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Text File | 1994-03-26 | 14.1 KB | 335 lines

Oh, how I love first experiences . . . and, I hope, you do to . . . . Charisse @BEGIN_FILE_ID.DIZ Mrs. Jeffreys by Charisse van der Lyn@END_FILE_ID.DIZ Chris ran into the kitchen for a drink of water. Standing at the sink, doing the dishes, Mrs. Jeffreys was wearing a loose, dark, floral print, summer dress. Mrs. Jeffreys, his mother's house keeper, was an attractive woman, forty's, with shoulder length blond hair, and a full figure. He had seen her almost naked, once. Since then he spent a lot of time thinking about her and trying to see more. She had stayed a weekend when his parents were away. He was in bed, sick, but he had gotten up to go to the bathroom. Mrs. Jeffrey's room door was ajar, and she was changing her clothes. He watched as she unbuttoned her blouse and took it off. She was wearing a lacy white bra that seemed too small for her breasts. After she folded her blouse, she unhooked her skirt. She bent over and stepped out of it. Like her bra, her panties were lace, and he could see a hint of her curly mound through them. Seeing her in just panties and bra, he felt himself getting more excited than he had ever been looking at dirty pictures. She wasn't fat, but she was a large woman with a beautiful, full, figure. Her breasts pushed up, forming two, magnificent mounds. He could see her areolas through the fabric. As if she knew where he were looking, she put her hands on her breasts and squeezed and massaged them; then, almost more than he could bear, she slid her hands down over her stomach and hips, and let them drift, momentarily between her legs. She sighed. She was at that moment, his Rosetta stone. She held all the secrets and answers to the mystery of woman and sex. Seeming to remember her clothes, she picked up her skirt and blouse, placed them on hangers and walked to the closet. The closet was next to the door, and as she passed it, she casually pushed it closed. After that, he contrived ways to spy on her, but it wasn't easy. Several times while lying on the floor watching TV or listening to music when she was sitting in the room, he was able to look up under her dress between her legs. He'd see the tops of her stockings, dark tan against her pale skin, and once he saw the slender patch of her white panties. But he never saw more than that. Standing at the sink, doing the dishes, Mrs. Jeffreys was wearing a loose, dark, floral print, summer dress. He didn't think anything of it at the time, but she was pressing herself into the edge of the counter, rocking, slowly, back and forth. Her eyes closed, as if dreaming, and barely hidden behind the sound of running water, she was moaning. By the time he realized he could have watched her from the doorway, he had already run into the kitchen. "I need a glass," he said. "Oh! Chris!" she was flushed and startled. "Sorry, I just wanted a drink." Mrs. Jeffreys fussed nervously with her dress, straightening it out, checking that her collar was closed. Her faced was so red that he thought it was sunburned and she might blister, but she smiled, and held out a clean, wet glass. "Here." She looked at him oddly, as if there were something else on her mind. "Mrs. Jeffreys?" She turned and filled the glass with tap water. "Your water." He moved next to her and reached out for it. She set the glass down on the counter and took his hand, squeezing it hard. "Chris?" She asked with forced calmness. He look at her, curious at her strange behavior. Her eyes teared, as she struggled with some invisible dilemma. "Chris?" She whispered. He became conscious of her breathing. It was heavy, full of the passion her exterior hid. Her soft, brown, eyes look into his. Was there a clue to her problem in them? Had something happened? "What?" "You <are> curious, aren't you?" She stroked his hand. "I guess so. About what?" "Girls," she said, then in a whisper that seemed to echo through the room, "or, women." He stared at her, not quite sure what she was asking, and unable to say that he had been obsessively focused on her for weeks. That he fantasized about her all the time. "You know . . . sex," she confided. "Yes," he said. "You've been watching me." She smiled as she gave away that she knew his secret. He felt his stomach drop. "You've tried to look up my dress, and I know you've seen me in my