Dumbstruck and mouth stupidly agape, I drank in the sight of this stunningly pretty lady whose age had not taken any of her looks; quite the contrary. If anything, age had proven generous to her and turned her into an unparalleled beauty that rivaled any of my acquaintances and held the promise of the spice of decades of experience.

Wordlessly but shame written all over her expression, she closed the gap between us, cupped my face with both hands and kissed me deeply. I felt my body tense in surprised shock and my eyes widened before my instincts took over and I started melting to silly putty from her touch. Her kiss alone was turning me into a useless mess of an insecure boy face to this simply breathtaking woman easily thirty years my senior.

As she parted from me and her wry expression made way for a warm smile, my jaw moved with unspoken words questioning her intentions and sanity. I simply failed to see what a stupid little boy like me might possibly offer to a woman who had likely explored all her kinks before even the idea of my existence had been conceived.

“Shhh,” she halted my jaw, now barely moving more than a feeble trembling, by putting a finger on my lips. “Just let it happen, warrior.”

I felt the temperature in my cheeks rise near boiling point as I placed my hands on either side of her head and let my fingers entwine with her curls. She looked at me through partly closed eyes, lips forming a delighted half-smile as she hummed from feeling my nails gently scratching her scalp.

“Kiss me,” she barely exhaled.

With our lips, our bodies too crashed into each other. Hungrily, our mouths devoured each other, eager yet never overly aggressive. Her fingers ran over my nape, scratching my hairline, gently pulling it as our tongues explored each other and my former semi now shamelessly poking against her belly. Yet every bit of anxiousness about it I’d usually feel was washed away; she made me want to let her know I desired her.

She gasped as I kissed her neck, gently sucking on her skin but just not enough to leave marks. She giggled as the hint of stubble in my face grazed her right below her ear and I couldn’t help a smile when I felt her hands slide under my oversized t-shirt.

Suddenly, I felt her tense up and backpedal. Breaking our embrace, I scanned her face, only to find an expression of disbelief.

“I had forgotten how sinewy and muscular a man’s body can be,” she explained, her voice dripping with awe. “So full of power and energy… Don’t break me, hunk,” she added with a mischievous smile. “We don’t want your master questioning why I walk awkward, do we? Or should I tell him I’m starting to have arthrosis?”

She burst into an exaggerated cackle over her last remark, leaving me speechless over her self-irony. I replied with a crooked, insecure smile while unsure how to react to her all-too-obviously masked insecurity.

In response, a flash of insightful self-pity distorted her pretty face. “Unless, of course, you don’t want anything from an old hag like me,” she apologetically half-whispered, a faint hint of a lump in her throat in her tone.

“Uh...” I managed—barely. “It’s just that…”

I saw her face derail completely over my hesitation. “Fuck, I should have known better,” she said, barely containing the swelling sobs in her chest, “than to embarrass myself in front of my husband’s student.”

Gathering all my courage, face wide ablaze, I yelled, “Will you just hear me out?!”

Shocked, I heard her swallow, eyes wide open as if bracing herself for a monumental rejection.

“I’m just not good with this,” I meekly apologized. “You know… I’m just here, welcoming you in, looking like a total slouch, and it’s not, like… every day, that… every day… that such an attractive girl like you shows interest. I mean, uh, you see… I don’t even have proper bread. What can I possibly, you know, um, offer you? What do you—“

Her finger on my lips shut me up again. “Did you just call me ‘girl’?” she asked, eyes glistening with tears—happy tears.

To my weak nod, she re-iterated, “...and ‘attractive’?”

I nodded again.

She pressed her lips together, eyes swelling up. “And you just throw this at me like I knew what you’re talking about?”

I nodded again. Of course, I knew what I was talking about; I was seeing all of that standing right in front of me! And yet, those words, despite my best efforts at standing my ground simply refused to quit my mouth.

She threw herself at me, her face pressed against my chest and started sobbing. “All these years…” came her heavy, tear-laden voice. “He never even looked at me anymore!” A new wave of sobs. “And I thought I had just turned ugly! I hated my face in the mirror!” Now uncontrolled crying. “And hated the sag of my boobs! And the spots on my skin.”

I held her in my arms, close to me, pressing her against me as if I were losing her if I didn’t. “Whoever gave you those silly ideas,” I whispered in her ear, soothingly, “but you’re the most beautiful girl in the world.” I said this in all honesty, meaning every word from the bottom of my heart.

