Corsets and Football

Aralık 31, 2020 0 Yazar: admin

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Ass

Do you speak to your husband while you’re having sex? Only if there’s a phone handy.

* * *

I had just finished work for the day; an afternoon-evening shift followed by a drink in a bar before home and bed for the night. I perched on a stool and watched the band play an old standard. They played it well, as they should — twenty years earlier they had topped the charts with this record. Now these middle-aged men were touring tiny third rate venues milking their old success, endlessly replaying the same songs that they must surely now be sick of.

What alternative to this drudgery did these musicians have? A proper job like the rest of us? Working on a factory line, putting a component into a machine and pressing a button. Then doing another one and repeat until you die – this may not sound an appealing lifestyle for a former superstar who had once flown the world by private jet.

So the singer regurgitated the words with worn out emotion as I sipped a tepid beer, eking it out as long as possible. An hour ago it had been fresh and cold; now it was stale but the glass occupied my hand. It was a required accessory and I didn’t desire any more drink. Soon I’d be leaving, on my way home. As soon as the band finished their set I’d slope off quietly — no late-night drinking session planned for me.

I cast my gaze around the room. The audience was mostly appreciative, the music was well known but a group of youngsters were huddled at a corner table, too cool to express enjoyment for this old style. This was entertainment for people who think that ‘sick’ referred to the mess found on the steps of the fire escape in the morning.

The club was a regular haunt of mine, not that it did me any good. Week after week, month after month I went there. No joy ever came my way, I always became tongue-tied in the presence of a hot girl. I must have been the oldest virgin in town by a considerable margin. My colleagues had no trouble getting relationships or one night stands. Myself? Doomed to a lonely taxi ride home at the end of the night.

There was a group of older women dancing to the music, large breasts bouncing within shimmering dresses; it was music that they remembered from their formative years. These were the tunes that were playing while they were fumbling with their first boyfriends. I’m not criticising; I liked these old hits as well, they brought back memories of my childhood and were easier to listen to than most modern tracks. Perhaps I was born old.

The partying women were becoming more boisterous. One came close to me and being instinctively polite I leaned away slightly to avoid a collision, however I had misunderstood the manoeuvre. She caught hold of my arm and pulled me from my stool, inviting me to join with the dance. They were clearly looking to expand the party by adding some male company.

I eyed up the lady; small-to-average boobs, slim build, average height. Mousey brown bobbed hair and nondescript features – she would have made an ideal spy for some foreign agency. A modest dark green dress did nothing to make her memorable, right now I cannot picture her face at all.

Somewhat reluctantly I started to move in the direction that I was being dragged in. On the way I placed my glass on a vacant ledge just as the other ladies surrounded me but I’m a hopeless dancer – plenty of people have informed me that I’m incapable of keeping with a beat. I don’t disagree with them, I always end up bobbing down when everyone else is bobbing up. I don’t even rate as a decent ‘dad-dancer’.

Luckily, after only a couple of seconds the music stopped and the band racked their instruments for a break while the DJ took the microphone. The nondescript lady laughed as we ducked behind a room partition where we could speak against the blaring noise.

“Brilliant timing, that always happens to me.” She saw me looking at her quizzically and continued. “This sounds really corny but my friend asked me to call you over. What’s your name?”

“Dave. What’s going on?”

“We’re here while our husbands are away at the football. Look, meet Fern — she’s the one who really wants to talk to you.”

Fern was probably the eldest of the group; in her mid forties, with blonde wavy hair and spectacles. She had been poured into a black dress by someone who didn’t know when to say ‘when’, showing a huge expanse of creamy cleavage nestling a diamond crucifix on a gold chain. She sipped from a glass of wine and giggled shyly. “I can’t believe you did that. Lynda, I’ll get you back.”

So the nondescript woman was called Lynda.

“What’s the occasion, are you by yourself?”

“I just came in for a drink after work, none of the other guys I work with wanted to come out tonight so it’s only me.”

It turned out that the ladies had all known each other for years and were nearly all married; a few were divorced and one or two were even widowed. The common factor that night was that their men-folk had gone together on a trip to watch a big football match. I didn’t follow güvenilir canlı bahis siteleri the sport and didn’t even know that anything was on that weekend.

