PREFACE:

It was well over two years since my divorce. It was over three years since I’d been fucked, and it was over four years since I’d been fucked willingly. I was in need of cock. I'd been getting sex from my girlfriends. Now I needed a male. But, and it was a huge but, I had to be in control. Control of every second, of every movement. I knew that was the only way I’d overcome my ‘man phobia.’

John presented the ideal candidate to fill the vacancy and my hole.

PART 1

It had been a strange week, a week where my sexual temperature hadn’t dropped below boiling. Where I hadn’t, for the first time in months, had any physical sex (with a woman). Where I’d done one of my most outrageous displays in public. Where I’d set up a scenario where I could seduce a nineteen-year-old boy. A boy who, from his mother's description, was probably a virgin.

He was due shortly. I was dressed and ready. A number of friends had asked how I was proposing to dress. Well, not in fishnets and basque! His mother had described a timid, nerdish, boy and I didn’t want him to think I was enacting Halloween a few days late.

I had decided on a schoolma'am look. A wide knee-length skirt and a blouse. The blouse, unbuttoned, revealed cleavage. Under the skirt would be my signature stockings and suspenders of course, and knickers. I debated with myself about the knickers, but decided to go with them. If he was as innocent as I thought, flashing a naked pussy might be too much. I didn’t want him coming in his trousers!

A bra too. One that threatened to peek out of my blouse.

I was ready. I’d suggested 3.00 pm.

For those of you wondering why he was coming, the story is too involved to tell here.

3.00 pm arrived. He didn’t.

3.10 pm arrived and left. God, was I going to be stood up? I’m not sure my libido could cope with another disappointment this week.

At 3.15 pm my phone pinged. His mother.

Sorry running late. Be with you in 5.

This was good and bad news. It meant he was coming. But his mother bringing him was a disaster. They only lived a street away, an easy walk, certainly for a nineteen-year-old. If he decided to take the books I'd promised him, I’d said I’d run him back.

There was nothing I could do about it, though. No halfway sensible excuse I could think of to stop his mother from coming in. “Sorry I can’t let you in. I’m planning to seduce your son.” Didn’t quite work.

Three minutes later (I was clock-watching. My need was in the desperate to life-threatening zone) the bell rang. I opened the door, wondering what awaited. A blind date!

I’ve quite a good reputation for summing people up at first sight but rarely get it right when I’m imagining them before a meeting. John I’d imagined as a tall, gangly boy, awkward in his movements, round John Lennon glasses, a stammer, and shy in the extreme. But there he stood.

For once in my life, I’d got it right. Even down to the glasses. What I’ve just described stood on my doorstep: hands in pockets, looking at his feet, mumbling something that sounded like. “Hi. I’m John. I’ve come to collect some books. Sorry I’m late.”

I couldn’t be sure that’s what he’d said, as his lips didn’t appear to move. Perhaps he was an apprentice ventriloquist.

The plus was - no sign of his mother, just a car disappearing up the road. So my seduction was on.

I’d never done this before, not really. This was a silly place to start. A subject that at first glance was not of the everyday world. I should have found a local youth wandering around the town centre to practice on. (Now there’s a thought!)

I invited him in. He stepped over the threshold, but nothing vocal.

“I’ve put some of the books in the lounge. If you’re interested, I’ll get the others out, but didn’t want to bother if they are of no use to you.”

“Yeah.” Mm. I had casually thought that if my seduction fell on stony ground, it might be interesting chatting with a current student doing this subject. Given his response, I might get more out of the hedgehog that inhabited my garden.

I’d put three books on the coffee table in front of the sofa, and directed him to it. I sat in an armchair opposite.

I had planned to commence the seduction there, letting my legs drift apart, but decided to postpone it. I needed him to loosen up. I got the impression that if I’d stripped naked in front of him at that moment, I’d have failed to get a reaction. He looked at the books. I saw a glimmer of interest in his eyes. He checked the edition, the year of publication, and read the opening page of the first. I knew the book by heart, even twenty-odd years after having closed it for the last time. It was the bible on the subject. Written eons ago, but still relevant.

A spark of life emanated from the sofa opposite. “That’s cool. My tutor’s been banging on about this. It’s been out of print since the dark ages and I couldn’t find a copy anywhere. Thanks.”

The dark ages! I bought that new!

“That’s good, you’re welcome to it. It was our bible. I’m surprised it’s out of print.”

“it’s still available in revised editions but he reckons it’s been rewritten and not so clear in its theory on…”

I won’t bore you with the next ten minutes. He clearly felt on safe ground talking technicalities, and I talked to him as an equal. That’s not strictly correct, as he was clearly a lot more intelligent and on top of this subject than I was. Anyway, back to…

“Did you know there was a secondary volume?” I asked. “Goes into one or two ideas in more depth.”

