Vodka at a picnic
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One warm summer afternoon, a long time ago, I found myself wandering off to the local supermarket. It was good to get out of the flat and into whatever gentle breeze was on offer by way of fresh air. I didn’t want much. Which was just as well because I couldn’t afford much. My dole money was enough to cover the basics, but little else. Fortunately we tend to eat less in warm weather.
Three years of working hard at university had earned me a respectable degree, which, bolstered by the proverbial rose tinted optimism, I had assumed would serve to neatly shoehorn me into me a decent job. But out in the real world, without the cloistered protection of academia, all such illusions fell quickly away, and for the time being at least, I was just another over qualified twenty year old with no future. Emotionally it felt like my tyres were stuck in a mud bank, just yards from the starting block. I was going nowhere. Helplessly looking on as my peers raced on down the track. I was depressed. Sauntering listlessly up and down the supermarket aisles with my wire basket hanging by my side. A pack of instant mash. A tin of mackerel. A jar of coffee. And a brown loaf. I didn’t fancy any of it.
That’s when I saw. She was walking towards the entrance. Out of the sunlight into the relative shade. To say she was like a vision sounds so clichéd but that’s exactly how she was! Drop dead gorgeous didn’t even come close. She was simply oozing sexuality. As she glided nearer in her high heels, I couldn’t fail but notice her nipples standing out proudly through the tight fabric of her thin summer skirt, which was short enough to show off her wonderful tanned legs, but not too short. She knew how to avoid looking cheap.
Sophisticated, was the word that sprang to mind. Long dark hair. Tits any woman would die for, let alone women her age, which I guessed was around mid thirty something. She carried herself with the presence of a film star. Like she owned the place. And the world would let her too, just to be near her, to bask in her reflected loveliness.
Everything around me went out of focus except for her, I stopped dead in my tracks, transfixed. I wasn’t aware that I was staring, but I probably was. Me and every other person in that place who had a cock, and several that hadn’t. The former with undisguised lust, the latter driven by an equal measure of envy. I for my part simply couldn’t believe that a woman as good looking as her would come and do her shopping in a ghastly place like that. She belonged in Harrods, the Champs-Elysées, Melrose Avenue; anywhere but Tesco!
As she walked past me, fully aware of my state of captivation, she gave me a wicked little smile. She was obviously used to having that effect on men, and seemed to enjoy the power it gave her. 'I’m dreaming,' I thought. I may even have said it out loud. I don’t know. What I do know is that as I turned around and watched her perfect arse wiggle away, I just couldn’t stop myself from following her. Dragging along in her wake. Like a feather lifted by the wind. But then I had the presence of mind to pull myself up, and stop. Feigning interest at a shelf of washing powders.
But my eyes still followed her. Right around the shop. And as she made her way to the checkout, I slipped in tow a couple of yards behind, to a different till. The checkout girl could have been ringing through a lifetime’s supply of baby food for all I was aware. My eyes never left the other till. Timing was crucial. Too quick and I would be out before her and have to hover around nonchalantly. Checking my receipt perhaps, as cover. To late and she might disappear off across the car park, get into her car and drive out of my life forever.
I timed it perfectly, and followed her outside, at a discreet distance of course, catching the perfect silhouette of her hourglass figure, as she passed from the relative shade of the shop into the bright summer sunlight. It couldn’t have been better if a Hollywood lighting designer was on the case.
I’m not sure exactly what my plan was. To say hello. To smile. ‘Lovely day isn’t it.’ Fuck knows. Something. Anything. She, don’t forget, had smiled at me already, so we already had some kind of connection. However tentative. I just didn’t want her to go. To leave me here in my humdrum unemployed tin of fish and a loaf of bread reality. I wanted the fairy tale to continue. The spell. She’d passed me the poisoned apple for me to bite. And I bit. Swallowed it whole. Core. Pips. Stalk. Even the plastic wrapper.
Going out into the bright sunshine suddenly broke the spell. And the sensible part of my brain made me stop. Who am I k**ding? She probably gets hit on all the time everywhere she goes. And by guys a lot better at doing it than I was. I stood stock still. Like a pillar of salt. I let go of the plastic bag and it slumped to the ground. Crumpled like my ego. And watched her walk away.
