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the word-fucking of Mrs T....

12:42 pm Tuesday, 3rd December, 2013

‘Ms T…?’

‘I prefer… Mrs T… if that’s…. all right?’

She stood a little way out of the porch light so that all I could really see of her was that she was wearing brown – rather sensible – shoes, and what looked like thick brown American-tan tights. Her voice was light and rather tremulous, and there was a hint of a west-country accent. As I stepped back into the hallway Mrs T stepped, hesitantly, into light and stood for a moment, blinking in a manner that suggested she was caught in the glare of a headlamp, and tugging at her bottom lip with her teeth.

‘Would you like to come in… Mrs T?’

It was my impression that Mrs T had made an effort to look nice for our first meeting. She appeared to have (rather inexpertly it has to be said) applied a little bit more make-up than she was used to wearing. Her hair was similarly over-done – a little too bouffant, and was heavily scented with the sort of lacquer only favoured these days by the older lady. It was not a cold evening and Mrs T’s coat was open so I could see that she was wearing a floral -almost florid - summer dress, which, though it fitted very nicely around her curves, did not particularly flatter her. Perhaps it was a little ‘young’ for her, a little too bright… a little too anxious to please. I thought she looked rather more like a middle-aged widow at country wedding, than a serious contender for the position I was currently seeking to fill. Had anyone, other than A.P. sent her, I would very likely have closed the door on Mrs T right then and there, and not given it a second thought.

Mrs T did not look me in the eye as she stepped uncertainly over the threshold. I took her coat and hung it up. Her smooth and chubby arms were bare and she hugged herself as though a chill were passing over her. I put myself in front of her and tilted up her chin with my finger so that she was forced to look me in the eye. She did not blink then.

‘A.P. explained the contract… yes?’

Only the slightest pressure on the finger I had placed under her chin registered that she had nodded.

‘If you do not want to proceed,’ I said, softly, but firmly. ‘Then now is the time to say it…’

‘I understand the contract,’ she said, her breath quickening.

So that there was no room for misunderstanding I took hold of the neckline of her pretty dress and tore it open to the waist. She flinched but did not lower her eyes. Beneath the dress she was wearing a rather pretty red balconette style bra. The ample portion of her ample breasts, as it spilled over those crimson cups, fluttered almost as her breath shallowed, and quickened still further. With a certain roughness I put my hands inside uncupped her so that her large pink nipples – already hard – were fully exposed.

There is a long mirror beside the coat hooks in the hall of my cottage and, taking a fistful of that lacquered, and much too carefully arranged hair, I directed her head so that she had no choice but to look directly at her reflection. At the same time I reached between her legs and ripped open the crutch of her tights. The expression in her eyes altered dramatically then. Where she had looked startled to be confronted with the image of her exposed breasts, something closer to ecstasy now passed across her face as I continued tear at the heavy nylon around her thighs and arse. Though I was very careful not to so much as brush against even the outermost portion of her cunt I could feel the intense heat of it on the back of my hand. I directed her to look into her own eyes in the mirror.

‘You want me to push your panties to one side don’t you?’

She nodded, almost gasping for air now. Her breasts heaved and her nipples lengthened visibly.

‘You want me to fuck you with my rough fingers. Bend you over, here… right here… and fuck you with my cock… hard and rough… here, in this hallway. Hard and fast and you bent almost double, your thighs splayed, and your cunt dripping juices all down the length of my cock, and soaking my balls as I thrust myself into you… deeper and deeper…. Is that what you want?’

She nodded again.

‘Yes,’ she breathed, though there was almost no air left in her.

I told her to put her hands flat on the wall, either side of the mirror. Then I reached under her, and between her shivering hot thighs, and tore apart the crutch of her panties. It was not easy - wet cotton is very much harder to tear than dry – and Mrs T’s rather sensible and robust panties were very wet indeed by then. When I was sure that she was stable in that position– though her legs were trembling - I placed myself alongside the mirror and took my out my cock so that Mrs T could see that it was hard, and that the fat tip it was already glistening with pre-cum.

‘Stay exactly where you are,’ I ordered. ‘Don’t move.’

Taking hold of my shaft I ran a couple of fingers around that shining tip, and when my fingers were almost sticky, and very fragrant, I held them up to her flushed face and told her to sniff at them. She was so keen for the smell of my cock on my fingers that she almost hyperventilated in an effort to get her fill of it. I coated my fingers again with that musky thickened-fluid and smeared her nipple with it so that it stiffened still further – to the touch, and to the sudden chill is it quickly evaporated. Curious what effect it might have I took that perfect pink and jutting nipple between my thumb and fingers and, slowly, firmly, twisted it. As I had anticipated this gesture did not pain Mrs T so much as it pleasured her. The closest she came to an expression of displeasure was when I stopped.

I lavished my fingers a third time with my wetness, this time ensuring that the full length of my digits were completely coated with that unctuous juice and then, and much to Mrs T’s obvious delight I fucked her mouth with them. I pressed my fingers down on her tongue (mimicking the weight and bulk of a cock), and slipped them almost to the back of her throat.

‘You want me to force you onto your knees don’t you?’ I hissed.

She was quick to nod then. Her mouth was slack from the absence of my fingers and her breathing was close to laboured.

‘You want me to force you to your knees so that I can fuck you in the mouth… right here… in this hall. On your knees on this cold floor and my hot cock pulsing on your tongue and the tip of it so far down your throat you can hardly breathe. And you want me to make you watch in this mirror as I feed you my cock and force you to take all of it as you look yourself in your own eyes in my mirror… Is that what you want?’

It was only words, and I was not touching Mrs T as she orgasmed. She had something of the flavour of my cock in her mouth of course, but, aside from that, and a brief twist of one nipple, I had barely touched her, and yet, almost without warning, she came. It was not a dramatic sort of orgasm. She did not convulse, or cry out in some strange and tremulous voice. Her legs did not give way under her, and she did curse, or expel some great gush of sweet liquids from her cunt (something she proved more than capable of on many other occasions), but orgasm she did. By the slightest shiver along her spine, and by an almost imperceptible alteration of her breath, and by the sudden flushing of her cheeks I knew that she was cumming. Silently, and almost tranquil in that pure moment she let go everything she had always been, and in that shudder it was gone.

So endeth the first lesson.

And it was only words….

‘That will do for this evening,’ I said, calmly.

She looked confused, almost as though she might cry, but as she saw that there was no displeasure in my eye she calmed herself.

‘You’ve done very well,’ I said, and she almost smiled.

I helped her to put on her coat, and buttoned it up for her, so that her ruined summer frock was covered. As she was in no condition to drive I took her to the kitchen and made her a cup of hot sweet tea. There were no pleasantries exchanged – that is never appropriate at such times. I simply offered her a day, and a time when she might return – if, indeed, she wanted to return. She almost spoke then, but forestalled her by telling her that she did not have to decide immediately, and that she should let herself out when she was ready.

It was a full hour before I heard her leave. I watched her as she walked - quite steadily - down the hill and kept watching until she disappeared from view.

Later, when I returned to the kitchen, I found that she had washed her cup, and laid it on the draining board. She had left a neatly written note on the table. It read:

Thank you for such a delightful evening.
I look forward to my next visit.

Mrs T.

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Comments
2:57 pm Tuesday, 3rd December, 2013

The power of words.

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