tagMatureBurgundy Lips

Burgundy Lips

byqdata©

This story contains descriptions of an explicitly sexual nature. Any participants have at least achieved their 18th birthday and all sex described herein is with mutual consent.

It contains descriptions of hetero sex between a young man and two mature women.

If such material is illegal in your current location, please click away from this page without reading further.

If the nature of this story is offensive in any way to you, you may feel more comfortable with other stories available on this site.

OK, that's the warnings out of the way. The inspiration for this story came from an anonymous reader from Germany who gave me permission to turn his account into a story. I hope I haven't done too much violence to his original tale. [You know who you are, please get in touch with me again.]

I hope you enjoy reading this story as much I enjoyed the writing.


~oOo~

"Kurt." A vaguely familiar voice disturbed my reverie, "May I sit here? It's a bit crowded!"

I had been enjoying a leisurely coffee at the mall, watching the shoppers riding the elevators: harried young mothers manoeuvring baby buggies and shepherding straggling kids through the throng. Couples arm in arm, oblivious to the rest of the world hurrying by. Men striding purposefully in a beeline to their various destinations, casting impatient glances at the parents who failed to control their fractious broods. Older women, usually in pairs, festooned with bags emblazoned with the logos of the famous shops they had visited, animatedly discussing the goods displayed in the shop windows.

And girls! Oh those beautiful creatures in twos and threes everywhere, arms linked and giggling, strutted, paraded, undulated past my eyes. Skimpily, provocatively, dressed as the heat wave permitted; proud young breasts threatening to burst forth from scarcely adequate cover; smooth bare midriffs and bejewelled navels; short low-slung skirts revealing shapely thighs and a show of thong disappearing into that mystical valley; half-hidden tattoos peeping round the edges of clothing. A voyeur's paradise!

I looked up and recognised Fraulein Reimann, a spinster about my mother's age, who lived in the apartment on the next floor above home where I lived with my parents. Her hands were burdened with plastic carriers and she was precariously balancing a tray. I smiled a neutral welcome and indicated the vacant space opposite. She sighed with relief as she unburdened herself and sank her body onto the chair, organising her bags around her feet then turning her attention to the coffee and pastries on the tray.

I returned my gaze to the bustling throngs weaving in endlessly random patterns on the floor below, like so many ants scurrying about their various tasks until Fraulein Riemann's voice pulled my reluctant attention from the crowds and back to the table. She was asking the usual string of questions women of her age asked youths of my age: how were my parents? My brother, my sisters? How were my school results? What was I doing for the summer vacation? Did I have a current girlfriend?

With the intrusive persistence of the mature woman, Fraulein Reimann drew out of me that my parents were fine: they and my younger siblings had gone to Düsseldorf for two weeks, leaving me behind because I had a couple of employment interviews. My visit to the mall had been to buy some summer shorts, shirts and swimming gear for my own vacation three weeks hence and that I and my latest girlfriend had split a couple of weeks ago.

Her questions eventually dried up and she looked me over; an almost predatory glint in her eye. Her dark brown hair was pulled into a tight bun at the back of her head, a few errant wisps escaping about her ears. Piercing violet eyes looked out from a generously fleshed face; the fine dusky fuzz above her upper lip was highlighted by the froth from her coffee, absently licked away by a small pink tongue. She wore a light flowered cotton dress which was half a size too small, her ample bosom forcing gaps between the buttons to reveal glimpses of the bra beneath. Her arms were fleshily flabby as they emerged from the short, loose sleeves and her pudgy fingers toyed with her empty coffee cup.

I excused myself and stood up saying I was going to get another coffee. She stood and insisted she'd get it if I would keep my eyes on her bags. She wanted another cup herself anyway. I sat down and watched her as she made her way to the counter. The dress was stretched tightly over her shoulders and back, the outline of her deep bra clearly contoured on the thin material clinging with perspiration to her body. The vague pale shape of her briefs around the generous backside was visible as the glare of the window opposite made the material of her dress semi-transparent: her shadowy fleshy thighs descended to reveal surprisingly shapely calves.