Then my heart almost stopped. She turned her head and gave me another warm and knowing smile. She knew I hadn’t been able to take my eyes off her the whole time. I’m sure most of the other men in there hadn’t either, but I hadn’t noticed them. They were mostly older men. Staff. The odd pensioner. Married men. Maybe they were better at doing their lecherous staring surreptitiously. I expect it’s a skill you develop over the course of a married life. Because let’s face it, you will never hear the end of it if your wife catches you ogling a fit young woman.
Fortunately for me at the time, I hadn’t yet had to acquire that skill.
And indeed no thoughts of that nature ever entered my befuddled little head. I was too busy pining for my dream princess returning to the glamorous world from whence she had no doubt come. Sigh.
‘I could never have a woman like that.’ I almost said out loud as I watched her put her shopping bags on the back seat of a very expensive-looking car. A Jaguar I think. Though car spotting was never my strong point. It might have been a Merc. Who cares. She got in behind the wheel, clunk click. Checked herself in the mirror. Lips. Hair. Brushed a wisp of silky black curls off of her forehead, and started the engine. Quick check of the side mirrors, and she was gone.
I slumped back against a pillar and gazed down at my scuffed Doc Martens, feeling like a miserable tramp. The original shoe gazing loser. Why couldn’t I get a job. A proper one. Not in some fast food nightmare. If I had a decent salary I’d be able to afford nice things, good clothes, a car. And I could take fantastic looking women like her out to expensive restaurants and night clubs. And back to my cool bachelor pad in a fashionable location. Fuck! What was the point of wasting three precious years of my life half asleep in some overheated nineteen sixties purpose built red brick hell hole?
‘Sorry my lad, I can see you’ve good some good qualifications, we at the moment don’t need care workers fluent in the Chartist movement, agrarian land reform, or the political and economic forces that forced the transformation of a previously stationary rural population governed by the slow pace of the seasons into an industrialised urban workforce governed by the clock on tower at t’ mill. How are you at changing incontinence diapers?’ Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
Lost in my self pitying squalor, I almost didn’t hear the sound of a car pull up, an electric window opening, and somewhere off in the distance a woman’s voice asking me, ‘Can I drop you somewhere?’
It took a second or two for me to realise it wasn’t happening in my subconscious. It was real. It was now. It was her!
‘Wha?’
‘I said, can I give you a lift?’ Her voice was as soft silky and sensual as her luxurious hair. She was one of those lucky people blessed with a voice that without even trying sounds great when they sing. A mellow resonance, rising up from her body. She opened the door and waited. I got in. Still half in a dream. It was a reflex my body did without me fully realising what was happening. The first thing I noticed when my brain caught up with my body was her perfume; a soft sexual must that made me almost tremble.
‘Well?’ she said with a little laugh. ‘Where to?’ We didn’t speak, except for my directing her. It was only a five-minute journey, but it felt like a magic carpet ride to wonderland. When we pulled up outside my flat she asked ‘Do you have anything cold to drink in yours? I’m parched.’
‘Erm… Yes… There’s some spring water in the fridge, I think.’
‘Ice?’
‘Probably.’
‘Oh goody. Do you like vodka? I’ve got some in the back. I take it straight, just with ice.’
Moments later, I found myself in the pokey little cupboard they called a kitchenette knocking ice cubes into two tall glasses. When I returned to the living room with the drinks, I couldn’t believe what I saw. She was sitting on my sofa pulling on a black, lacy-patterned stocking.
‘Do you like these? Stay-ups. I just bought them.’ she said lifting a leg and running her hands delicately up it from ankle to thigh. Pass me the other one, will you please.’
A repeat performance with the other leg allowed a glimpse of a black triangle, higher up, with a similar pattern to the stockings. I stood leaning against the mantelpiece, fearing to sit beside her on the tiny sofa that would have forced a physical intimacy which, although longed for, I was not quite ready to encounter. Besides. I was trying to be polite and not crowd her. (Nah, I was just enjoying looking at her from where I stood. Her ample cleavage, her décolletage, tanned and firm skinned, peeping out from her low buttoned blouse. But I tried not to make it obvious. I didn’t want her to think I was that obvious!)
