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You probably know that I am Mike’s second wife. His first marriage to Ellen was dissolved – largely because she didn’t share Mike’s sexually adventurous nature and objected when he wanted to investigate the scene which gives all of us so much enjoyment. However, they remained on friendly terms, not least in the interests of Ben, their son. My stepson.
Not long ago Ellen asked if she could come to lunch because, she said, she had a problem I might be able to help her with, one she didn’t want to discuss on the phone. The problem, it transpired, was Ben. He was almost twenty-two and in his last year at University. He was a good student who could expect to get a decent degree, so that was fine. Ellen’s problem was Ben’s social life. She said he seemed to have few friends, male or female, or certainly none that she knew about. Whenever she asked about girlfriends, he would make a joke and change the subject. All of which had led Ellen to think that Ben might be gay. If he was, she wouldn’t mind. She would like him to know that but didn’t feel able to raise the subject if he didn’t. Did I think I could find out?
I had no idea. Ben and I had always been on easy terms when he came to visit Mike, which he did several times a year. Once or twice in Mike’s absence I thought I might have caught Ben with an expression that wasn’t easy to read; he seemed on the point of saying something but never did. So there was no way I could promise Ellen I could find an answer for her, but I did agree to try.
Ellen outlined her thoughts about how I might be given the chance. During the Easter vacation, when Ben usually spent most of his time at home, Ellen had a long-planned holiday which would take her away for three weeks. Could she suggest that Ben came to stay with Mike and me? Of course. He was always welcome. Mike, I knew, would be pleased to have his company for a while and now I was intrigued by the challenge he represented.
For the first few days of his stay life was pretty straightforward. Ben spent a lot of time in his room revising for his exams. A couple of times he and Mike played golf. The opportunity arose one day at lunch time. Mike had to go up to London to see our accountants. I drove him to our nearby town, dropped him off, did some shopping and returned in time to have a few words with Molly, the little gem from the village who comes in to clean and change the rooms after the guests have departed. There are just five rooms in an annex we had converted from an old stable block.
With no arrivals due until the early evening, I looked into Ben’s room and offered to bring him something cold for his lunch while he stayed with his books. I prepared a salad, opened a bottle of white wine – a little treat he always welcomed – and took a tray with two glasses to his room. “Do you mind if I join you for ten minutes?” I asked.
“Of course not. I’m afraid there’s not much room.” He gestured to a table and an armchair covered with textbooks.
“It’s all right, I can sit on the bed.” I poured wine for us both, hoisted myself on to the bed and curled up, legs tucked demurely underneath me. Couldn’t have been more decorous. We chatted inconsequentially until I took the chance to ask about life at University. When Ben embarked on an account of lectures, tuition professors and so on, I interrupted.
“Sounds much the same as when I went.” Time for a slight change of subject. “What about the social side? A bit wild sometimes?”
“Of course, there’s drinking and boisterousness, that sort of thing, you know. But I steer clear of it.”
Ben laughed. “Who has time for girlfriends when he has exams coming up?”
I smiled, tried not to sound too serious. “Do you mind if I ask you something personal?”
“No, I guess not.”
“Well Mike and I were talking … ” – I thought it best to keep Ellen’s name out of the conversation – “… and your father said … how shall I put it … that he was surprised you never talk about girlfriends. At your age he claims that he was bedding anything in a skirt. It was a big reason for wanting to get away from home. With your good looks, you shouldn’t be short of opportunities.”
He was obviously embarrassed. Our relationship has always been relaxed and friendly; he didn’t want to offend but he wasn’t sure what to say.
I tried to help. “This is the twenty-first Century,Ben, and sex isn’t a forbidden topic. I think Mike would like to feel that you are getting your share. With at least some of those willing young ladies looking for experience.”
“Celibacy? Doesn’t sound like my student days. And certainly not like your father’s.”
Ben gave a rueful smile. “No, it’s not that. I’ve had some – adventures. But the girls aren’t that great.”
Was this a hint that Ellen’s suspicion might have some substance? I stayed silent. After a moment or two, Ben said, “To be honest, I think I could be more interested in older women.”
Not knowing what to say, I said nothing. Just when it seemed Ben was bahis firmaları unwilling to go any further, he said, “There’s a lecturer …”
There was another awkward pause, but now my curiosity was aroused. I said, “If you’re discreet, there’s nothing wrong with a relationship with a lecturer.”
