The Innocence of Grace
- 2 years ago
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My Neighbor Grace free porn video
I originally posted this on another site but re-posted here for the enjoyment of more readers.
Growing up in small town on the Canadian prairies during 1950s, held a vast storehouse of lust filled fantasies for many young men and women. It was an era when the young married ladies of the day hardly dared to set foot outside of the house without looking or trying to look like the glamor models that they read about in Life magazine. The only time this cardinal rule was broken was when there was an important social event or dance that evening, on these rare occasions you might see the women doing some last-minute shopping in rollers.
For the most part young ladies in question would do their utmost to ensure that the eye makeup, the lipstick, the hair, high heels were well cared for, stylish and the best of her ability, a complete ensemble. This is the way I remember the ladies of the 1950s, one in particular my neighbor. Her name was Grace and at the time of this story would have been approximately 43 years old. She stood barely over five feet, a well-proportioned lady, with an olive complexion. She wore her curled brunette hair shoulder length with a soft waving bang drifting over the left side of her forehead. Summer months always found her in soft, translucent against the sun, button down the front cotton print dresses. As a youth growing up I had always been attracted to her, she was always pleasant, quiet and very self-assured.
Her husband worked away from home, often been gone for months at a time. Throughout my teen years I often found myself at her house. Overtime this presented many opportunities to catch glimpses of her in her daily routines. The houses back then had no air-conditioning, resulting in the top three buttons of her dress been left undone. I remember the day well, having just turned 18, I had gone to her house to tell her about my basic training. It was a hot day for fall and she was doing laundry, the washing machine was located in the basement. This meant there are many trips, carrying an overburdened laundry basket up and down the stairs. We had both gone into the basement, it be the coolest place in the house. We engaged each other in "catch up chat" the only light coming from one small casement window. The humidity was very high, a light sheen of moisture glistened on my tee shirted arms and the often glanced at valley of her chest. She made repeated trips up the stairs to replenish the laundry basket this enabled numerous opportunities to glance up her dress. The click of her heels, the whisper of tan nylon and the toned flesh just above the dark nylon tops. My brief military shorts were soon divulging my desire.
My predicament did not go unnoticed, her already merry eyes twinkled with amusement and a little something more. I was soon to notice that a fourth button had been opened at the top her dress, the thin material of her brassiere now plainly showed the outline of her erect nipples. Often in the course of folding the laundry she would brush up against me, often pressing her body against my back. Finally working up enough nerve I turned to face her, rather than stepping back I found her looking up in my eyes as she pressed into me. Not a word was spoken as her right-hand came up to cup the back of my neck to draw my lips to hers. The kiss was electric sending tingling shocks throughout my body; softly she nibbled my lips and began to explore my mouth with her tongue. Every fiber in my body was being overwhelmed by pure erotic desire. The kiss consumed us melting us one into the other, our bodies began to sway in a rhythm shared by few.
I felt her tapered, red polished finger nails push their way down the back of my t shirt pausing at the belt of my shorts only to begin digging at the base material of my t- shirt. The t-shirt soon discarded, our hands began a duel for supremacy over my belt buckle. Retreating from that lost battle my hands advanced to the remaining 5 buttons on the front of her dress. The cool air of the basement raised bumps on my flesh as I stood before her dressed only in short cotton briefs. The olive of her skin was a striking contrast to the white of her brassiere, panties and garter belt. The scents of sweat, sex and sensuality filled air with a blue electricity. We joined again entwined in a hug, the kind of hug that feels stronger than steel our lips in a relentless pursuit to consume one another. The heat of our passion, reflected like light dancing on water, bouncing off one body and back to the other. Our hands could not go fast enough, nor slow enough to drink in the velvet softness of the flesh. The final disrobing was a slow deliberate loving act.
My trembling fingers, learning new skills, released the catch of her brassiere, immediately her chest pressed into mine our fingers scrabbling for purchase on each others' back. Our hips burned into a wave of passion that crashed like sea to shore rock. Slowly she slid down to her knees drawing my cotton briefs downward in her journey. Her fingers glided up the backs of my thighs her lips danced, my legs trembled, the heat of her breath preceded the moistness of her mouth enslaving my young manhood to any of her future whims or desires. A torrential flood of sexual nectar soon rewarded this fine lady. She drew herself up beside me only to gaze deeply into my eyes as she stroked my cheek. Silently she lowered my lips to her nipple, quickly and a little roughly I raked it with my teeth and then lashed it to a hardened spike of desire. Once started my oral passion would not be stated. Her arms, armpits, nape of the neck, naval and the soft sex scented flesh of the inner tights, where devoured by reckless abandon. Ever so slowly drawing her panties off her nylon clad legs, her heat radiates up and out to me. Gently my tongue saviors the taste of her outer lips, she surrenders her nectar as her petals open in heightening desire. Her clit advances to my sexual assault rewarding me with sweet ambrosia.