She slipped back into her heels, stood up and paced around the room looking down at her legs. ‘Mmm, I do rather like these. Hate wearing tights. Especially when the weather is so close. Stockings are so much sexier, don’t you think?’
I did think. And she knew I did by the unmistakable bulge in my jeans.
In one graceful move she picked up her glass and sat back down. The ice tinkled musically. She took a long sip, and with the fingers of her free hand gently traced the outline of each outstretched leg in turn, as she admired the new stockings, and how they looked on her. And, finding herself content with them, gave a satisfied little smile to no one in particular. Except perhaps, to her inner thoughts.
Her skirt had risen up to just above the stocking tops, revealing an inch or two of pale flesh contrasted against the black lace. Putting the glass down again, she stood up and smoothed the skirt down over her arse; wickedly smiling at me all the time. ‘I’ve not got such a bad shaped bottom for my age. Do you think?’ Statement not question. I tried to answer, but my mouth was very dry, so I only nodded, and took a quick embarrassed sip of cool liquid. But she didn’t mind his embarrassment. In fact she enjoyed it. She was looking at the bulge in my jeans, which I sort of tried to disguise by standing sideways.
It was blisteringly hot outside, and only marginally cooler in the flat, the windows of which had long since been painted shut and never to be opened. The atmosphere in there was what I would describe as ‘exotic’. Produced by a combination of her perfume, the heat, wisps of evaporating vodka leaving my glass and getting into my nose, her looking straight into my eyes with that teasing smile, fanning herself with the card pack from her stockings, me taking great gulps to try and moisten my parched throat, the vodka getting to my brain, her unbuttoning her blouse, slowly, allowing me to soak up the sight, as she saw my cock getting bigger and harder.
She reached out and hooked some fingers under the waist band of my jeans, pulling me towards her. ‘C’mere.’ she said, taking the glass from my trembling hand, she downed the contents in it in one gulp and threw it on the sofa. The ice cubes s**ttering everywhere. Turning to me, she brushed her soft cheek against mine and purred into my ear, ‘I love the taste of vodka on a man's lips.’ Then she kissed me. Violently. She squeezed my cock and dug her nails into it, making me almost come in my jeans. Taking my hand, she put it on her ass and held it there.
‘Squeeze me, squeeze me hard.’ she told me. I could feel the lace of her G-string disappearing between her hot cheeks. She unbuttoned my jeans and my prick sprung out with all the pent up energy of a wild snake ready to attack.
‘Ooh, he is a big one, isn’t he?’ she purred, stroking along the shaft.
‘Does he like to be kissed? He does, doesn’t he?’ Kneeling down she kissed the tip as I stroked her hair. I just stood there, with my jeans around my knees, quivering with pleasure as my incredible beauty nibbled, sucked, licked and bit my aching cock until she could feel me begin to tremble just a little too much.
‘Where’s the bedroom?’ she said looking up at me, and pressing my cock to her cheek.
‘Through there.’ I gasped, nodding to the door.
‘Bring the bottle,’ she said, pushing me away, ‘and more ice.’ And disappeared into the bedroom.
When I came in, she was lying on the bed wearing only her shoes, stockings and a matching G-string, stroking herself.
‘Come and lick me, she commanded, ‘I’m aching to be licked.’
I put the bottle and iced glasses down on the bedside table, slipped out of my clothes and climbed onto the bed next to her. I went to kiss her on the lips, but she put wet fingers to my lips. I took them into my mouth and sucked off her juice. She gently stroked my cheek and whimpered, ‘lick me.’
I ran my tongue down her neck to her tits, circling each rock-hard nipple in turn, down over her stomach, around her belly button, and on down until I reached her G-string with my chin. She lifted up her ass to help me slide it down over her smooth, tanned thighs, along the length of her fine legs, and over her high-heeled shoes, which I noticed at this close range were a dark patterned suede, perfectly matching her lingerie. I was a sucker for high heels, especially expensive-looking ones like these. But it takes a woman with style to wear them properly, and I thought to myself ‘this woman knows how to dress, as so few really do, even when she’s undressed,’ still unable to believe this was actually happening
I lifted a leg onto my shoulder and slowly slid back down to her until my cheek touched her soft black curls. This of course was in the days before having a smooth pussy became fashionable. She reached down and buried her fingers in my hair, groaning softly with expectation and lifting herself up to meet my lips; she was wet and hot.
