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Sweet T and Biscuits

Category: Mature
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Tracy, my new found and rather older lover was, I discovered rapidly, not simply a tease but one who enjoyed it. Each morning as Tracy said, “good morning” she slipped me a sealed envelope before walking down the platform to chat with her friend. I tore the first on open immediately. It read,

Dearest Sweetest David.

I am so looking forwards to you driving your hot rod in and out of my garage once more. You’ve missed a treat today, silly me I forgot to put any panties on.

I remembered to roll my sheer black stockings up my legs and I did not forget my red suspenders, they have eight straps altogether and look just a little bit kinky. Then I got so distracted thinking of you whilst I fingered my hot wet slit that I had to rush and I simply forgot to put my little black lacy pants on. Now my bare botty will be wobbling about under my skirt all day long and I picked a shorter skirt than usual, to please you. I pray no one in the office notices.

Hope you are looking forwards to Sunday afternoon too.

Love Sweet T.

P.S. I hope no one is reading this over you shoulder.

I spun around in a panic but no one was there. I did, however, resolve to read any more notes from Tracy somewhere a little less public.

Wednesday’s note was similar to Tuesdays, except that she told me how she had enjoyed a very long and satisfying session lying on the bed with one hand between her legs the other at her nipples pretending it was me; she describe the whole affair in the most minute of detail too.

Thursday’s note was totally different. It was simply a Polaroid photo of her in an arm chair with her legs spread wide apart sitting there stark naked. I opened it at work and almost choked on my coffee. I spluttered so much that people came running and I had to hide the damn thing in a file rather rapidly.

Friday’s note was curious, it read,

Dear little funny honey bunny-wunny David.

I hope you don’t want to spend too much time rabbiting on Sunday, I want you exploring my burrow just as soon as you can. Despite the seasonal chill it’s been very hot down there this week and it needs a good hosing out.

With that in mind you are forbidden to play with you little squirty toy because I want all your juices well and truly primed to pump on Sunday afternoon. In plain English no more wanking until I have had the pleasure of fondling your stiff shaft whilst I work my full red lips over that swollen purple helmet atop, making you wheeze with anticipation.

I cannot give you a note on Saturday so tomorrow you are to read all three of my little missives in sequence whilst you study my photograph, at least four times over. Each time you must think about what we are going to do to one another on Sunday afternoon, and every time you must come up with a different idea. Counting the seconds until I see you at two o’clock on Sunday. Be prompt.

Love Sweet T.

P.S. make plans for Sunday night too.

P.P.S. and think of something quick for Monday morning.

That week had crawled along, Saturday had been a torture but at last it was noon on Sunday and time to get ready. That day I took far more care over my appearance, which was ironic because we were going to undress one another just as soon as was polite and possibly sooner than that. With this in mind I: had a bath, washed my hair, had a shave and brushed my teeth, the latter twice over, all immediately before I dressed. The trouble came in the bath, with all that soap and a really stiff penis that was both positively screaming for attention and which had to be scrupulously clean; well I had to be very careful how I washed it amplifying my desires still further. I selected: freshly laundered blue Aertex cotton briefs which at least kept my erection pressed against my belly, plain black worsted wool trousers that sadly did little to hide my stiffened state, a pale blue pure cotton shirt and a black Barathea jacket; the reality was that it was my old school blazer but it still looked exceptionally smart and definitely not unfashionable, another miracle performed by our local dry cleaners. I stuck with the black leather brogue shoes, shined once more to perfection as my father had taught me to – I had resented his patient care and persistence bitterly at the time but I was truly grateful now – naturally I polished them before I took my bath.

I topped the whole assembly off with that Liberty print tie tied in a Double Windsor, it matched and indicated a certain je ne sais quoi; in fact, to this day, I don’t know what message I was trying to send out with that particular choice of costume, it was indisputably very mixed up but absolutely screamed ‘I’m really trying very hard indeed’. With hindsight, whatever it were, the message was an accurate one. Above all else I was desperate to impress Tracy.

