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As part of my work, I’ve travelled a lot. I’ve been away from home for at least 5 months in each of the past 5 years. Of course, I’ve got some security in the apartment including a camera in the living room, attached to the clock. I can view it online from almost anywhere in the world, to see what is happening at any moment. In addition, I’ve got a simple arrangement with my neighbours. They have held the front door keys and have a look round every few days to make sure there are no water leaks nor insect invasions through the ducting. That did happen once and was a real bummer.

So my neighbour Suzanna and her boyfriend Alec have a set of key and I buy them a gift whenever I return from overseas. They’ve been totally reliable for these years and I trust them implicitly.

Recently, as I set off back home, I sent the usual WhatsApp message to let them know when I’d be arriving. But Suzanna sent me a sad reply : She had spilt with Alec some weeks back but was still in her old address and was still doing the security visits every few days. I sensed from her message that she was rather down about the split but I don’t know much about their lives or their relationship. I’m not even sure what Alec does for his work, although I know that Suzanna works as a physiotherapist in a city centre clinic. She is 30-something, quite short but fit and muscular; I’ve noticed from seeing her jogging around the neighbourhood. I suppose her work encourages her own muscle development. I have noticed, also, that her breasts don’t bounce up and down as she jogs; so I deduce she wears a good supportive sports bra or equivalent. Neither do her buttocks wobble about, which is the case with other women joggers I see. I concluded that she must be very muscular and trim in the “derriere department.” But that was as far as I ever noticed her physical appearance. Oh, she has long blonde hair, down to her waist; I could see that! She is 20 years younger than I am and had seemed committed to Alec.

So I arrived home last Friday evening, about 7pm, tired from a 9-hour flight but glad to see that the apartment was secure, and the post was collected into little piles in the hallway instead of being just a knee-deep mess behind the door. I got in and placed my luggage in the spare bedroom, and made a pot of tea. Then I got our the gift for Suzanna: a group of scented candles, made without animal fats, and set in a nice rustic primitive ceramic base. Just the kind of thing I know she likes as a table centrepiece.

After about 10 minutes, the door bell rang and I went to let in Suzanna, for her to return my keys. She stood in the door way and held up the keys with one hand, cocking her head to one side as if to say, “Here they are. Happy now?”

She was dressed in her jogging outfit; trainers, soft but fitted jog-bottoms, a loose flowing sweater and a neat woolly peaked cap.

I reached out and took them and said, “Come in Sue and have a cuppa.”

She came in and I reached out to the gift before going into the kitchen for the tea,

“This is for you with my thanks for looking after things again.”

“There’s no need for presents, you know. I do it as a good neighbour and you’ve helped me in the past with big deliveries and with my decorating,” she demurred.

“Well, open it and see if you like it,” I suggested and went for the tea.

When I came back she was sitting with her head down, and with my gift in her hands, and clearly upset. Maybe, I thought, she was sobbing: perhaps because Alec was not here with her this time.

“Sue, is everything OK?” I asked and knelt down to one side of her, placing the tea tray on a little table I’d placed carefully before she came.

She stood up and lifted me from my kneeling.

“Oh, you are so kind and thoughtful. And I’ve been so lonely,” she confirmed my thought about Alec.

She continued, “The candles are lovely. Thank you, but you don’t need to give me things.”

I replied, “Sue you’ve given me peace of mind for years and I wish I could give you more gifts to show my thanks – my gratitude. Is there anything I can do for you to thank you?”

We were standing facing each other, about one foot apart and she still had tears in her eyes. After a few seconds of silence and eye contact, suddenly she reached out and took my hands, and pressed them to her breasts.

“Please will you make love to me?” she whispered.

She seks hikayeleri lifted her head and looked straight into my eyes. Hers were still moist with her tears.

“Sue. Are you sure you want this from me?” I whispered back to her, with my hands still pressed to her breasts.

“Yes please, I like you and you are a nice man, so safe and I need…I need…I need someone to appreciate me a little. Please show me some gentleness and some special understanding. Will you?” Her eyes were filling up again.

You need to know that I’m in my mid-50s, widowed 4 years ago when my wife died after a harrowing illness that left me devastated. I’ve not been seeking feminine company.

Yet, here was this attractive much younger woman offering herself to me out of some sense of need and gratitude. I wasn’t even sure that I could perform any longer, in the way she seemed to want.

Suzanna kept hold of my hands and took a step towards the door. She let my arms stretch out but kept pulling me after her. We walked slowly towards the door, our eyes fixed on each other all the time. For the first time, she smiled a little smile at me; more of a grin. No teeth showing, just a slight wrinkling of her eyes and now with her curved lips. And for the first time in 4 years, I felt that I wanted to be close to this young feminine person who had revealed her liking for me.