I could feel the blood pulsing in her swollen labia and her scent was like a thousand oriental spices, bitter sweet, intoxicating, mysterious. But above all, the very essence of female sexuality. My cock felt bigger than it had ever been, and I could hear my own pulse beating passionately in my ears.
I began delicately licking around her dark pink lips. She gently pulled me into her; my nose brushing softly against her swollen clitoris as I circled my head. She was getting hotter and wetter, and I swallowed her juices as I lapped, like a lion at a life-giving pool. She was groaning louder now, and she shifted to bring her clit to the focus of my attention, so I tickled it with the tip of my tongue.
‘Mmmmm. Oh, yes.’ she sighed from somewhere far off. I tickled a little harder, with a zig zag motion as I moved up and down and all around her love button. She groaned louder, ‘Harder,’ she said with a shudder, ‘harder.’
Suddenly, and surprisingly, just as I thought she was about to come, she pushed me away. ‘Get the vodka,’ she panted.
‘Uh?’ was all I could say, confused. She pulled me up to her mouth, kissed me hard, and told me what she wanted me to do.
‘Get the vodka,’ a pause, ‘take a sip, then squirt it up me. Then do the same with some ice.’ And pushed me gently away towards the table with the bottle and glasses. It didn’t feel like I was being ordered around, it felt more like I was being allowed to be part of a secret, erotic adventure.
‘Come on,’ she urged. ‘Do it.’
‘I am.’ I said eagerly, caught up in her excitement.
Quickly taking a swig, and a glass of ice, I went back down. I pulled her cunt lips apart and squirted the burning liquid into her.
‘Oh, my fucking GOD!’ she squealed, ‘Now. Quick. The ice!’
I hurriedly popped an ice cube into her and she bucked violently.
‘Oh my God, oh my God, oh my fucking Jesus fucking Christ. YES!!’
I watched in amazement as she wriggled and squirmed.
‘Suck it out,’ she urged me. ‘Drink from me, I’m coming.’
She grabbed hold of my head and almost rammed my face into her cunt as I sucked out the ice cube and swallowed the vodka that came gushing out with it.
‘Lick me, lick me!’ she screamed. I found her clitoris again and began licking furiously. She was hot and cold all at the same time.
Wrapping her hands around my neck she rammed her cunt into my face, wildly gyrating her hips . ‘Oh yes, oh yes, oh my God. Oh my God. Ah, oh.’
Then she froze, and went silent.
She even stopped breathing, and for an instant, I though she’d had a heart attack. But, suddenly, she let out an enormous breath and writhed around in ecstasy; digging her heels into my arse and scratching my back.
Then she relaxed and went limp, puffing out short breaths like an athlete who’s just ran a marathon.
‘Fuck me, you big bastard.’ she said a few moments later when she’d regained her breath. ‘C’mere!’
Pulling me to her, she grabbed my cock and pushed it into her, wrapping her legs around my waist as I pumped her furiously with my unbelievably swollen and very hard cock. It didn’t take me long to feel myself coming, and she could feel it too.
‘Come on. Fuck me, you big bastard,’ she yelled, ‘Fuck me. Harder. Come on. Fucking FUCK me you filthy, fucking bastard. …. Oh!’
She squeezed my cock with her cunt muscles so tight that when I came, I gushed in a powerful explosion that felt like it was going to burst out of her.
She rolled me off her, went down and sucked all the cum and cunt juice and vodka from my still massively-hard cock, which caused me to come again almost immediately. She swallowed that down too, licked her lips and kissed me.
‘So you do like my new stockings, then.’ she said with that wickedly warm little smile of hers. I just looked at her. Rendered speechless. I couldn’t think of anything to say; I was so wasted.
‘Where’s the bathroom?’ I pointed. ‘Next to the kitchen’
When she came back, she was fully dressed and looking as immaculate as ever. She came over and gave me a cute little kiss on the cheek.
‘Bye, then.’ she said curtly with a sweet smile, and turned to leave.
‘But, I don’t even know your name!’ I blurted out. ‘Can I see you again? You’re amazing, you’re beautiful, you’re….’
She just raised a finger to her lips, ‘Shh.’
And she was gone.