Instead of calming her, my words seemed to make her cry harder and clench her arms around me tighter as though she wanted to catch up with years deprived of closeness and was at the same time afraid I’d push her away.

“I so want to believe you’re not just saying this,” I heard her weak voice. “Please tell me you mean it.”

I slid both my hands up the small of her back, over her midriff, then her shoulders and neck to her cheeks and lifted her face to make her look at me. Her reddened eyes scanned my face, trying to read my intentions, ready to burst into tears anew. I did not want her to mistake the concern on my face for pity; nor did I want to make her think she was just complaining. All I wanted was to see a smile on her face and her gorgeous eyes to look back at me happily instead of worrying about how I saw her and yet, all those conflicting thoughts prevented me from doing anything.

After a longer moment of hesitation, she added with shaky determination, “Where’s that bushido you boys keep boasting about now?”

Coaxed in my warrior’s pride and the word ‘bushido’ angrily reverberating in my mind, the only proof of my feelings towards her my dumb brain could come up with was a harum-scarum kiss into which I poured all my heart and soul, pressing my lips as softly, yet intensely against hers as I could.

Parting, we both scanned each other’s faces with an unsteady gaze in look for answers to questions we didn’t even know. Instead, we repeated the kiss, not wanting it to stop this time.

When we parted again, her gaze was more stable, looking right back at me, some of the insecurity stripped from her features, but still a tear rolling down her cheek.

“I wasn’t lying when I said that,” I began while still not knowing how to gather the courage to finish my sentence but yet determined to follow my master’s teachings by the word and take my decision with all my determination, “and I’ll hold you tight and kiss you like this until you believe me because I have no idea how else I should prove it to you.”

I had barely uttered the words when her face froze. I could tell she was holding back her tears, trying to keep a straight face. “Sleep with me,” cracked her voice—more a demand than a suggestion despite the shakiness in her tone.

I looked at her, knowing what I had just heard but still looking into her eyes trying to find confirmation of it. The last thing I wanted to do at that moment was to rush into something blindly over a simple misunderstanding and make a total fool of myself—or worse yet, hurt her even more. Her facial features were tense, awaiting a response, a move, an affirmation, anything.

“Sleep with me,” she repeated, her voice now emphasizing how she wanted me to prove my words.

I nervously licked my lips, eyes still fixed on hers, having long found what I was looking for: a newly lit, albeit only faint but still distinct flame of lust surging from the cold ashes of escapades of days from a far-behind, yet not forgotten past.

I swallowed hard, hoping it would give me the needed boldness to grab her hand and lead her to my bedroom while, mentally, I thanked previous-day-me for choosing that exact day to tidy my place. It wouldn’t have made any difference, however, as both of us were far too absorbed by the anticipation of what was about to happen.

We sat down on the edge of my bed side by side, awkwardly squirming like excited teenagers about to share their first experiences. We exchanged nervous smiles, tentative touches, wry chuckles as insecurities still seemed to misguide our actions. Yet the overwhelming need and hormones made me momentarily forget that she was married—most of all to my Shihan.

It was surprisingly easy to let my urges guide my hand into her face, let my fingers entwine with her hair and pull her into a kiss. Secretly, my loins had already decided to cast away all sense of questionable morals the night before.

The kiss was not shy or chaste anymore. It was determined to make her feel loved and desired. I wanted her to feel like a beautiful woman again. I poured my heart and soul into it, wanting to show her my desire, prove my need for her.

As our lips connected, through the softness of hers, I felt her hunger, her ardor. As they made way for our tongues to engage in their feverish dance, I could feel the tension discharge like a current electrifying my nape and giving me goosebumps. Her nails digging into my neck spurred me on to gently clench my fist with a handful of her hair in it, gently pulling it.

Before long, she was moaning into my mouth, our mutual desire condensing in drops trickling down our chins. We only parted to remove my shirt that I bluntly lifted to throw into the corner of my bedroom. I refrained from doing that as I saw her hungry gaze linger on my body that she dissected with her eyes, drinking in every square inch of skin.

She motioned me to hand her my crumpled shirt instead of just tossing it. She pressed her face into it, sniffing two weeks' worth of sleep in the cool late spring nights, eyes transfixed on mine. It was an almost romantic moment between us.

“You smell so manly,” she coaxed me. “Pure testosterone.”

I gulped as she threw my shirt in the initially intended direction. One hand behind her back, she unclasped her bra, holding it with her free forearm, pushing her boobs up a bit, making them look so delectably soft and jiggly. The straps fell off her shoulders, driving me crazy with wild ideas. She knew how to make a show of it and put herself on display. The newly gained confidence in her eyes did its part in appealing to my primal urges.