That second Sunday Tracy trumped me, utterly blew may pathetic attempts at mature sophistication clear away. I was to discover that she was very good at that. ‘Ding-dong ding-dong,’ chimed her most classic of suburban bells, two o’clock on the dot. She opened the door on a security chain and peered through the gap cautiously. “Thank God. It is you, David! I’ll just be a tick.” Through the frosted glass I could see some kind of frenetic activity occurring and, as it dampened, she unclipped the chain and held the door open for me to squeeze through whilst she hid behind it.

It was not surprising that Tracy was behaving so oddly because, as she closed the door behind me she revealed that she was already stark naked. Oh! such well rounded breasts proudly holding their dark pink areolae and distended red teats aloft as if on parade. Such luscious buttocks, well rounded soft and sensual, little dimples just above the thighs and I noticed a small round brown mole half way down the left cheek almost hidden in the cleft of her bottom. Her faint blond down so obviously failing in its duty to conceal the pouting lips of her sex. And of course, best of all, that radiant smile that had first melted my heart and stiffened other places, directed at me like the beam of a spotlight. Tracy certainly knew how to grab the undivided attention of a man’s penis; the only reason that mine was not fully erect was because in its haste to inflate it had not only managed to tangle itself up in my underpants but to achieve this in a manner that was actually painful.

“Gosh,” I exhaled, practically speechless with shock and also trying desperately not to wince as I wriggled and writhed in an attempt to untangle myself. Tracy’s smile turned into a quickly suppressed giggle. At that instant she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, even though she was at least forty and I just twenty five; she was a true mature beauty with a curvaceous, rather than fat, and very sexy body.

I had imagined all manner of polite dissemination with this voluptuous creature, rehearsed a couple of all too cheesy openings and rejected them as too gauche. Then decided that I would just have to look cool, in truth I knew that before anything actually happened older, wiser and far far naughtier Tracy would take control but I had never even considered anything quite so bold and direct as this. To hide my confusion I removed my shoes; I remembered that Tracy had a thing about that.

“I thought I’d save us some time but then I realised we had loads. of it. So, I decided that for the first two hours I would only permit you to look. As a consequence you are absolutely banned from touching me before four o’clock,” her grin was one of the most evil things I had seen in a long time, Carroll’s Cheshire cat would have been consumed with jealousy.

“OK, I agree to your terms but under a single proviso, when you sit you have to keep your knees and thighs well apart.”

“Naughty,” Tracy replied, nodding her affirmation enthusiastically with obvious approval, and she headed for the kitchen to make some tea, her naked buttocks wobbling sexily, the two orbs rubbed gently against one another as she walked. “Go on through to the lounge,” she called over her shoulder, “you look like someone who needs a moment to themselves to sort out their wedding tackle. I blushed – I really hated how simple she found it to extract a blush from me – had I really made it that obvious that she had entangled my manhood with my briefs so very uncomfortably?

Once were settled in the front room she began to tease. “I’ve been experimenting, watch! When I hook a leg over one arm of the chair, if I really stretch,” and she gave a little grunt of effort, “I can just hook my other leg over the other arm.” Of course this left her sex totally exposed presenting a perfect view of the full length of her crinkly lips, some of the crack of her bottom and, rudest of all, offering a glimpse of her tight little bum hole. What’s more her fine blond down did nothing to occlude this lascivious display. “Now I thought you could get your own biscuit today,” and instead of biting into her ginger snap she delicately parted the lips of her sex, displaying briefly the deep pink within, and allowed them to close upon it and as consequence hold it suspended along her crack. “Come and get it and remember no touching! In fact, to make it even more interesting for you, when you take your ginger snap you’re only allowed to use your teeth.” She really knew how to pile the pressure on.

In order to demonstrate that I had understood my place I crawled across to her upon all fours, trying to exhibit the spirit of a playful puppy rather than that of an obedient dog. I knelt before her and carefully shuffled forwards on my knees, twisting my head so I could bite down gently on the edge of the round biscuit. Of course I had a splendid close up view of her pussy which was already quite moist and issuing that distinctive odour of sensuous feminine carnality. Tracy certainly knew how to tease an already desperate man. Whilst we drank our tea she adopted a range of extravagant poses every one of which, true to her pledge, left her sitting with her legs spread akimbo.

