The Nameseek
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Neither of them could tell you the precise steps by which she came to be on her knees before him, his teenage manhood expanding in her mouth. She remembers him stepping in through her front door. He remembers her reaching past him to close it. But the few short moments between that and this are a blur to both of them.
For him, it might be because right up until it was happening, he thought he was entering merely the latest in a long line of ordinary moments, all of them lived countless times before without meaningful difference. For her, it was because her mind was tumbling ahead to what she knew she was about to do…
The broader steps that led them there are more ordered in their minds.
For Daniel, it began with a note.
He’d been sitting at his desk — one elbow propped upon it, his forehead rested upon his hand, fingers clutching a clump of light hair — in a pose he’d evolved to give him peace in thought. To anyone else, he must have looked like he was focused on his work. But his mind was far away. He’d always been prone to reverie, becoming perhaps, too easily lost in dream and memory, real and imagined, pleasant and foul. Interruption felt to him like being pulled from a warm bath, or sometimes an icy one, depending on where his mind had led him.
Right at that moment, it had led him to her, by means of one of the countless scenarios he’d dreamed up in which she would come to do some variation of the thing she’d just resolved do in reality. They ranged from the somewhat plausible to the downright impossible, generally depending on how long it had been since he last ejaculated.
In a less implausible sequence, he would arrive at her place to find her naked in the bathtub, needing his help to get out, having twisted her ankle on her way in. Her dripping body soaking his shirt, he would help her through to her bedroom, where she would help him to remove his now-drenched clothes…
In another, they would be cleaning out her garden shed — as he’d actually helped her do on one occasion — only to find themselves locked inside. The heat becoming unbearable, their clothes beginning to cling, finally, they can take it no longer and begin to strip off…
Even less likely was the fantasy he found himself in right at that moment. Like all of its variety, it wasted little time on setup and gave scant justification for the nudity that followed. Juliet had simply walked into the classroom, lifted up her skirt, and demanded he fuck her right there on his desk.
Her arms were around his neck, her legs draped over his arms when the student messenger spoke to him, holding out the note. He couldn’t have known it then, but what seemed to him to be an interruption to his fantasy was actually the first sign it was being brought to life. Though not in any of the ways he’d imagined.
The note was unexpected, but not unprecedented. At least once a month, the day’s student messenger would walk shyly into class to hand one to him. He rarely discovered the exact reason he’d received it, but as he undid its double-fold he always knew what it would say:
Received a call from your step-mother:
“Please go to Juliet’s after school. She
will drop you home after dinner.”
-Admin.
The possible reasons for this he knew from the time before any note would arrive to save him, and they appeared now in his head without his needing to conjure them.
He saw his step-mother getting home early and crawling into bed, the house remaining dark while the evening dimmed and all the other houses on the street began to light up. Or maybe she’d be in a frenetic state of cleaning and sorting, throwing things out in an effort to free herself from their sentimental hold, only to later regret not having them. Or perhaps she’d be blank-eyed in front of a quiet television, the curtains drawn, her mind lost in the life she’d had and thought she’d have.
The only thing he was sure of was that she’d simply felt in no fit state to have him there. Which was fine by him. Home still felt almost like home when she wasn’t around, but it always felt like home when he was at Juliet’s. She was a friend of his step-mother, and she knew her well enough to feel sympathy for him. Which is why she’d put such effort into making him feel at home with her.
The arrangement first began when he’d joined the soccer team. Her house was walking distance from the school, and on the days he had training he would walk there afterwards, having had to miss the bus home to attend it. He always felt a growing lightness when he reached her open white gate with its intricate string of pink and blue flowers she’d painted up the pillars. She would welcome him, give him something to eat, even inviting him to stay for dinner if he needed or wanted to. Sometimes he’d go to a friend’s house instead, but often by the end of the school day, he’d had enough of it all. Juliet would be there to chat if he had anything to talk about, but she’d leave him alone if she sensed he could use some space.
Often he’d find time to entertain her son, and sometimes she’d even join in with them. But the times he liked best were the ones in which he found himself alone with her. It was in these rare moments that he almost felt like she could be his. Like something really might happen that would cause them to slip beneath surface politeness, and find themselves together as they might in a world without consequence.
But no matter the occasion, these pleasant evenings would almost always end with his step-mother picking him up on her way home from work, and Daniel sitting lonely in the wordless grey noise of the car, staring out the passenger window at the passing houses.
Soccer practise was on Mondays and Thursdays, but today was a Tuesday, and so the note had been necessary. But this time it wasn’t his step-mother’s idea to send it. In fact, she had only phoned the school upon receiving a call from Juliet asking if she could borrow Daniel for the evening. She’d done so on a few occasions previously, either because she needed an extra hand with something like the garden shed, or because she was taking her son to a movie or something and thought it might do him good to come along.
