A Skipper’s Mature Lust & Love

"Why don't you come by for an extra lesson every week? One on one? That will make you pick up the grace you lack much quicker. And you'll be much less inhibited with no-one else around!"

He stepped into Mrs. Connolly's yoga class for the second time, pushing off his shoes in the hallway, and walked into the yoga room. She was wearing tight yoga pants this time, with a strapless top. John liked the previous sweat shorts more than these body-hugging pants, as he could imagine his fingers running up along her legs into the soft shorts.

But he had to admit, these yoga pants showed off her perfect figure even better. Her thin figure stood perfectly straight, the pride in her body evident from the way she looked at him. The strapless top hugged her B cup breasts elegantly, but he felt his erection awakening for another reason: no yoga teacher would consider this a practical outfit.

As she took him through a few exercises, he felt the same mix of humiliation, horniness and excitement as before. But Mrs. Connolly, he suspected, went for the humiliation bit in particular. Bending him, commenting on his lack of grace, correcting him with her hands. And soon she cupped his dick again, lifting him into the correct Down Dog angle.

"You know," she said, "You know, you're really tense. I'd like to get your muscles loosened up. Your mind as well. I'm going to give you a massage if that is alright with you". Not really waiting for his answer but releasing his dick from her cupped hand, she turned away into a side room and gestured John to follow.

"Sorry, you get to undress for this," she said in a matter of fact tone, unrolling a large towel and pointing to the massage table in the middle of the room. John looked at her. A bit shyly, playing the role that she wanted him to play -- perhaps at 48, he was a bit too old for the schoolboy-teacher play, but he was still young in her eyes and this is how it would go.

As John took off his shirt, and then his trainer pants, he felt disappointed for not getting a compliment on his semi-erect dick. He knew, at a 7" girth, any woman would have at least a moment of pleasant surprise, but Mrs. Connolly did not even flinch. Laying himself on the table, he waited for the feeling of the towel on his butt but instead, the cool drip of the massage oil hit his back immediately. Mrs. Connolly had a firm grip and the massage did feel like he'd expect a sports massage to feel.

"Now up on your knees John." He complied, looking down to see his fully erect cock pointing down to earth as Mrs. Connolly walked to the bottom end of the table. Straight away, she gripped his dick, pulled it to the back of the table and started to milk him with both of her slender hands, like an animal.

Nothing was said, until he started to breathe heavily, feeling the release nearing. Her hands were firm, and she yanked his cock with long strokes, interspersed with rapid shorter pulls. Slowly he started to lose the fight for control over his body.

"You can come, John, it's fine. It will release you and make you much more Zen for the yoga exercises. Don't worry, it's OK. I like to see you come".

As she started to wank him off more rapidly, he felt the seed throbbing in his dick and he came with a loud yell. Groaning, he started to sink down on the table but Mrs. Connolly's hands held him up.

"Let me clean this up for you," she said, using the towel to wipe his cum off her hands and her strapless top before rubbing his still-erect dick.

"I think I'll be doing the exercises in the nude." She said it nonchalantly, whilst looking at her stained top. John got off the table and carefully, hesitantly even, extended his hands to help her pull off her top. Her tits were delicious. Small, classy, firm with surprisingly little sag - he'd have preferred more sag but the sight of them was quite something.

He sank on his knees, softly pulled her towards him and started to suck her nipples, only softly stroking her breasts. She looked down on him and smiled, running her fingers through his hair.

"I like that very much," was all she said as she messed up his hair.

Whilst sucking her breasts, and now taking the courage to lick all over them as well, John's hands found the hem of her yoga pants, slowly stripping them down to her ankles. As he cast a brief glance down, he noticed how incredibly well-formed her legs were, with very slender ankles and -- his favourite -- french manicured toe nails. How did he miss that hot detail so far?

She pulled him up from his knees and led him by the hand to the yoga room, where she laid three yoga mats on top of each other and simply said, "Now fuck me John, fuck me softly and passionately till I tell you to let go. Then, fuck the daylight out of me".

All John could remember afterwards was the gentleness of her hands running through his hair whilst he entered her, gently, a bit at a time as he wetted his dick with her fluids. Slow movements, ever deeper, whilst she looked into his eyes intently, making sweet, high-pitched moans with that velvety voice of hers.