Our sweat slick bodies succumb in a union of pure passion, downward trust matched by her upwards thrust, until we are hurled, spent, into the comfort of one another's arms. This day a boy becomes a man; a woman becomes a lover and a lifelong friend
Growing up in small town on the Canadian prairies during 1950s, held a vast storehouse of lust filled fantasies for many young men and women. It was an era when the young married ladies of the day hardly dared to set foot outside of the house without looking or trying to look like the glamor models that they read about in Life magazine. The only time this cardinal rule was broken was when there was an important social event or dance that evening, on these rare occasions you might see the women doing some last-minute shopping in rollers.
For the most part young ladies in question would do their utmost to ensure that the eye makeup, the lipstick, the hair, high heels were well cared for, stylish and the best of her ability, a complete ensemble. This is the way I remember the ladies of the 1950s, one in particular my neighbor. Her name was Grace and at the time of this story would have been approximately 43 years old. She stood barely over five feet, a well-proportioned lady, with an olive complexion. She wore her curled brunette hair shoulder length with a soft waving bang drifting over the left side of her forehead. Summer months always found her in soft, translucent against the sun, button down the front cotton print dresses. As a youth growing up I had always been attracted to her, she was always pleasant, quiet and very self-assured.
Her husband worked away from home, often been gone for months at a time. Throughout my teen years I often found myself at her house. Overtime this presented many opportunities to catch glimpses of her in her daily routines. The houses back then had no air-conditioning, resulting in the top three buttons of her dress been left undone. I remember the day well, having just turned 18, I had gone to her house to tell her about my basic training. It was a hot day for fall and she was doing laundry, the washing machine was located in the basement. This meant there are many trips, carrying an overburdened laundry basket up and down the stairs. We had both gone into the basement, it be the coolest place in the house. We engaged each other in "catch up chat" the only light coming from one small casement window. The humidity was very high, a light sheen of moisture glistened on my tee shirted arms and the often glanced at valley of her chest. She made repeated trips up the stairs to replenish the laundry basket this enabled numerous opportunities to glance up her dress. The click of her heels, the whisper of tan nylon and the toned flesh just above the dark nylon tops. My brief military shorts were soon divulging my desire.
My predicament did not go unnoticed, her already merry eyes twinkled with amusement and a little something more. I was soon to notice that a fourth button had been opened at the top her dress, the thin material of her brassiere now plainly showed the outline of her erect nipples. Often in the course of folding the laundry she would brush up against me, often pressing her body against my back. Finally working up enough nerve I turned to face her, rather than stepping back I found her looking up in my eyes as she pressed into me. Not a word was spoken as her right-hand came up to cup the back of my neck to draw my lips to hers. The kiss was electric sending tingling shocks throughout my body; softly she nibbled my lips and began to explore my mouth with her tongue. Every fiber in my body was being overwhelmed by pure erotic desire. The kiss consumed us melting us one into the other, our bodies began to sway in a rhythm shared by few.
I felt her tapered, red polished finger nails push their way down the back of my t shirt pausing at the belt of my shorts only to begin digging at the base material of my t- shirt. The t-shirt soon discarded, our hands began a duel for supremacy over my belt buckle. Retreating from that lost battle my hands advanced to the remaining 5 buttons on the front of her dress. The cool air of the basement raised bumps on my flesh as I stood before her dressed only in short cotton briefs. The olive of her skin was a striking contrast to the white of her brassiere, panties and garter belt. The scents of sweat, sex and sensuality filled air with a blue electricity. We joined again entwined in a hug, the kind of hug that feels stronger than steel our lips in a relentless pursuit to consume one another. The heat of our passion, reflected like light dancing on water, bouncing off one body and back to the other. Our hands could not go fast enough, nor slow enough to drink in the velvet softness of the flesh. The final disrobing was a slow deliberate loving act.
My trembling fingers, learning new skills, released the catch of her brassiere, immediately her chest pressed into mine our fingers scrabbling for purchase on each others' back. Our hips burned into a wave of passion that crashed like sea to shore rock. Slowly she slid down to her knees drawing my cotton briefs downward in her journey. Her fingers glided up the backs of my thighs her lips danced, my legs trembled, the heat of her breath preceded the moistness of her mouth enslaving my young manhood to any of her future whims or desires. A torrential flood of sexual nectar soon rewarded this fine lady. She drew herself up beside me only to gaze deeply into my eyes as she stroked my cheek. Silently she lowered my lips to her nipple, quickly and a little roughly I raked it with my teeth and then lashed it to a hardened spike of desire. Once started my oral passion would not be stated. Her arms, armpits, nape of the neck, naval and the soft sex scented flesh of the inner tights, where devoured by reckless abandon. Ever so slowly drawing her panties off her nylon clad legs, her heat radiates up and out to me. Gently my tongue saviors the taste of her outer lips, she surrenders her nectar as her petals open in heightening desire. Her clit advances to my sexual assault rewarding me with sweet ambrosia.
Our sweat slick bodies succumb in a union of pure passion, downward trust matched by her upwards thrust, until we are hurled, spent, into the comfort of one another's arms. This day a boy becomes a man; a woman becomes a lover and a lifelong friend
Myra
- 13.10.2020
- 9
- 0