She poured second cups. This involved an inordinate amount of standing up and keeping her legs straight, forcing her to bend forwards to reach the low coffee table. In its turn this meant that she had to lean forwards causing her ample breasts to dangle down and sway hypnotically. Tracy is the most dreadful tease, at one point she ‘carelessly’ allowed the tight red teat of one of her nipples to dip itself in the milk jug. When she stood up a large drop of milk dangled from its tip. “Don’t you just wish you were allowed to come over and suckle on that, babykins?”

Her poses became ever more wanton, when she placed her hands on her knees and then kept opening and closing her legs my poor tool throbbed so much that I was seriously worried that I might actually come. But Tracey was no where near done with me yet. She still had a whole routine to go through. A performance that commenced with her kneeling on the seat with her back to me. Now she really was showing off her delightful bum; I remembered the end of our first night together, how intensely arousing I had discovered watching myself shafting her doggy style to be. At that point I really had trouble in controlling myself, I felt my balls lift and my seed gather. How I wanted to spear her from the rear, to slip my aching cock between her lips and thrust it down her silky smooth purse. I could already hear it slurp and gurgle as I slid in and out.

Tracy rounded off her little display by sitting facing me once more and then rolling back in the seat, raising her legs until she could grab her own ankles and then spreading her legs as far apart as she could manage. Posed like she offered me the perfect view of the full length of her intimate gash, from her clitoral hood already only half covering her little bud, all the way down her long slit to the top of her bottom. Even then she was not quite finished with me, she released her ankles reached round her thighs and pulled her sex and buttocks apart, just as wide as she could. True, this left nothing to the imagination but to a man already tortured with lust it was an unbelievably sexy and very desirable sight. Tracy’s clitoris was reddened and prominent, her lips swollen and slick with juices, you could even see the little mound that I knew she must pee from. Her private tunnel, a darker pink than the surrounding flesh, a pink which descended to an welcoming darkness was open and inviting.

“Crawl across little puppy,” she cooed, “take a closer look, perhaps have a sniff, tell me if everything is sweet.”

“You’re killing me,” I protested as I scurried across her pale Berber carpet. “Don’t you want me to lick that sexy slit?”

“Oh yes, I most certainly do but not yet. I want to see you suffer, I want to revel in your agony; I’m surprised that your tongue isn’t lolling between you jaws, your expression says it ought to be. Now how much would you like to ream that deep dark shaft of mine with that engorged bore of yours?” Her crude allusion set my penis all atwitch again.

As I came closer I could see just how moist Tracy was already. Glistening white cream was pooling between the smooth and unexpectedly shiny walls of that most intimate of tunnels, skeins of mucus criss-crossing its entrance. When she sat up I knew that puddle of moisture would ooze out, dribbling languorously down her perineum and clinging to the crinkles of her anus. That too was on full display, puckered and crimpled; again a darker pink than its surrounds, a pink that in places almost tended to purple. The mole I had noticed earlier was revealed to be one of a pair, its partner lying right in the centre of her buttocks. Her pussy reeked of impending sex and her anus had no odour at all.

“Shall I tell you a naughty little secret?” she whispered, “but you have to promise not to be too mean with it.”

“You can tell me your secret but I will promise you no such thing. It sounds to me as if it were a delicious secret that should be exploited to its maximum potential.”

“I’ll regret this later, you’re going to make me wish that I had never told you, I just know that you will, but alright. First you must lick and suck my pussy until the juices dribble copiously down the crack of my sex and I am all but coming. Then if you lick that little strip of flesh between the two holes it drives me crazy. It’s unbearably pleasurable but does not quite bring me to a climax.”

“I’ll try it today,” I chuckled, “it can be my revenge for all your wicked teasing and taunting and I’ll be just as mean as I possibly can be. “Imagine pretty sweet T, pretend that right at this moment I am licking it: up and down, up and down, over and over again,” she closed her eyes and a strange smile played over her lips. “Now, imagine I break off and swirl my tongue around that pretty little clit of yours, just once, and then resume licking that strip.”

