Chastity with Ex as Keyholder Part 1
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Chastity, Part One free porn video
Chastity was nineteen when I met her. I was nearly twice her age. Maybe I should have had more sense than to go all mushy over a girl so young. Maybe I should have given more thought to the risk, but truth is, she stole my heart.
Then she stomped it and kicked it to the curb.
She was a part-time writer at the suburban newspaper where I worked back then. I had noticed her but we hadn’t met. She was thin, with brown hair so long it brushed the delicious curve of her ass. Not beautiful, she was plain but nice looking, although I didn't like something about her nose. I think it was the shape.
Her eyes, though. They were special.
Blue, blue eyes. Double blue. Eyes so truly blue they're impossible to find when you're looking for them, even if you don't know you're looking for them. Then one day you look up from your computer to see who's standing next to you and there they are! That blue. The blue that looks deep into your soul.
“Hi,” she said. “I’m Chastity.” Her teeth were perfectly aligned and as white as new piano keys.
I looked her over and thought of a line from St. Augustine’s “Confessions”: “Give me chastity and continence, but not just yet!” Words of wisdom by a sensible man. I should have listened to them.
“Uh-huh. What can I do for you?” I said, and I confess my mind was busily ticking off a list of things I’d like to do for her. I didn’t even tell her my name.
“Igor said you’d look at my story,” she said, flashing the teeth and the blue sweetly. Igor was the managing editor. He was short, squat, and hairy. Nobody called him Igor to his broad, gnarled face.
“Sure. What’s it slugged?”
“Chamber.”
“Like torture chamber, chamber of horrors?”
“No, silly, chamber of commerce.”
Igor sent part-timers to report on snoozers like meetings of civic groups. They were too green to be bored.
“I’ll check it out. You gonna be around a while?”
“Uh-huh. I’m done but I’ll hang around till you read it. Can I look over your shoulder?”
Copy editors know it’s not wise to allow a writer to watch you slice and dice their work. But I was smitten and the little wisdom I had wasn’t operational in her presence. Chastity had a surplus of animal magnetism. Judging from the tingle in my jeans, I’d let her watch me pleasure myself. But it was an opening and I pressed advantage.
“Only if you’ll have a drink with me after work,” I said.
“If you know where they won’t card me. I’m only nineteen.”
“I’m only thirty-four,” I said.
“Wow,” she said, pulling a chair close to mine.
The way she said it could have meant anything. I let it go.
I called up her chamber story on my screen and began to read it. The only thing more boring than a civic group meeting is a story about a civic group meeting. I commenced slicing and dicing with my cerebral scalpel. Despite the air-conditioning, I could feel the heat of her warming me.
“Why did you cut that?” she said as I defined and deleted a sentence.
“You didn’t need it,” I said. “You said pretty much the same thing near the top.”
“Oh.” She leaned forward, closer to the screen, and proceeded to chew her finger.
I continued editing, she watched and asked questions, and twenty minutes later we were on our way to a tavern off the main drag where I knew the barkeep wasn’t very scrupulous about checking IDs.
It was all uphill from there.
Chastity came from a religiously mixed family; Marie, her mother, was Catholic, and her father, Aaron, was raised Amish, but apparently they couldn’t keep him down on the farm after he met Marie. That’s understandable to any guy who’s known Catholic schoolgirls.
Now you might think a girl with that name, coming from that background, would be shy about sex, but you'd be way wrong. Chastity was not shy, she was a Sex Goddess. The girl could be a porn star.
If she got that nose fixed.
We got a booth, we played footsies. I bought her dinner, she rewarded my generosity with a conjugal visit to my frugal digs—an efficiency in a high-rise close to the office.
It didn’t take me long to discover Chastity wasn’t chaste. Most of our buzz had faded from our drinks before dinner, so I broke out my bottle of Jameson, the Catholic Irish whiskey, hoping it would facilitate a religious experience. Half a bottle later, Chastity and I were abed engaged in several of what the church euphemistically calls “impure acts”.
She wasn’t as thin as she looked in clothes. The sight of her naked had me delirious with desire. Straight for the muff I went, and finding her pussy a bit, well, fragrant, didn’t deter me. I figured there was enough alcohol in me to annihilate any toxic bugs.