panties and brassiere, haven't you?" She asked, massaging his hand. "Did you . . . like it?" He nodded, yes. "Did you, really?" She asked desperately. "Would you like more?" For a moment, time stopped. Something in her teary, pleading, eyes, her soft touch, and the controlled excitement in her voice told him that this was a rite of passage for him. "Chris?" She whispered. Then, without looking away from his eyes, she pressed his hand awkwardly against her mound. "Baby . . . please." He looked into her eyes, while he was suddenly aware of her sweet perfume, her deep, heavy, breathing, and the warmth surrounding his hand. "Please?" She said. She moved his hand lower, pushing it between her legs. Under her dress he felt the curves of her womanhood, but in his confusion he couldn't respond. "Don't you understand?" She moved his hand against her--in and out--bunched in the folds of her dress. "What do I have to do?" She pleaded. "What?" "Mrs. Jeffreys?" He asked. "Go on." She stepped closer, "feel it." She breathed the words into your face, "Play with me. Make me show you how naughty I am." "Are you okay?" He whispered. "Please? Touch my private place." Her voice was barely controlled. "I'm . . . I . . . I need . . . " She held his hand in place and pulled her dress up, sliding it out from under his hand, her breathing was faster. "There . . . baby . . . better?" She held his hand against white, cotton, panties. He felt her spongy, curly, mound beneath his finger tips. He looked down and saw how his fingers sunk into the shadowed vee of her panties. He felt for the first time a woman's hairy mound . . . the puffiness of her vulva. . . the hot slit that ran deep between her legs into the secret, the mystery, of women. He jerked his hand, startled at her wetness. "No," she pushed his hand deeper, "that's good. You're making me wet." He felt the cleft of her sex through the moist fabric. He pushed his finger between her lips, and feeling the hard bump that he thought had to be her clitoris. He began to rub it. "Yes!" She sighed. Her hips began to move back and forth. "That's it." She turned him so that she was pressing him back into the counter. She became frantic. "Here," she pulled her panties down, stepped out of them, and thrust his hand back, deeper into her damp crotch. She began to hump his hand. "Do me . . . " her eyes closed, ". . . make me cum!" He fingered her for several minutes, while her hips gyrated wildly, she moaned, screamed, and begged. "Rub my clitty . . . ooo . . . higher . . . Yes . . . there . . . now my hole . . . fill it. . . ." He couldn't believe an adult woman would talk like that. It excited him to see how wild she was getting. In spite of his efforts, his hand wasn't enough for her. She looked down at the bulge in his pants. "Use that." She was asking him to take it out . . . in the daylight, in the kitchen, for a woman? He was a kid, and in spite of a lot of heavy making out and petting, this was almost too private. "I know it's big enough." Her hand slid into his pants, and grabbed his throbbing cock. He couldn't believe how good it felt good having a woman touch his thing, to wrap her fingers around it, to moan and sigh like he was! She tore desperately at his belt, and his zipper. It sprung free as she slid his pants down. His embarrassment gave way to the thrill of her excitement seeing it. "Ooo . . . that's a man's cock . . . " She stroked it between her hands. "You know where I want it." She cupped his balls. "You know?" He continued to finger her pussy. She wiggled and squirmed under his touch. "I'll make you a man." She whispered, trying to climb up him enough to get his cock in her. "Help me," she begged. "God! I want you in me." He couldn't, this was not only his first, but everything was moving too fast. She became frantic trying to get him into her. He put his hands on her smooth, bare, ass . . . a woman's ass . . . and tried to lift her up. Holding his shoulders, she put one foot up on the counter. "There! Do me." She screamed at him "Stuff it in." He struggled to find her hole. She was almost in tears. "Hurry. . . . I want you." He kept missing. "Hold me," she said. He put his hands on her hips to steady her. She let go of him and reached down to guide his cock into her. For a few seconds, she slid his cockhead through her curly pubic hair, then with her other hand she spread her lips and