But today was different. Today, Juliet had other plans.
Juliet was planning her revenge.
She had found she couldn’t sit still. At first, she’d felt she had to sit down, but as soon as she did, she was seized by a great restlessness that made her feel she had to stand and pace. It was a feeling of imminent threat that demanded of her some kind of active response. The anxious energy it filled her with would only begin to dissipate once her mind had settled on a plan.
Her husband was having an affair. Of that she was now certain. He had told her he was on a work trip, but as she’d just discovered, that was only part of the story. The rest of the story she now couldn’t help but imagine. Pacing aimlessly from window to window, her mind flashed with images of him lolloping on some cheap whore like a seal on a greasy pile of kelp.
Within the nameless concoction of feelings now swirling inside her, a single emotion began to crystallise — righteous anger. Before long it had birthed a new image to combat the one that taunted her. She saw herself on her knees in the hallway by the front door, in front of a vague male silhouette she knew was not her husband, the fruits of his pleasure spilling upon her face…
She did her best to push both from her mind. But as she continued to pace and sit and stand and pace, the second image kept returning. And to her surprise, she found it was the only thing that could help to ease her turmoil. Only when she finally stopped trying to push it away did Juliet understand why that was. She knew then that she wanted to humiliate her husband, as he had humiliated her.
Almost as soon as she had identified this desire, it occurred to her suddenly that Daniel would be her first and best opportunity to do so. The rapidity with which this realisation occurred perhaps suggesting that the silhouetted figure was not so vague as she was at first willing to admit to herself.
She’d known he had a crush on her for some time. She couldn’t have told you exactly how she’d known — it was just a sense she’d had. But it was a reliable sense, one first developed in her youth. And though she’d felt it more rarely as the years passed, whenever she felt it, it was with the same keen sensitivity of all those years ago.
Proof that he was physically attracted to her was easier to point to, and she’d had it for some time now. He’d been over at her house when suddenly he’d flinched and raised a hand to his face. There was something in his eye, and she offered to take a look.
He lay back on the couch and she leaned over him, resting her elbow near his collarbone so she could more delicately draw down his eyelid — her other hand resting gently on his forehead, thumb on his brow. As she looked she felt him move suddenly, and she paused to let him settle again — noticing out of the corner of her eye that he was trying to hide a growing erection, which she did well to pretend she hadn’t seen. And yet there it was, climbing up the inseam of his shorts under his forearm, searching for an exit.
Looking into his eye, her face closer to his than she could remember ever being before, she soon saw that it was just an eyelash that was troubling him. But for some reason she lingered a moment before telling him, not wanting to break the closeness of the moment just yet.
She’d spent the rest of that evening feeling quite energised. She’d felt his desire enter her as if it were a physical charge, flowing into her through the places she’d made contact with him, with an intensity that stirred a memory of the distant past. And aside from her conscious desire for revenge, it may have been that desire to feel desired — the perfect antidote to the feelings she’d been feeling — that drove her now.
Juliet had always had a natural facility for planning and organising, and her years as a mother had only honed that inborn talent. She needed it now as she put together a plan, laying out in her head the series of tasks she’d now have to get done.
The first thing she did was pick up the phone. She needed to find a place for her son Connor to go. His friend Bradley was the obvious choice. His mother owed Juliet a favour, and as she began to dial she had no doubt she would help her. Everything was settled in under two minutes, and Juliet mentally checked it off her list.
Next, was Daniel’s step-mother. Daniel’s step-mother, she thought, as she began to dial. It had just occurred to her that at some point she had stopped thinking of things in terms of her friend and her friend’s step-son, and started thinking of them in terms of Daniel and his step-mother. And as she listened to the dial tone, she tried to place exactly when that shift had happened — the thought cut short by the phone being answered.
This time she’d hung up the phone in a minute flat, the step-mother all too eager to assent. Though her willingness to be free of him helped her in that moment, as she moved through to the bathroom to continue getting ready, Juliet found herself feeling a harsh resentment toward her for her coldness toward him. She knew she’d been through a lot. She knew that when she’d married Daniel’s father she didn’t think she was signing up to be his only caregiver. But she’d only lost her husband — Daniel had lost his dad. And as if that wasn’t hard enough, his mother before that…
Feeling herself beginning to spiral, she forced her mind back to thoughts of preparation. Right now there were more pressing things to focus on.
In the bathroom, she tied back her hair and opened her makeup kit on the marble sink-top. But as she began to apply it to her face, she had the strange sense that it wasn’t her face she was applying it to. It struck her then that when she’d imagined herself on her knees in front of him, she saw it all playing out as if from afar. As if it were happening to another woman — the one she now saw in the mirror before her.