Her hands started to run over his back as he adjusted his tempo to her movements; he pulled her head back and licked, sucked, her throat. That thin, elegant throat with the telltale signs of a 60 year old lady -- his tongue slid to her neck, whilst he inhaled the smell he could not even smell, but felt directly in his dick.

His tongue followed her collarbone to the tip of her shoulders, and as he continued his slow fucking motions, he noticed the thing that nearly pushed him over the edge: her eyes rolled away in delight, showing only white. She was feeling his fucking intensely. She wrapped her legs around him, opening herself up for deeper penetration. A deep "Eeeuhmmmm" accompanied her tensioning up around him. Abruptly, she pushed his shoulders away.

"Fuck me now, fuck me hard. Fuck me like an animal -- lose control and fill me with cum. Do it. Now. Hard. Fuck the life out of me."

John needed a second to change his mindset. He'd been enjoying the tenderness. It was a slightly cold, distant tenderness -- making love to his teacher, after all, not romantic. But that just added to the erotic tension. Now he needed to let go, rip into her, use her.

He pulled back his dick for a moment, resting it on the entrance of her pussy. As he felt her wet, warm skin only on the frenulum of his dick, his mind changed gears. His eyes locked into hers with the animalistic lust she had asked for and he rammed his cock as hard and deep in her pussy as she had wanted. She cried out, perhaps in pain, with her eyes widening in a mix of panic and passion.

"Fuck me! Fuck me!" she yelled, her fingernails digging into his back so deep he was sure he'd bleed from them.

He threw his head back and delivered the second blow. He had no recollection of what followed other than the perfect sensation in his dick, the white in her eyes, and at some point her screams, half in agony, half in lust, which he utterly ignored. She wriggled underneath him -- he pinned her down and pounded blow after blow. Followed at some point by the explosion of cum through his dick, into her pussy. He just fell flat on her, exhausted, sweating profusely.

Now he looked at her, underneath him, her face turned sideways, her hair a sweaty mess. Her eyes opened, damp with tears. She said nothing, as he licked her tits, stroked the side of her neck with his hands, kissing her tenderly. His cock was still inside of her, now softening. With a sigh, he pulled out and rolled off the yoga mat. She came back to her senses, out of the trance-like state she seemed to have been in.

"That was so good, John" -- her words recreating the distance, the coldness even, that matched their roleplay before. "You let go. Did you even notice when I came?"

John smiled. "It didn't matter to me, to be honest, I was not finished with you yet... Thank you -- this was just simply amazing."

With a supple movement, yoga teacher after all, she swung to her feet and looked down at John, who was still sitting cross-legged next to the yoga mat. Her slender fingers ran through his hair once more. It felt like a goodbye.

Eve walked over the jetty to his boat, with the light swing in her step that awoke his desire -- in fact, his love, for her.

"Hi John, I saw you fired up the barbecue already. Smells great!"

She waved a bottle of wine in her hand and climbed on board. Her cute feet wore nothing but flip flops, John noted, and she wore a little black dress that hugged her curves perfectly. He wondered what was underneath. Black laced panties? How would they hug that full pussy of hers, would the loose inner labia rub against the lace as she made the climb on board? Would she have enjoyed that feeling? It is amazing how many thoughts you can have in a flash, in the important moments of life.

Choosing to sit on one of the deck cushions, instead of the chair, her legs folded besides her, she looked up at him with a smile. He drank her green eyes, the sweetness in them, as he pulled up another cushion opposite from her and sat down cross-legged. His hand touched her knee as he bent over to her slightly. His words came out without thinking, genuine.

"Thank you for coming Eve. I'm happy you weren't angry or embarrassed for the invitation I blurted out." He laughed.

The evening sun still had warmth in it, and the deck was glowing off the warmth of the day. The sweet, fresh air mixed with whiffs of the barbecue coal fire. He wanted her more than anything he had ever wanted. Why? For a woman he had only talked with for a few minutes? Her dress came not nearly half-way through her knees, the way she was sitting, and showed off the inside of her full upper legs beautifully. Freckles, curves.

Her body shifted a bit as she replied, "It's nice to be here. You have a great view of the river. And I get to see my little cottage garden!"

