Crossing the Line

Each time I saw her in this, I knew, without doubt, that she was braless, and each time I wanted to know if she was pantyless too. It seemed such an easy thing to check, after all, a mid-thigh-length robe and you follow too far back on the stairway, thus providing a peek, or get her to bend down to hold the light so I could see the meter numbers, when I'd really be checking out the parting robe. But no, I never truly found out.

When I considered how many times I faced that conundrum without resolving it, and how many of those had me within inches of those bare thighs; as close as perhaps six inches on occasions; I wanted to slap myself. 

There was a deep, inbred fear, or lack of confidence, within me, that ruled most of my life.

There was also the time I was detailing my car, and she came outside. It was one of those perfect days - sunny, and hot; her husband had gone to some ball game, leaving her all alone. She was in those heart-stopping, strappy stilettos she used for special occasions, and for the one and only time in my experience with her - a pair of skin-molded tights; before that was all the rage.

She had come out of the house and proceeded to walk over and every step was better than the last. I got to watch strong thigh muscles move, accentuated calves and the sway of her hips. I saw no sign of panty lines and couldn't even remember if I looked at her breasts or face, before she actually stood beside me.

She spoke to me and I responded, but so engrossed in the visual stimulation was I, that to this very day, I couldn't tell you what a single word was. I do, though, recall how she came within perhaps two feet and how I looked up into her pale-blue eyes and smiling lips. 

Something was said, and I watched as she raised her left leg to place it on the running board of the car, since I had the door open. I instantly wanted to take it in my hands and it only became worse when I looked down at those manicured nails. The delicate soft skin that was bound in her heels begged for attention, only to be overpowered when I slowly followed the lines up the swirling design of her tights to her waist. Even now, my mouth waters at the thought of it.

Her hands began smoothing some imaginary wrinkles; trust me they were imaginary; from calf, up her thigh and I think waist, but as my gaze followed and I got to within inches of her crotch, I panicked and forced myself to resume working. 

Even though I was once again facing forward, my peripheral vision continued to note the motions as I tried desperately to gaze lustfully at her body. I foolishly hoped she hadn't noticed my desire, for I knew if I had looked into the abyss, I would have grabbed and ravaged every inch of her. 

===== 

Never in all my years has a memory begged for a redo, except in this instance. The memory is so strong, so impactful, yet, what I did was so disappointing. I should have done more, looked more! I should have acted, reacted, pulled her onto my lap and taken her.

Perhaps tights are one of those triggers for me though, like married, risky, forbidden and stockings. I cannot explain it other than to say my mind goes numb and all I want is MORE. 

===== 

The next time tights played an important role, it was at a time in my life when I worked in a church as a custodian and groundskeeper. For me, this was a glorious job, as it was only busy on Sundays, so there were lots of quiet moments to reflect and putter. 

Our church also consisted of a large garden and twin koi ponds, but lucky for me we had a lady who loved that. She was something else, too - late thirties; long blonde hair; a trim, fit figure; a naturalist; Wiccan with unique ways of looking at things. It was often very enjoyable to talk with her, but more so just to watch. 

She was strong and could work for hours, smart, insightful and unique among all the people I had ever met, but her one true flaw, in my opinion, was that she never dressed like a woman. It was always tights, braless t-shirts and runners. 

Don't get me wrong, though; often, were the days I stared at her in those tights, wondering about the smoothness of them. There were no lines, no hints of underthings, signs of flaws, or imperfections; I would just watch her pert young breasts dance, as she worked. It was simply erotic.

She was a funny lady, who often talked about nature, animals and auras, but you never got the impression she partook of drugs or alcohol. It seemed her favourite anecdotes always revolved around her interests, with the sole exception of pastors. 

This was the one subject she seemed to have an odd fixation about, and I often wondered if she seduced each of them, as successors became her focus. It did not seem implausible; in fact, with her beliefs, one could almost understand her paganistic joy in corrupting the high seats of religion. Still, I personally fell back on having no proof, no crime, but it was curious.