She was a screamer, too. She howled as she came, and I kept my face pressed against her pubes as they contracted several times. When she caught her breath she cooed, “I want you inside me now.”
I climbed aboard. When I tried to enter her she was as tight as the neck of the whiskey bottle and I had hold my cock to ease my way into her little by little. She hugged me and locked her legs around me and moaned with every bit of cock I stuffed into her.
“Ooohhh, it’s so big,” she groaned.
I froze. “Am I hurting you?”
“No, no! Keep going!” she said in a throaty whisper.
When I felt my balls splash against her sopping crotch, she let loose a sound that was a lot like the yowl our family cat made when he got his tail nipped by the lawnmower. It was another of those weird thoughts I have while doing it.
“Oh, Mike, it’s so good, sooo goood!”
I stayed deep in her and thrust my hips gently, and a moment later she arched her back and her pussy clenched my cock so tight it hurt.
“I’m coming!” she cried, “I’m coming—oh, oh, ooohhh!”
I held her through several shivering spasms. When she settled down, her pussy seemed to relax, and I began moving in and out, sliding easily because she was wetter. She held my face and kissed it all over. We came together and it was as religious as I could hope for. My mind must have stopped at the apex, because I can’t describe the sensational climax we shared.
Throughout the night when either of us woke up we’d grab for each other and fuck again. I didn’t keep score but I’m sure it was a record.
That’s how it started. Two months and about a hundred repeats later, Chastity moved in with me.
The first six months or so I think we did it at least once a day, sometimes more. Morning and night, we couldn’t keep our hands off one another. I liked her squeals and shrieks at first, but after a year or so I began tired of hearing her announce "I'm coming!" to the whole building. I was getting strange looks from the old woman next door.
It’s a drag when you need hearing protection to have sex.
Chastity and I had plenty of fun times when we weren’t ravishing each other. One time she made a salad at dinner. She didn't cook, she bought prepared food at the supermarket, but that night she made a salad with lettuce, tomatoes, green pepper, onion, and cucumber. It was delicious and I told her so.
She was looking down at her plate but I could see her smiling. "I fucked the cucumber before I put it in the salad."
"No, Baby, you didn't," I said, meaning, tell me you're kidding, because if you're not, I will get very hot imagining it. I didn't tell her that.
"I did," she said, smirking at me like somebody else's cat. “It was really good.”
"Well, now I want seconds."
She broke up and I knew she approved. It always made me happy if she thought something I said was a good comeback. I laughed with her and as I watched her, so happy, so beautiful at that moment, love gripped my heart so tight I thought it would stop.
I had no doubt she did pleasure herself with the cucumber. (It did have a familiar zest). Chastity was nearly impossible for one man to satisfy. If I came home late from work she didn’t ask me why I was late or where I’d been. She’d throw her arms around me and say, “I’m so glad you’re home. I beat off five times today thinking about you.”
Comments like that can make a man go the extra mile, and the next morning I felt like I had run a marathon. In the years with her, I lost nearly twenty pounds.
When she wasn’t ribbing me about things like the joy of getting off with vegetables, Chastity smothered me with wet kisses and declared her love. Nearly every hour on the hour she would cuddle up to me and say things like, “I love you so much, Honey.” And the loving words she spoke during sex made me believe she would never leave me.
I blame her mother for ending it. Chastity was devoted to Mommy, they were extremely close, and Marie didn’t approve of her baby sharing my place—especially my bed. Her chief complaint was that I was too old. When you hear a grown woman calling her mother “Mommy”, it’s safe to conclude that she hasn’t shaken off her childlike dependency.
But even in a devoted relationship between a mother and daughter there’s usually some element of defiance on the part of the child. Otherwise, how do we break the ties? I guess it was Chastity’s resistance, her need to rebel, that was responsible for her involvement with me. Mommy persisted in her opposition, though, and finally convinced Chastity.
“Why?” I asked. She replied by turning around the reasons she had given for being with me initially. Like loving me because I was older and wiser. Now I was so much older if we got married she would have to take care of me when my health went south.
The girl who only three months before had been discussing wedding plans, suddenly was telling me she wasn’t ready.
“We don’t have to get married right away,” I assured her. It didn’t matter. I had to let her go because I loved her.