I did a lot of shopping in Tesco after that.
I never met my mystery sexy princess again. But I did, oddly enough, develop a taste for vodka. Neat. On the rocks.
Three years of working hard at university had earned me a respectable degree, which, bolstered by the proverbial rose tinted optimism, I had assumed would serve to neatly shoehorn me into me a decent job. But out in the real world, without the cloistered protection of academia, all such illusions fell quickly away, and for the time being at least, I was just another over qualified twenty year old with no future. Emotionally it felt like my tyres were stuck in a mud bank, just yards from the starting block. I was going nowhere. Helplessly looking on as my peers raced on down the track. I was depressed. Sauntering listlessly up and down the supermarket aisles with my wire basket hanging by my side. A pack of instant mash. A tin of mackerel. A jar of coffee. And a brown loaf. I didn’t fancy any of it.
That’s when I saw. She was walking towards the entrance. Out of the sunlight into the relative shade. To say she was like a vision sounds so clichéd but that’s exactly how she was! Drop dead gorgeous didn’t even come close. She was simply oozing sexuality. As she glided nearer in her high heels, I couldn’t fail but notice her nipples standing out proudly through the tight fabric of her thin summer skirt, which was short enough to show off her wonderful tanned legs, but not too short. She knew how to avoid looking cheap.
Sophisticated, was the word that sprang to mind. Long dark hair. Tits any woman would die for, let alone women her age, which I guessed was around mid thirty something. She carried herself with the presence of a film star. Like she owned the place. And the world would let her too, just to be near her, to bask in her reflected loveliness.
Everything around me went out of focus except for her, I stopped dead in my tracks, transfixed. I wasn’t aware that I was staring, but I probably was. Me and every other person in that place who had a cock, and several that hadn’t. The former with undisguised lust, the latter driven by an equal measure of envy. I for my part simply couldn’t believe that a woman as good looking as her would come and do her shopping in a ghastly place like that. She belonged in Harrods, the Champs-Elysées, Melrose Avenue; anywhere but Tesco!
As she walked past me, fully aware of my state of captivation, she gave me a wicked little smile. She was obviously used to having that effect on men, and seemed to enjoy the power it gave her. 'I’m dreaming,' I thought. I may even have said it out loud. I don’t know. What I do know is that as I turned around and watched her perfect arse wiggle away, I just couldn’t stop myself from following her. Dragging along in her wake. Like a feather lifted by the wind. But then I had the presence of mind to pull myself up, and stop. Feigning interest at a shelf of washing powders.
But my eyes still followed her. Right around the shop. And as she made her way to the checkout, I slipped in tow a couple of yards behind, to a different till. The checkout girl could have been ringing through a lifetime’s supply of baby food for all I was aware. My eyes never left the other till. Timing was crucial. Too quick and I would be out before her and have to hover around nonchalantly. Checking my receipt perhaps, as cover. To late and she might disappear off across the car park, get into her car and drive out of my life forever.
I timed it perfectly, and followed her outside, at a discreet distance of course, catching the perfect silhouette of her hourglass figure, as she passed from the relative shade of the shop into the bright summer sunlight. It couldn’t have been better if a Hollywood lighting designer was on the case.
I’m not sure exactly what my plan was. To say hello. To smile. ‘Lovely day isn’t it.’ Fuck knows. Something. Anything. She, don’t forget, had smiled at me already, so we already had some kind of connection. However tentative. I just didn’t want her to go. To leave me here in my humdrum unemployed tin of fish and a loaf of bread reality. I wanted the fairy tale to continue. The spell. She’d passed me the poisoned apple for me to bite. And I bit. Swallowed it whole. Core. Pips. Stalk. Even the plastic wrapper.
Going out into the bright sunshine suddenly broke the spell. And the sensible part of my brain made me stop. Who am I k**ding? She probably gets hit on all the time everywhere she goes. And by guys a lot better at doing it than I was. I stood stock still. Like a pillar of salt. I let go of the plastic bag and it slumped to the ground. Crumpled like my ego. And watched her walk away.