She shuddered and her sex pulsed making bubbles of its own outpourings. “You wouldn’t!”

“I would. Not once but over and over again.”

For a second time she shuddered, “Oh my God David, you’re such a nice young man you really would not be so mean to an old woman.”

“Oh but I would to one who’s so worldly wise she deserves it and I am going to, later you will beg me to shaft you, plead with me to saddle you up and ride you long and hard and you’d better invent some new swear words too. Because, once I do break off from tormenting your sweet sex and pound you mercilessly you’ll realise that ‘fuck’ and ‘cunt’ are no longer sufficient for your needs.”

“You’re a mean pig,” she sighed quietly, her breathing ragged with anticipation. Her upper chest and neck flushed, her pussy emitted a series of tiny but distinct ‘phupts’ and ‘parps’, her little puckered anus began to twitch gently. “Oh my God,” she cried. “Oh,” she wailed out in frustration, possibly even anger. To my immense glee I realised that she had just failed to achieve an orgasm. She was just as randy as I and perhaps, at that instant, the more desperate of us two.

She rolled forwards, sat up and waved a figure in admonishment, “oh no buster. You have to wait and,” spoken mournfully, “sadly, so must I. To pass the time we had better do something a bit less stimulating but just as exciting. We’ll write a naughty story together:” Well wherever do you imagine that this script came from? We migrated to her dining room and she unearthed pen and foolscap paper from the bottom drawer of her huge dark walnut sideboard.

I sat and commenced to relate the days activities thus far, writing them laboriously in long hand and, at Tracy’s insistence, double spaced; she peered over my shoulder, her pendulous bosoms not quite brushing against it. At this juncture I discovered a whole new side to Tracy. When we talked, or even simply sat in silence, we were completely relaxed and wholly at ease with one another, cosy and warm. I think that, that sense of mutual empathy was what had attracted us to one another initially. When we made love she was pure carnivore: sometimes the ravenous aggressor dragging down prey, otherwise, the tender mother nurturing her dependants. She was certainly intent on educating, or more likely perverting, this particular cub into her own devious pursuits and practices. When I wrote she transformed into a pedantic, nitpicking tyrant.

“It’s an ‘s’ not a ‘z’, dolt; we are writing in English. We are not writing in North American, nor Australian, nor the dialect of some other former colony; we are employing our own Queen’s English! Don’t you understand the most simple of things. For God’s sakes where’s your grammar? Phut!” spat out contemptuously, making her nipples jiggle deliciously. “You claim to have attended a Grammar school, did they actually teach you any grammar? A full list is preceded by a full colon and every item in the list made distinct by a comma, you are quite hopeless.” She stalked around the table her buttocks swaying provocatively and then stabbed a finger at the script, “what ever are these dash thingies all about?” said very accusingly

“Please miss…”

“It’s not miss. It’s misses; misses Stern.”

‘A likely story,’ thought I, but I did get the point; I had seen her post and there she was Tracy Billington, Ms. Tracy N. Billington. Yet sensitive to the context I responded with an obedient, “yes Mrs. Stern. Please Mrs. Stern, dashes are used extensively by many of our literary giants: Hardy, Austin and Charlotte Bronte all used them. In ‘a dance to the music of time,’ mister Powell uses them like parenthesis and they look so much more elegant. Mr Huxley uses them throughout ‘Grey Eminence’ to similar effect, Mr. Priestley employs them extensively. In ‘the turn of the screw’ Mr. James appears to have been addicted to them.”

“And you aspire to such literary brilliance?”

“Yes Mrs. Stern, I won’t achieve it but even you cannot prevent me aspiring!”

She smirked, openly, “true and yes,” she shook a shoulder making her breasts wobble and bobble one another, resonantly.

Then I remembered that she was a legal secretary and realised that she might be slightly obsessive about conveying meaning precisely. But over and above these corrections she occasionally removed, but in the main added, commas and semi-colons. This I found odd at first because, full stops aside, I knew that punctuation is normally eschewed in legal documents. “Please Mrs. Stern, why all these commas?”

