by Ella Ford
At once, I felt a surge in my stomach. I radiating warmth that started in my pussy and sent waves of pleasure through my entire body. I moved my hand faster, pressing down on the throbbing nub of my clit. My body longed to embrace the sensations that were overwhelming me but I dared not release myself into it. Distantly, I knew that what I was experiencing was an orgasm, my first, but I feared the release and the loss of control. Too late, my body removed the luxury of choice from me and the climax exploded in my midriff.
I doubled over, pulling my knees up to my body and locking my fingers in place on my clitoris. My breath caught and I squeezed my eyes shut as the intolerable wave of ecstasy swept my mind away and nullified my senses. The fire raged through me and I tensed my entire body, pushing my legs out before me and forcing my feet against the wall of the window well. It became too much, I feared it might never let me go and I would burn out from the sheer intensity of it, that I would lose my mind to the unrelenting waves of pleasure.
Then it stopped, and my body went limp. I slid off the window seat to the floor below and curled into a fetal position. My arms and legs shivered uncontrollably and my vision swam with exploding stars. I lay like this for many long minutes, before sensation and agency returned to my body.
---
When I finally recovered and returned to the window, Mrs Johanson had left her garden. I felt a sudden pang of shame at my actions, but any sense of regret was quickly overwhelmed by the burning memory of how it had felt. The compelling attraction to this older woman, the power of the fantasy, the unrelenting force of the orgasm.
I sighed and returned to my life, shaken by experience and changed in some subtle way that I could not deny or ignore.
For a week, nothing really happened. I returned to my window seat daily, but saw no more of Mrs Johanson. Then on the Wednesday of the following week, I headed downstairs to fix myself a sandwich and noticed a piece of folded paper pushed under the screen door. I expected it to be junk mail and very nearly threw it in the garbage, but a strange compulsion caused me to open it up and read it.
Dear Neighbor,
The Johansons at number 238 would like to invite you to a b-b-q this Saturday at 3pm. We have plenty of food and drink, so just bring yourself and your family.
See you then,
Bill and Helen Johanson
Chapter 2
I spent the rest of the week in a daze, unable to concentrate on anything but the upcoming barbeque.
At first, my mom didn’t want to go. She said that the Johansons were just showing off, an attempt to establish themselves in the neighborhood pecking order by bribing us with food. My dad said she was being silly and not very Christian, and she eventually agreed to stop by for a hour or so. I rejoiced inwardly, the very idea of being able to spend time in the company of my new crush enflamed my mind and sent me giddy with possibility.
The remaining days and nights till the barbecue dragged interminably. My newfound desires burned within me, unchecked and unfulfilled. By night, I lay in my bed, the furnace heat of that endless summer prickling my young skin with beads of sweat. My mind drifted away, playing scenarios in my head as I explored these strange feelings. My imagination concocted convoluted circumstances in which I found myself alone with Mrs Johanson. All the while I explored my own body, hand straying between my legs as I pleasured myself in ways that I had previously not imagined possible, every tender touch framed by the statuesque vision of Helen Johanson.
---
Saturday rolled around and we made our way over to the Johansons. Despite the clear instructions on the invitation, my mom insisted on taking a homemade cheesecake with us. “I’ll not have those newcomers thinking that I don’t pay my own way!” she opined, though no-one was really listening.
I’d decided to make an effort for this outing, brushing my unruly honey blonde hair until it looked presentable, and lightly applying some subtle makeup to my face. I wore a tight white vest top and a flouncy green skirt that fell well above my knee, emphasising my legs in a way that I hoped Helen would find irresistible. I caught a glimpse of myself in the hall mirror as we were leaving the house and marvelled at how well I scrubbed up. Even my usually taciturn dad gave a jovial wolf whistle as I bounced down the stairs. My mom shot him a withering stare and he soon shut up.
The barbecue at the Johanson’s was already in full swing when we arrived, with several families from the street milling around the expansive rear garden, holding drinks and chatting politely. Bill Johanson greeted us as we entered through the side gate, shaking my dad’s hand warmly and introducing himself. Even my mom seemed to melt before this charming man, tittering coquettishly at his fawning comments about the cheesecake that she clutched to her ample bosom.