Then my heart almost stopped. She turned her head and gave me another warm and knowing smile. She knew I hadn’t been able to take my eyes off her the whole time. I’m sure most of the other men in there hadn’t either, but I hadn’t noticed them. They were mostly older men. Staff. The odd pensioner. Married men. Maybe they were better at doing their lecherous staring surreptitiously. I expect it’s a skill you develop over the course of a married life. Because let’s face it, you will never hear the end of it if your wife catches you ogling a fit young woman.
Fortunately for me at the time, I hadn’t yet had to acquire that skill.
And indeed no thoughts of that nature ever entered my befuddled little head. I was too busy pining for my dream princess returning to the glamorous world from whence she had no doubt come. Sigh.
‘I could never have a woman like that.’ I almost said out loud as I watched her put her shopping bags on the back seat of a very expensive-looking car. A Jaguar I think. Though car spotting was never my strong point. It might have been a Merc. Who cares. She got in behind the wheel, clunk click. Checked herself in the mirror. Lips. Hair. Brushed a wisp of silky black curls off of her forehead, and started the engine. Quick check of the side mirrors, and she was gone.
I slumped back against a pillar and gazed down at my scuffed Doc Martens, feeling like a miserable tramp. The original shoe gazing loser. Why couldn’t I get a job. A proper one. Not in some fast food nightmare. If I had a decent salary I’d be able to afford nice things, good clothes, a car. And I could take fantastic looking women like her out to expensive restaurants and night clubs. And back to my cool bachelor pad in a fashionable location. Fuck! What was the point of wasting three precious years of my life half asleep in some overheated nineteen sixties purpose built red brick hell hole?
‘Sorry my lad, I can see you’ve good some good qualifications, we at the moment don’t need care workers fluent in the Chartist movement, agrarian land reform, or the political and economic forces that forced the transformation of a previously stationary rural population governed by the slow pace of the seasons into an industrialised urban workforce governed by the clock on tower at t’ mill. How are you at changing incontinence diapers?’ Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
Lost in my self pitying squalor, I almost didn’t hear the sound of a car pull up, an electric window opening, and somewhere off in the distance a woman’s voice asking me, ‘Can I drop you somewhere?’
It took a second or two for me to realise it wasn’t happening in my subconscious. It was real. It was now. It was her!
‘Wha?’
‘I said, can I give you a lift?’ Her voice was as soft silky and sensual as her luxurious hair. She was one of those lucky people blessed with a voice that without even trying sounds great when they sing. A mellow resonance, rising up from her body. She opened the door and waited. I got in. Still half in a dream. It was a reflex my body did without me fully realising what was happening. The first thing I noticed when my brain caught up with my body was her perfume; a soft sexual must that made me almost tremble.
‘Well?’ she said with a little laugh. ‘Where to?’ We didn’t speak, except for my directing her. It was only a five-minute journey, but it felt like a magic carpet ride to wonderland. When we pulled up outside my flat she asked ‘Do you have anything cold to drink in yours? I’m parched.’
‘Erm… Yes… There’s some spring water in the fridge, I think.’
‘Ice?’
‘Probably.’
‘Oh goody. Do you like vodka? I’ve got some in the back. I take it straight, just with ice.’
Moments later, I found myself in the pokey little cupboard they called a kitchenette knocking ice cubes into two tall glasses. When I returned to the living room with the drinks, I couldn’t believe what I saw. She was sitting on my sofa pulling on a black, lacy-patterned stocking.
‘Do you like these? Stay-ups. I just bought them.’ she said lifting a leg and running her hands delicately up it from ankle to thigh. Pass me the other one, will you please.’
A repeat performance with the other leg allowed a glimpse of a black triangle, higher up, with a similar pattern to the stockings. I stood leaning against the mantelpiece, fearing to sit beside her on the tiny sofa that would have forced a physical intimacy which, although longed for, I was not quite ready to encounter. Besides. I was trying to be polite and not crowd her. (Nah, I was just enjoying looking at her from where I stood. Her ample cleavage, her décolletage, tanned and firm skinned, peeping out from her low buttoned blouse. But I tried not to make it obvious. I didn’t want her to think I was that obvious!)
She slipped back into her heels, stood up and paced around the room looking down at her legs. ‘Mmm, I do rather like these. Hate wearing tights. Especially when the weather is so close. Stockings are so much sexier, don’t you think?’
I did think. And she knew I did by the unmistakable bulge in my jeans.