I explained briefly about my work – which was not very interesting to talk about, and that I lived alone having saved up hard for a deposit and bought my own place. No wife, no kids, no girlfriend (or boyfriend). Just me saving and investing for the future.

Fern was surprised I think. In those days it was unusual for a guy in his early twenties to be spending so much on bricks and mortar instead of beer, fast cars and impressionable young ladies. I avoided telling her that it wasn’t totally by choice.

Then the DJ introduced the band once more and Fern stood up and dragged me out onto the dance floor. She slipped her arm around my waist so I reciprocated. She had a sturdy build and I could feel the rigid undergarments that gave shape to her body.

She started dancing to the song, which was slow and one of the band’s biggest, iconic hits. It was natural for me to continue holding her as she swayed, my hands on her hips.

She moved closer and my touch slipped lower, feeling the bottom of the stiff clothing and the pliable body beneath. The crease where thighs met ass greeted my fingers. She did not protest at the intrusion but I felt her face muzzle my chest and her hands gripped my buttocks in return, squeezing them together and pulling me closer.

The flesh of her rear moved easily when I pressed against it, a softness of female flesh that was exciting and intriguing. “So how come a good looking lad like yourself is here all by yourself? Why don’t you have a girlfriend?” She spoke directly into my ear, turning her face up to me. Her pupils were wide open and she slurred slightly.

I don’t think that there was anything special in the way she stood with her face so close, it was probably determined by the sound volume in the club anyway. But it felt very intimate to me, just the two of us having a private conversation.

“I’m not with anyone at the moment, that’s all. No reason, I just work strange hours and my mates all went home.”

“Our husbands are all getting smashed in a bar in France, left us alone to clean the house and do the laundry. As if. They’re busy chatting up the Mademoiselles, so we’re enjoying a bit of freedom as well. Has anyone told you that you’re really handsome?” Fern had clearly seen the bottom of several wine glasses that night, “We’re going for a curry after this, do you fancy joining us?”

I didn’t answer directly – eating a late-night spicy meal with a group of ladies old enough to be my mother didn’t appeal immediately – but several songs later the band finished for the night and the ladies announced that they were leaving. As they left, Fern and Lynda caught my hands and made sure that I left with them. Well, I didn’t have much else to do that night.

As we walked along the street outside I found that I was the only male with the group of ladies; those who had earlier found male partners to dance with were now single once more. Fern ambled slowly so that we were soon lagging as the rest strode along. After a few yards she suddenly pulled me to a stop.

“I don’t really fancy a curry, could we find a taxi to take me home?”

Cell phones were yet to be invented in those days so our options were to hail a taxi if we could, or make our way to a taxi rank. We turned and made our way towards the nearest rank, whilst keeping an eye open for a tell-tale roof lamp amongst the traffic. On the way there was a short cut through an alleyway, which we took.

The passageway was dark but rather than avoiding the deepest shadows and nervously walking in the well lit areas, Fern dragged me into a secluded corner. Her arms embraced me and turned her face for a kiss.

“My God, did anyone say that you were good looking?” she repeated from earlier but I could not reply as her lips were suddenly on mine, with her hands holding my head still. This was surreal. No-one ever complimented me on my looks and this was the second time that she had done so. I mean I’m not overweight with buck teeth or anything, but if I had to describe myself there would be endless repetition of ‘average’. Average size, average weight, average hair, just average…

A male version of Lynda, I suppose. That was me in those days, totally forgettable. None of the females at work had ever fawned over me that was for sure. I had the sneaking suspicion that Fern was having a ‘giraffe’; a ‘Steffi Graf’ – in other words a laugh.

She leaned against a ledge and pulled me off balance so that I fell against her bosom. “You’re a forward guy”, she murmured. “Are you feeling me up? Against my chin, her chest was powdery with some kind of make-up but was warm and squashy. It felt almost wrong, as if I were drowning in cushions. Except that it felt right at the same time. I was suddenly bold and adventurous.

With that my hands were pulled down to her ass and her hands were keeping them there. I felt güvenilir illegal bahis siteleri a tongue press through my lips and there we were snogging like teenagers in a lover’s lane. Her breath tasted of strong liquor and tobacco, only that sturdy underclothing preventing me from feeling much more of her body.

