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From: tonytony3@juno.com (anthony anthony)
Subject: tonytony3s Life on Long Island 2/3 (mmf voyeur)
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tonytony3’s Life on Long Island 2/3 (mmf voyeur)
You should have read
tonytony3’s Life on Long Island 1/3 (mmf voyeur)
which is the first part of this story, first.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
An hour later she came into the bed room, blew a kiss at the cubby, and
whispered. “He’s finished, and just cleaning up. It’s not too late to say
‘Uncle’.”
“Aunt.”
“OK. You asked for it. Pay attention, now.”
She took the night clothing from the chair, quickly took off her skirt
and blouse, bra and panties, and put them on the chair, so that the
replacement of night clothes with the clothes she had on was noticeable.
I had seen her nude before, but never like this, getting ready to display
herself, to seduce, to fuck, someone else. It’s quite an experience,
guys.
She sat at her cosmetics dresser, dabbed some perfume behind her ears, in
her cleavage.
She put on the negligee - red, knee high, cleavage exposed, back exposed,
smooth except where the smoothness was interrupted by the swelling of her
breasts, by her erect nipples. Subtle, but the change of color, from
tanned skin to white, was hinted at. The darkness of her areolae were
suggested, and her thatch of pubic hair created a little more than a
shadow. Subtle, but when she walked in front of the window, outlines of
her body, my wife’s body, were vividly displayed.
“Last chance, honey,” she said. “Do you want to unwrap this package, or
do you want Jim to unwrap it?”
I made a squawking noise, an affirmative one, again.
She pulled the robe on. Two layers of the same material made it look
modest. Sexy in a subdued way, but I knew better. She came into the
cubby. We kissed, I touched her, and felt heat, moisture. Moisture that
was to make it easy for a different cock to move, there.
“Go easy, honey, you’ll be getting yours, soon, and getting your fantasy
fulfilled even sooner” she muttered, in my arms.
Fifteen minutes later he called her.
“All done,” he was shouting.
“That’s what he thinks,” she said to me. She left the cubby, and the
bedroom, and I heard her say “Wait for me in the bed room, I’ll pay
you”.
I noticed it was just 1PM.
He came in, sweaty, looking a little surprised at the pile of clothes
where her night clothing had been, at her, at the bed folded back, the
sheets inviting . . . something.
In a few minutes Marsha came in, robe flowing on her body, a can of beer
in one hand, a mixed drink for her in the other. She handed him the beer,
sipped the drink, and went to the desk.
The expression on his face was priceless. This was the stuff letters to
Penthouse were made of. Maybe stories to a.s.s.m., too. Maybe he’d write
one!
Marsha, her back to him, didn’t his face, but she knew what was going on.
“I’ll write your check. My purse and checkbook are right here” she said,
opening the drawer. She got out the check book, and he stood behind her.
The movement as she bent forward parted the robe, so that her legs,
covered with the translucent nightgown, were exposed.
Oh, there’s no question that this was going to work.
I watched as she began opening the book. I saw him drain the beer, put
his hand on the robe covering her shoulder. She wrote the check, tore it
out, and handed it to him, over her shoulder.
He pocketed it with one hand, then began to rub her shoulders.
She stopped, looked at him over her shoulder. She does that over the
shoulder glance so well. . .
She sipped her drink. “That feels so nice,” she said, “you do more than
carpentry”.
“When I can” he said, rubbing more.
“I love it.”
He continued for a moment.
“Jim?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“What exactly did you mean yesterday, when you said ‘I was pretty for an
older woman?’”
“I meant” he stuttered, “that compared to the girls I date you’re like a
real woman. . .”
“Just what do you know about women who are ten years older than you?”
“Nothing - just to be respected - just, you know, beautiful,
sophisticated, more experienced, I mean worldly, not like the girls I
date, like, you’re married, untouchable, kind of mysterious. . .”
“Untouchable?”
“Kind of. . .”
“Do I look untouchable?”
“You look beautiful and sexy”.
“Do I look untouchable?”
“Maybe.”
Marsha stood, facing him. She shrugged the robe off, revealing the
negligee, with a back that reached almost to her buttocks, shoulder
straps holding a deep vee neckline, showing the sides of her breasts.
Jim was looking around the room, like a deer caught in the headlights of
a car at night.
“Untouchable?”
“No, not now.”
“Do you like what you see?”
“It’s - you’re - incredible.”
She turned around, modeling, then faced him.
I never appreciated how revealing it was. The thin straps at the
shoulders and deep neckline were stunning, and I saw that it exposed
most of her back. I had seen see all of that, and knew that so could
Jim.
“Not too old?”
“It’s beautiful - I mean, it’s beautiful on you, I mean. . .”
She continued slowly turning, for his inspection.
“So you like it on me, an ‘older woman’.
“I didn’t mean to say that yesterday, or insult you.”
She moved towards him.
“Your husband. . .”
“His car is being serviced. He can’t do anything until I get him.”
“Uh,”
“You’ve been wondering about me all the time you’ve been working here
haven’t you?”
“Uh,”
“I’ll bet you wondered what it would be like to be like this, in this
bedroom. . .”
“Maybe. . .”
“You like the idea, don’t you?”
She stood in front of him, her back to me.
“Do you think you know to please an older woman? How would you please
me, so I could please you in return?”
He didn’t answer, but she was, in an instant, wrapped in his arms, his
hands stroking the skin of her back, then over the material, to stroke
her ass.
“Have any of your girlfriends ever seduced you. . . “ she asked, holding
him as his arms and hands explored her back.
“Never.”
“Have you ever made love to a woman much older than you?”
“Never. . .”
