Egham Singles Night

I guess those readers who don't remember life before the internet have probably never heard of a 'Singles Night'? Nightclubs and Hotels regularly ran events aimed at thirty-plus singles in search of a new life partner; it was the place to go for the widows/widowers and divorcees who felt they were a little too old for hitting the pubs and clubs on a Friday night. A sort of real world dating site.

That minimum age requirement tended to be flexible, as indeed was the aim of finding a long-term partner and that's where I and others like me came into the equation; though at twenty-one I was among the youngest, An older workmate had enlightened me as to what a rich hunting ground such events could be; amid those single ladies looking for love were more than a few in search of more ignoble and short-term hook-ups.

Most often these were 'happily married', but to older, impotent or simply too often absent husbands. It was those women that I saw as my prey and in hindsight, they perhaps saw such as me in a similar light; if you wanted to fool around, then who better to choose than a fit, handsome and virile 'younger man' to provide what you weren't getting at home?

I had a box van for my building and garden maintenance business and having discovered 'singles-nights' I learnt to keep it spotlessly clean and comfortably appointed in the rear; I even kept a mattress in my lock-up to slide in whenever the need arose. I had occasionally been invited to a hotel room and once even to the lady's family home -- too risky! - but it was most often in the back of my trusty van.

That van could at least be considered a step up from a car's rear seat, though it never failed to surprise me how eager those seemingly prosperous, middle-class and conservative ladies were to get laid in the back seat of a discretely parked car or van. Did the sordid venue add a certain sleazy frisson to their experience?

That evening saw me parking in the furthest corner of a hotel car park near Egham, a good thirty miles around the M25 motorway from where i lived; I was optimistic, the Singles-Night here had proved fruitful in the past. It wasn't long after seven in the evening, but that was something else that I'd learned: Get in there early!

While those seriously searching for a partner began to arrive at around eight-thirty, those looking for an illicit fuck were usually earlier. The excuse/alibi of 'visiting a friend' or 'attending a night-class' -- a favourite of the regular vamps -- worked best if the wives got themselves home before ten and that included their return journey; nobody chose a local Singles-Night when looking for an adulterous fling.

When I walked into the room there was a woman at the bar getting herself a drink; a tall, slim brunette, with a gorgeous pair of legs and a trim bum, wearing high heels and a silky, knee-length, sheath dress. I'd normally have waited until she'd turned around, so I could gauge her age and looks, but seeing a couple of other guys already checking her out, I guessed that she wouldn't be too disagreeable.

Those legs swung it; I kept on walking and on reaching her, I slipped an arm presumptuously around her waist and enquired if I might be permitted to buy the drink for her? The waist was slim, my hand sat comfortably on her hip and the glare of the guy whom I'd just beaten to the punch all suggested that I'd picked a winner.

The woman turned toward me, our eyes met and my stomach plummeted; oh shit!

I was dumbstruck, though the lady retained a little more savoir faire: "Well Robbie, this is rather embarrassing; I suspect for the both of us..." Turning to the still loitering barman, Mrs Turner added: "I'd perhaps best get these; he'll no doubt want a pint of lager." I still hadn't moved or made a sound by the time the now grinning barman reappeared with my drink.

While the barman couldn't know what the problem was, it was no doubt pretty obvious that there was one. Mrs T passed me the drink, gestured toward an isolated table in the corner of the room and proposed: "Let's sit over there shall we Rob?" I gave a feeble minded nod of agreement as she guided me on tottering legs to the chair.

In today's parlance, Helen Turner is a triple-A MILF and had we had the term back then, she would've been dubbed a 'Trophy Wife'; Helen was then forty-one and fitted the profile that I noted earlier almost exactly: Her husband George was well past fifty, away on business two or three nights each week and for all I knew he might possibly have been impotent too.

On top of those however, Mrs T was also my girlfriend's mother! Whenever I'd met Helen previously she'd been dressed in slacks or jeans with a loose fitting sweater; she was obviously a looker, but I can't say that I'd ever paid her much attention, she was just 'Jen's Mum'. I'd certainly never seen Mrs T's legs before, I would definitely have remembered those!

I felt a little better once seated, but coherent speech remained beyond me and Helen continued to lead our conversation, while I replied with inarticulate grunts and gestures; I'm glad that nobody was there recording our exchange:

"I'm guessing you're here in that van... Your 'Passion-Wagon' as Jenny Calls it." - I nodded.