With her free hand, she cupped my face, a mischievous flame of lust now wide-ablaze. Slowly, she lowered the cups of her bra; or my brain just translated it to ultra slow-motion. With every freckle she uncovered, I drank in how her breasts gradually found their natural shape until her pale nipples were free and she let the bra fall, leaving her boobs hanging like generously grown, sun-kissed nectarines. I simply couldn’t help but follow the faint swinging of the most perfect, age-ripened pair of tits with my mouth falling agape.

She blushed slightly as she giggled at my boyish reaction. Her joyful chuckle startled me, reminding me that I wasn’t exactly proving I had been raised with subtle manners. The reassuring squeeze she gave my hand along with the air of melancholy I read in her expression, nonetheless, told me that my lustful ogling made her feel desired and she had longed for this sensation long enough to forget how it feels.

She took my hand and placed it on her breast. “It’s okay to...” she whispered, herself hesitant, obviously dealing with the same strong emotions as I did. “Please touch me,” more a plea than a demand harboring the long-forsaken need to be desired.

I squeezed her soft flesh with my palm and leaned in for a kiss. My squeeze wasn’t exactly soft as she hummed in my mouth in growing lust. Growing bold, I allowed myself to pinch her nipple. It elicited a shiver through her whole body. She pulled me closer, moaning at my touch, her voice laden with suppressed desires trying to break free.

I broke our kiss to rub my nose over her cheek, leaving a trail of soft pecks on the way to her neck. I let my free hand slide under her hair, gently scratching her scalp while nibbling on her earlobe. Her gasps spurred me on to bite her neck, suck on her skin, kiss her, lick her on my way down to her collarbone and down to her breasts.

My hand moved from her scalp to her neck while the other lifted her boob to my mouth. Tentatively, I gave her nipple a lick, weighing her reaction. Slowly, my nails scraped over her skin, leaving red scratch marks leading to her neglected boob. By the time I was cupping both her tits, my lips were sucking on her nipple and my teeth softly raked over it.

I couldn’t tell if her moans came as painful squeals as if she was not comfortable with what I was doing. First afraid I was hurting her, I tried to be gentler, yet my own need to nibble on her was too strong to stop entirely. When I did, though, I heard more of a plea in her voice—a need that wanted to get out but she didn’t dare express. I let go of her, earning me an insecure, questioning glance.

“Tell me what you want me to do to you,” I demanded, looking her straight in the eyes.

Her voice was shaking, meek, nearly apologetic. “Take me.”

“Louder!” I demanded, assertively.

“Sleep with me,” she whispered.

“Yes, you already said that and I will, but I want you to tell me what you really desire,” I insisted.

Her face slightly blushed. “Fuck me,” came her reply, still too timid for my taste.

“Not enough,” I countered, getting more assertive.

“Use me!” her voice now bolder but still hesitant and her face flushed in shame.

“Much better but still not enough,” I provoked her, overtly coaxing her innermost needs. It irritated me that she was too ashamed to express herself. “Speak up, Mindy. I want you to tell me what you desire.”

Tears nearly popping out of her eyes and face beetroot red she forced herself to whisper, “Slap my nipples,” looking away as the words left her mouth.

“Look me in the eyes, Mindy, and repeat to me what you want me to do to you.”

She looked back at me, almost angry for reading through her so easily.

“Slap my boobs and nipples. Love me... fuck me, use me like a slut!” she finally blurted with determination and added, after a pause, yet with all her conviction, “And slap my cunt too!”

Smiling victoriously, I grabbed the hair on the back of her head and pulled it just a bit. At the same time, I landed a soft, loving kiss on her lips.

She hummed into my mouth as our lips parted to make way for our tongues. With her hair in my hand, I was holding the tension on the back of her head as our tongues hungrily devoured each other. Even when the drool began trickling down our chins, our faces were inseparably interlocked as I felt the years of unmet, pent-up lust overwhelm her.

Following the increased pull I forced on her hair, she threw her head back, exposing her neck like the love-hungry prey she was to me. I gently placed the palm of my free hand on her neck and gave it a careful squeeze. She broke our kiss in reaction to let out a moan filled with need. Slowly tightening her airways, I carefully read her reaction in her eyes, trying to find how far she wanted me to go.