She broke his embrace. She turned her back to him, and looked at him over
her shoulder. I wish the people reading this could see how she looks when
she looks at you like that, her body almost hidden, almost revealed, her
hair to her shoulders, her back, her legs. The negligee, draping,
exposed more of the sides of her breasts, and the start of the cleavage
between her buttocks.
She smiled, reached behind her for his hand, took it, and took him, this
man who just might live a fantasy while filling ours, to the bed.
My wife is wonderful!
She sat him down, and in a moment had his sneakers and socks off.
Another push, and his still sweaty body was flat on its back.
The bed was beside the cubby, I watched in profile as my wife lifted the
nightgown above her knees so she could straddle him. Then, when she was
in position, it puddled between her legs, which were exposed to about mid
thigh. I’m sure her crotch, naked, was resting on his shorts.
She doesn’t do things half way, does she? I hoped this wouldn’t end
prematurely, either.
She sat upright, looking down at this young man, prone, under her.
“Older women are more experienced, Jim. We know how to please ourselves,
and men we have sex with.”
He lay there, watching, as she moved her right arm to her left shoulder,
found the strap,
moved it out over the end of her shoulder,
and pulled her left arm through it, holding
the flimsy material over her breast with her
hand.
She leaned forward, he raised his head, nuzzled at her cleavage, then her
breast, through the material.
The first real sexual contact!
I watched my wife slowly lower her arm, so that the cloth was held over
her breast only by his mouth.
And I watched him pull his head back, so the material could fall away,
exposing her breast, her nipple.
And I saw his mouth once again open, taking in the brown nugget, suckling
at her tit.
My own erection was almost painful. I may be the one who’s premature.
His hands were behind her, holding her to him, while she leaned into him,
back arched, enjoying the new experience, this new mouth, one of her
hands supporting herself on the headboard, the other, under her breast,
lifting it, presenting its nipple, to his mouth.
He stopped, lay back, looking at this woman, now more upright, sitting on
him, on his pelvis, one breast exposed, the other nipple evident, as she
leaned over him, arms on the headboard.
His hands moved to her cloth covered hips, then over the pooled material,
down her legs, until they were on the flesh of her outer thighs.
Touching her skin!
“I know how to please women,” he said, running his hands up her thighs,
now under the material, lifting it, as his hands moved to her hips, then
further, as he did a bit of a crunch, to her buttocks.
I could see him pulling at her, as he lay back down, as she sat a little
more upright, her legs on either side of him, knees moving, sliding on
the satin, up along his body, and he pulled more, and now I could see
the garment was lifted, draped over his forearms, her pelvis was probably
exposed, and she was moving, being moved, up his body, her vagina no
longer over his shorts, but now on his belly, then his chest.
Could he feel, even now, how wet she was?
She looked down at this man, both of her hands now holding onto the bed’s
head board, as he pulled some more, his eyes not focused on her face
anymore, but rather, along and between his arms,
under her negligee,
at her pubic mount,
and he continued to pull, her knees moving and slipping on the satin,
until they were beside his shoulders, her vagina was at his chin.
He wasn’t shy about looking into what must have been the open lips of her
vagina. She wasn’t shy, either, about having it on view.
He pulled still more
and more
and then she gasped -
arched her back.
Her vagina lips were at his mouth,
as his tongue touched, explored, and found what
was, at this instant, her most sensitive part.
Her hips begin rocking, but not enough to prevent him from tasting what
he wanted.
His hands left her buttocks, moved instead, over and around her legs,
meeting at her vagina,
and his fingers spread it, opening it more,
holding her, spread wide, in place, while he licked, and sucked, and
nibbled at her.
I saw her hips moving in that timeless rhythm,
her back arched,
one uncovered nipple erect
one breast still covered,
his mouth open, tongue touching, sucking,
her face red, mouth open, panting,
until,
until she made a whimpering cry,
until she shuttered,
the stiff arch of her back collapsing,
her head resting on her arms on the headboard,
her body sagging over him,
on him.
There were still small shivers - small spasms.
Then her body was quiet.
Satisfied.
That was not a fake orgasm!
Neither was mine.
I realized how important it was to me that she enjoy this encounter.
A moment passed.
He lifted her by the hips from him. His face was awash with moisture.
He put her beside him.
Sat up.
Pulled her to a sitting, then a kneeling position.
Pulled at her negligee.
“Take it off!”
This woman, this wife, my wife, still flushed, was no longer in control.
He was.
She was now a vessel for him, a vessel for him to empty his passion, his
lust.
I watched as she freed the garment from under her body.
I watched as she reached behind her neck, and pulled its back up.
How, with her hands behind her, she lifted it hand over hand, and how it
lifted from her ass, exposing her back again.
This exposure, though, as she lifted this barrier, was very different
than the back that showed earlier. This was the back of a women I loved,
the back, I hoped, wanted, to be pressed into the bed by his weight.
The material was draped over her lap. Then, she moved from kneeling with
her buttocks on her heels, to kneeling upright, and then, still with
that hand over hand motion, lifted the negligee from her lap, too, and
over her breasts, and then there was a moment when it covered only her
head and her arms, held above her head, with all of the rest of her body,
upright, exposed, available:
that wonderful neck,
those breasts,
the triangle of pubic hair.
And that moment ended, too, as she put the flowing, red, her last
barrier, aside.
And my wife was undressed, nude, exposed, kneeling there, looking
incredibly sexy, in front of this man.
I know he had tasted every important part of her, but the image of that
nightgown coming off over her head while he watched, and I watched, and
all it symbolized, will stay with me forever.
He had been standing at the foot of the bed, watching as this married
woman prepared herself for him.
his cock.
his passion.
his seman.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
now find tonytony3’s Life on Long Island 3/3 (mmf voyeur)
for the conclusion.
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