This next part was due to an uncharacteristic comment I told her one day, while she was scurrying under the eaves to escape the rain. I had been watching her, for perhaps an hour, thinking about her lithe form and its sensuous ballet of work and motion - so, perhaps, my mind lost focus. In any event, as she raced for cover, I told her that it was too bad she had been so close to the building because she'd certainly look fabulous had she gotten wetter.

I could not tell if she accepted, understood, or even reflected on the playful statement, for we just carried on as though it was part of a normal conversation. We talked about this and that; though for the rest of the afternoon, and I never enjoyed playing hooky so much. 

One day, months after that event, when I arrived at work, I happened to notice she was not wearing her normal garb, but instead, a surfer-style onesie that zipped down the front. She explained to me that the reason for this was that she had to clean and redesign the koi ponds, so would be in the water most of the day. 

Seeing her and hearing this, made me think back to the rain comment and I was thrilled that she'd be all wet. I knew even though it wouldn't be like a wet, braless T-shirt or clinging tights, that just the idea of her wet, would be exciting. I also didn't comment on it because I was afraid I had gone too far before. 

Having learned of her plan, and seeing her attire, I knew for certain I wouldn't be doing much work. I just wanted to stay close and watch her move and sort of frolic in the water. But a little later in the morning, she saw me again and asked if I might be able to help her when she was done, to get the suit off, as her hands would be frozen. 

"Naturally!" came my immediate response with a smile, but it was silly, of course. It was a sunny day in the mid-eighties, the koi ponds were not overly deep or large, so the waters should be rather pleasant. How on earth could her hands be frozen? I tried to work out the joke behind it for the rest of the morning, but to my immense surprise, around two in the afternoon, she asked if then would be a good time.

"Good time?" I repeated, in a questioning tone.

"Yeah," she continued, "to help me out of this suit. I told you my hands would freeze, and I wouldn't be able to do it myself."

I think I was stunned, for all that came out was, "Oh, I'm... yeah, I guess."

I followed her inside and through the chapel to our small custodial room, where we had a single-stall shower. I listened along the way, as she explained that her hands were frozen, so I would have to do most of the work. I supposed it was at this point, that I realized she was serious, and I would have to get physically close, but then a moment later, she lowered the front zipper and my mind went numb.

Anyone who has ever witnessed the opening or closing of a very tight top on a woman by zipper, knows how things would either vanish or appear. The ever-widening gap between lapels became a classic softcore scene. Bare skin came into view, with the fullness of erotic imagery. Swells of breasts strained at the still-encapsulating material eager to escape, but showing nothing. My mind screamed - had she realized she was naked beneath? Oh my God! 

She turned her back and said, "Okay." Then, she took one of my hands and placed it on the lapel just above her right breast. "If you pull here and here," she said, indicating the opposite lapel, "I think I'll be able to squirm out.".  

My mind exploded - I was actually going to see her breasts! I revelled in my task, wanting it to go on forever, as I pulled one side, then the other, away from her shoulders. It played out in extreme slow motion, yet was all too fast, for suddenly, a breast squeezed free. 

I was, of course, watching as intently as I could, but when it appeared, I was in awe. It was perfect, really - perky, large, but not overly so; firm, with a resiliency of a teenage girl's; topped with a small areola and erect nipple. 

I must have stopped at that point, for I felt, more than saw, her struggle; shifting her shoulders left and right, until at last the second breast came free along with both arms. I just kept staring.

The moment the second breast came into full view, and the realization that my job was over; I let go of her suit. My mind was racing at the thought of just touching them, of pushing her against the wall so I might mold my body against hers, and feel the glory. It felt like minutes had passed, but even then, I was sure it was mere seconds, before her voice penetrated, "Hey, I still can't get the rest off, are you helping, or not?" 

I looked down. Bunched upon her hips was the suit, accented by bare back, womanly curves, and breasts to die for. You would have never realized, even with her tights and T-shirt attire, that she looked like this! 

The suit was like a neoprene glove, molded to her body with just enough loose material to realize that was the short sleeves and upper portion. It looked too small to squeeze into or out of, and then I realized, oh God, she couldn't be wearing anything underneath this!