touched his cock to her hole. "Push it in," she said. At first, there was some resistance, but she was so wet that once his cock was inside it slid easily. But it was she who pumped. She clawed, and climbed all over him as she had her way. "Don't cum yet . . . " She bit his lip . . . she grabbed his hair and clamped her mouth over his. Her tongue forced itself between his lips. He opened his mouth to her, and thrilled as she explored his mouth her tongue. She shook, she screamed, she sighed. "I want you on top of me," she said pulling him away from the counter. He slid out of her. The air felt cold against his wet cock. Mrs. Jeffreys took his hand, and as she laid down on the floor she pulled her dress up. "I want to feel your balls slapping me." She pulled him down on her. This time, with her cunt hole gaping, he stuffed his slippery wet cock between her wrinkled, pink lips. "Yes!" He started to hump her. "Fuck me . . . fuck my pussy . . . fuck my cunt!" She screamed and writhed under him in the grip of her orgasm. He had no idea if she was okay. He had never seen a woman have an orgasm; but he couldn't stop himself; he pumped faster; suddenly, he stiffened. He knew he was about to explode. "Oh!" He screamed. "Mrs. . . . Jeffreys!" "Cum in me! Baby, shoot your stuff in me!" He squirted his cum deep in her. Afterwards, she held him on top of her as his cock shrank. <My God!> she thought, realizing that it was Chris, a teenager, who was lying on top of her. <A boy.> But it had felt so good to give in to her lust, and, in spite of his inexperience, he had been wonderful. "Chris?" She whispered. Had she gone too far? Had she taken advantage of him? Underneath her doubt, her sex tingled. "Hmm?" "Will you get hard again?" Her doubt vanished with her growing excitement. He laughed. "God, yes." "When?" How good it had been, she thought. <And again.> The thought of another fuck started to bring his cock back to life. "A few minutes." "Let's go to your room." She let go of him. He stood up and as he reached down to help her to her feet, he looked at her box--puffy, fringed with matted, dark blond hair, her wrinkled pink lips sticking out, sweaty, wet, with their juices oozing out. He'd seen pictures in magazines, but nothing like this. "Do you like it?" She asked. "Yes." She smiled, and slid her hand down, cupping her pussy in it. "And this?" "I've never seen . . . " She stuffed her fingers between her lips and began to rub her clit. "Or this?" "You're . . . " He couldn't believe that he was seeing a woman play with herself. ". . . masturbating." Mrs. Jeffreys grinned. "Will you be my secret lover?" <For a day? A month?> His heart raced. He was a kid, lucky to cop a feel, and she . . . she was beautiful . . . a woman . . . and she wanted him. "Yes." "Do you know what oral sex is?" "Yes." She spread her furry lips, and there, dripping out of her pink hole, was a glob of his cum. . . . maybe in the dark, he thought, maybe before he came, maybe-- "Then let's go to your room." She stood up. He froze. He realized that he had left some dirty pictures out. "We can't." "Why?" She asked, picking her panties up from the floor. He blushed. It was impossible to say to her that he had been beating off early. She smiled. "You were being a naughty, weren't you?" <So was I.> He nodded, yes. "I've seen your dirty pictures." "You know?" He asked. She pulled him to her and wrapped her arms around him. "I'd be disappointed if you didn't have any." She whispered in his ear. In spite of his excitement, he didn't know if there were boundaries. He hesitated before sliding his hands down over her ass. "Do you wonder about my titties?" She teased. "You haven't even felt them." She humped him a little. "How about my asshole?" "Yes. . . . But, Mrs. Jeffrey's," he felt his cock stiffen against her, "I'm hard again." "I know." She laughed. "Let's go to your room." He hesitated. "The pictures?" "We can find out who you like better. Me . . ." She put her fingers to his mouth. He could smell her love juices. ". . . or them." ### ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- To find out more about the anon service, send mail to help@anon.penet.fi. If you reply to this message, your message WILL be *automatically* anonymized and you are allocated an anon id. Read the help file to prevent this. Please report any problems, inappropriate use etc. to admin@anon.penet.fi.