The dress hugged her breasts, with the cleavage showing off the mature skin between them, lit up by a thin chain carrying a pearl at the lower end -- just a little lower than was perhaps proper. But exactly where John wanted his fingers to be at that moment. Or his tongue. The black straps of the dress only highlighted the shapeliness of her lovely shoulders, and he noticed the spaghetti bands of the shirt he first saw her in. So no bra, he thought, imagining those full breasts hugging the shirt underneath for support.

As the meat roasted on the barbecue, which was mounted outboard on his railing, they started to talk. His story, the sadness he felt of his divorce, her story, moving to the village long ago, raising her kids here with her husband -- and how he disappeared out of her life. One morning, he was walked out by three cops, for a crime she did not want to speak of, but which she never, ever, would have thought possible from him. The crater it left in her life, never filled but perhaps slowly healing. She'd preferred to be a widow, that was all she said. The kids left for university soon after; she had moved out into the cute, small cottage of a friend to wash away the now haunted memories in the family house.

She smiled. "I hope that's not too much for before we even eat!"

Her green eyes looked up into his, as he flipped the meat on the barbecue. There was sadness in there, humanity, warmth. There were no tears but her eyes were moist from sharing her tale. He realised that instead of simply fucking her right now, he'd rather hold her in his arms and kiss her. Although both urges were fighting for attention in his mind.

She shifted to sit cross-legged on her cushion, smiling awkwardly.

"Growing older, you swap naivety for experience," John replied, immediately regretting his stupid attempt at wisdom, "Not all experience is good but it shapes us, and sharing life stories makes people understand each other."

Really? That was what he could come up with? But he spoke the words without even thinking of them. He noted this was a pattern when he talked with Eve. Maybe it was OK. He looked at her arms, surprisingly slender for her curves. Her wrists were thin -- he could not help to think it -- thinner than his dick would be when he made love to her. Somehow, that was a thought that came into his mind often when checking out women, it was one of these stupid things that made a woman attractive to him.

They drank the wine Eve had brought with her, continued talking. In what he hoped would be an unnoticed moment, he pushed of his boat shoes. There would be no sex tonight, he felt, but he wanted to touch her, be physically close. As she burst out in laughter at some point, Eve leaned forward and put her hand on his foot, almost stroking it for a moment as her green eyes changed his lust into love again. She took off her flip flops, and moved her legs out of her cross-legged position so they stretched towards John.

His eyes were fixed on her feet for a moment, and without really thinking he reached out and cupped her feet in his hands, rubbing them as if they needed warmth in the spring evening. She looked up from his hands to his eyes again, and smiled. All John thought was, "Connection!" and he did not let his hands go.

His suspicion was right, though. After two bottles of wine and endless words, Eve left for the night. He walked her up to the gate of the marina, surprised that he did not even mind her leaving. Much as he craved for her body, he realised, he was actually after more than that. He'd enjoy the build up to having her in his bed.

Part 3

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John alternated between sexual frustration and enjoyment in his next contacts with Eve. They had gone to yoga class again, enjoyed a meal at the little restaurant, and tonight she'd come over for drinks after dinner with her visiting kids. He planned to move further with her tonight, and suspected she would think the same.

It was still early in the morning; he'd come out of bed in just his boxer shorts to smell the new day, as he liked to do when he had an energetic morning. The sun shone on his deck, he felt the rays on his chest and back, and felt badly in need of what he hoped would come tonight.

But there she was. Tiptoeing out of her house, wrapped in that white towel, carrying the cup of coffee in one hand. The unexpected sight of her sweet moves, carefully as she went barefoot, struck John hard. There was no plan, no thought -- he just found himself jumping off the boat, in the water, swimming. All he remembered was a glimpse of her when he raised his head out of the water briefly, Eve laughing, half-way down her garden.

He reached the wooden piling that separated her garden from the river and embarrassingly, discovered that hoisting himself onshore was not that simple. He clung on, not quite sure what to do next. Eve's laughter came near; her head peeped over the edge.

"Hello there! How is this going to work?"

"Have not worked that out yet -- sorry."

There was a bit of a silence where Eve simply giggled; he saw her naked shoulder come into view. She was letting him struggle for a bit.

"I'm sure you've had this situation before, men washing up against your garden. So what do you suggest usually in this situation?" he asked.