I took a hand away from hers and grabbed the keys as we left my apartment. Her front door was already open; just slightly ajar with the latch hooked back. She walked backwards and pushed the door with her bottom, and drew me inside. I extracted a hand again and pressed the door shut so that it clicked. She kept pulling me and we went through a door into her bedroom. Only then did she let go of my hands and put hers up to my face. She just held my throat under my ears both sides and I expected a kiss. But no; she just whispered, “Please undress me” and put her hands down to her own hips.

I took hold of the bottom edge of the loose top she was wearing and lifted up towards her shoulders. She raised her hands and I saw, as her eyes and head were covered, that she was wearing not a sports bra at all. But a firm longline bra into her waist, boned up the front to the cup wires, and at the sides up to her armpits. That was why her breasts didn’t bounce when she ran.

I lifted the item of clothing over her head and tossed it to one side, on to a chair. Her eyes were still looking straight into mine, with the little smile. She took hold of my hands and pressed them to each side of her chest, holding the outer edges of her breasts and the long bra.

She pushed my hands down to the jog-bottoms, where there was a tied ribbon-cord around her waist; also holding the bottom edge of the bra. I untied the cord and loosened the pants but they were too fitted to fall down by themselves. Again, I kneeled down in front of her and slowly eased the waist-part down over her hips. And so on, until they were bunched around her ankles. She lifted one foot and then the other, and I tossed the garment aside to the same chair.

Then I saw why her buttocks didn’t wobble when running. She was wearing a tight little brief-leg pantie girdle, with panels and a zipper up the front. This young woman was held together in firm underwear and now it would be my job to release her. Her figure was more feminine than I’d noticed before. Nice breasts, slim waist and rounded hips and bottom. My memories and my masculine inclinations became inflamed. I could feel my erection building for the first time in so-many years.

In my kneeling position, I reached up and slowly pulled down the zipper on her girdle. She held the waist as it released on her until it was loose and I shifted it down to her ankles as before. She stepped out of the girdle and I saw her flat belly and the pressure marks of the girdle panels and the zipper lining. She had a beautiful figure and I hadn’t noticed it ever before.

Suzanna turned round and presented her back to me for me to unhook the bra, which I did with memories of such clothes from years before. There were 12 hooks and slowly I released her until she pulled it forward, off her shoulders and tossed it herself onto the chair.

Then without looking back at me or making any sound, she walked slowly to the bed and lay down. Her head was turned in my direction and I saw that she was smiling properly. A real smile with teeth and lips pulled back and eyes shining. Her legs were together and her hands covering her breasts, as if to preserve some modestly. That made me smile and quickly I undressed. Neither of us had washed for some hours but neither of us seemed to think that mattered.

She opened her legs a little as I walked to the bed and lay next to her with my hand on her mound. I pressed my middle finger into her labia and was pleased to feel that she was moist. No; she was wet. I pressed further into her lips and she murmured a little sound like a kitten. I began to massage gently on her clitoris and she put an arm up to my shoulder as her pleasure grew. All my old technique came out, if I can call it that after the years of absence, and Suzanna came slowly to her orgasm with a shudder and another little cry.

Her arm on my shoulder flexed and she pulled me towards her and I lay on her. She raised her knees and opened her legs further, as I pressed forward and she guided my erection into her opening. She felt so tight, almost virginal, which didn’t seem possible. I shagged her slowly at first but she pulled me into her repeatedly and bucked her hips to speed me up. Inevitably, I came to my own climax sooner than I would have wanted, and I filled her. We both collapsed, side by side, as the pleasure ran through us and we recovered. She turned her head towards me again and gave her a little grin. I smiled back and kissed the side of her forehead. I noticed that she didn’t try to kiss me in return so clearly this was a matter of physical expression, not emotional. I didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved or feel like an uncle-figure: an older man who pleased her but not a lover. I just relaxed into the uncertainty.

I thought that would be an end to her “requirements” but I was wrong. After a few minutes, she leaned up on one elbow and brought her face close to my ear, “Would you do something more for me? Please.”

I turned a little towards her and said, “Of course, anything. Tell me.”

I was imagining something simple like another orgasm or perhaps some mouth-work; but she got off the bed and went to a drawer, coming back with some things in her hands. I couldn’t see what they were from my horizontal position so I thought, “Toys.”

She stood close to the edge of the bed on my side, and handed me a broad leather belt.

“Please put this round my waist and make it very tight. Very tight. Will you?” she asked with a worried look on her face, as if I might refuse.

“Of course,” I replied and took the belt from her. It was about 3 inches [75 mm] wide and thick; maybe quarter of an inch [6 or 7 mm.] It seemed to be about 30 inches [75cm] long. The buckle was made in brass and about as big as my palm, with two prongs. All the way along the belt from the buckle to the end of the leather were rows of two holes, every inch or so and spaced to match the prongs.