I glanced around the garden, looking for Helen. She was standing by the picnic table on the other side of the lawn, chatting amiably with two of the neighborhood women. Her dark hair was pinned up, revealing her slender neck and shoulders. She wore a light floral dress and wedge sandals, a simple outfit that served to emphasise her delicate features and perfect figure. As I watched, she laughed at something one of the other ladies said, touching her hand lightly on the arm of the other. I stared at this, mesmerised by the simple interaction. What must it be like to have her touch on your skin?
A sudden noise dragged me back down to earth and I realised that my mother was coughing, an attempt to get my attention. I looked at her quizzically.
“Stephanie, whatever is the matter with you?” she asked, voice dripping with disapproval, “Mr Johanson - Bill - asked you a question!”
I turned to Mr Johanson, “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”
Bill Johanson smiled warmly, “That’s quite alright. I was just asking which college you’re going to.”
I smiled back, feeling at ease by this kindly man’s demeanour. “Not too far away actually - University of Oregon. I’m majoring in English Lit.”
Mr Johanson nodded approvingly, “Is that right? I’ll have to introduce you to my wife Helen. She majored in English Lit as well. I’m sure she’d love to give you some advice!”
I felt a warm blush creeping up my neck and burning my cheeks, “I-I’d like that,” I managed to stammer, then stumbled off after my mom as she sought a place to lay out her uninvited cheesecake.
---
The barbecue wore on, and I sank into a lawnchair in the shade of a cherry tree. Mrs Johanson was being the congenial hostess, moving from neighbor to neighbor and engaging them in friendly conversation. I found my mood darkening as I watched her flirt with the men, touching their arms or twirling a loose strand of hair as she listened intently to their boring boasts of fish they’d caught or little league tournaments they’d coached. Both Helen and Bill Johanson seemed to have a particular way people that caused those they encountered to warm to them. Despite her obvious flirty nature, none of the wives of the men she mesmerised seemed to care, each one seemingly lost in her own trance before this beguiling siren.
I realised that my obsession was coloring my mood, strong pangs of jealousy making me seethe inside as my crush socialized with the other guests. I scolded myself for being so unreasonable and tried to calm myself down. But all I could see was Helen, her magnificent body pressed against the elbow of some gloating fool.
I stood and headed over to the house, intending to use the bathroom and then leave. It was a big mistake coming here and I longed for the solitude of my room.
The Johanson’s house was cool, a welcome change from the blistering heat in the garden. I wandered through the kitchen, impeccably neat and clinical, barely a single pot or pan out of place. Heading through the hallway, I peered into each room, eager to learn more about Helen and her life. The house was sparsely decorated, and everywhere was impossibly tidy. The walls held pictures of the couple - a picture from their wedding, a picture from a tropical beach holiday. I studied each one, drinking in every view of this older woman.
I reached the stairs and paused, suddenly f
eeling as though I was intruding. A rush of adrenaline surged through me, a thrilling fear of being caught mixed with a curious urge to explore further. Despite my reservations, I surprised myself by climbing the stairs, sneakered feet padding lightly so as not to cause a floorboard to creak. As I reached the top, I looked around, suddenly sure of where I needed to go and suppressing the feeling of wrongness that pervaded my thoughts.
The master bedroom lay across the landing from where I stood. I inched towards it, careful not to make a single sound. My mind screamed at me to turn back, but something deeper within pushed me onwards. I needed something and wouldn’t rest until I had it.
I entered the bedroom. It was classically decorated, light and airy with an abundance of lace and frills covering every surface. I glanced at the large, four-poster bed that dominated the room. My mind racing with thoughts of her, sprawled out on the crisp cotton sheets. I made my way to the tall chest of drawers in the corner and glanced around to ensure that I was alone. Gingerly, I pulled open the top drawer and gasped as I realised that it contained what I was looking for.