“Oh, there’s no relationship. It’s just a fantasy I have – and it makes me think that maybe someone older …” He tailed off again.
“What kind of fantasy?”
“Well, she’s standing at the lectern, but kind of leaning forward, supporting her weight with her arms. I’m behind her.” There was another pause but I wanted to hear the rest. I nodded what I hoped was encouragement.
“So I lift her skirt and take down her knickers and …”
Momentarily I closed my eyes, picturing myself at that lectern, imagining Ben behind me, lifting my skirt, caressing my bottom, gripping the waistband of my knickers, slowly sliding them down my thighs, getting me ready. When I opened my eyes, Ben was staring at me. One hand was resting on a prominent bulge at the front of his jeans. Disconcerted, and without thinking, I asked, “How old is she, this lady in your fantasy?”
“Quite old. Forty-five maybe.”
My God, I thought, three years older than me: that’s old? I looked at Ben in his t-shirt and jeans, floppy fair hair, pale blue eyes – much, I suppose, as Mike must have appeared at that age. Impulsively, I leaned forward to give him an affectionate peck on the cheek. And that was when things started to happen.
Ben half rose from his chair, turned his face so that our mouths met. Instantly, an intended peck on the cheek became a passionate, mouth-open, tongue-thrusting kiss. Was I a willing participant? Well, yes and no. My mind was aware of the minefield we were plunging into, but my body was responding to other signals. This wasn’t a seduction – it was spontaneous combustion.
Somehow we found ourselves together on the bed. Ben was fumbling at the hem of my skirt but a residue of common sense made me try at least to slow him down. That said, I knew subconsciously I didn’t want him to stop. I gripped his wrists and guided him to my breasts, helped him open buttons, pushed up my bra. My hands went behind his head, pulled him into me. His tongue found a nipple and I surrendered. “Slowly, Darling,” I murmured. “Don’t rush me.”
If Ben really was nervous and inexperienced, he learned quickly, licking, sucking and nibbling on one side, while teasing and twisting with his fingers. After a while, one hand strayed again to the the hem of my skirt. This time there was no resistance.
And that was when the telephone rang.
Ben groaned. “Ignore it,” he said, “Please, Selma.”
There was nothing I wanted more than to ignore it, but I thought it would be Mike ringing to say he was on the train coming home and asking to be met at the station. I kissed Ben on the forehead. “I’m sorry, Darling, I can’t. But believe me, I’m sorry”
I hurried to the phone, straightening my clothes as I went. It wasn’t Mike. It was the landlord of the village pub. A couple who had been in for a drink had asked him about local accommodation and he had given them our address. He thought he should let me know they were on the way. In case I was in the bath or anything, he said with a laugh. Or anything, I thought bitterly. When I broke the news to Ben he didn’t reply. I knew how he felt and I sympathised. It was how I felt, too.
Driving Mike back from the station later that day, I brought him up to date. I had briefly contemplated giving him a severely edited version but he knew that I had planned to take the opportunity to have a conversation with Ben; he wouldn’t want a lame, inconclusive report. In any case, this wasn’t the way Mike and I lived: openness and confidence in each other had been essential as we had broadened our sexual horizons. At the same time I was aware that this was Mike’s son we were discussing, and what had happened – or nearly happened – wasn’t something we had foreseen.
I shouldn’t have been surprised by his response, even and sensible. “Well, to be clinical about it, you didn’t actually cross the line – even if it was more by luck than judgement. The real question is where do you go from here. Ben’s due to be with us for another ten days. Do you think he’ll go into his shell, act as though it never happened?”
“The other possibility is that he’s had a peep into the promised land and won’t find that enough. My guess is that as soon as you left his room and closed the door he had a bloody good wank. Because he has a new fantasy now. Not a lecturer. You. And you’ve already let him know you could be more than a fantasy.”
“What do you think I should do?”
“Right now, I’m not sure. Whatever we do it has to be right for all three of us. Let’s talk about it later.”
In bed that night, Mike asked me the direct question, but gently, without aggression or accusation. “You would have fucked Ben this afternoon. Could you fuck him tomorrow? Or the next day? If the situation arose?”
For the rest of kaçak iddaa the day I had thought of little else. At dinner Ben and I had mostly avoided each other’s eyes. He had said very little but it wasn’t hostility or sullenness. I guessed he was as much in turmoil as I was and that made me want to comfort him, put my arm round him. It was easy from there to see where my emotional inclination lay.
