It was just after she graduated high school. I had given her the present of a summer in France. Her father could ill afford such a thing, but my work had afforded me those luxuries to give to my only love’s daughter. Visiting her for a few days had resulted in an afternoon at the beach. It was all innocent, I thought.
When my mind drifted back to the dilemma at hand, I found myself in the company of a very attractive woman completely devoid of her black dress and under things. Her bronze torso stretched from her shapely legs to the chiseled nape of her neck. There was grace in her walk as she approached me. I couldn’t help but allow my eyes to follow the sexual swaying of her hips as she closed the gap between the two of us. Before I could stop her, Amy was leaning on the arms of the chair with her lips just a breath away, so close her tongue could touch my lips. I stopped breathing.
I tried to stop her hand from lifting mine to her breast, but my body refused. It felt so soft and tender in my hands. Her nipple was so chocolate in color that I thought I could taste her essence on my tongue, even a few inches away. Without any willpower left, I gingerly licked across her nipple and around the edges of her darkest parts.
Subtle impulses rifled through my brain, telling me to take her right there. Other, more logical, thoughts tried to dissuade me from my actions. In the midst of the turmoil erupting in my head, I discovered my other hand was now fingering this lovely woman. She neither objected nor tried to stop the actions, and instead encouraged me on. Wet and gyrating with each motion, this lovely child I once cared for as my own was now using me for her own pleasures.
She leaned in and kissed my lips with the taste of wine still hanging on her breath. The proximity of her body to my hand made all my previous efforts impossible. All I could do was pull her tight to my chest and revel in her being so close after all those years.
She hung on my neck, tongue swishing back and forth in my mouth so much that I lost track of it. My scalp, sensitive to most touches, burned as she twisted her fingers through my curly locks. All down my spine, I felt the electric pulses of my brain alerting my body to this wonderfully exotic attack.
Amy shoved my hand to her firm buttocks and lifted her breasts to my lips. Finally, I could taste the salty flavor and experience the texture of her hardened nipples.
“Oh, yes, John.” There was a familiar ring in her voice, one that echoed from many years ago.
I had just enough room to slide my hands to my lap and undo my trousers. She allowed me more room to slip them to the floor, exposing my dick to the cool air of the parlor. The touch of her hand on my turgid member as she guided it into her awaiting pussy made my heart pause in honor of this moment. I felt cold but excited as I felt every inch of her descent onto my dick. When her ass bottomed out on my legs, she stared at me with her devilishly blue eyes, begging me for the pleasure she needed.
Still connected to me with her eyes, she slowly rose up my cock only to slide down again. Then again, each time a little faster. I finally pulled her close against me, pressing her chest to mine and bucking in rhythm with her motions.
She whispered fuck me in my ear as she hastened the pace. I had to hold her tight to keep from losing her. The pummeling and grinding continued for some time. I was amazed at just how long I had lasted.
The first hint of orgasm came from her. A muttering followed several deep breaths. The quickened pace followed her hand squeezing her nipple. I gritted my teeth as my own orgasm was trying to break the dam and flood my body before she could make it.
Then, in one epic flash, our bodies melted together for several undulations and massive spirals of grunts, screams, and profanity before the two of us collapsed from exhaustion. Leaning back in the chair, collapsed upon each other, the two of us dozed for a few minutes before either of us could move or talk.
I bought her father’s house with all the furniture. Many of my friends thought this foolish of me, only staying at the house for one night a year, but a man of my age and means, there was no better investment than this. As Amy would inherit all that I owned, I couldn’t think of a better person to end up with the house than her.
Each year since the funeral, I have spent that night in the comfort of his house, contemplating the years he and I shared a wife, he more physically, and me more in my heart. When the dark shadows filled the rooms, Amy would come, dressed in the same outfit she wore at her father’s funeral. Here, again, we shared a woman, he more emotionally and me physically. Her forward manners consumed me each year with a love and desire I felt for only one other. It was worth every penny I spent on that house.
I often feared she wouldn’t come, especially the year she married. Only a few months before, she had pledged to forsake all others and hold fast to him alone. She never failed me. Even in her honeymoon year, while sitting in that special chair, she came to me, draped in the black dress as always. The moments were magic. The time, divine.
It might be sin to carry on so, but it was Amy’s sin. For being with a woman like her could not be wrong, and I cherished the days, even if it was only one day a year.
Even with our days together, Amy found love and trust in her husband. Soon, like most couples, they found themselves blessed with another life to care for. On the hill, I often watched as her little girl, Lena played in the grass, running and giggling along the same path as her mother. In a few years, I found the money to send Lena to Paris for her graduation summer, for as her godfather, it is my duty to bless her with the things her parents can’t.
She looked like her mother, tall darkened skin and beautiful romping on the beach, naked to the world. Her bronze skin glistened in the sunlight.
Better men than I would have placed designs on her for more corrupt dalliances, but all I could think about was her mother at home and how long it would be until we met again in the parlor. As for Lena, her father suspects, but only because of Lena’s dark eyes in a sea of blue-eyed parents.
Author’s Note
If you like these stories, try one of my previous offerings, The Preacher’s Wife, a story about a woman’s her struggle to save her marriage and rid her family of a most evil demon, all with the help of a kindly fallen angel. Or perhaps a book filled with stories about regular-sized women in Hot Comfortable Women. If you need a moment of two of diversion, The Bridge might strike your fancy, and it is free.
About the Author
Allistar was born on a sultry night in New Orleans. Moving to a small southern town on his 4 month’s birthday gave him some relief from the heat, but kept that sultry feeling seething in his soul. These tendencies are reflected in his books. Allistar draws upon his southern heritage to craft many delightful stories, most with an edgy side, much like the small town worlds of the south.
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