Row upon row of neatly folded underwear. Panties and bras, stockings and pantyhose. I marvelled at the delicate fabric before me, mind burning with desire and fear. Was I really going to steal some of Helen’s lingerie? What on earth was I thinking? What would my mother say? What would Helen say?
The remaining elements of rationality in my mind pleaded with my baser instincts to get out of there, to run far away and never think of this sordid escapade ever again. Yet my baser instincts were in control now and they thrilled at this taboo trespass. I reached my hands into the silky material and pulled out a pair of panties. They were delicate and soft, perfectly dainty yet endlessly enticing.
Glancing around once again, I raised the panties to my nose and closed my eyes. I breathed in deeply, drawing the perfumed scent of her underwear into my nose and throat, filling my thoughts with that subtle lavender scent. I rubbed them against my face, relishing the slippery touch of the silk material on my soft skin. My heart raced, I felt a growing warmth between my legs, a slick wetness as my pussy responded to this forbidden thrill. With every breath, I fell further and further from the bedroom, further from the scene of my wrongdoing. I embraced the release, plunging my hands into the drawer once more and emerging with a pair of black pantyhose. I bunched up the sheer material and rubbed it on my cheek, never once taking the panties from my nose. I wanted to drown here, lose myself in this older woman’s dainty underwear.
A cough from behind me yanked me back to the room and I spun around, panties still held to my nose. I gasped as I realised that Helen was standing in the doorway, hands on her hips as she stared at me with a look that was partly rage, partly wry amusement.
“What on earth is happening here?” she demanded, peering at the open drawer.
“I-I…” was all I could manage. My face burned a brilliant crimson and my heart beat a pounding rhythm in my head. I considered running, but Helen blocked the door. I felt an overwhelming sense of shame as I stood before the older woman, clutching her delicates in my hands. I gazed at the floor, wishing I was anywhere else but here.
Helen nodded to herself, pursed her lips and stepped into the room. To my surprise, she pushed the door shut behind her and approached me, stopping to stand just feet away from me. She towered over me, her slender height enhanced by the tall wedged heels on her feet.
Without hesitation, she gripped me beneath my chin and lifted my head up so that I was facing her.
“Stephanie, isn’t it?” she purred.
“Y-yes ma’am,” I replied meekly.
“And what did you think you were doing? Coming into my bedroom? Going through my things?” She gazed at me sternly, her lips pushed together to a thin line, her eyes narrow as she inspected the pathetic girl before her.
“I-I… was… I just wanted… You won’t tell my mom will you?” I felt warm tears well up in my eyes and roll down my cheeks. I hated myself for what I’d done and wanted nothing more than to forget this whole thing.
Helen’s face softened and she smiled warmly, her fingers left my chin and she lightly stroked my burning cheek. “Oh Stephanie, sweet Stephanie. You don’t need to explain. Even I was young once, I remember what it was like. Strange feelings, urges, desires that you cannot control. But I wish you’d just asked me instead of sneaking around up here.”
“A-asked you?” I stuttered, relishing the warm touch of her fingertips, soft against my skin.
“Why yes my dear. If you’d just asked me, I would have shown you my underwear myself.” She paused, studying my face for signs of a reaction. Her mouth curled upwards in a wicked smirk, “Why, I might have even… modelled it for you.”
I gasped as she spoke, mere inches from my face. My mind was racing, held in thrall by this temptress I could do nothing but stare at her as she caressed my cheek. Her eyes flicked to my mouth and she smiled, then leaned forwards and brushed her lips against mine. I felt a sensation of electricity, a spark of energy that danced between us as our mouths touched. I longed for more, but wished to savor this perfect moment for all eternity.
Her hand cupped my face now, holding me in place as she studied me. She raised a slender finger and touched my lips, “Ssssh, let this be our secret,” then she leaned in again and kissed me harder this time. Her tongue darted out and flicked at my lips, forcing my mouth open and probing inside. I felt her warm breath on me, the sticky taste of her lipstick and the powerful aroma of her perfume. My own tongue moved to meet hers, dancing together inside my mouth. I craved the taste of her, the wetness of her in me.