“I’ve got to be honest, Mike. This afternoon Ben was desperate for it to happen and so was I. It didn’t and that’s given us a break. But I don’t think it has solved anything. The answer is, if the situation arose I don’t think I would be able to stop myself?”
“So why don’t you? I’ll make myself scarce, the rest won’t be difficult? What’s stopping you?”
“But suppose I’m not. Suppose I find this as exciting as you do.” He took my hand and put it on his cock. It was rigid.
Perhaps I should have anticipated that, but I hadn’t. While I adjusted to yet another new situation, I said, “There’s also the fact that it’s illegal.”
Mike sighed. “Selma, my dear, you are not seducing a fourteen-year-old. We are three adults. None of us will tell anyone. You’re not going to get pregnant.”
I thought for a while but I knew the decision had been made. “And you’re sure it’s all right with you.”
“Yes. And I’ll tell you something else.” In the darkness, he chuckled. “After what I’ve seen of Ben in the shower at the golf club, Ellen and I should have named him Big Ben. You might just be in for the experience of a lifetime. And I shall want to know all about it, every last detail. What went where, how long it took, did he try this?” Mike’s hands were already at work and I was pleased to respond, to put Ben from my mind for a while and let myself be pleasured by the cleverest, most satisfying cock I knew. But Mike, I sensed, had not forgotten Ben. On the contrary, our sex that night had an urgency and intensity that happened on only the most special of occasions. After I had come for the last time and Mike had withdrawn a finally limp cock from my sopping cunt, he said, “It’ll be different with Ben, I’m sure. Enjoy it for it’s own sake. And we’ll share it afterwards.”
The next day was awkward and tantalising. Several times it seemed that I might have a chance to get Ben on his own, but something always intervened. When Mike announced at breakfast the following morning that one of his old golf partners had asked him for a game. I knew that he was giving me the opportunity we had discussed. There were still chores to be done and Molly was infuriatingly slow but soon after noon the house was quiet. I went to Ben’s room, tapped on the door and went in without waiting for a reply. He looked up from his books, hair flopping over his forehead and my pulse rate quickened.
I went and stood behind him and put my hands on his shoulders. I thought it would be easier if we began the conversation without facing each other. “Ben,” I said, quietly and trying hard to keep my voice steady, “we need to talk about the other day.”
“Yes, I know,” he said. “I’m sorry. I just got carried away. It shouldn’t have happened.”
I tightened my grip on his shoulders. “Shouldn’t it? In the end, weren’t you disappointed? Because I was.”
He turned to look at me. “Do you mean …?”
“Yes, Ben, that’s exactly what I mean.”
“But what about … “
This time I cut him off. “There are lots of what abouts, and don’t think I haven’t thought about them. But I’m here, aren’t I? Only this time,” I smiled down at him, “it would be nice if you could just be a bit more patient. The answering machine is on. We have the place to ourselves for a while, so why don’t we stop worrying and just enjoy ourselves.”
“Is that really what you want?”
He wasn’t by that time expecting me to say no. Instead, I said, “I’ve been thinking about your lecturer. Why don’t we start there? Stand up and let me come to the table. If I move your books I can bend over like this and then – well, it doesn’t have to be fantasy any more, does it.”
Ben needed no further invitation. Resting on my arms, I felt him lift my skirt and fold it over my back. Over my shoulder I said, “You didn’t tell me if your fantasy featured black knickers and suspenders but I believe that’s what turns on most men. I hope you like them.”
He didn’t seem to know how to reply but his hands were already stroking my bottom, at first tentatively but progressively becoming firmer and more adventurous, a finger probing inside the knicker legs. When he encountered my obvious wetness, he gave a little moan. “Stay like that,” he said, “just like that. The knickers and your … your arse – they’re gorgeous.”
I sensed him step away from me. I heard him peel off his t-shirt and unzip his jeans. When they fell to the floor, he moved forward and gripped my hips, pulling me on to him. Was this his fantasy now, or mine? I knew that I wanted him to fuck me from behind, just the way we were at that moment. But not yet. I needed to know a bit more about his self-control. I didn’t want three or four kaçak bahis hard drives and then a deflated instrument slipping out of a very unsatisfied cunt. I reached behind me, gripped his cock and turned to face him.