She took my hand from her ass but then she pulled it to the front and quickly down below her dress, which she hoisted up. I found my hand being pressed to her panties between her separated thighs.

I cupped her groin with a trembling hand over the silky material, feeling the hot and damp flesh alongside as her legs moved to allow even further access.

I struggled to breathe, finding my hand touching the most intimate area of a woman — even one probably older than my mother. I wasn’t helped by my mouth being filled with her tongue, which explored my cheeks and around my teeth.

I tried to push my finger past the elasticated edge of the panties so that I could touch her there, but she broke away. “We can’t waste our time here, you’re supposed to be finding me a cab.”

I was now somewhat short of breath but with a growing bulge. This was a new experience for me and an exciting prospect, but we left our corner and around the corner we came to the taxi rank. There was a short queue but soon we were at the front and a cab arrived for her.

“Can you come with me, make sure I’m safe?” She grabbed my arm and tugged me firmly into the car. Then without knowing how it had happened I found myself riding in the back seat of a taxi and she was giving directions to the driver.

* * *

Fern had slumped back in the car and her dress was rucked up on her thighs showing the lacy strip at the tops of her stockings. On one leg I could see the clasp of a suspender. She glanced down smiled. “Look at me, showing my giggle band” She half-pulled the material down modestly but left the stocking tops showing. One leg was raised and parted in a way that my mother would have described as ‘unladylike’.

A few minutes later we stopped outside a house; it wasn’t very far from where I lived and I knew the area well. It was a standard suburban semi-detached with a front door which had an ivy design in the glass panel. Even a fake Victorian brass coach-lamp lit the path from the road. “Why don’t you come in, for coffee.” She giggled. “It’s OK, the house is empty, no-one else is there. My kids have all grown up and left us alone.”

She swiftly paid off the driver and led along the path. “Lynda is a right character, you’d never think by looking at her. So ordinary and quiet, but she’s wicked when you know her. Do you know she styles her pubes according to the calendar? At Christmas she has a green Christmas tree, at Easter she does an Easter egg. Right now she has it done as a football. Oh yes, us girls tell each other everything.”

She opened the door; the interior was neatly and very conventionally furnished with a chintzy theme. Closing the door behind us, she paused. “Do you know why they call it the giggle band?” She hitched up her dress, showing the tops of her stockings.

Her hand took mine and placed it above the stocking on the delicate white skin on the inside of her thigh dangerously close to her panties, “If you get this far you’re laughing.” I could feel the warmth from above but then Fern stepped back.

“Here, can you help me with this zip?”

She turned and presented the back of her dress to me. It had a zip fastener to the neck and I eased it down. With hardly a wriggle the garment was dropped to the floor and she stepped out of it. She wore a white corset with red laces crossed tightly at the front, tied with a bow at her ample cleavage. It incorporated a bra with suspenders holding up her stockings but she still wore her black heels and full high-waisted white panties.

Suddenly she was kissing me again and placing my hand on her pillowy breasts. “You can stay all night, you know, there’s no-one else here.” I fondled her for some minutes while I considered the offer.

Her breasts were large and unbelievably soft. I slid my hand inside her bra to feel her nipple, firmly erect and the size of a baby’s thumb. I concentrated so that I would later remember the sensations, the incredible softness and the way my fingers could sink into the flesh.

Then she took my other hand and placed it between her legs, on her warm silky panties. Her vagina was a fraction of a millimetre from my hand, her body heat seeping through the thin material.

After a brief hesitation she pulled the panties forwards and pushed my hand inside, against a soft bush of hair. Her feet were apart and she eased my access by raising one in the air, resting it on a chair.

Her slit was moist and open and she sighed as my fingers found her opening. I felt her hands loosening my trousers and then her hand was inside my clothes, grasping my penis as my mouth was again forced open by her invading tongue.

Her body was warm around my finger and I could güvenilir bahis şirketleri feel the rigidity of the hipbone to the front of her well-lubricated vagina. Once my middle finger was deep inside her she spoke again. “Sod the coffee, come upstairs, we’ll be more comfortable.” She leered “Call it: Come, fuck-offee.”

Slowly, sensuously she removed my finger and place it into her mouth to lick off the juices before leading me upstairs.