Suzanna turned to me and I wrapped the belt around her waist. She spent a few seconds arranging it at the right height on her figure. Sitting on the bed, I fed the belt through the buckle and closed it onto her skin, just so that it settled on her figure.

“No. Tighter,” she whispered, and so I pulled it another two inches or so until the prongs met the right holes. I looked up into her eyes but she spoke, “No. Much tighter.”

This went on for a some minutes and the belt got tighter and tighter on her; crushing her waist and forcing her abdomen into a bulging sphere. Her hip bones stood out and her bottom ribs were flexed into a cone shape. Every time I reduced the size, I looked into her eyes and she instructed me further. Eventually, she said, “That’s good. That’s more than I can get by myself. It feels wonderful to be so tight. Please hold my waist.”

I did as she asked and was surprised to find that my middle fingers and my thumbs could meet around her waist. I wished I had some way to measure her waist but I could just guess that it was not more than 18 inches [45 cm, say.] I put the long end of the belt through some loops at the side of her figure, and it went almost all the way round.

Suzanna took my hand and pressed it under the bulge of her belly, where her labia should be. She opened her thighs a little and my hand slipped underneath. She was running with her own juices. I could tell from the slipperiness. She was pouring with her own cunt-juice; she was so excited.

She was still holding my hand and pulled it out from between her thighs; and said, “Please come into me again. I’ll show you how.”

The last words were important because I couldn’t possibly lie on her swollen rounded, almost spherical, belly.

“And please put this into my bottom,” from under a pillow she handed me a black shiny butt plug. Not massive, but bigger than I could use on myself; maybe 1¼ inches [30mm] across and 6 inches [15cm] long with a flared base. She gave me also a little pot with a clear gel in it; obviously the lubricant.

She climbed on the bed and kneeled away from me, with her head down. I lubed her anus and slowly presented the plug to it. It slipped in with a little twisting and force, and then it was settled inside her. Needless to say, my erection had resumed it prominence by then and that was a good thing. She said breathlessly, “Now please come into me.”

Suzanna shifted backward a little until she was on the edge of the bed at about my groin height. I took hold of her tiny waist inside the ferocious belt and positioned my erection against her labia. Slowly I pressed into her and felt two new sensations for me.

First the tightness inside her was magnified. It felt as if I were pressing into her intestines, her stomach, her liver, her total entrails. I knew that wasn’t true but it felt as if I was ploughing right into the middle of her body, not just between her legs.

Secondly, I could feel the hard plug just the other side of the membrane separating her cunt from her rectum. It rubbed against the top edge of my erection, even as my tip felt the resistance of her guts.

Suzanna reached to one side and brought a third item; a white plastic vibrator. She held it against her clitoris and I could feel it pulsing through her labia and adding to my own excitement. This time I determined to slow myself and to give her more time for her own orgasm. Whenever I felt my climax building, I pulled out and held myself at her opening until it passed.

Her orgasm grew steadily and I could hear her murmuring, as well as feel the movements of her belly and the rotation of her hips. When it came, it was volcanic. She shouted out, “Aargh-haaammm.” And threw her body around on the edge of the bed. And she flooded my erection with more juices, which ran down her thighs – and mine.

I took a firmer hold on her waist so that she wouldn’t fall over in her ecstasy, and I plunged into her with abandon. I came again, the second time in an hour. Unusual for me but very very satisfying.

Then she lay on the bed, on her back and I lay beside her. She pulled my hand onto her rounded belly and made me massage it gently. She put her own hand down to her labia and began moving. I thought she might orgasm again but she didn’t. She just liked to feel the tightness and the constriction.

After some time, maybe half an hour, she said, “Thank you. Please let me out now.”

She made me kneel up over her thighs and I unlatched the buckle; with some difficulty because of the extreme tightness and its own rigidity. I let it flop down either side of her body and she rolled over. She raised her bottom and knew she wanted me to withdraw the plug. From under the pillow, she passed me a damp face towel. I took hold of the flared end of the plug and pulled gently. There was resistance and I relaxed but she whispered, “Just pull, just pull. OK?” And so I took another firm hold and pulled slowly but strongly. The plug came out, slightly tinged with her shit, and a little odour of course. Quickly I wiped her anus and wrapped the plug in the towel, and lay it on the floor at the bedside.

We both flopped and slept a little before we looked into each other’s eyes again and this time we chuckled. Not just a smile.

“Thank you,” she said, “I needed that” and she laughed out loud.

“Madam,” I joked with her, “I should be thanking you. You’re amazing.”

We got up and partly dressed, and she made me a sandwich. I went to my place and got a bottle of wine; so we had a nice little supper. I wondered if this was the beginning of a new relationship for her and me; but no. She had a need and I was happy to please her – and myself. In the days that followed we smiled at each other as we met, but no further intimacy. I did worry about the unprotected, even unsafe, sex we’d had but nothing has gone wrong since.

So wasn’t I a lucky old fellow?

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