Still choking her, I moved in to whisper in her ear, “Do you like this, my slut?” I felt her nod and heard her gasp from my touch. “I’ll make you feel as desired as you deserve, my slut. I’ll give you all you want. All the fuckery. I’ll make you mine.”

As I looked at her, I could see tears swelling in her eyes once more and I felt her throat force a swallow through the constriction. I released my chokehold and let my hand slide down her breastbone. I leaned in for a soft kiss on her lips, one on her nose, on her forehead and on her cheek where a single tear had just rolled down.

“Use me,” came her repeated plea. “I want to be your slut.”

I slid my hand under her hair on the back of her head and pulled her close to me so our foreheads were touching.

“I want to make you feel loved, my slut,” I tenderly whispered, then moved both my hands over her shoulders, down to her boobs. I squeezed them. I kissed her lips again softly before letting my face sink into the most gorgeous breasts I had ever had the pleasure to feel.

Wantonly, I sucked on one nipple while letting my hand run over her other breast, pinching the other nipple whenever I felt it slip between two fingers. Spurred on by her vocal approval, I bit the one in my mouth while sucking it deep into my mouth and pulled the other with my thumb and index finger, releasing it abruptly to land a hefty slap with my fingertips right on it.

She hissed through clenched teeth as I repeated that nipple play once more, twice more, three times, every slap harder than the previous, making the pain and pleasure alternate through her. She pulled my head closer to her chest as if she wanted to smother me with her bosom. I felt her shiver and heard her moan as her body tensed up and her hands ruffled my hair into a mess.

As she let go of me, I looked in her eyes to see a happy smile. She cupped my face and showered me with kisses. “Thank you. No one has ever done that to me,” she said between kisses. “No one’s ever been so rough with my boobs.”

All I managed was a warm smile. What was I even supposed to reply at that moment? Anything just felt corny, so I just mouthed a hesitant, “You’re welcome,” and a hug.

“Now let me return the pleasure,” she stated rather factually than merely offering, searching for my reaction in my eyes but only finding hesitation as I was eager to know what she was thinking of but didn’t want to appear greedy or needy. “Fuck my face,” came her explanation, this time with confident determination in her voice—not simply a wish but a request. “Fuck my face like it was my cunt,” she emphasized. Then, she giggled and dropped the corniest line ever. “Push that mighty sword of yours into my face-sheath, warrior.”

We both laughed over the trite remark that broke the rising tension, fully aware of how horrible it was.

She took my hand and motioned me to stand up with her. Once standing, she pulled the waistband of my briefs over my raging erection, hooked both her thumbs into either side and pulled them down in one well-practiced motion. I stepped out of one leg and kicked them into the far corner of my room, only leaving me the choice of fulfilling that wish.

Closely, she inspected my cock, how it felt in her hand, the veins, the clear drop that had gathered at the tip. Gently, she weighed my balls which felt ready to explode from her touch. She kissed the shaft, then the tip, grabbed my flesh with both hands firmly, peeled back the foreskin, closely watching how it lay bare the swollen purple head. Then she kissed me just above the root of my cock while slowly pumping me with both hands, slightly twisting them against each other.

Looking me in the eyes, she licked her lips and enclosed them around my bulbous mushroom, gently humming onto it while keeping her slow, pumping motion. As her hands let go of me, she reached for my hands. Slowly she pulled me closer, swallowing inch after inch of my cock.

I was both shocked and surprised by how far she took me into her mouth without any resistance, only halting as her nose touched my belly. Her mouth felt velvety, moist and warm. The sensations triggered in me felt like I was melting in her mouth.

As she released me, she spat thick, viscous saliva on my shaft and spread it with her hand while dirtily smiling at me. “Does your slut’s throat feel good?” she asked, her voice dripping with far more than just drool.

Smiling at me, she whispered, “Fuck my face, stud,” before she slid her mouth over my shaft again.

Both my hands slowly ran over her head, sliding under her hair, gripping her scalp firmly yet not forcefully, her hair gripped between my fingers. Gently at first, I moved my hips forward, letting my cock sink into her wide-open mouth while she was still looking at me with big eyes. I sank into her oral depths, not ever hitting any obstacle, only moist warmth that swallowed me voraciously.

As I recognized the need in her gaze, I allowed myself to pick up a faster pace. Gradually, I accelerated. Soon she closed her eyes and followed my hands’ movements that made her head bob back and forth on my shaft she coated with her copiously flowing phlegm.