“I’ll always love you, Michael,” she said as she left.
God how I missed her when she was gone. I was certain I would never see her again.
(To be continued in Part Two)
Then she stomped it and kicked it to the curb.
She was a part-time writer at the suburban newspaper where I worked back then. I had noticed her but we hadn’t met. She was thin, with brown hair so long it brushed the delicious curve of her ass. Not beautiful, she was plain but nice looking, although I didn't like something about her nose. I think it was the shape.
Her eyes, though. They were special.
Blue, blue eyes. Double blue. Eyes so truly blue they're impossible to find when you're looking for them, even if you don't know you're looking for them. Then one day you look up from your computer to see who's standing next to you and there they are! That blue. The blue that looks deep into your soul.
“Hi,” she said. “I’m Chastity.” Her teeth were perfectly aligned and as white as new piano keys.
I looked her over and thought of a line from St. Augustine’s “Confessions”: “Give me chastity and continence, but not just yet!” Words of wisdom by a sensible man. I should have listened to them.
“Uh-huh. What can I do for you?” I said, and I confess my mind was busily ticking off a list of things I’d like to do for her. I didn’t even tell her my name.
“Igor said you’d look at my story,” she said, flashing the teeth and the blue sweetly. Igor was the managing editor. He was short, squat, and hairy. Nobody called him Igor to his broad, gnarled face.
“Sure. What’s it slugged?”
“Chamber.”
“Like torture chamber, chamber of horrors?”
“No, silly, chamber of commerce.”
Igor sent part-timers to report on snoozers like meetings of civic groups. They were too green to be bored.
“I’ll check it out. You gonna be around a while?”
“Uh-huh. I’m done but I’ll hang around till you read it. Can I look over your shoulder?”
Copy editors know it’s not wise to allow a writer to watch you slice and dice their work. But I was smitten and the little wisdom I had wasn’t operational in her presence. Chastity had a surplus of animal magnetism. Judging from the tingle in my jeans, I’d let her watch me pleasure myself. But it was an opening and I pressed advantage.
“Only if you’ll have a drink with me after work,” I said.
“If you know where they won’t card me. I’m only nineteen.”
“I’m only thirty-four,” I said.
“Wow,” she said, pulling a chair close to mine.
The way she said it could have meant anything. I let it go.
I called up her chamber story on my screen and began to read it. The only thing more boring than a civic group meeting is a story about a civic group meeting. I commenced slicing and dicing with my cerebral scalpel. Despite the air-conditioning, I could feel the heat of her warming me.
“Why did you cut that?” she said as I defined and deleted a sentence.
“You didn’t need it,” I said. “You said pretty much the same thing near the top.”
“Oh.” She leaned forward, closer to the screen, and proceeded to chew her finger.
I continued editing, she watched and asked questions, and twenty minutes later we were on our way to a tavern off the main drag where I knew the barkeep wasn’t very scrupulous about checking IDs.
It was all uphill from there.
Chastity came from a religiously mixed family; Marie, her mother, was Catholic, and her father, Aaron, was raised Amish, but apparently they couldn’t keep him down on the farm after he met Marie. That’s understandable to any guy who’s known Catholic schoolgirls.
Now you might think a girl with that name, coming from that background, would be shy about sex, but you'd be way wrong. Chastity was not shy, she was a Sex Goddess. The girl could be a porn star.
If she got that nose fixed.
We got a booth, we played footsies. I bought her dinner, she rewarded my generosity with a conjugal visit to my frugal digs—an efficiency in a high-rise close to the office.
It didn’t take me long to discover Chastity wasn’t chaste. Most of our buzz had faded from our drinks before dinner, so I broke out my bottle of Jameson, the Catholic Irish whiskey, hoping it would facilitate a religious experience. Half a bottle later, Chastity and I were abed engaged in several of what the church euphemistically calls “impure acts”.
She wasn’t as thin as she looked in clothes. The sight of her naked had me delirious with desire. Straight for the muff I went, and finding her pussy a bit, well, fragrant, didn’t deter me. I figured there was enough alcohol in me to annihilate any toxic bugs.
She was a screamer, too. She howled as she came, and I kept my face pressed against her pubes as they contracted several times. When she caught her breath she cooed, “I want you inside me now.”