“Because, you raving ignoramus, whilst some may find they disrupt the flow a little, for the more discerning they permit the addition of a subtlety of meaning that would, otherwise, prove impossible. Nuance you numbskull, nuance.”

I acted crushed, “sorry Mrs. Stern.”

“You ought to be and you will be.” English had never been such fun but then my English masters, Messrs Green and Ellis, would not have looked so tempting if they had pranced about in the nude; repugnant in fact. Mrs. Stern chided me for every little mistake and every time found some new insult to hurl at me, dumb clod, incredible imbecile, birdbrained twit, nitwit. But at the end of each outburst she marched around the table, head held high causing her fleshy parts to dance dimple and quiver in ways that kept my manhood as stiff as a poker. This did not help my concentration at all.

We had written about a thousand words when she suddenly announced, “Enough of literature, what do you think comes next on our curriculum for today?”

“Um,” I thought frantically. “Please Mrs. Stern, anatomy Mrs. Stern. Then Mrs. Stern, I expect… Um… Probably physiology Mrs. Stern or perhaps PE Mrs. Stern, you know physical jerks, push-ups and such like.”

“Well done Smith, ten out of ten. You are going to be fun,” she laughed diabolically, “you’ve ever such a lot to learn young man and you are going to discover that this particular older woman is a first class, if very demanding and exacting, teacher.”

I realised she had no idea what my surname was. “Thank you Mrs. Stern. But please Mrs. Stern I’m Higson. I do look a lot like Smith, Mrs. Stern but he’s off sick today.”

“Well Higson, let’s begin with Anatomy, you’re going to have a test and every time you answer a question incorrectly you will have to reveal more of your own anatomy. I shall tell you what to take off when and no shyness modesty nor dallying.”

We returned to her front room and Mrs. Stern sat on the back of one of her arm chairs with her feet on the arms splaying her pussy so very wide. She pinched each of her lips between a finger and thumb. “Well Higson. What are these called?”

“Labia, Mrs. Stern.”

“Which ones? Precision boy, precision.”

“Inner labia, Mrs. Stern.

“Correct,” she spat out, grudgingly. “And this?” pointing rather above where the two lips joined.”

“Clitoris, Mrs. Stern?” I was not quite sure what she was after, it wasn’t really anywhere.

“Incorrect. Take off that jacket and try again.”

“Pudenda, Mrs. Stern?”

“No, wrong again, you stupid oaf. One last try and if you get it wrong this time both socks have to go.” She placed a hand where she had pointed and pulled upon the flesh forcing her ripe reddened clitoris to peek out below.

“Please Mrs, Stern, I’ve got it this time.”

“Well don’t give it everyone,” she interrupted caustically, “but do feel free to share with me.”

Please Mrs. Stern that’s the clitoral hood.

“Well done boy. That one was harder. And this?” She sucked on a forefinger and began to rub it round that delicate little nub, closing her eyes and sighing gently as she did so. Her breathing became louder ending with a distinct grunt. “Hurry up boy,” she wheezed trying her best not to sigh.

“It’s the clitoris, Mrs Stern.”

“And what was I doing?”

“Um… It looked like… Well, it looked like you were masturbating Mrs. Stern.” I said shyly, the last sentence delivered all in a rush.

“Do you think women masturbate?” spoken as an enraged roar.

“Please Mrs. Stern I know that they do. I once caught my sister and her friend…” terminating, this utterly fictitious, confession with an abrupt silence.

“Caught them doing exactly what might I ask?” the imperative to reply made implicit by her tone.

“Please Mrs. Stern. They were… They were stroking each other just where you were stroking yourself. And my sister suddenly made a great shuddering cry and as soon as she had recovered she grabbed her friend and kissed her on the mouth.” I made my shoulders heave and pretended to blubber.

“Stop that whimpering boy. So your sister allowed you watch her and her friend giving pleasure one another, did she invite you in then?”

“No Mrs. Stern, her door was open a crack and I could see them on the bed in her big mirror. It was angled just right. Please don’t be angry.”

“You mean you were peeking?” she stormed at me.

“Yes Mrs. Stern,” I wailed sounding thoroughly mortified. I wondered where this confession that I was inventing was coming from; then I appreciated the quality of Tracy’s performance, Mrs. Stern was really inspiring me to be equally convincing and to give her something to be stern about.