As I pulled out, a thick, bubbly string of clear mucus hung from her chin. She pumped my shaft, smiling lewdly at me through reddened eyes. Closing them, she rubbed my erection against her cheek, spreading the lubricant from the depths of her throat over her face. The sensuality of her touch and how she reveled in the unadorned display of her lust, stirred the familiar pressure build-up in my balls.

“Kiss me,” were the words mouthed so enticingly that it nearly made me blow my load on the thick saliva glazing that coated her cheeks. “Feel how swollen my lips got from sucking your thick cock.”

My unhindered need for her made me pull her up by both her arms rather violently. From the delighted surprise painted on her messy face, I read that she loved the rough handling. Yet I have to admit I only got a short glance at her expression as there was no way to restrain myself from mashing my lips against hers and showing her how much I craved her.

Our tongues were trying to get a grip on each other. I loved the slick feel of her slippery face. The intoxicating taste of my own secretions on her tongue only fueled my need for release further.

“I knew you’d love eating your own pre-cum off my face, dirty boy,” she whispered, content with herself. She knelt down again, ever so slowly sliding my cock up and down in her hand, never breaking eye contact. “Aren’t you just the same little cum-whore as I am?” came her rhetorical question. To my lust-stultified expression, in her next request, she exaggerated every syllable with her luscious lips: “Now be a good boy and baptize my face with your spunk.”

My cum boiled up my balls so fast I was screaming at her with every spastic spurt that flew over her open mouth, covering her cheek, eyes eyebrows, hair, some even landing on the floor behind her. She hummed and gasped at every shot I took, and they just didn’t seem to come to an end before I had properly frosted her.

By the end, I barely managed to stay on my feet. I braved myself through the post-orgasmic haze that came crashing through my head like a tsunami, making me dizzy and sleepy. Forcing my eyes to stay open, I observed how she pushed some of my cum—partly bubbling—out of her mouth through half-closed lips. Slowly, the mixed condensation of our desires started running down her chin. She aided it with her hand, freeing her face of most of the sticky exfoliant.

Now eyes wide open again, I watched how she spread the juices over her neck and her breasts. Never before had I witnessed something so utterly erotic as watching her do it and observing the sensations it evoked from the depths of her neglected sexuality. The pure, slutty bliss she was riveting in simply was a beautiful sight beyond comparison.

“Lick me clean,” she demanded between her sighed moans.

Without hesitating, I obliged. With my tongue, I scooped up the thin film on her breasts. I brushed over her nipples several times, coaxing more vocal approval from her. To my surprise, knowing it was, in parts, my own cum I was licking did not put me off but rather rekindled the flame in my loins.

Every time my tongue was saturated, I moved up to kiss her and share our combined liquid treasure in sloppy kisses. Each time I repeated the procedure, she giggled at the first brush of my tongue on her sensitized skin, squirming a little bit, especially when I cleaned her neck.

“You are so adorable,” she commented when she noticed I was careful not to lick her face too plumply to avoid appearing like a starved dog although my rejuvenated erection said otherwise.

“You still have cum in your hair,” I said apologetically.

“I like dry cum in my hair,” she beamed at me. “It makes me feel like a happily used slut.”

The pure joy I heard in her voice warmed my heart. Butterflies were surging in my belly as I realized that I was not only quenching her needs but also fulfilling fantasies she’d had to suppress for far too long.

I blushed as I realized, just like her before, I found it hard to express my wishes. Coyly, I mouthed, “Wanna sit on my face?”

She squealed in delight at my suggestion and threw herself at me so that both of us landed on my bed. She straddled my belly and pinned down my arms. Her kisses were filled with happiness while I smiled self-contently into them at the thought that this too was one of her unfulfilled wishes.

“I’m going to ruin that pretty face of yours,” she chirped, one hand on my cheek. “You’re aware of that, right?” It came more as a notification than a question.

“Yes, please,” I shot back, grinning boyishly over both ears.

“Look who’s the slut now, greedy boy,” she sneered endearingly.

“The slut is still you. I’m just offering you a service,” I provoked in reply, “and fully expecting you to take advantage of me and ride my face until you pass out.”

“Cheeky boy!” she chided. “I’ll show you what a good slut I am.”

Unceremoniously, she adjusted her position and straddled my face. She lowered herself right over my nose slowly. Soon, my nostrils were filled with the intoxicating scent of her juices through the soaked bottom of her silk panties, the wafts getting more intense as she inched down, saturating my olfactory senses. From her tantalizing scent alone, I could feel my need to cum again rise in me.