We entered a bedroom with a soft floral scent and a bed with a deep soft duvet, “Stay here a moment, I need to go to the bathroom for a moment. Make yourself comfortable.”

Then she was gone, the door swinging shut behind her. I was wary now, nervous about what was about to happen. Was I to be accosted by an aggrieved man armed with a camera and a clenched fist?

I shouldn’t have worried because shortly Fern was back. She had lost her panties and was showing me her patch of pubic hair, darker than the blonde on her head and trimmed into a narrow strip. She was dressed now only in her corset.

“OK, I’m busted”, she laughed. “I dye my hair. I thought you’d be in bed.”

She pushed me down onto the quilt and climbed over me. “I’ve been waiting for this, tonight’s my lucky night.”

Her lucky night? She didn’t have a clue.

She loosened and removed my clothes so that I was naked, my penis vertical as I lay in a nest of goose-down duvet. “Beautiful. What a gorgeous cock.” With that she eased my foreskin back to the fullest extent, exposing the glans. She took me in her mouth, sliding her tongue along my length. I was struck by the warm and wet sensation as she bobbed her head and sucked hard until the pressure was beautifully painful.

Soon she sat up and shifted herself forwards so that she was over my penis. She had hold of it and carefully aimed it into her vagina as she sank down. She was relaxed and soft around me and for the first time I realised what everyone was talking about when they described a vagina as ‘warm’. This was a long way from any jerk-off.

I felt her hand between us as she touched herself. Fern rocked back and fore for a while, rubbing her clitoris slowly. Her pale tits were silhouetted against the ceiling above me, pushed out from her ribs by the corset. She raised my hands and whispered “Undo me, take it off.”

Fumbling, I loosened the bow and undid the lacing. The laces criss-crossed endlessly down between her breasts and across her stomach and took an age to remove, pulling them repeatedly through the eyelets.

Eventually the corset was free and she shrugged it away, undoing the clasps to her suspenders. She finally removed her shoes and was able to roll down her stockings without even disconnecting from me. Now as she rose and fell on my cock her breasts bounced freely, bright pink areolae the size of Pringle lids contrasting with the alabaster skin.

Her belly now released from the whalebone struts fell in a roll of flesh that brushed my stomach but I could hardly feel the contact. I was concentrating on feeling the warmth that enveloped my penis.

Just then we were interrupted by a telephone ringing loudly at the side of the bed. I froze but without breaking her rhythm she reached across and answered it. “Hi dear, yes I’m still awake, I’ve been watching the soaps on TV. How’s your trip? “

My concentration was completely broken by her obviously having a conversation with her husband whilst having sex with me — and soon I was softening.

Fern rose, separated and turned around, pushing her pussy into my face and bending down, held my penis. In the pauses between her speaking, she took me into her mouth and worked that glorious tongue around my glans.

Her pussy had darkly pigmented labia which hung down a good inch and was scented with soap. I ran my tongue around them and sucked upon the wrinkled skin, then on the protruding nodule of flesh that I found above. As she sucked and chatted I considered that my penis had just been inside that very vagina, exuding pre-cum. I ignored that thought and went to work, sliding my tongue in and out of her vagina as far as I could, savouring the secretions and sucking further on her clitoris.

Her hips swivelled, grinding her flesh against my face. Eventually she shuddered and tensed, pausing in her conversation.

Struggling to control her breath, she finished the call. “Love you babe, love you. Call me again tomorrow. Yes, love you loads, goodbye.”

Fern hung up the handset and sucked me deeply into her mouth. Turning round, she touched my face which was wet with her secretions. “Oh My God. You made me come then”.

Gently she re-inserted my cock into her body and licked my face clean. “Did anyone ever tell you that there’s nothing in the world as good as being eaten out, especially when you’re talking to your husband?”

With a sudden swiftness she jumped up and knelt over, “Right. Do me from behind, go as deep as you can.”

Her breasts swung down as she assumed the position, knees wide apart presenting her ass and pussy to me. I rose to my knees behind her and slid easily between those darkly crinkled labia. Then, just with the tip inside I paused before withdrawing. I pressed inside again and repeated, just feeling myself pushing her flesh open and enjoying the sensation and sight of her body accepting me.

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