A Bump on the Head

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32


AS I looked into the trunk of the car, something touched the back of my leg and I jumped, banging my head on the trunk lid. Turning around rubbing my head, I was met by a spaniel looking up at me, its huge eyes apologising.

“Ow,” I said, glaring down at the cause of my pain.

The spaniel blinked and looked for all the world as if he was smiling.

Behind him, at the end of a long lead, was a woman with her hand over her mouth and her eyebrows raised: “I am. So Sorry,” she said. In two distinct sentences.

“No problem,” I said, still rubbing my head and smiling politely. “He was just being friendly.” I turned back to the trunk and continued attaching the fishing reel to the rod.

The woman arrived next to me: “Let me see,” she said, reaching for my face with both hands and tilting my head down. “It’s grazed,” she said. “You can fish later, we need to have a proper look at your head now.”

It was then that I realised we had met before, only never this close. She walked her dog along the riverbank and often passed me at some point, either as I was putting my rod together at the car or later, while I was walking along the river to my favourite spot. Either she would nod to me, or I to her. Never more than polite pleasantries. Quite a bit older than me, she was square and solid looking, with short, grey hair cut in a masculine, spiky style. She was also tall for a woman, the same height as me and her cheeks were outdoors ruddy, with a band of freckles running over her nose

I looked at her, a little confused, but before I could say anything, she was winding the spaniel’s lead around her hand to shorten it and barking orders: “Come on. It’s only a short walk. Won’t take a minute. Shut the lid. Lock it. Come on. Give me your arm, you might have concussion. Do you feel dizzy? Blurred vision?”

“I don’t have…” I started, but she cut me off: “That’s what people who have concussion always say, ‘I’m fine’ and then half an hour later they go down like a ton of bricks.”

With my right arm in her firm grip, we set off away from the car and the river and in less than a minute arrived at the front door of a Georgian townhouse. Looking up and down the street first, she handed me the dog’s lead and said: “Hold George,” while she opened the front door. Taking the lead from my hand, she pulled me into the hallway, kicked the door closed, and walked me into the living room. We stopped in front of a large, brown leather sofa: “Sit down,” she said, “and let’s have a proper look at your head.”

As I was lowering myself onto the sofa, she took my head in both hands again and pushed in front of me, her knees between mine, our jeans brushing against each other. Her fingers moved through my short hair, nails gently scraping my scalp. My face was pressed against her canvas waterproof jacket. “I have something for that,” she said, “keep an eye on George. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Her nails trailed across my scalp and then she walked hurriedly across the room, closing the door firmly behind her.

“Hello George,” I said, stroking the spaniel’s head in much the same way my own head had just been stroked. Above me, there was a thump on the ceiling, and then another, in a different place. What on earth was she doing? I looked around the room. Everything I looked at said “money”. The clock on the mantlepiece. The mantlepiece itself. The furniture. The bookcase. I stood up and walked towards it. George followed, his paws patting the polished wooden floor. Above me, the ceiling continued to bang and thump. The books were impressive. All of the classics bakırköy escort I have yet to read. There was another thump on the ceiling and the sound of a drawer slamming shut. She was getting changed. My imagination went to work. Lingerie. Heels. Soon, she would return transformed and then…just as I became aware the banging on the ceiling had stopped, the living room door opened behind me: “That’s better,” she said, her chest rising and falling rapidly, as if she was out of breath.

“Jeans and walking boots are comfortable,” she continued, “but they’re not really me.” Standing barefoot in the doorway, she was wearing a loose-fitting, beige kaftan that reached almost to the floor. My emotions were a mixture of disappointment and relief, but mainly disappointment that my short-lived fantasy was not to be. That kind of thing doesn’t happen in the real world. She was going to put some antiseptic lotion on my scalp and send me on my way with an aspirin. And that’s about as sexy as it would get. I sighed in resignation.