“Yeah, but can’t find that either.”

“Look no further, I’m sure I’ve got a copy.”

“Yeah? Cool.” His face was animated. Behind the geekiness, behind the John Lennon glasses, with the smile on his face, he was reasonably good-looking. Not the first you’d pick in those ‘number them in order’ photos, but certainly not the last.

Time to move to more pressing matters. Satisfying my urges.

“I’ve a suitcase full of textbooks in the attic. It's awkward to get down on my own. Perhaps you’d give me a hand.” (With me guys?)

“Yeah, sure.”

I now at least had a live specimen to deal with. I realised his animation was triggered by the books, but he was showing a spark of being human. How human I was about to find out. I’d done a test run on my own, and was fairly confident the next five minutes would set the agenda for the rest of the afternoon. The anticipation caused me damp knickers.

He followed me up the stairs. Given my skirt length, I doubted I was revealing anything except perhaps a brief glimpse of stocking top.

I glanced back. His head was down. I couldn’t think of anything half sensible to say, 'Look up John. You’ll see up my skirt.' Nah. So I kept quiet.

We arrived on the landing, and I used the pole to open the hatch and pull the ladder down.

“I’ll have to go up to find the case. Can you hold the ladder? It’s rickety and I’m not good with heights.” He coughed and mumbled, “Yeah.” That cough! An embarrassed cough, I was sure. He knew what might be in front of his eyes! My leak intensified. I stepped on the ladder, playing the vertigo-suffering, useless woman. I’d gone up three steps. “Could you hold it now?” He held one side of the ladder, standing next to it, facing away. Oh. He was being a gentleman!

“No, please could you hold both sides? It’s so wobbly.”

He didn’t say anything, but did as I’d asked.

I climbed up until my head was in the attic and looked down. As I suspected, his eyes were fixed on his feet. Not good.

“Are you okay? Please hold tight, I’m going to step off.” I’d stepped to the top of the ladder and put one foot on the rim of the hatch while keeping an eye on John. As I’d hoped, my comment prompted him to look up. “Yeah, I’m fi…”

His words stopped. His mouth remained open, the final syllable lost. Perfect. The interesting thing was that he didn’t look away. His eyes were locked on me. On my knickers. I stayed there as long as I felt sensible. I didn’t want him to think I was doing it deliberately.

I stepped into the attic and moved a few things around for effect. The case I’d filled the day before was sitting ready to be handed down, but I made a pretence of looking for it.

“I’ve got it, John. Could you come up and take it from me?”

I squatted down at the edge of the hatch, my knees slightly over the edge, about six inches apart. I’d hitched my skirt to just above my knees. Nothing outrageous, just careless! John was concentrating on the ladder. He looked as nervous as I’d pretended to be. Whether that was my lurid description suggesting the imminent collapse of the ladder, actual nerves of heights, or anticipatory thoughts of what might be awaiting him, I didn’t know.

His head came through the hatch and turned in my direction, a foot from my parted knees. No attempt to look away. His eyes said it all.

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t move. Apart from letting my legs part slightly more. He was mesmerised. My mind went back to the man in the coffee shop earlier in the week. A wonderful week for hypnotising the male of the species.

I was sure he was mine now, but I’d wait until we were back down the ladder before moving on. After all, I didn’t want him falling off.

I pretended not to have noticed his stare, slightly shifted the suitcase towards him, and said in what I hoped was a natural voice, “Here John, be careful. You’ll need to let it slide down the ladder as you go down.”

He came out of his trance, pink in the face, but again did as asked.

I let him get to the bottom. “Can you hold it for me again?”

No reply, but he did. This time he was looking up. I slowly stepped onto the ladder. Perhaps I shouldn’t have worn knickers.

I contrived to get my body in a U shape, getting my hands a rung closer to my feet than usual, making my bum stick out, opening the view up my legs.

A surreptitious glance confirmed he was admiring the view.

In my planning, I had thought it might be possible to descend and get his head going up my skirt, but I could see that wouldn’t work, so just made my descent as slow as possible.

“Oh, don’t let go yet!” I implored him, as my legs got level with his face and he went to step back. “Wait till I’m down.” It meant me descending into a space bordered by his arms and body. I contrived to brush one leg against an arm and my bum touched his chest and was moving down his body, but it was too much for him. He let go of the ladder, and stepped back, just before my bum would have rubbed over his cock. Bugger.

I had planned to give him a bit more of a show before I tried anything further, but decided he was probably getting horny already so I’d risk it. I turned from the ladder to face him, putting a smile on my face.

“Thank you. You’ve been most helpful. We can sort through the books later if there’s something you’d rather do.”