“So you’re a dirty little pervert too, you watched you baby sister and her pubescent friend when you knew it was wrong to do so?”

“No Mrs. Stern. She’s my big sister and I was home from University. I watched because her ‘friend’ was really my Mum’s friend, about your age; I was transfixed, spell bound, rooted to the spot, I could not believe it and it was so rude. But you’re right Mrs. Stern standing watching them like that does make me a dirty pervert. Please don’t punish me too severely.”

“And afterwards you tiptoed to your room and masturbated while you replayed the images of what you had just seen in your head.”

“Yes Mrs. Stern. How did you know about that?” Even I was impressed with just how dejected I managed to sound.

“Oh, but I will have to punish you. The question is how?”

“I don’t know Mrs. Stern.”

“Shut up and permit me to think. It must be something humiliating, indeed mortifying. I know! You must confess. You must phone your sister right now and explain everything whilst I listen in.”

Panic set in, how could I possibly phone a fictitious sister?

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Stern, my sister does not have a telephone,” that ought to put a spoke in her wheels, thought I.

“Then you’ll have to write. Come along, a free and frank confession.” I am not sure if it was Tracy or Mrs. Stern who indicated that we should return to the dining room. This time I was handed letter paper to write upon.

Dear Tilly.

I have a new and very strict tutor, Mrs. Stern. She discovered that I once peeked and saw you and Aunty Chrisandra enjoying sex with one another. I arrived home unexpectedly, you left a crack in the door and I watched the pair of you in your big mirror. Mrs. Stern has ordered me to confess to you what a dirty, filthy and perverted person I must be to have even considered watching the pair of you together, peering in on a couple so eagerly absorbed in intimate sexual intimacy. I saw her make you come. Then I watched the pair of you kiss. Even then I did not go away but continued to look on as you gave her an orgasm; I counted three in total and I followed each and everyone of them closely.

After that I tiptoed away and wanked myself stupid.

Mrs. Stern says that I must tell you that she hopes that you have it in your heart to forgive my depraved and perverted behaviour, I pray that you can do so.

I’m sorry and I do love you.


“Now address this,” and Mrs. Stern handed me an envelope that matched the paper.

I dissolved into panic mode. My erection actually subsided a little. I had no sister, there never was, nor ever could be an address. Inspiration struck:

Mrs. M. Golightly,

69, Albion Parade,

Bruddersford, BF6 9BF.

“Dash it all, you’ve certainly read your Priestley,” was Mrs. Stern’s only comment as she slipped the letter into the envelope. “I’ll deal with this. I will add a covering note and ask your sister for a reply, she can decide your fate. Perhaps I’ll include a little memento to illustrate your own depravity to your dear sister. Now back to anatomy. Higson, remind me, where had we got to?”

“Please Mrs. Stern; the clitoris, Mrs. Stern. You demonstrated your clitoris to me.”

“So I did. So I did,” Tracy sounded far, far away.

We returned to the front and she resumed sitting on the back of a chair. She pointed at her hot moist hole, by that time secreting tight white beads of moisture that rolled in a steady procession down her crack. “And this?”

“Please Mrs. Stern. That’s your vagina Mrs. Stern.”

She pointed below, “and this.”

“Please Mrs. Stern, I don’t know.” I did but it really was time to lose some more clothes.

“I will remind you but it will cost you dearly, let’s see: your socks, your tie and you shirt. Is that fair?”

“Yes Mrs. Stern. You are very generous Mrs. Stern,” I even managed to sound sheepish. I removed the designated garments.

She said, “the perineum you little twerp, the perineum.” Now what is this.

“Please Mrs. Stern. That’s easy Mrs. Stern. It’s the anus Mrs. Stern.”

“Have you ever played with your anus, stuck a finger or something else inside?”

“No miss!” I went brick red, horrified at the very thought.

“Oh. I am so glad that I am your teacher. You really are quite a green little sprout, aren’t you?”