George, who had been sitting at my feet, ran to his mistress. “Go to your basket George,” she whispered, closing the door behind him. She turned the light switch on at the wall next to the door and walked to the window, drawing the blinds: “We need better light,” she said, making her way briskly to the sofa, bare feet squeaking on the polished wooden floor. Gathering up the folds of the kaftan, she sat down, a green plastic box bearing a first aid symbol in her lap, “and you can take your coat off – it’s not that cold in here…”

As I sat down next to her, she shuffled closer and took my head in her hands again, tilting it down and repeating the earlier inspection. As she leant forward with her arms reaching towards me, the low neck of her kaftan opened up, so that I was staring down into her enormous cleavage and beneath that, the top of one of her thighs. Beneath the kaftan she was naked. At that moment, she reached a little farther and both breasts swung into view. At the same time, air from inside the garment billowed out, bathing me in her fragrance. I caught my breath.

One of her hands left my head and went to the back of my neck and began stroking it gently. Placing her other hand under my chin, she raised my head and stared into my eyes. For the first time I saw she was wearing full make-up; bright red lipstick and dark eyeshadow “I don’t think I need to put anything on it,” she whispered. I could feel her breath on my face; soft odours of coffee and mint. Lowering my head again, she planted a soft kiss on my scalp: “Just this, maybe. There, that’s better,” she breathed. Then she leant closer and kissed the top of my forehead and smiled: “Would you like me to carry on?” Her words were so quiet I wasn’t sure if they were real or inside my head. Her eyes were mesmerising. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’,” she whispered. My head was swimming. “I’m Ann by the way,” she breathed and then she tilted her head to one side and lightly kissed my top lip.

With our faces almost touching, she stared into my eyes again and smiled: “I like it that you’re shy.” Her voice was a faint whisper, but her breath on my face was becoming heavier. “Just relax, everything’ll be fine…I want us to be friends…can we be friends?”

The hand on the back of my neck was no longer stroking, it was holding and then she slowly leant in and kissed me again, soft lips on mine, only this time she opened her mouth wide and pulled me into the deepest kiss I have ever experienced; her tongue filling my mouth, slowly twisting and turning beşiktaş escort and then she was pushing me backwards onto the sofa and climbing on top of me, my arms wrapping around her in a reflex reaction. Even if I had wanted to resist, I doubt it would have made any difference. Her right hand was between us on my crotch, roughly squeezing and kneading my erection and then it was on my belt buckle, fumbling and fiddling and then abruptly, she broke off, one foot on the floor, her other knee on the sofa, straddling me, she placed a hand at the top of my chest, just below my throat, pinning me down and used her other hand to unfasten the button at the waist of my trousers before tugging on the zip. It wouldn’t move. “Take them down, pleeeeeeeeeze,” she begged urgently, “no need to take them all the way off, just get them down.”

Lifting myself up slightly, I wriggled my trousers and shorts down as far as my knees, my erect cock springing free. At the same time, with her free hand she gathered the kaftan up around her waist and I caught a glimpse of her shaven vagina and then she was on top of me again, her tongue back inside my mouth and her hand gripping my penis tightly, pulling it painfully upright and then, out of site beneath folds of cloth, she ran the head up and down the soaking folds of her vagina before slowly, a fraction at a time, engulfing me in her soaking warmth. When our crotches finally bumped softly together she froze, her tongue sliding slowly from my mouth – her mouth remaining open in a silent scream as she shuddered and shook, her eyes tightly closed. After a few moments, she composed herself and slid her arms around me, hugging me tightly, the muscles of her vagina squeezing my penis, her lips close to my ear: “At last,” she whispered, before pushing against me, slowly at first but building up speed, whispering into my ear with each stroke, faster and faster, harder and harder: “Never been. So happy. To see. Someone. Bump. Their head. Been trying. To think of. An excuse. To talk. To you. For ages…” After what seemed like only a few seconds of this I gasped: “I’m sorry, I’m coming…”

Clenching down on me, she rocked back and forth, hugging me so fiercely I could barely breathe as my balls emptied inside her. Slowly and gradually, she relaxed and let out a long, satisfied sigh.

“It’s me that should apologise,” she whispered. “I’m not usually this…unladylike…”

“It was lovely,” I whispered.

Our cheeks were pressed together, so I could tell she was smiling.