My hands moved to the material, then shifted, so all but two fingers on each hand rested on her skin. If I was going to be instrumental in stripping this off, I wanted to feel her incredible body, and I did just that. 

Slowly, purposefully, I applied just enough pressure for it to move and I wriggled and caressed my way; shifting fingers forward and back, touching as much of her as I could. I relished every moment, as the garment succumbed; hips, and upper glutes appeared, as my eyes slowly closed and reopened, making sure this was no dream. 

Then it was her entire ass, and oh, what a sensation that was to caress. Finally, I was working around her thighs; outer, inner; smooth, warm, thrilling before the garment finally fell away.

It didn't register that my job was done, for my hands didn't let go; they just stopped moving somewhere around upper mid-thigh. I had closed my eyes again, but even in this state, I felt the glory as she started to turn. My mind focused; I hadn't let go of her, just the suit! 

My hands slid along bare flesh, as though on a track and my gaze traveled up. Every inch was a dream of unblemished beauty from baby-soft skin, past a soft, reddish splash of manicured womanhood, over tight abs and intricately balanced breasts. When I met her eyes, they seemed so far away, yet so focused on me, that I released her and stood. 

I didn't say anything, didn't do anything, just looked into her eyes and survived. I was not sure how I managed to breathe, much less move, but suddenly, I became aware I should leave. I didn't even take a single step though, when she suddenly grasped my cheeks and kissed me.

It was awkward, tense, unsettling and then explosively passionate. My hand rose, as did my excitement, and found one breast. The other circled around behind her, to engulf her ass and not allow escape. 

They seemed to belong there, one filled with the firm yet pliable flesh of her ass, while the other suffered and thrilled at the super-hard nipple scraping across my palm. A gasp rose from her hungry lips, or maybe mine, or maybe both. A sweet, agonizing sound, for in that moment, I began to think again. 

It was not right! She was married! This was a church! What did her breasts taste like? Could I make her moan and gasp and beg for more? What was I thinking? I could get caught or fired, I could ruin lives. Yet, even as I thought these thoughts, my body sank to my knees and kissed my way lower. 

Remember, if you will, my lesson that the heart, mind and body want what they want, and cannot be leashed. No argument or fear was going to stop this.

I vaguely saw her grasp the shower stall and towel rack for support. I heard the soft mewling sounds of passion escape her lips, and then I faltered again. Slowly, I rose back up, but as her breasts came into range, passion took hold.

I just couldn't let go. Everything was worth this moment. My job, my life, her marriage, prison. I started kissing, sucking, licking, squeezing, even softly blowing on the twin nodes of hyper-excitement. She shivered, her knees seemed to weaken, then she spasmed again and again. She was lightly panting when I returned to her lips for a final kiss, and I thanked her, before walking out the door. 

I know, I know, what! I am sorry but I can't answer it. I am not sure why, even though afterwards I thought about it a lot. I can't say what was in my head and whether reason, morals, fear or a weird sense of conquest anxiety took hold; whereby, I wanted the chase more than the goal. There is a thought though, that it had to do with anticipation and being in control.

You see, afterwards, I tried to work, but oh my God, all I could think of was her naked body and the sound of passion. Once again, my life filled with a genetic need that merely screamed MORE. 

I had made it down one level of the church, before desire found me slipping back into the custodial room. I could hear the shower and wondered what she thought of me. She let herself be mine and I walked away. 

There had obviously been an attraction and desire when I was there - mine and hers. In my mind, her senses screamed for attention and satisfaction, while I merely fanned the flames to watch the coals illuminate, then let them smoulder hanging onto the dream.

Then I was back though, and I peeked behind the plastic shower curtain. Her back was to me; soapy rivulets chased nerves off her shoulders, down her back, backside and thighs. 

I lost it!

Both my hands found comfort on her outer thighs, and without thought or care, my tongue darted between the cleft of her ass before she could acknowledge or react. She grabbed at the wall and screamed out; a sound so pure and filled with desire; then slowly bent forward while parting her legs. I never paused, for I was already too far gone. Nothing mattered, except her pleasure, for each scream, squirm and moan became mine.