In one graceful move she picked up her glass and sat back down. The ice tinkled musically. She took a long sip, and with the fingers of her free hand gently traced the outline of each outstretched leg in turn, as she admired the new stockings, and how they looked on her. And, finding herself content with them, gave a satisfied little smile to no one in particular. Except perhaps, to her inner thoughts.
Her skirt had risen up to just above the stocking tops, revealing an inch or two of pale flesh contrasted against the black lace. Putting the glass down again, she stood up and smoothed the skirt down over her arse; wickedly smiling at me all the time. ‘I’ve not got such a bad shaped bottom for my age. Do you think?’ Statement not question. I tried to answer, but my mouth was very dry, so I only nodded, and took a quick embarrassed sip of cool liquid. But she didn’t mind his embarrassment. In fact she enjoyed it. She was looking at the bulge in my jeans, which I sort of tried to disguise by standing sideways.
It was blisteringly hot outside, and only marginally cooler in the flat, the windows of which had long since been painted shut and never to be opened. The atmosphere in there was what I would describe as ‘exotic’. Produced by a combination of her perfume, the heat, wisps of evaporating vodka leaving my glass and getting into my nose, her looking straight into my eyes with that teasing smile, fanning herself with the card pack from her stockings, me taking great gulps to try and moisten my parched throat, the vodka getting to my brain, her unbuttoning her blouse, slowly, allowing me to soak up the sight, as she saw my cock getting bigger and harder.
She reached out and hooked some fingers under the waist band of my jeans, pulling me towards her. ‘C’mere.’ she said, taking the glass from my trembling hand, she downed the contents in it in one gulp and threw it on the sofa. The ice cubes s**ttering everywhere. Turning to me, she brushed her soft cheek against mine and purred into my ear, ‘I love the taste of vodka on a man's lips.’ Then she kissed me. Violently. She squeezed my cock and dug her nails into it, making me almost come in my jeans. Taking my hand, she put it on her ass and held it there.
‘Squeeze me, squeeze me hard.’ she told me. I could feel the lace of her G-string disappearing between her hot cheeks. She unbuttoned my jeans and my prick sprung out with all the pent up energy of a wild snake ready to attack.
‘Ooh, he is a big one, isn’t he?’ she purred, stroking along the shaft.
‘Does he like to be kissed? He does, doesn’t he?’ Kneeling down she kissed the tip as I stroked her hair. I just stood there, with my jeans around my knees, quivering with pleasure as my incredible beauty nibbled, sucked, licked and bit my aching cock until she could feel me begin to tremble just a little too much.
‘Where’s the bedroom?’ she said looking up at me, and pressing my cock to her cheek.
‘Through there.’ I gasped, nodding to the door.
‘Bring the bottle,’ she said, pushing me away, ‘and more ice.’ And disappeared into the bedroom.
When I came in, she was lying on the bed wearing only her shoes, stockings and a matching G-string, stroking herself.
‘Come and lick me, she commanded, ‘I’m aching to be licked.’
I put the bottle and iced glasses down on the bedside table, slipped out of my clothes and climbed onto the bed next to her. I went to kiss her on the lips, but she put wet fingers to my lips. I took them into my mouth and sucked off her juice. She gently stroked my cheek and whimpered, ‘lick me.’
I ran my tongue down her neck to her tits, circling each rock-hard nipple in turn, down over her stomach, around her belly button, and on down until I reached her G-string with my chin. She lifted up her ass to help me slide it down over her smooth, tanned thighs, along the length of her fine legs, and over her high-heeled shoes, which I noticed at this close range were a dark patterned suede, perfectly matching her lingerie. I was a sucker for high heels, especially expensive-looking ones like these. But it takes a woman with style to wear them properly, and I thought to myself ‘this woman knows how to dress, as so few really do, even when she’s undressed,’ still unable to believe this was actually happening
I lifted a leg onto my shoulder and slowly slid back down to her until my cheek touched her soft black curls. This of course was in the days before having a smooth pussy became fashionable. She reached down and buried her fingers in my hair, groaning softly with expectation and lifting herself up to meet my lips; she was wet and hot.
I could feel the blood pulsing in her swollen labia and her scent was like a thousand oriental spices, bitter sweet, intoxicating, mysterious. But above all, the very essence of female sexuality. My cock felt bigger than it had ever been, and I could hear my own pulse beating passionately in my ears.