I climbed aboard. When I tried to enter her she was as tight as the neck of the whiskey bottle and I had hold my cock to ease my way into her little by little. She hugged me and locked her legs around me and moaned with every bit of cock I stuffed into her.
“Ooohhh, it’s so big,” she groaned.
I froze. “Am I hurting you?”
“No, no! Keep going!” she said in a throaty whisper.
When I felt my balls splash against her sopping crotch, she let loose a sound that was a lot like the yowl our family cat made when he got his tail nipped by the lawnmower. It was another of those weird thoughts I have while doing it.
“Oh, Mike, it’s so good, sooo goood!”
I stayed deep in her and thrust my hips gently, and a moment later she arched her back and her pussy clenched my cock so tight it hurt.
“I’m coming!” she cried, “I’m coming—oh, oh, ooohhh!”
I held her through several shivering spasms. When she settled down, her pussy seemed to relax, and I began moving in and out, sliding easily because she was wetter. She held my face and kissed it all over. We came together and it was as religious as I could hope for. My mind must have stopped at the apex, because I can’t describe the sensational climax we shared.
Throughout the night when either of us woke up we’d grab for each other and fuck again. I didn’t keep score but I’m sure it was a record.
That’s how it started. Two months and about a hundred repeats later, Chastity moved in with me.
The first six months or so I think we did it at least once a day, sometimes more. Morning and night, we couldn’t keep our hands off one another. I liked her squeals and shrieks at first, but after a year or so I began tired of hearing her announce "I'm coming!" to the whole building. I was getting strange looks from the old woman next door.
It’s a drag when you need hearing protection to have sex.
Chastity and I had plenty of fun times when we weren’t ravishing each other. One time she made a salad at dinner. She didn't cook, she bought prepared food at the supermarket, but that night she made a salad with lettuce, tomatoes, green pepper, onion, and cucumber. It was delicious and I told her so.
She was looking down at her plate but I could see her smiling. "I fucked the cucumber before I put it in the salad."
"No, Baby, you didn't," I said, meaning, tell me you're kidding, because if you're not, I will get very hot imagining it. I didn't tell her that.
"I did," she said, smirking at me like somebody else's cat. “It was really good.”
"Well, now I want seconds."
She broke up and I knew she approved. It always made me happy if she thought something I said was a good comeback. I laughed with her and as I watched her, so happy, so beautiful at that moment, love gripped my heart so tight I thought it would stop.
I had no doubt she did pleasure herself with the cucumber. (It did have a familiar zest). Chastity was nearly impossible for one man to satisfy. If I came home late from work she didn’t ask me why I was late or where I’d been. She’d throw her arms around me and say, “I’m so glad you’re home. I beat off five times today thinking about you.”
Comments like that can make a man go the extra mile, and the next morning I felt like I had run a marathon. In the years with her, I lost nearly twenty pounds.
When she wasn’t ribbing me about things like the joy of getting off with vegetables, Chastity smothered me with wet kisses and declared her love. Nearly every hour on the hour she would cuddle up to me and say things like, “I love you so much, Honey.” And the loving words she spoke during sex made me believe she would never leave me.
I blame her mother for ending it. Chastity was devoted to Mommy, they were extremely close, and Marie didn’t approve of her baby sharing my place—especially my bed. Her chief complaint was that I was too old. When you hear a grown woman calling her mother “Mommy”, it’s safe to conclude that she hasn’t shaken off her childlike dependency.
But even in a devoted relationship between a mother and daughter there’s usually some element of defiance on the part of the child. Otherwise, how do we break the ties? I guess it was Chastity’s resistance, her need to rebel, that was responsible for her involvement with me. Mommy persisted in her opposition, though, and finally convinced Chastity.
“Why?” I asked. She replied by turning around the reasons she had given for being with me initially. Like loving me because I was older and wiser. Now I was so much older if we got married she would have to take care of me when my health went south.
The girl who only three months before had been discussing wedding plans, suddenly was telling me she wasn’t ready.
“We don’t have to get married right away,” I assured her. It didn’t matter. I had to let her go because I loved her.
“I’ll always love you, Michael,” she said as she left.
God how I missed her when she was gone. I was certain I would never see her again.
(To be continued in Part Two)
Vera
- 30.03.2020
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