“Yes Mrs. Stern, if you say so then I must be a green little sprout.” Was she actually suggesting what I thought she was suggesting. That was a disgusting idea and to my horror my rock hard cock twitched in agreement.

” Higson you appear to be in some discomfort. Would you actually be more comfortable if you removed your trousers and underpants too?”

“Yes Mrs. Stern I would. Please Mrs. Stern do I have your permission to?”

“You may, but Higson.”

“Yes Mrs. Stern.”

“Fold your clothes neatly because I hate messes, messes will be punished severly. Now Higson. Before we proceed you are at the core of a disciplinary issue that has been draw to my attention repeatedly.”

“Mrs. Stern?”

“Mr. Strictly, Miss Cantaloupes and Mr. Ramsbottom have all complained about you talking during their classes and I believe in punishments which fit the crime.” As Tracy said this she slid down the chair back to sit on the seat. “I think that we need to teach that tongue of yours a lesson, a nasty little lesson it won’t forget in a hurry. First, you must kneel before me. Now spread my inner labia, see that was such a useful session that we just shared, don’t you agree?”

“Yes Mrs. Stern you can tell me exactly what you want me to do to you now.”

“Well Higson that overactive tongue of yours is going to lick the crack of my sex until I say otherwise. Don’t forget you’ll be running your tongue up and down my hottest, most sweaty intimate parts of all, licking my pee hole again and again and lapping up the thick sticky juices that are currently forming in the vestibule of my moist vagina and then dribbling down toward and over my anus.”

I placed my shoulders under her knees and then levered them up to lift her bottom into the air slightly, leant forwards and reached to squeeze each of her erect nipples between the appropriate finger and thumb and used my forearms to hold her chest down; I had poor Mrs. Stern pinioned quite helplessly. When she attempted to struggle upright I pinched a nipple really hard. “Youch,” was her response and she fell back and relaxed. The tables had been turned, I was about to tease her and she knew it and knew she was helpless to prevent me. Her pussy began to make those little farty noises, noises that only really randy pussies can make and her other more puckered orifice began to twitch spontaneously too. Lick between the holes, let’s find out what happens.

“Oh my God. No, not that.” Tracy began to struggle. I squeezed both nipples really firmly. “Arrgh.” she cried out in pain and she ceased to wrestle. “Please no. Don’t. No, no. No!” She had told me the truth, that little strip of hers was extraordinarily sensitive. “Not that. Anything but that. Please, please stop!” The funny thing was I could tell that she did not want me to desist but to continue determinedly. Licking the septum really was too much for her to bear; yet I knew that the last thing she wanted me to do was stop. She wished to be forced to endure that sweet torment. Her pussy doubled its efforts to pump out viscous lubricant and soon redoubled those endeavours. When I broke off to lick slowly around her clitoris just once she screamed her frustrations out loud and I was compelled to pinch her nipples really hard to prevent her struggling. Another yelp of pain and she relaxed; I was rather worried about what her neighbours were thinking.

For variation, I sucked on her inner lips for a while, licked immediately below her clitoris for a time and then returned my attentions to that little strip, her peritoneum. She resumed begging and pleading for me to stop but I knew she did not really want that. After all Mrs. Stern only had to bark out, “Desist Higson,” and I would stop instantly. Only once Tracy was sobbing for mercy did I lick her clit once more. A single perambulation of my tongue around that delicate little red bud.

Had I done that just one more time Tracy would have come, exploded in fact. But I did not. “Oh no. Not again. Please stop that. Please, please. For God’s sakes stop.” On and on she ranted, her poor pussy becoming more and more moist and more and more vocal. The third lick around her clit broke her. After that, as I licked up and down between her bum and her sex she shouted, “fuck me you bastard. fuck my fucking cunt, shag my twat,” and on and on she went cursing and swearing at the top of her voice, thoroughly frustrated. When I did finally relent and slide my pole into her hungry hole she declared her satisfaction and release in one prolonged ragged scream. She was coming over and over again, orgasms crashing into one another like shunted goods trucks bumping their buffers. Her joy only curtailed because I was very randy myself and could not resist the force of her slippery sex sliding over my bulging purple helmet, gyrated by her wildly bucking hips, for very long at all. My balls contracted, I tried to slow down but it was too late my seed gathered and cascaded out, pumped deep within her innards and I tupped wildly to encourage the expulsion of my smelly manly essence.