She moved the crotch of her panties aside, exposing her glistening, meaty labia adorned with neatly trimmed stubbles of pubic hair. I found myself compelled to just kiss her purple flesh. Her slow rocking motion in combination with her abundant effluence made it feel like her pussy was actually kissing me back, hungry to devour my lips, my tongue—my face. I could tell she was searching for my nose to rub her engorged clit while having my tongue digging into her folds, lapping her juice that was gradually coating my face.

Although I was mostly fighting for breath and my whole body was in panic mode, desperately signaling me to get out of my predicament, the sexual thrill it evoked in me, the need to satisfy my lover, the mere idea of her abusing my face for her personal pleasure—as well as the rush of adrenaline from the imminent suffocation—released an unprecedented feeling of sexual bliss.

I reached up to put my hands on her belly and her boobs. She moaned and writhed at my touch, riveting in the sensation of being the object of my sexual desires while gyrating on my face in search of friction almost like a facial lap dance. That thought did make me chuckle into her folds.

I let my hands roam her body along with her moves, blindly in search of places to hold on to and trying to express my lust for her and to be drowned under her orgasm. She guided my hands to her nipples, making me pinch and pull them. I allowed her the pleasure with one hand while the other reached for her neck. I felt her delightfully surprised gasp vibrate through her throat, and as I clenched my fingers around it, she stretched her neck. Instantly, her rocking on my face got more intense and faster, her moans turning to gargling from the pressure on her airways until her body started jerking and the uncontrolled spasms of her thighs threatened to crush my skull. Tortured moans of agony left her throat that I was no longer able to constrict.

She collapsed on top of me, falling forward, barely able to hold her own weight on her arms. Shakily, she barely managed to roll aside where she lay, legs trembling from the strength of her orgasm. By the near-crying in her voice, she was still lost in the throes of her post-orgasmic bliss. It abated only slowly while I caressed her cheek and her neck and played with her hair, whispering sweet nothings into her ear.

After she had found her composure again—both of us lying on our sides, facing each other—she hugged my head and pressed my face between her boobs.

“Thank you,” she whispered into my hair while kissing me.

When she let me go, I smiled at her through a pussy juice-glazed face, eyes and cheeks still reddened from the struggle for air. She didn’t hesitate to kiss me deeply, leaving no doubt that she too was not done just yet.

As she lay down next to me, legs spread, and opened her arms wide to invite me, I couldn’t help taking in her sheer beauty. Her face blooming in happiness over the fact that she was still just as pretty and desirable as she’d always been, her breasts piled against her chest and slightly falling to either side of her body testifying of their natural softness, her deep belly button, the neatly trimmed patch of pubes that framed her splayed-open swollen nether lips and her thick thighs that promised (and fulfilled) sweet suffocation should one ever have their face trapped between them...

“What are you waiting for, stud? Having second thoughts when seeing me like that?” she playfully provoked, fully aware of the effect she was having on me.

“Not at all, just admiring your looks,” I began, anticipating her reaction, “and still being amazed that I’d ever score anyone like you.”

“An old hag, you mean?” she retorted. If it hadn’t been for her joyous, expecting tone, it would have deeply hurt me to still hear those ugly self-deprecatory remarks from her.

“Not at all,” I answered in a soft voice, unable to hide my boyish eagerness. “Rather that I am truly privileged to have someone as pretty and stunning as you even considering me.”

The overjoyed smile on her blushed face was a sight to behold. “Oh, whoever taught you to butter up old ladies like that but it will get you very far.”

“Not buttering up at all, just describing what I’m feeling—or trying anyway,” I truthfully said.

“Okay, I might also just be fishing for compliments,” she finally admitted through a cheeky smirk, “for as long as I can.”

That last throwaway remark painfully reminded both of us that we were just escaping our respective lives for a brief moment until they would catch up with us again eventually and hit us with a stiff dose of reality. I sighed awkwardly, hating to think about how she would have to go back to a sexless wedlock—emphasis on the ‘lock’ part of the word—and play her role of the good wife.

I reminded myself of the choice I had taken earlier that morning: to fulfill her every need and make her feel my lust for her—and to do so without ever hesitating. This was my bushido.

“How about we cherish this moment a little more,” she suggested, her hand grabbing my still throbbing erection, reminding me to live and enjoy the present, for I had every reason to, “and you fill my needy cunt with your beautiful cock?”