"Your prowling around this place suggests that Jennifer was telling me the truth when she promised me that she doesn't allow you to get her into the back of it?" - another nod along with an affirmative grunt.

"Good, she's almost four years younger than you; still far too young for that sort of thing." - A non-committal grunt.

"Do you often attend these... functions; not just here, but anywhere?" - Hesitation, but a bit late for bullshit now, so I gave another, albeit reluctant, affirmation.

"Are you particularly attracted to older women, or is it just that the middle-aged tarts who frequent these Singles-Nights are an easy lay?" - Nothing beyond an open-mouthed stare and a wave of the hands.

A stern look from Helen accompanied: "I'm guessing the latter?" - An abashed nod and a grunt.

Helen released an exasperated sigh and enquired: "Dear God! Can you speak your name at least?" - Much to Mrs T's amusement, I even stuttered over that, but I got it out eventually.

"Good. So you haven't entirely lost the power of speech" - Silence again, but in response to the grin now spreading across Helen's face, I managed a weak smile of my own.

"Pull yourself together Rob; if we're to resolve this mess it'll need some clear thinking. Granted we're in an awkward situation, but it's far from irredeemable."

That caught my attention, or at least got me beyond repeatedly thinking 'oh shit!': "OK Mrs T... I'm listening; what do you suggest?"

"Well, it's embarrassing but there's no point in either of us denying what we're here for... and at the same time there's no point in our saying that we'll just forget it ever happened; we both know that we can't and won't. I also know that neither of us can ever breathe a word about it, to George, Jennifer or indeed anyone else... that would make things far worse."

"So, we both promise that it'll never happen again, walk out and keep our secret unto the grave?"

"That's the most sensible answer, but of course there will always be the issue of trust; can we ever be sure that the other one keeps to their promise and more importantly, maintains their silence?"

"OK, so do you have an alternative suggestion? If so, I'd love to hear it."

"Actually I do and it's quite obvious really, though admittedly somewhat... off the wall and perhaps a little ticklish too; so do please hear me out before interrupting." - I went back to the silent nods for that one, while Helen took a deep breath and then continued:

"We both came here looking for the same thing and after one look at me you seemed happy enough with what you saw. And since you're... not too shabby yourself, why don't we take the 'better to be hung for a sheep than a lamb' approach? We can be damned sure that neither of us is going to blab about that."

Helen's proposal left me wide-eyed and mouth agape once again, but after a stuttering start I managed to reply: "You... you're say... saying that we should... should make love?"

"God No. That's something I still occasionally manage with George and in the fullness of time, something you might enjoy with Jennifer. No... What I'm suggesting is that we head out to that passion wagon of yours and you shag me silly... Fuck the arse off me in the way that we adulterous sluts who come to places like this deserve... and of course, want."

I was totally gobsmacked! I liked to think that I was Jack-the-Lad (don't we all at that age?) but Helen's verve and self-possession were way beyond anything I'd ever encountered. I've no idea how long it was before I managed my next coherent thought, but when it arrived it was a doozy: 'Mrs T has just put her hand on my cock!'

For several seconds I just stared at Helen's hand; hidden in the shadow of the table as it slid back and forth along my thigh, her fingers wrapped around my denim-clad cock. Finally looking up, our eyes met, though speech remained beyond me; that hardly mattered, Mrs T answered for herself: "Well that seems to be saying 'yes' and I've yet to meet a man who didn't listen first and foremost to his prick."

Mrs T, continued to stroke my shaft as she drained her glass, only releasing it as she stood upright, held out a hand toward me and crooned: "Come on then, I'm feeling like a bitch in heat, so it's high time that someone fucked me like one."

My mind still whirled as I followed Helen out of the door -- I'd been inside for barely ten minutes! - but the barman's grin and the look of chagrin on the face of the guy whom I'd cut ahead of to proposition Helen confirmed that I wasn't dreaming. Once outside Mrs T looked around and then back toward me a perplexed expression on her face: "Where's your van?"

I led the way around the side of the hotel and pointed towards a spot shadowed by trees: "Over there Mrs. T; in that far corner."