As we drank our coffee she offered me a lift if I would help with her bags. I was grateful as I wasn't looking forward to the journey home, either walking the five kilometres in the unremitting sun or being stifled on a crowded airless bus. We finished our drinks in no particular hurry then made our way to the multi-storey car park. She carried a bag in each hand as I struggled with the rest. The light breeze wafting through the welcomingly cooler shades of the car park chilled the perspiration in my shirt and I gratefully dumped the bags into the boot of her car.

She made her way through the busy town centre and it wasn't too long before she pulled into her parking space behind the apartment block. I mentally cursed as I remembered that the elevator was 'temporarily' out of order for the third time that month and we were both breathing heavily after climbing the stairs to the fourth floor where she lived. She opened the door and preceded me into the apartment which was the mirror image of our own.

There was a strong smell of lavender pervading the neatly furnished rooms. Fraulein Reimann led me through to her bedroom and told me to dump her packages on the floor. I did so and gratefully stretched and flexed my aching shoulders and fingers. I asked to use her bathroom: she gave her consent and when I returned she was just putting the phone down.

She asked if I could fix a plug for her: her vacuum cleaner was out of action. She produced the new plug and I sat at the kitchen table doing the simple wiring. I accepted her offer of a cold drink and she placed a glass of chilled orange juice on the table then stood behind me with her hands on my shoulders, watching as I manipulated the wires and screws.

Her hands massaged into the muscles which were still a little sore from carrying all her bags. That felt welcome until her cool fingers slipped beneath the shirt and disconcertingly rubbed over my chest. Her large bosom was pressed into my back and shoulders as she bent down to smooth her fingers across my little nipples which, for some reason perked up. Despite myself, I was embarrassed to feel my penis starting to tent in my shorts as I finished my task and drank my fruit juice

I felt her warm breath, panting slightly, on my ear as she slowly opened the buttons on my shirt. She made me stand and pulled me into her bedroom as she removed my shirt then and made me lie on the bed. I watched avidly as she opened her dress to reveal a pair of soft mounds swelling over the top of her brassiere and lower down her tummy and hips bulged over her plain cotton briefs. Smiling, she unfastened her bra and the pale moons sagged a little after the restraining material had been removed.

She climbed onto the bed beside me. I was entranced by the huge pink nipples standing out from the darker discs surrounding them. She took my hands and placed them on her breasts, encouraging me to play with them for a couple of minutes before pulling my head to one engorged nipple which I hungrily sucked into my mouth.

After several minutes of this, with her murmuring her encouragement, she pushed me back a little and pulled her briefs down to reveal a bushy mound under the swell of her belly: a musky odour, not unpleasant, drifted into my nostrils. She bent to pull her briefs from her legs and feet.

She pulled me into a close embrace and massaged my hard tool, almost making me come as she gently squeezed my balls through my shorts. She insisted I call her Jutta which sounded, she said, much friendlier than Fraulein Reimann. For about half an hour she allowed me to play with her body: my hands explored her thoroughly as she in turn stroked me all over, wandering frequently to my groin. She teased me mercilessly and by some instinct knew just when I was about to boil over, at which point she would leave me alone for a couple of minutes as the urgency receded a little before she'd start again.

We were interrupted in our games by the door bell ringing. Jutta quickly pulled a towelling bath robe about her. There came a second ring and she called that she was coming. I hurriedly retrieved my shirt from the floor and buttoned it up as she walked slowly to the door, giving me time to get dressed and walk back to the living room.

She admitted another neighbour, Frau Schuster: an aging widow maybe 60 years old or more, as chubbily fleshed as Jutta but with an even bigger bosom. Her rather greying blonde hair was swept up and back and framed a pretty face and wide mouth. She was dressed in a fairly shapeless house robe, the belt at her waist accentuating the massive overhang of her breasts. What really stood out, somehow, was bright red of her long sharp fingernails. With quick glance round the room which took in my presence and my would-be lover's bath robe, an enigmatic smile came to her full lips.