In that moment she explained it to herself as the result of being so thrown for a loop by her husband that she no longer felt like the same person. Her identity as his wife had been torn up by the revelation of his betrayal. And as the floor dropped out from beneath her, she’d fallen out of the person she’d imagined herself to be.
And so she painted this stranger’s face as she stared out through her eyes, trying to imagine anew who she might be now.
Another woman’s planning might have ended there, but Juliet always went that extra mile.
From a tissue box, she took a brochure of still-folded tissues and slipped them into her left thigh-pocket. From the corner couch in the lounge she took a big, soft European pillow and carried it through to the front door hallway, propping it against the table which stood against the wall.
Is there anything I’m forgetting?
She looked around her for anything she might have missed. Hung above the table was a picture of her and her husband. She felt another flush of anger. Not wanting to see him there, and worried it might be distracting for Daniel - she didn’t want him to feel bothered by any conflicting feelings — she took down the photo and slid it under the bed in the spare room.
Her plan coming together, she began to feel more like herself again. Her husband had plunged her into a dark and chaotic place in which she felt she had no control, but as she prepared for her revenge, she felt she was gaining it back, her toes touching solid ground in a raging sea.
He will have received the note by now, she thought, and she pictured him reading it, not knowing all that it meant…
Daniel walked out of school with a few of his friends, lost in a sea of other students. With each street he turned down, the throngs thinned and a friend dropped off, till finally, he was walking alone.
As he cut across a bare lot to the nicer houses of the newer suburb, his mind returned to Juliet, and to one of the many scenarios in which he imagined himself getting to consummate his yearning. Not knowing that every step brought him closer to that consummation.
As he neared her house, he forced such thoughts from his mind, not wanting to be dealing with an erection when he walked in the door.
He’d succeeded in settling himself by the time he passed through the open gate with its painted flowers, and as he did so he felt himself slipping from one familiar moment into another. He felt that inner lightness he always felt, tempered by the knowledge that today would be just like every other.
And then everything changed.
He was too in his head to notice at the time, but there was something different about her when she greeted him — something swirling beneath her usual cheerfulness. As he stepped inside, she tried to meet his eye with a directness he just barely registered. Looking back on it later he would realise she was trying to give him a sign while looking for one in return.
She couldn’t tell if he’d seen it, but when she reached past him to close the door, she was almost certain he would feel her anxious, flustered energy.
“If you stop me, I won’t be offended…”
The unexpectedness of those words bumped him off balance, pulling him out of routine and into the moment. What she did next knocked him over completely. It was almost as if the sight of her getting down onto her knees had tripped up his brain, so unprepared was he to see what he was seeing, the sheer gap between what he thought was about to happen and what was actually happening too great to bridge in a single leap of thought.
Her thoughts had leapt too far ahead already, and so together they fell into that brief strange moment in which both of them were present but neither of them were there.
His memory begins again with the feeling of a sharp downward tug on his shorts. Hers with the sudden floral brightness of his boxers. Another tug, and suddenly he was looking down at his naked penis, her face just inches beyond.
He felt a sudden sense of exposure. In his fantasies he’d always be hard by now, and he felt a brief pang of self-consciousness knowing she was seeing him in his least impressive state. There was little time to feel that way. Before she’d even finished lifting her hands from his boxers to his thighs, she was closing her eyes and leaning in toward him. He felt her breath. Felt her lips brush against him as she went searching for the tip. His hips shifting by instinct to help her find it.
A moment later he was in her mouth.
She remembers his warmth and softness. The smooth dryness of his skin against her wet lips and tongue. The velvet cling of his balls against her chin as she took him fully inside her. But more than this brief moment of lifelessness, she remembers the first jolt of his imminent resurrection. It flowed on right through her body, funnelling between her legs then all the way down to her toes.
As she began to suck, the jolts came quicker. And as she felt him expand, first in breadth then toward her throat, they soon kept time with his thumping heart.
As he stared at her upper lip pressed against the bottom of his polo shirt, he felt her tongue begin to slide against him, in consonance with the steady, drawn-out pulse of her suction. He watched as his dick began to reappear inch by inch, as it grew too large for her to keep it contained.
What had for a brief moment felt almost like having his trousers lowered for a medical examination was awake now purely in the world of the sexual. He felt his heart beat through to his hands, and he felt a great urge to grasp her with them. But some residual hesitance restrained him, and he left them hanging at his sides.
Having found herself further and further away from him, she began to nod her head with a measured pace, feeling him against her throat then on the tip of her tongue, against her throat then on the tip of her tongue, against her throat then on the tip of her tongue…
And yet she didn’t look up to return his gaze. It was almost like that would have been too intimate. And so she just alternated between looking straight ahead and closing her eyes, never once meeting his.