Eve's laughter was bright and now quite loud. She held her hand in front of her mouth and tried to stop laughing; unsuccessfully.

"You look a bit like a stranded whale clinging to that wood. Do you want me to try and get you out of your, ah, situation?" John's embarrassment was actually gone. He liked how his situation developed.

"Sure, can you lend me a hand? I think that is all I need. I do yoga, you see; quite flexible."

She kneeled down on the water's edge, and a hand appeared half-way down the wood piles. Grabbing it, he tried to swing his left leg high enough to reach the top. Failing the first two times brought back Eve's laughter. The third time he rolled next to her on the grass.

"Hello," John said, faking a mix of formality and pride. "I smelled coffee".

As his confidence grew and he became aware of the sight of her, his dick reacted. She was cute, sitting in the grass, her legs folded aside, the towel loosened a bit to reveal more of her breasts than she was aware of; the split in the towel showing her thighs and more. Her pubic mound was the most delicious thing he ever saw, or so he felt right now.

She sipped her coffee, looking over the cup straight into his eyes. God, he loved her face.

"Share my coffee to warm up a bit, John?" she said with a mix of sarcasm and, it felt like, real care for him.

Instead of taking the cup, he folded his hand around hers, still holding the cup. He brought the combination to his mouth, letting her bend towards him a bit, straining the towel wrapped around her breasts. He hoped it would come loose, but although the pressure of cleavage was beyond promising, of course it did not -- this being real life. Instead, he sipped the hot coffee, thinking of what to say to her, when she beat him to it.

"Come inside, get you cleaned up a bit. You look like something I fished out of the water."

Again, that sweet, light-voiced laughter of hers. Before he could react, she was up on her feet, pulled him up and still holding his hand, walked towards the cottage. He loved the feel of her hand -- it was small, soft and still somehow youthful as the hands of older women with fuller curves can be.

Following behind her, watching her full ass move the towel she was wrapped in, noticing the special rhythm in her tread again, he subtly pressed the hand holding his. She looked over her shoulder, a strand of her shoulder-length chestnut hair falling over her eye, smiling instead of laughing. John picked up courage on his way to the patio doors.

Inside, the cottage was tiny but cosy. Unmistakably, a women's living room, with the little decorations a man would never bother with. But most of all, comfortable. A large, soft sofa, chairs with cushions and some folded-up comfort blankets. Plants and flowers.

"I'll drop you in the shower right now," Eve said, still leading him on, holding his hand. The shower, decorated with shells and too many flasks and bottles, was right down the tiny hallway leading off the living room. "I'll leave you to it! Drop your boxer shorts on the floor here, you have not looked at them I suspect but I'll really need to throw it in the washing machine. You're kind of cute but yucky right now. Lather up John! I'll leave this towel for you," she said, patting a fluffy beige towel folded up in her hands.

He looked at himself in the mirror. Indeed, the struggle on to the shore had him covered all over in a greenish-brown smudge. The climb on to the shore had been messy.

The warm shower, coupled with the thought of being with Eve straight after, two bodies in nothing more than these towels, triggered a massive erection. His body was in full anticipation and he enjoyed the thought of where that erection might end up in soon. Finishing his shower, he reappeared in Eve's living room dressed as she had intended, still half-erect.

"Hi pretty skipper man," she giggled, patting the spot on the sofa next to her, her legs folded to the other side of her. One leg underneath him, the other on the floor, he took the place, turned towards her.

"I very much succeeded in making a dramatic appearance," he said, making a point of not hiding his satisfaction.

Eve handed him a glass of wine; he noticed hers was already half-empty. Looking into each other's eyes, they clinked their glasses and John felt the time was right to put his hand on her bare upper leg, just a bit too high up near her split towel. For a second he waited, looking at her, then he reached for her lips and made the kiss a full one.

Eve's body reacted with an immediacy he had not expected. As she uttered a sound between a moan and a sigh, she shifted so her hips touched him and turned her upper body to him. Grabbing his face with both hands after losing her glass of wine, she answered his kiss full and wet. Her breathing was heavy -- John was no longer in need of building up to his breakthrough. His hand slid under her towel, caressing the inner side of her leg, feeling the moist warmth between her legs, not quite avoiding the trimmed bit of pubic hair around her pussy.