The way she so casually used the c-word impressed me. It showed me what a highly sexual person she was and gave me an idea of how much she was suffering, having to repress her sexuality all the time because of her otherwise virtuous (at least in some aspects), yet sexually inactive husband. At that moment, I desired nothing more than to fulfill her unmet needs to get fucked like a slut.

Slowly and very cautious not to let my overly blokey side take the reins, I climbed between her legs and aligned my cock with her slit. Instead of just shoving it in, she motioned me to remain in a kneeling position, erection pointing to one o’clock. She reached between her legs with both hands and gathered her freely flowing juices to spread them over my shaft.

Carefully peeling back my foreskin with each downward stroke, she mixed her secretions with mine that were trickling down the underside of my shaft over her fingers. When I mustered the mental strength to look at her, I was rewarded with a devilish smirk, satisfied with knowing her ministrations had the desired effect.

Several times, her slick fingers feebly brushed over my frenulum, bringing me dangerously close to a premature, this time final release. From her dirty leer, I could tell she knew exactly what she was doing. The foolish part of me that mistook sex for a performance act and desperately wanted to prove her my worth distracted itself by comparing her skills to cycling: apparently one doesn’t forget that either.

“Now fuck me silly before you blow your load,” she reminded me of the reason for her presence.

The sudden change of dynamics her assertiveness brought made me gulp. Now it was no longer her submitting herself to the feeling of being my slut but rather the quest for proof that she was still able to satisfy a young man’s needs. I realized at that moment that she was getting off to me offering her the very culmination of my lust and would not stop until I was spent and fucked out, regardless of her own climax.

Unable to suppress the chuckle, I returned the corny line. “High time I practice drawing and sheathing my sword,” making her roll her eyes but laugh heartily.

With both her hands, she spread her swollen labia invitingly, openly displaying her pink entrance that looked ready to swallow my whole length. All too eagerly, yet aware I wasn’t far from cumming, I pushed myself inside her without the slightest resistance.

I entered a cave of pure moist silk, clenching my shaft with surprising force for her age. With eyes large as saucers—partly from sheer astonishment but mainly because of the sensations it triggered in my loins—I looked at her knowing smirk. She was fully conscious of her control over her cunt’s grip and what it did to me, happy her exercises were finally paying off. The satisfaction painted all over her face showed that she knew her prowess was unmatched and how much pleasure it caused her to know I had never felt anything even remotely comparable.

At that moment, I wasn’t capable of more than uttering a single long-drawn moan as I collapsed onto her body, into her arms which welcomed me into a tight embrace.

She was stroking my hair while whispering lewd yet loving nothings into my ear as I willed myself to calm down and not finish off far too soon for my liking.

Her fingers entwined with my hair whilst her kisses on my neck kept the flame in my erection wide ablaze. She turned me into a blissful mess, shivering from the feelings her touches triggered in me. Barely able to lift myself up enough, I let my lips crash on hers. For several minutes, we were making out like the annoying high school couple. All the while, her vaginal walls kept their near-crushing grip on my cock.

“Lie on your back!” she ordered. “I wanna ride you senseless.”

Careful not to spill out too soon, I pulled out and lay on my back next to her. Eagerly, she straddled me, grabbed my cock and slowly lowered herself on it. She made a point of making me feel the rim of the entrance to her molten cave brush over my glans.

All that came out of my throat was gargling nonsense while I was uncontrollably squirming under her weight, trying not to tip myself over the edge accidentally. As she finally sat down completely and took my entire length, my upper body jerked up. She pushed me down again and sat still for me to adjust to the hot wetness engulfing my erection.

Once I had somewhat calmed down, she sat upright and started performing a rodeo on my hips—with my prick deeply buried inside her. Knowing I was just seconds away from cumming, she leaned back while rodeo-riding me and reached for my near-bursting balls.

“Slap my cunt while I ride you, cowboy!” she ordered.

Despite the angle being awkward, I aimed and managed to land my fingertips on her clit. She squealed and winced, body tensing up.

“Harder!” she ordered, earning herself another, harder slap, evoking the same reaction. I reached up with my other hand to pinch her nipple again, earning myself a surprised and delighted moan of approval.

She picked up a faster pace as I slapped her clit again, then her free nipple. I kept landing harder and harder slaps on either of her sensitive spots, never building a rhythm nor a pattern except that I made sure to be rougher every time, breaking her pace as her body jolted in reaction.

Her delighted moans turned into aching cries until spastic convulsions made her hips’ motions shallow yet fast as her orgasm overwhelmed her. “Yes! Fill! Me! Up!” came her command in a staccato that sent me to the stars with her.