That statement! God, what was I thinking? I’d done this, set this up with a young man, principally to see if I could cope and work through my man phobia. I knew I needed to be in control the whole way to curtail that problem, yet there I’d put all the keys in his hand. If he replied ‘yeah I’d love to fuck you' I was fucked! Both ways. How could I then say no? It dawned on me that I didn’t want to say no. More importantly, didn’t need to say no. For the first time in many a long year, my body and mind agreed. I’d fuck him if he wanted it. At least, I felt that way at that precise moment. If it actually came to it I wondered, but for now, I awaited his reply.

“Do? I didn’t know you wanted me to do something else. I thought it was just the books?” At least he’d become more articulate compared to when he’d arrived.

“Oh, it was, but I thought that looking up my skirt may have given you other ideas.”

Oh, the poor lad! His face went a shade of crimson I’ve only ever seen in horror movies.

“Don’t be embarrassed! I enjoyed your looking. It turned me on. You can have another look if you want."

I wondered what was going through his mind. That he had walked into a house of a raving old nymphomaniac? That he was hallucinating? Or that Christmas had come early? Whatever it was, he stood immobile. No, I lie. I glanced at his groin. Without a doubt, there was movement there. His jeans were already bulging but continued to be put under more pressure. A pet snake awakening from hibernation.

The size of the bulge was impressive. The two current men in my life, Charles and Craig, one would describe as adequate. I wondered if I was about to see something more imposing. It was difficult to tell with it scrunched up in his trousers.

It concerned me though. I’d asked if he wanted to see up my skirt again. I feared if he said yes, it would trigger his explosion. Not good.

He still hadn’t answered. Perhaps another option to his thought process was that it was a trap, and I’d immediately throw him out and tell his parents. I took the opportunity of his silence to change tack. The tone of my voice changed as well. I’d see if being authoritative spurred him into, if not action, at least movement.

“Never mind. You’ve seen my intimate garments, let me see yours. Take your jeans off.” Amazing. He immediately undid his belt, unzipped and let them drop to the floor. Not in the manner of someone desperate to fuck me, more in the manner of someone sent to the headmaster's study for a caning. I hadn’t realised my tone of voice held such power.

I’d promised myself if he were an unwilling participant, I’d not force the issue. The way he’d dropped his trousers made me wonder if I should. (I suspect dear readers, you’re screaming ‘No no the poor fuckers just shy. Treat him!’). Then I looked at his boxers. A pair of black Calvin Kleins which was an enormous surprise, but one I didn’t dwell on. I had bigger considerations. The big, scrub that, the enormous bulge inside them.

Given all this was a scientific experiment (yeah, yeah) to see if I could cope sexually with a young man, I ought to have gone over for a grope, but I was as sure as night follows day he’d come as soon as I did. I thought, however, I detected the bulge deflating. Embarrassment, I guessed, so I took a chance.

“I like your boxers very sexy. Now drop those too.” Very authoritative, very schoolma’am. Again, he did without a murmur. He must now surely realise he’d struck gold.

Wow! I guess it was about ninety percent erect. It was also, I estimated, close to eight inches long. But it’s girth! Wow! The act of freeing it and exposing it caused it to droop slightly, but that was perfect. I felt sure any touch at the moment would have produced a stream of cum but I had plans first.

Given his shyness the idea that he might open up to me in normal conversation or after an eruption was slim.

“Wow. Very impressive. You should be pleased you’re so well endowed.” No reply.

“You deserve a reward. I left him standing there with his cock oh so slowly deflating, and sat on the sofa facing him. I hitched my skirt up to my waist, and opened my legs. Someone started pumping his cock up again. And without him touching it.

“Do you like older women?” No reply but a definite nod of the head.

“And looking up their skirts?” Another nod. I needed to ask a question that would elicit a reply.

“What colour undies do you prefer?”

Poor soul. He looked as though I had trapped him. That he was going to have to use his vocal chords. I found out why that worried him. “Black,” he stammered, in a high-pitched squeak.

I needed to keep the questions simple for a while until he gained control, before I asked him for more intimate details.

Multiple-choice questions seemed best. “Do you prefer us to wear stockings or tights or us to be bare-legged?”

“I’ve never seen a woman in stockings in real life. Till you.”

His reply surprised me. Not the content, but that he’d strung a sentence together, and get his voice down from countertenor to baritone. This may not take as long as I’d feared.

“And what did you think?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“What about the suspenders?” I hooked a finger under one of mine, pulled, and let it snap back on my leg.

“Yeah. Sexy.” That he’d used that word-sexy-confirmed to me I could move on. I needed to. My knickers were soaking. Hardly surprising considering I was sitting there egging this young man on while looking at his large engorged cock, which was now back to maximum inflation and twitching each time I asked a question.

“Come and have a feel then.”