I began delicately licking around her dark pink lips. She gently pulled me into her; my nose brushing softly against her swollen clitoris as I circled my head. She was getting hotter and wetter, and I swallowed her juices as I lapped, like a lion at a life-giving pool. She was groaning louder now, and she shifted to bring her clit to the focus of my attention, so I tickled it with the tip of my tongue.
‘Mmmmm. Oh, yes.’ she sighed from somewhere far off. I tickled a little harder, with a zig zag motion as I moved up and down and all around her love button. She groaned louder, ‘Harder,’ she said with a shudder, ‘harder.’
Suddenly, and surprisingly, just as I thought she was about to come, she pushed me away. ‘Get the vodka,’ she panted.
‘Uh?’ was all I could say, confused. She pulled me up to her mouth, kissed me hard, and told me what she wanted me to do.
‘Get the vodka,’ a pause, ‘take a sip, then squirt it up me. Then do the same with some ice.’ And pushed me gently away towards the table with the bottle and glasses. It didn’t feel like I was being ordered around, it felt more like I was being allowed to be part of a secret, erotic adventure.
‘Come on,’ she urged. ‘Do it.’
‘I am.’ I said eagerly, caught up in her excitement.
Quickly taking a swig, and a glass of ice, I went back down. I pulled her cunt lips apart and squirted the burning liquid into her.
‘Oh, my fucking GOD!’ she squealed, ‘Now. Quick. The ice!’
I hurriedly popped an ice cube into her and she bucked violently.
‘Oh my God, oh my God, oh my fucking Jesus fucking Christ. YES!!’
I watched in amazement as she wriggled and squirmed.
‘Suck it out,’ she urged me. ‘Drink from me, I’m coming.’
She grabbed hold of my head and almost rammed my face into her cunt as I sucked out the ice cube and swallowed the vodka that came gushing out with it.
‘Lick me, lick me!’ she screamed. I found her clitoris again and began licking furiously. She was hot and cold all at the same time.
Wrapping her hands around my neck she rammed her cunt into my face, wildly gyrating her hips . ‘Oh yes, oh yes, oh my God. Oh my God. Ah, oh.’
Then she froze, and went silent.
She even stopped breathing, and for an instant, I though she’d had a heart attack. But, suddenly, she let out an enormous breath and writhed around in ecstasy; digging her heels into my arse and scratching my back.
Then she relaxed and went limp, puffing out short breaths like an athlete who’s just ran a marathon.
‘Fuck me, you big bastard.’ she said a few moments later when she’d regained her breath. ‘C’mere!’
Pulling me to her, she grabbed my cock and pushed it into her, wrapping her legs around my waist as I pumped her furiously with my unbelievably swollen and very hard cock. It didn’t take me long to feel myself coming, and she could feel it too.
‘Come on. Fuck me, you big bastard,’ she yelled, ‘Fuck me. Harder. Come on. Fucking FUCK me you filthy, fucking bastard. …. Oh!’
She squeezed my cock with her cunt muscles so tight that when I came, I gushed in a powerful explosion that felt like it was going to burst out of her.
She rolled me off her, went down and sucked all the cum and cunt juice and vodka from my still massively-hard cock, which caused me to come again almost immediately. She swallowed that down too, licked her lips and kissed me.
‘So you do like my new stockings, then.’ she said with that wickedly warm little smile of hers. I just looked at her. Rendered speechless. I couldn’t think of anything to say; I was so wasted.
‘Where’s the bathroom?’ I pointed. ‘Next to the kitchen’
When she came back, she was fully dressed and looking as immaculate as ever. She came over and gave me a cute little kiss on the cheek.
‘Bye, then.’ she said curtly with a sweet smile, and turned to leave.
‘But, I don’t even know your name!’ I blurted out. ‘Can I see you again? You’re amazing, you’re beautiful, you’re….’
She just raised a finger to her lips, ‘Shh.’
And she was gone.
I did a lot of shopping in Tesco after that.
I never met my mystery sexy princess again. But I did, oddly enough, develop a taste for vodka. Neat. On the rocks.
Yvette
- 09.12.2020
- 22
- 0