"Elisabeth," my hostess welcomed her new guest with a hug, "come in and sit down."

"Thank you, Jutta." She returned the hug. Frau Schuster lounged comfortably on the couch and I was made to sit facing her on a wooden stool. "Good afternoon, Fraulein Schuster." I was a little nervous after having almost been caught out and felt the flush of embarrassment colour my face. The older lady smiled and said, "You're young Kurt Weber from downstairs aren't you?" As I confirmed my identity Jutta sat beside her friend and we chatted for a while – polite talk, swapping gossip about the occupants of the other apartments.

I reverted to saying 'Fraulein Reimann' but she very quickly set me straight. "We've agreed that I'm 'Jutta', Kurt. And you must call Frau Schuster 'Elisabeth'. We're all good friends together." Elisabeth confirmed this with a nod: a mischievous smile came across her face and remained there throughout the conversation.

After about ten minutes Jutta stood up and moved behind my chair. I was horrified as her hands once again crept under my shirt with the old woman watching through shining eyes. I tried to push Jutta's hands away, embarrassed by the whole scene. I didn't want this to happen in front of Elisabeth who just continued to smile. But Jutta persisted until I let her have her way. She played with my nipples again, whispering that Elisabeth was a widow who hadn't had a man for several years and was feeling HOT. She then slowly opened my shirt buttons before removing the garment.

Jutta came around the front and pulled off my shorts, briefs and sandals so I was sitting there naked before them, my prick now beginning to come to life again. Jutta opened her gown wide then knelt at my side and took hold of my tool. Elisabeth surprised me by standing up to cast off her own house coat revealing a massive cleavage upholstered and enhanced by a heavy lacy corselet. As she knelt in front of me, she pushed her E-sized breasts even further up: they looked like beautiful soft pillows. I felt my prick growing with every stroke of Jutta's hands as she pulled my foreskin back and forwards.

I don't think I'll ever forget what happened next. Elisabeth reached behind for her house coat and pulled a tube of lipstick from the pocket. Never taking her eyes from mine, she painted her lips a thick burgundy. Jutta was whispering terms of endearment and encouragement in my ears then she asked Elisabeth if she was hungry and wanted to taste a delicious young man.

Elisabeth licked those succulent lips and moved them near the head of my prick: I felt the warm breath from her open mouth caressing the moist head. I felt her nails start at my feet, moving slowly up my legs, scratching excitingly over my quivering thighs as they approached my groin. Jutta was constantly playing with my prick when suddenly Elisabeth's fingernails dug hard into my ball sac and I felt my pulsing ejaculate spurt into the waiting mouth. Those burgundy lips never touched me until after Jutta had finished milking me then Elisabeth's tongue snaked out and licked clean Jutta's hand and then my tool.

Jutta smiled in benediction and said to her friend, "Why don't you take young Kurt back to your bed and you two can have some fun."

Elisabeth and I smiled at each other and my eyes were drawn first to her painted mouth then down to that magnificent cleavage. I reached out, cupped her huge breasts in my hands and kissed the deep inviting valley. "I want to see these!" I squeezed them, relishing their softness.

She pulled her robe towards her and put it back on as Jutta handed me my clothes. I dressed and, as we were leaving, Jutta pulled me close and gave me a sexy kiss and whispered, "Go and enjoy yourself. But come back and see me soon, Kurt. I want some of this, too." She squeezed my prick. We left and crossed the passage to Elisabeth's apartment; she dragged me to her bedroom as soon as the door closed behind us.

~oOo~

I hope you've enjoyed this story. I love getting feedback and constructive criticism so please drop me a line or leave a comment.

We authors thrive on our readers' reactions but so many read the stories and so few vote. If I've titillated your imagination or added that spark of pleasure, please register your vote by clicking below.

Go on folks: gimme a high five!

Qdata.

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