slide them down.
This is it. I have seen a hundred pussies before on the printed page, on grainy, fuzzy erotic videos from back when you couldn’t really see any kind of detail anyway. But I had never ever been this close. And as her panties slide down her legs and my fingers brush that satin, at long last her delectable cunt is revealed to me.
I kneel, gazing at her, barely able to breathe with excitement. My cock is so hard and pulsing right now I didn’t even know if I could stand if she ordered me to. It is requesting all the blood in my body to maintain such peak density.
I looked lovingly at her soft, curled lips, the seashell in the middle inviting my touch, her pink, hooded clitoris, the neatly shaved triangle of dark hair surrounding it. Then I feel her hand on the back of my head.
“Go on,” she whispers. “I want nothing more in the world right now than to feel your tongue there.”
With a soft moan of capitulation, I bury my face between her legs and finally, after all those years of imagining it, I explore that most sacred of places, with enthusiasm and passion that has stored up inside me my entire life.
Green-eyes leans back against the kitchen counter, throws one shapely leg over my shoulder, hooking me in, gripping my hair and almost immediately begins to cum in my mouth, moaning and shuddering in release with an animalistic fervour.
My brain is nothing but fireworks.
End of Part 3
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