Slowly, as my tongue danced deeper, her body began to spasm again, and this time, her knees didn't hold. She sank to the floor of the shower guided by my hands which equally caressed and supported her. 

Slippery, soapy, soft pleasure wound its way up her body and into mine, as my hands made her safe. When at last she sat upon the floor; shower still pouring down over us; I took her face in mine and kissed her with as much passion as my soul could muster.

She shifted facing me full on, and I felt her tugging at my clothes even as I went to work on her neck and shoulders. Kiss after kiss found its nerve, and I coaxed her to stand, as my shirt vanished, but then I was back between angelic thighs and she was moaning once more. This time, she held the shower stall and faucet, one leg draping over my shoulder and her body grinding at my invading tongue. 

Water cascaded off her chiselled features, pouring around my head and shoulders adding or trying to dissuade my desires. My hands explored her breasts, ribs, waist and ass; all gloriously slippery, wet and perfect. I felt her hands entwine in my hair, squeezing, holding me there, as though she could not survive without it, until a tiny scream was cut short and her breathing seemed to stop. 

Then her hands gripped even tighter, painfully so; insuring I could not move as strangled off sounds flooded from her lips. Completely unintelligible, yet those superbly pure sounds of passion easily became my reward.

There were many other examples of passion we shared at church. Like times we almost got caught, and of amazing moments explored for long hours, but this is not the place for those. 

For three incredible months, we had our affair, and thinking back, we had just one conversation from that first moment. She had thanked me for the experience and encounter, but asked me why I hadn't made the first move once she was naked.

I recall not even taking a moment to consider saying, "Just because you were naked, didn't mean you were willing or receptive."

She laughed at me, and said, "You know, you're actually right, but a redhead might not have thought of this."

I wonder if my brow furrowed as it processed this, and then lightened again when the realization came. Blonde hair on top, but a reddish splash of womanhood below. We had been together perhaps a dozen times at this point, and it never registered until that comment. It also left me wondering about something I once read; redheads; that is naturally occurring redheads, have a higher incidence of cheating on their spouses. Curious.

=====

Once again, I circle back to my MILF CFO and the further insights I learned about her.

One night, perhaps around ten I heard noise in the yard below my window. When I looked out, I happened to see her tending the barbecue in a long, black, see-through negligee. The light wasn't great, but I knew she was naked beneath it. All in all, it lasted about a minute, before she was gone again.

This didn't happen often, maybe six or so times, but on the last one, I decided I had to tell her how awesome she looked. I kept putting it off until my next meter-checking expedition, and then as casually as I could muster, I said, "By the way, I saw you the other night in that black negligee, you looked fantastic."

There was just the tiniest pause, as I supposed she processed the comment and then she said, "You saw that?"

I smiled, as I looked at her and repeated, "Yes, you looked fantastic." The conversation all but ended, with her saying thank you, but I couldn't help but observe how her nipples suddenly became hard, and poked invitingly through that short robe. 

I didn't know why I didn't press things from that point, except to say I was feeling very shy and introverted. It had taken a lot for me to so boldly make that comment, and I didn't want to ruin it. I fantasized often after that to both those visions - of her nipples suddenly growing hard before my eyes, and of a long, black, see-through negligee with her naked silhouette teasing me. 

I vowed the next time, I would push a little more. It took, perhaps, three months before circumstances and drive combined, to allow it. I was headed out on holiday and stopped by to ask if they would take care of my place while I was gone.

It turned out that when I rang the doorbell, she answered, once again, in her short robe, but I heard her husband in the kitchen and I called it off. I went through, though, with telling her I was leaving for holidays and asked if they could take care of my space, and when we were done, she hugged me and wished me a good time. 

I found myself pressed up against her, feeling the warmth of her body and the sweet sensation of her breasts, as they pressed into my chest. I was fully aware of her warm, bare thighs lightly brushing against my leg, and how hot and desirable she was. I could even claim ignorance, as I held her close for longer than the hug should have lasted, or for caressing the unrestricted expanse of her back through the robe.