I arched my back as my whole body tensed up in a cataclysmic release of my orgasm. I jerked with every eruption. Guttural gargling surged from the depths of my throat as my mind turned into mush.

At the same time, Mindy was playing with her clit to prolong her climax, causing her vaginal muscles to squeeze my shaft even tighter. The grip on my cock amplified my own orgasm beyond anything I had ever felt before. For nearly two minutes, both of us were screaming in lust, barely able to catch our breaths between the jolts that ran through our bodies.

As I was gasping for air, lying on my bed, all force drained from me, occasional spasms still ran through my body. I struggled to keep my eyes open but could see her warm, happy smile. She was still sitting on my lap with my shrinking cock buried inside her. The contentment on her face filled me with pride and warmth. I knew at that moment I could easily fall for this woman more than twice my age.

Giggling, she climbed off me, making sure to let my cum drip on my limp dick. Since I had already come before that, I was surprised that anything even came out of her.

As she looked at my still shriveling appendage covered in our sexual secretions, she said, “Wow, you came so much although it was your second time. Was that me?” From the tone of her rhetorical question, it was obvious that she was overjoyed to find she was still attractive and desirable.

Without waiting for a reply—I wouldn’t even have been capable of a single coherent sentence—she licked my cum off me. I hummed at the pleasant sensations it made run through my body, nearly lulling me to sleep.

She then crawled up to my face and softly kissed me on my lips. Without leaving me the time to realize what was happening, she let the gooey spunk fall into my mouth. Too close to sleep to protest, I willingly accepted her offering. Our tongues lazily played with each other, sharing the essence of our Sunday morning tryst.

I smiled from the fact that I didn’t mind the curious mixture—in fact found it somewhat pleasant, gratifying even—and tried to look at her beaming face.

“You are a beautiful woman, Mindy,” I feebly managed, barely able to caress her face with my hand before my eyes fell close.

I felt her snuggle up to my side and cover us with the blanket. Never before had I felt so cherished, manly and proud, and yet, from deep within me, a pang of melancholy surged. Suddenly wide awake again, I opened my eyes to the feeling of her breasts squished against my side and her finger tracing circles on my chest.

I looked at her only to earn myself a confrontation with reality. Words threatened to leave my lips that I kept pressed together with all my might, trying to keep them tied shut, to prevent them from spilling the most stupid, thoughtless thing to say in those circumstances. “I know,” I heard her whisper in affirmation of my internal battle, loaded with deep sadness.

The stinging pain in my chest did not come from the fact that I could not have her—this had been clear to me from the beginning—but rather from knowing she was going back into a marriage of neglect and unreciprocated sexual desires. How would I ever be able to face my Shihan again, knowing he chose to ignore her needs?

Far too quickly for either of our tastes, she got up and dressed again. My mind preoccupied with the consequences of our actions, I could barely put on my boxers.

Wordlessly and equally awkwardly, I walked her to the front door. The tension between us was as thick as a brick and yet not even a forced chuckle escaped either of our mouths. Too heavily were the implications of our fling weighing on our minds.

Just as I was about to turn the handle, open the door and see her out, she poked me on my shoulder. I turned around and was confronted with the question that freed butterflies in my belly expressed in her signature joyfulness: “Can I have your number?”

My heart was doing somersaults. “Sure!” I replied with the class of an adolescent boy being asked to hold hands for the first time. My furious blushing was met with a content, understanding smile.

“You’re so adorable,” she chuckled as I zealously punched my number into her phone and corrected my clumsy fingers three times, flatteringly flaunting my excitement.

She kissed me one last time so deep my mind went blank again for just a second. As we parted, we held each other’s arms, looking at each other, words just waiting to spill the beans in a fleeting moment of inattention, yet both of us too painfully aware of the consequences these words loaded with meaning would drag.

We were, however, startled by my phone’s vibration amplified by the dresser it was lying on. My heart skipped a beat as I saw Shihan’s number angrily glaring at me.

“Guess that’s my cue,” Mindy playfully said before kissing my cheek and seeing herself out.

I picked up, the door to my apartment still open, dumbstruck by the whole situation. “Hey!”

“Nathan, is my wife still with you?” blared his voice.

“She just left,” I hazarded, attempting—and succeeding, mostly—at suppressing the nervous shaking in my voice.

“Thank you, my student!” he retaliated, an honest, yet assertive tone that spoke volumes about what he knew, leaving me speechless.

What had I gotten myself into?