“Bad boy, Higson!” Mrs. Stern was back and shouting. “Did I say you could dump your horrible slime inside of me. Did I give you permission!”

” Mrs. Stern, please…” feigning terror.

“On your back, on the rug, you will be punished hard for that.”

I lay down as instructed wondering what was actually going to happen. Mrs. Stern straddled my head. “Now while I get that useless tool of yours hard again so that it can continue to perform the function that I require of it, pleasuring me, you will lick your sticky smelly mess out of my vagina and clean up my vulva. Oh yes, the punishment fits the crime. She leant back a trifle and squashed my nose so that if I wanted to breath I was compelled to commence licking.

‘Yuch,’ I thought. I didn’t mind licking her randy pussy, in truth it tasted of very little but the intense odour of semen made the idea of poking my tongue into her hole filled with viscous white come was nauseating. But, unless I ceased to breath, I was being offered no choice. I stuck out my tongue and made a tentative swipe. Mrs. Stern eased the pressure on my nose ever so slightly. Clearly if I were to be permitted to breath easily I would have to make a more determined effort. ‘Here goes,’ I though. The anticipation was worse than the deed. The taste was salty and a trifle bitter but it is was smell not the taste that was what was the most off-putting. Anyway I could not complain really, Tracy was enthusiastically sucking my tumescent member back to rigidity apparently oblivious to the fact that it too was generously coated with a film of tenaciously clinging semen.

Once I was hard again Tracy or Mrs. Stern did not, as I expected, resume coupling immediately. No she sat more upright and allowed that pungent mix of our sexual secretions to dribble all over my nose and mouth for a little while longer whilst she maintained my erection by stroking my shaft slowly and rhythmically, and had me watch her as she gently fingered her own clitoris.

When I was permitted to rise she ordered me to close my eyes and kneel up. She opened a cupboard and returned. “Open wide and smile.” She had a Polaroid camera, “a delightful mug shot of your come soaked face to post on to your dear sister. Now fuck me stupid.”

Once we resumed our love making I was able to satisfy her with long slow vigorous thrusts that started by spreading her sex as my throbbing member penetrated her pussy and culminated with my pubis slamming into her pudenda stimulating her delicate little nub. Over and over, stroke after stroke, taking care to apply lots of pressure the top of her vagina. This time I was not so shocked by her enthusiastic response: loud cries of, “yes. Yes, yes. Oh my God yes,” accompanied by loud stuttering sighs as she came, interspersed with bouts of obscene swearing, “Shaft me you twat. Harder you bastard. Screw my cunt harder, you fucking little shit, Faster you useless turd.” Once Tracy let go she let go completely.

As she quietened I pulled her from the chair, sat down myself and lowered her onto my still turgid member so that I could suck upon her blood engorged teats and slam her pelvis into mine by raising and lowering her bottom. This must have done something new and exciting for her because she soon had her toes on the floor and was bouncing up and down like an incompetent jockey being taken for a gallop. Tracy had one last surprise in store. A she bucked and moaned she whispered, “bite my tits. Pull my hair, Abuse me, Make me suffer.”

I grabbed a hank of hair and tugged gently.

“No harder; much harder!”

To my surprise, and consternation, when I yanked a good handful of hair and continued to pull upon it hard Tracy’s alarming tirade of obscenities recommenced, “yes, yes. Oh fuck me lover. Fuck me sore. Bloody my cunt. Pound that twat to pulp.” Suddenly, she emitted one more ear piecing screech of satiation and collapsed on top of me utterly torpid, except for her chest heaving to drink in air.

As her respiration steadied she rasped, “David that was so special. Give me half an hour and I’ll have lots of fun making you come again. But tonight can we just make love slowly and gently,” and she issued the longest and most exhausted sigh I had ever heard.

“Of course my pet,” I replied, “what ever you like,” and for the first time that afternoon we kissed one another on the lips, long, hard and with an intensity that was terrifying.

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