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By *est-couple OP Man
over a year ago
Southwick (near Trowbridge) |
With the university term resuming following the Christmas break, I thought I would share this little episode from the life of a mature student. I’m Mandy and, having left school at 16 with no qualifications, I struggled through life and marriage through a variety of low-paid jobs until my late 50s until, following redundancy and a divorce from my husband of thirty years, I realised that I could enrol for a college access course that would see me admitted as an undergraduate at a local university. Well, to cut a long story short, that is where I am now, and I want to tell you what happened to me last term in the first week of my studies. If induction week is hard for eighteen-year olds, it’s murder for a woman of 58! Low in self-esteem, feeling matronly rather than womanly, and fearing myself to be less well-read than my younger counterparts, I feared the worst on arriving amongst all those bright young things. Thankfully, my preferred garb of Docs, baggy jumper and leggings – mostly in shades of black – stopped me from standing out in the coffee bar and canteen.
Anyway, getting to the point, I was invited to an undergraduate party in one of the halls of residence, and had the first decent night out since my divorce. No one seemed to notice my age, and there was food and drink, decent music and the kind of pseudo-intellectual chatter that you are supposed to have at university. I loved it, and it ended all too soon – ok, it ended at around 4 in the morning when the guests finally drifted away to sleep for a few hours before the next day’s induction activities. Knowing it was too far and too late to get home, I had brought a sleeping bag as advised, and I had unrolled it in readiness in the communal living room, where there were already several other huddled forms. Stepping over and around them, I helped the three proper residents of the flat and gathered up various half bottles of cider and wine into the kitchen for the next occasion.
The final task I set myself before heading to the living room was to carry the party sound system, a hefty ghetto-blaster (do they still call them that) back to the room of its owner, Toby. Dumping it on his desk, I turned to leave, when he invited me to share the last of a bottle of wine with him. Propped up against the wall and sitting on his single bed, we talked about literature and art, discovering a mutual love of Gothic and Romanticism, and a specific taste for Lord Byron. It was a perfectly unexceptional conversation, I hasten to add, though we had both relaxed sufficiently to have slid down the wall to rest shoulder to shoulder, turning our heads to talk. And then it happened: he leaned forward and kissed me. Not a take peck on the lips, but a full-blown kiss, full of passion. And I responded, my lips opening to the mastery of his probing tongue, parting to allow him to explore the inside of my yearning mouth, his kiss a reminder of all the things I had been given so indifferently by my former husband.
My mind came up short. This was ridiculous. He was a third of my age, and probably had a girlfriend at home who was nineteen, middle-class, blonde and pretty – and here he was making out with an old boiler like me: size sixteen, grey under my hair dye, well past the first flush. God, I was the mercy fuck at the party – or else this was a dare... but there was no laughter, no irony, no observers at the still-open bedroom door. He was kissing me because he wanted to, because it felt right. This was no fumble, but a calculated and sensual seduction – and I, having had little sex during my marriage and none since it, was certainly ready to be seduced!
So, we kissed – and we kissed for what seemed like hours, his hands in my hair, caressing my neck, teasing my earlobes. There was no rush, no sudden kiss-me-quickness, no fondling, nothing more than the sheer sensual pleasure of our mouths feeding off each other. And then, growing sue of my response, he began to caress my ample breasts through the thick material of my top, squashing them, easing them into fantastical shapes, searching urgently for the hard nipple which he knew he had aroused beneath my ancient M & S bra. I knew my cunt was awash, and desperately wanted him to touch me there, but he lingered on my top half, and the taking his hand beneath my top, caressed the round, white wobbliness of my tummy, teasing and squeezing that as if it were a supernumerary breast as sensitive as the two nature had given me. As his hand roamed further up, to caress the skin of my quivering titty beneath my top we looked into each other’s eyes. I knew at that point that this was no set up – he genuinely wanted my body that night, just as he might want that of a girl of his own age. I had no doubt he was no virgin: he knew his way around a woman’s body far too well.
Taking the look I returned him as consent he lifted my top over my head, with both his hands, revealing my plump torso and jiggling breasts. I was pale as anything – I’ve not worn a bikini nor sunbathed for years – and there was no ghost bra when he finally rendered me topless and buried his face in those orbs his hands had mauled into twin peaks of exquisite sensitivity. He sucked and licked me to a perfect orgasm, and I felt – for the first time in my life – truly womanly, the object of a man’s desire, the source of his pleasure, the receptacle – I hoped – of his very essence. As I leaned into Toby’s kiss from beneath, for he was taller than me, his left hand came behind me to maintain a caressing pressure upon my left breast, while his right inserted itself deliciously down the front of my black leggings, and found a saturated tribute to his ability as a seducer. I was awash as I had never been before: my panties were soaked, as was the crotch of my leggings, and Toby’s fingers met no resistance as they first addressed my yearning cunt through the cotton of my pants (again, M & S, and rather threadbare, like the bra) and then pulled aside the soaking gusset to finger my engorged clitty into ecstasy. He was an experienced lover, for he satisfied me by frigging me into delight before penetrating my soaking quim with at least three fingers. I came again, and soaked his hand. It was but the work of a minute to rid myself o my Docs and socs and to have him roll my saturated leggings over my bulging tummy in order to give him access to my most private place, that part of my body that had hitherto been seen only by my husband.
I say seen, for that is all he had ever done to it other than poke it with his cock. But Toby introduced me to the delights of oral sex, kneeling between my thighs and taking me again to ecstasy with a tongue that swirled about inside my very body, which released my sensitive bud from its covering of flesh, with fingers that held me open wide so that he could gaze into my soaking pink depths before sending in his tongue to touch me almost as deep as my husband had ever filled me.
I was all on fire and almost ripped off his clothes in order to have him ready and naked for me. My God, his body. He was eighteen, slim, an Adonis with an eight-inch cock, circumcised and full of texture. Given my previous experience in love-making, I had never dwelt so long on such an organ, and I gazed upon it with undisguised lust, touching it and marvelling at its hardness, how it quivered, and how shiny it was at the tip, its single eye beaded with just a small drop of his essence. Moreover, he was clean shaven down there – I was astonished, for it left nothing to the imagination! Instinctively, I knew what to do, as I knelt passively in from of him and, cradling his heavy balls in my hand, began to lick him from root to tip in long movements before taking him into my mouth. My tongue now took possession of his sensuality, as it circled and encompassed his manhood, making him even stiffer and more bulbous. I was on fire, all woman, all desire. I wanted him to fuck me, and to fuck me long and hard and properly, as a man should fuck a woman – HIS woman!
And so he did. Laying me gently down on his single bed, after decorously closing the door, he entered my unresistsing passage with ease and so began what was, on that night, the best fuck of my life. There was, again, no haste, but an easy pistoning of his cock in, and out, of my cunt. On one stroke he touched my very cervix, on its return he withdrew almost totally, and on occasions dappled my clitty with his soaking cock-head. It mattered not a jot that a man I scarcely knew was fucking me bareback, that he was 40 – yes, FORTY! – years younger than me. All that mattered was that I gained my fulfilment – and that I, in turn, gave him his. And so it continued, and in the course of almost two hours he took me in missionary, I rode him cowgirl, he took me doggy style, and finally he seeded my waiting cunt while my legs were clasped around his lower back. I had never been so perfectly fucked before.
Of course, I didn’t spend the night in my sleeping bag. And yes, he fucked me again in the morning. And no, I’m not his girlfriend – though he has fucked me quite a few times since. And so have others – many others. That’s what happens when you educate a woman – you release her from captivity and open up the world to her!
If you’d like to hear more, do leave a response below.
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