He should have taken that as a feel of my suspender, but I’d left it vague. Where would his hand go? But more to the point, would I let it? This was the first make-or-break moment. I felt relaxed — oh fuck, no I didn’t. I was as horny as hell; of course, I wasn’t relaxed. What I meant was, I was mentally relaxed about the close presence of a male of the species exhibiting a rampant cock. That in itself a few short months ago would have sent me screaming into the hills. (Difficult in Suffolk).

Could I touch it? Suck it? Be fucked by it? I’d been close to Charles’s. Even touched his balls, but Carol had been there. My guardian angel. Someone to say 'No don’t you dare touch her.' I had no one to shout at John, apart from me.

Time to find out.

He hesitated, perhaps unsure what I’d intended he could feel.

My legs were still wide apart. I dropped a hand. Started rubbing myself through my knickers. That did it. He took the two steps forward that brought him to the edge of the sofa. Between my legs. His engorged cock at attention, a mere two feet from my face.

Stalemate. Who was going to move first? I was as nervous as he appeared to be. “Go on, I said, “have a feel. Tits, if you want.” To encourage him, I pulled my blouse open, and scooped a tit out of my bra.

He wanted! A hand came out. Grabbed my left tit. No subtlety. A grab that would have shown up a hungry great white shark finding a bloody steak. I winced. He’d never done this before. “Steady. Gently,” I said. I prised his hand off my tit, kissed it, and replaced it over my nipple. “Now, just stroke it. Like a dog.”

He obeyed. It wasn’t the feel I’d have liked, but he was brushing over my nipple. It was already hard, but the sensation was good. His cock was now waving around only inches from my face. I was certain the first touch and it would erupt, but I couldn’t resist any longer. I reached out and grasped it. His hand stopped moving on my breast. By his facial expression, he was concentrating every sinew on trying to stop himself from coming. I left my hand immobile, but he looked as though he was losing the battle.

His whole body began to shake. Clearly, I wouldn't get to see if I could cope with being fucked. I had thought that a remote outcome but hoped a blowjob, or at the very least a decent wank, would be possible. So I went for the latter. I moved my hand down his shaft. As it started its return journey, he groaned and my face was blasted. Hot, sticky, and gorgeous. In other circumstances, I would have assumed he had been saving it up. The quantity was excessive, even by Charles’s standard, but I guess he had just not had anywhere to use it.

John's remained clasped over my breast. My hand still encircled his cock. It hadn’t shriveled to nothing, so I continued what I’d started, and carried on wanking him. The other hand, I used to gather up the cum on my face. Would this prove too deviant for him? I hoped not, but I wanted to signal just how wanton I was. How I’d be available for anything he needed.

His expression was hard to read. Was he embarrassed at his early coming, or relieved it was over, or ecstatic that he’d had a hand job (of sorts) from a woman old enough to be his mother? I offered some words. “My John, you have a cock to be proud of. Has a woman ever done that for you before?”

“No,” came the husky reply. He still stood in front of me. His hand had recommenced stroking my tit. I continued wanking his cock, which had ceased deflating, and eating his cum. When I’d finished, I leant forward and kissed the tip. An immediate twitch.

“I need you to do something for me now, John. Pull my knickers down. I want you to finger me. I’ll show you how.” With his initial tit grab in mind, I felt he might need some guidance.

He bent forward and clumsily hooked fingers into my knickers and pulled them down. I reopened my legs when he had removed them. His eyes locked on. “Give me your hand.” I led it to my lips, held a finger as if I were taking his fingerprint, and rubbed it up and down their length. Then added another. I let go and said, “Carry on.”

He probably thought I was peeing, given the amount of juice that was running out of me, but he continued. He was now kneeling, his chin resting on the sofa cushion inches away from my pussy, concentrating his eyes on his fingers. On my cunt. If I hadn’t been so horny, I might have thought how sweet that was. “Okay, now lick where you’ve been using your fingers.” He did. As if it were an ice lolly, and he had to lap it up before it melted. Totally without finesse, but it didn’t matter. I was so high from my seduction of him, I could feel the orgasm coming.

I thought I ought to warn him. “I’m coming John. Don’t stop.” How new this would be to him would depend on how much porn he’d watched. My guess was not much. His tit groping and pussy licking bore little resemblance to most movies I’d seen. It didn’t matter. I came. One of satisfaction, more than passion. Long and slow rather than earth-shattering, but highly, highly, satisfying.

He remained between my legs, a ringside seat to watch the action. His cock didn’t react. I had hoped he’d have a quick recovery, and we could try again. Surprising, I thought, given his age, but perhaps if it was his first-time recovery would take longer. Surely though, he’d wanked himself?

“Gorgeous. I hope you enjoyed it, John?”

“Yeah, cool.”

“Did you enjoy the taste?”

“Yeah.”

“Fancy doing it again sometime?”

“Yeah!” His most animated response of the day. Clearly, he’d thought this was a one-off and was delighted at the offer!

“Good. Lots more we can do.”

Part 2 to follow.