“Not yet, Ben,” I said. “I meant it when I said we have time.” And I had seen for the first time exactly what Mike meant about Big Ben. I’m not exactly inexperienced but this was a weapon of such proportions as I had never encountered, and it stood out from that firm young body with a proud demand. I knelt and took the end between my lips. Ben jerked, pushed forward.
“Steady,” I said. “We don’t want any accidents.”
As carefully as I could, I licked from his balls, up the underside of his shaft to the already moistening tip. I took some into my mouth and held it there, trying to read Ben’s movements and the rhythm of his breathing when things were getting difficult for him. e managed well for longer than I could have expected but eventually I was aware that the suction was having its effect. I released him and stood up.
“Come to the bed and undress me. As far as you want. Perhaps you would like to keep the knickers on for a while.”
“Yes,” he said, “I would like that. And the stockings. But …”
“Are we going to fuck?”
I laughed. “My Dear Ben, of course we are going to fuck, but I keep telling you I don’t want it all to be over in five minutes. You need to be prepared. And so do I. I suppose you realise that’s no ordinary cock, don’t you? I just can’t believe the girls at University aren’t begging for it.”
“Actually, no.” He was serious again. “The idea seems to appeal but then they worry about it hurting. And I worry about that, too. And somehow, it doesn’t work. Not to mention the five minute problem.”
Suddenly things began to make sense. I said, “Hence the interest in an older woman. Someone who might be able to take you more comfortably.” He nodded. I said, “Well, we are about find out. Kneel astride me.”
We were by now down to the bare minimum. Ben was naked (I had to make him take the time to remove his socks: there’s nothing that looks more ridiculous or unsexy than a man fucking while wearing nothing but his socks), I still had my knickers and stockings. The knickers were very wet. I was on my back, Ben was astride my waist. I cupped my tits together with my hands. He understood the invitation and slid his dick between them. “A tit fuck first, Ben,” I said. “It’s a nice way to start.”
He rode me slowly. I enjoyed the sensation of that solid muscle sliding through the crevice I made with my hands. My perspiration gave him all the lubrication he needed. And then came the result I had half expected: Ben suddenly increased his speed, gave a cry and shot a great stream of cum on to my chest and the underside of my throat.
“Damn, damn, damn,” he said. “I’ve done just what you told me not to and now I’ve ruined it. I’m sorry, so sorry. It wasn’t what I wanted.”
I smiled at him. “Patience, Ben, and again patience. This is a very nice tribute you’ve just paid me,” I said, reaching for a tissue to wipe myself. “But you’re not dealing with one of those timid virgins at University now. I wasn’t surprised by what happened – you would have done well to prevent it. But now you will find out what an older woman can really do for you.”
We lay in each other’s arms for maybe fifteen minutes and then, as I had guessed, Ben began to stir against me. I put my hand down and fondled his cock, loving the way its strength and eagerness returned so easily. How wonderful to be a rampant young male. “Now we will fuck,” I said, “and you won’t have a problem. But maybe I will so come into me with a bit of care. Let’s try it like this. Take my knickers off and I’ll lie on my back. Put your arms under my knees and keep me wide open. I know it’s very basic but we can come to the variations in good time. Just remember not to go too deep or you might hurt me. And for God’s sake go slowly – I want to enjoy this and I want to see if a bit of practice won’t show us how to get all of that up me.”
And that was how my husband’s son fucked me for the first time. He was marvellous, gentle when necessary, forceful when I asked for it. Once he had discovered how fully lubricated I was with my own juices, how easily he could penetrate me and feel my cunt walls absorbing him, drawing him in, he began to fuck with a fantastic natural instinct, filling me, almost leaving me, then easing in again. And now, with his earlier ejaculation out of the way, he knew he could keep going without danger, just occasionally easing off, smiling down at me for approval while he took deep breaths before starting to ride again.
How long we continued I have no idea. I do remember that he asked me to bend over the table again so he could fuck me from behind. It was good even though in that position I couldn’t take him all. At the end we were on the bed again, Ben on his back, me riding up and down on that most weapon steadying myself with myself to prevent him driving up into me further than I could take. But in the final wild thrashing I just abandoned myself to the devouring pleasure of it all. “Fuck me, Ben,” I remember crying, “fuck me as hard as you like, and come now, shoot it up me. I want it all.” And I took it all.
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