She pulled back, still holding my cheek in her hand. Her expression suddenly turned to one of demure innocence, a butter-wouldn’t-melt look of total purity. “Have you ever been with a girl, Stephanie?” she purred.
I shook my head mutely, not entirely convinced I wasn’t dreaming this whole encounter.
Mrs Johanson raised her fingertip to her own lips and playfully nibbled at the nail. She looked at me speculatively, a wicked look spreading across her face. “Would you… like to?”
From outside my body, I observed myself nodding, unable to take my eyes from the woman before me. I felt dizzy, a rabbit caught in the headlights and unable to flee. Yet fleeing was the furthest thing from my mind. All I wanted right now was her. I wanted her naked body against mine, I wanted her mouth on me, her tongue in me. I wanted to taste her, to experience every part of her that could be experienced. And suddenly, with dawning realization, I knew that I could have her, that this was really happening.
As my desire raged within me, Helen took a step back and reached behind herself, delicately pulling at the strap that was knotted around her neck. It came undone and the loose floral summer dress slid down her body and gathered on the floor around her ankles. I gasped as her body was revealed to me. Her perfect tan contrasting with the crisp white of her bra and panties as she stood before me.
“Do you like?” she asked, her hands roaming across her taut midriff provocatively.
I nodded mutely, unable to speak and unable to take my eyes off her breasts, her legs, the subtle mound between her thighs. She turned gracefully, spinning on her wedged heel. Looking back over her shoulder, she caught my eyes and gestured down at her bra strap, “Would you?”
I stepped forwards until I was inches from her. My body felt as though it was on fire, burning with the heat of my passion. With glacial speed, I reached my hands up to her bra and undid the clasp, my heartbeat quickening as my fingers brushed against her soft skin. The bra fell forward over her slender arms and she allowed it to fall to the floor.
She spun around again, laying her arms on my shoulders and fixing me with an intoxicating stare. My heart was hammering now, fueled by her nakedness and the heat from her body. I stole a glance downwards, lingering on her full breasts which were inches away from my own. Her nipples were neat and pink, perfect nubs of rigid tissue that signalled her arousal. I longed to take them in m
y mouth.
I shook myself and looked up, meeting her gaze once again. She smiled and whispered breathlessly, “Now here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to lay back on the bed and I’m going to lick your pussy until you come. Is that clear?”
I exhaled, shocked by her candid words and thrilled by the prospect that she offered. I nodded hurriedly and she lightly pushed me backwards, causing me to fall back onto the bed.
In an instant she was on me, crawling over the bed on all fours, as graceful as a tiger stalking its prey. She eyed my body, lingering on my breasts and the long line of my toned legs. I raised my hands to my chest, kneading my tits as she prowled over me. She smiled approvingly and ran a warm hand up my thigh, pushing my thin skirt up to reveal my white cotton panties. I sighed at her caress, hot jolts of pleasure rippling up my body from my aching pussy.
Suddenly, she pushed my legs apart, shifting her body so she was positioned between my raised knees. She eyed me hungrily, her deep blue eyes scanning up and down my body with greedy intent. Her gaze fell on my panties and stayed there. She smirked wickedly and reached out to touch the damp cotton. I shuddered as she touched me, the brief brush of her fingers sending shivers through my entire body.
She touched me again, applying more pressure through the thin material onto my throbbing lips. I moaned and urged her onwards, pushing my hips upwards to meet her hand. She smiled and reached down with both hands, clutching my panties and pulling them down over my legs with one single movement. I gasped as I was suddenly exposed, my pussy presented to this older woman as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Yet I felt no urge to cover up, no sense of shame or embarrassment. I only knew that I wanted her to explore me, to taste me, to feel her fill my tight hole with her tongue.
She seemed to have the same idea and bent her body forwards. With one hand, she held her long dark hair back and with the other, she gripped my thigh and pulled me towards her. I capitulated, perfectly willing to surrender my body to her. I was hers to do with as she pleased, my submission to this older woman complete.