Then suddenly, she stopped.
For a brief moment, he worried she had come to her senses.
“One second,” she said breathily, as she leaned to the side and reached for the cushion. She’d remembered it as her mind returned to her and she became aware of her knees against the hard floor.
Looking down past his erection, shiny with her saliva, he watched as she positioned the cushion beneath her, shifting her knees to find balance on its rounded surface. Feeling a mild self-consciousness return, he moved his hand to the tip of his penis, covering himself almost as if from a sense of politeness.
When she saw his hand there, she looked up to his face to check if he was okay. But he was already letting himself go again, and seeing him twitching eagerly before her, she folded his shirt up further out of the way and took him into her mouth once more.
From that moment on she began to look up at him, first to check on him, but then because her gaze was increasingly drawn back there by his expression of almost bewildered pleasure. His eyes closing involuntarily as it swept over him.
Still feeling an urge to touch her, he shifted his arms inward a little, enough that his thumbs began to brush against her hands where they gripped his thighs. She slid hers closer to him. Encouraged, he moved his closer still.
Soon, her hands were covered by his, and she could feel them grip and relax with the variations in the speed and intensity of her sucking. Her underwear becoming damp, she found herself subconsciously squeezing her thighs together, as if to pin down the almost fizzing pleasure building between her legs.
He felt her hands slip from under his, and he opened his eyes again to see her tilt her head toward him. Taking her hint, he reached out and took hold of her.
She heard the world drowned out as his hands covered her ears, each shaky breath through her nostrils suddenly louder. His fingertips sent tingles down the back of her neck as he buried them in her hair.
Daniel was overwhelmed by the pleasure he was feeling. It was different in nature from his experiences masturbating, not only in intensity, but in the direction it was coming from. When he was by himself, he was always chasing pleasure down, but here it was being drawn out of him. Whether he was fucking his hand or pumping his hard dick with it, he was used to being able to set the pace himself, speeding up or easing off according to the sensations he was experiencing.
Now, someone else was in the driver’s seat. He was entirely the passive recipient of pleasure. And at times it was almost torturous to have to just sit there and take it. And so, almost subconsciously, he began to make tentative little thrusts inside her mouth.
The thrusts becoming less tentative, she raised one hand to grip his shaft, to keep him from inadvertently plunging too deep.
Then, keeping the tip in her mouth, feeling the soft groove of its underside against her tongue, she began to pump him, the circle formed by her thumb and forefinger bumping against the ridge of his head.
For a brief few moments she hit upon a rhythm not entirely in sync with him, and it gave his mind a moment to clear. As it surfaced above the heights of the pleasurable sensations that had made doing so almost impossible, he found he could take in more of everything that was happening.
Looking down at her, he found what excited him most wasn’t merely the sexual nature of what he was seeing, but the contrast between the sexual and the non-sexual. As if the non-sexual made the sexual stand out all the clearer. Looking ahead to the end of the hallway it still could have been just a normal day. Looking back down, he was immersed again in the pornographic. But even there, there was the comforting familiarity of the face he knew so well, contrasted with the graphic sight of the tip of his straining dick held firmly inside her mouth, her pursed lips wrapped around him changing her face into an expression he hadn’t seen before — an unfamiliar look of pleasure and concentration. Looking beyond that, there was the comfy and familiar look of the clothes she was wearing, the body they covered moving with a decidedly sexual rhythm as she continued to pump him. And then there was the excited sound of their heightened breaths above the almost unnoticeably common sound of a car rumbling steadily past outside.
Before long, she passed through the awkward rhythm to a rhythm much like the one he would use on himself, and his mind was submerged once again…
Tasting the first sign of his approaching climax, she began to pump him even faster. He heard her begin to speak to him encouragingly, almost egging him on.
“Oh honey, you’re doing so good…”
His breaths becoming harsher, his legs beginning to tighten, she knew the moment was approaching. She willed him on, telling him through heavy breaths: “Ohhh yes. Let it all go… let it all go… let it all…”
This soft command was enough to tip him over the edge.
She felt him spasm, closing her eyes just in time to feel the first warm eruption strike her face. She’d known it was coming and yet she still almost gasped when it finally did. She felt another, then another, and as she felt the fourth spurt splash across her face, she really did gasp.
He almost doubled over as wave after wave of ecstasy rumbled through him, his legs wobbling beneath him as he painted her face, just as she’d imagined him doing.
Feeling his climax come to an end, she slowed her hand to a stop.
Then just like that, the moment had passed...
Marisol
- 10.08.2021
- 22
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- Category:
- MILF