“I can be a bit…selfish when my blood’s up,” she whispered, “But now that you’ve taken care of me. Stay where you are and let me take care of you…”

Placing both hands on my chest, she pushed herself up and off me, slowing for a moment and closing her eyes as my penis slid from her with an embarrassing “squelch”. As she stood up, the kaftan fell to the floor. Keeping her eyes on mine, she knelt at my feet and pulled my trousers and shorts down to my ankles, before slowly easing my knees apart. Holding my softening penis between two fingers, she smiled up at me, our eyes still locked together, and took the head in her mouth, her hand cradling my balls, but her middle finger was reaching further back…

When her fingertip touched my anus, I jumped. “Don’t worry,” she whispered, smiling, “I won’t hurt you,” and with that she took my penis in her mouth again, her free hand working quickly up and down the shaft. Before my cock had even become properly hard again I was coming for a second time, with Ann gently squeezing my balls beylikdüzü escort and sucking hard, swallowing every drop. When she was satisfied there was nothing left, she knelt back on her haunches, licking her lips and smiling: “Let’s go upstairs.” And she nodded towards the door. “Come on. We’ll be more comfortable…”

Pulling my trousers up, I stumbled meekly behind as she led the way to the stairs, her broad hips swaying from side to side as she slowly ascended, looking over her shoulder at me and smiling.

Pushing open the bedroom door, she slid one arm out of the loose neck of the kaftan and then the other, wiggling her hips as it fell to the ground. Stepping out of it, she walked to the window and drew the curtains closed. The room was plunged into near total darkness, leaving only a narrow strip of light coming from the open door. A moment later, somewhere in the pitch black, a mattress creaked and covers rustled. Then a barely audible whisper: “Come to bed, dear…”

The moment I was under the duvet, she was on top of me, around me, inside me, unseen fingers touching and stroking, an invisible tongue licking and teasing. My head was spinning as she entwined her legs with mine and rolled onto her back taking me with her, hugging me tightly as my cock, still only partly erect, somehow found its way inside her. She may have used a hand to guide it in, but I can’t be sure – there was so much going on. Beneath me, she breathily whispered instructions: “Don’t move, just stay still…let me do my thing…” With that, she began to gently roll her hips, the walls of her vagina massaging and kneading my cock until it was painfully hard. Our foreheads were pressed together, our lips almost touching – I wanted to reach for one of her breasts but she was hugging me so tightly I couldn’t move my arms.

“That’s lovely,” she whispered over and over. “This time should last a little longer…just try to relax… you can trust me…” and then as she finally felt me stiffen: “That’s it, lover, let it all out…ahhh!…I felt it…I felt it…”

I lay slumped on top of her for some time until gradually, her grip on me slowly relaxed.

“That was amazing,” I finally whispered.

“Hush,” she breathed, placing a finger against my lips, “I’m having a moment. Here…” and she rolled me off her and onto my side, put her hand on the back of my neck and held a breast to my mouth, sighing as my lips closed around an enormous nipple. My tongue gently circled its centre as I reached between her legs. The moment the palm of my hand settled on her shaven vagina, a finger slipped easily between its soaking folds and into her warm interior. Ann stiffened and drew in a sharp breath. Raising her knees, she threw them wide: “Would you?” she whispered. “Please?” Her hands were on my head, pushing it gently downwards.

Without replying, I quickly scrambled between her legs, pushing my face between her heavy thighs, breathing in the pungent aroma and taking the folds of her labia in my lips and licking steadily, side to side and then up and down, over and over, while above me Ann played with her nipples and orgasmed again and again, bouncing up and down on the bed, shaking and shuddering, until finally she breathed: “Stop, stop…come here…” In the deep gloom, she was holding her hands out to me.

For a long time, we lay spooning, listening to each other’s breathing. Finally, it was Ann who broke the comfortable silence: “So, now that you know where I live…”

I kissed her shoulder and she smiled in the darkness: “But give me a ring first…don’t want you catching me in my dog-walking clothes again…I wore my shroud earlier because I didn’t want to scare you away…imagine if I’d walked into the living room in lingerie and heels…”

“Yes,” I whispered, kissing the back of her neck gently, “imagine that…” and we both began to giggle.

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32


Bir cevap yazın

E-posta hesabınız yayımlanmayacak. Gerekli alanlar * ile işaretlenmişlerdir