"Ooh, excellent choice, Rob, we can fuck me like rabbits and nobody will hear us; but do please drop the Mrs T and call me Helen. Or... you could perhaps call me Mum... Who knows, you might well become my Son-in-Law one of these days?"

That got me smiling: A number of the ladies I'd met at these events seemed to relish my being 'no older than my own son' and a few had suggested that I might refer to them as either Auntie or Mother. Helen doing similar helped me to get my head back into gear and from the gleam in her eyes it was obvious that my doing so would prove a major turn-on for her too.

I got with the programme, squeezed Helen's bum and pushed her toward my van snarling: "Then get yourself over there you horny bitch, I'm in a hurry for a piece of Mummy's cunt; I can smell it dripping from here." Helen's response resembled a feline purr rather than a canine growl, but the speed with which she complied, confirmed that I'd pitched things about right.

Though Helen did hesitate for a moment, when I opened the van's rear door; she flicked at the body of her dress and asked: "Could I have two minutes? It'll make things easier when I get home, if this isn't crumpled... or stained."

I nodded curtly and growled: "As long as it's no more; my balls are bursting."

Helen seemed just as eager and perhaps wasn't even playing a part; she was inside for barely sixty seconds, before I heard: "Ready; come in and see what Mummy's got for you... anything you want, however you want it."

I didn't need a second invitation and was inside pulling off my clothes within seconds; locking the door and turning on the light I saw Helen reclined on the mattress and I damned near came on the spot: Skimpy, black lace underwear, stockings and still wearing those spike-heels; Helen's legs were provocatively splayed and really did seem to go on forever.

Helen was the hottest thing that I'd ever clapped eyes on and my quip about having 'bursting balls' wasn't far off the mark. In line with another piece of advice I'd got from my workmate Terry -- 'Do not blow your load in two minutes, these ladies want you to last' - I had, as always, whacked-off while getting ready for my evening out. Perhaps because of who as much as what Helen was, that didn't seem to be working for me tonight.

I'm guessing Helen sensed that too; as I manoeuvred onto the mattress Mrs T sat upright, wrapped a hand around my cock and felt it pulse as she stroked along the length. Our eyes locked as Helen whispered: "You aren't going to last long are you Rob; should Mummy empty it? I'm betting that there are plenty more inside you." I was back to the mindless nodding as Helen leant forward to engulf my erection in her mouth.

I didn't last beyond thirty seconds! Hell, Helen was hot in anybody's book, but she was also my girlfriend's mother for Christ's sake! I grabbed Mrs T by her hair and roared as I began shooting cum into her mouth; the restraint was unnecessary, Helen had grabbed my buttocks with equal fervour, she certainly wasn't trying to escape and that roar faded to a whimper as she sucked me dry.

As my climax ebbed I remembered the role that I was supposed to be playing in this drama; wrenching Helen's face away from my softening cock and upward toward my own I snarled: Well, I always knew you were a Yummy-Mummy, but it seems that you're a Cummy-Mummy too..."

Releasing Helen's hair I nodded toward my cock as I added "Now get yourself back down there slut and suck it up hard again!" The spark I saw in Helen's eyes in the instant before she complied confirmed that she was enjoying this just as much as I was. Did Helen always like to play the submissive mummy-slut, or was that just with her daughter's boyfriend?

Helen had been right about my capacity for recuperation, especially so with her skilled mouth and fingers to re-arouse me; were we still playing a game? Mrs T really was an eager little slut and sucked my cock like a whore. I was soon restored and pushed her back onto the mattress, dropping between her open legs as I snarled "Enough, I want a taste of that pussy! Why didn't you take your panties off along with the dress?"

Helen's tone had returned to that feline purr: "I thought you' might prefer me like this; besides, nobody will see how badly those are torn or stained when I go home... or if they're even there at all."

Helen's provocative smile confirmed her meaning; grabbing at the gusset of her panties I snatched at them hard. Helen's hips rose clear of the mattress for a moment before the delicate fabric succumbed and she dropped back with with a sexy yelp, her panties now a torn rag and her snatch on full display.

Helen's bush was trimmed around her vulva, but it still grew thick and lush across her pubic mound; convenient for wiping my palm, Helen's panties had been dish-cloth wet leaving my hand dripping with her juices. Those wet fingers didn't matter, as a moment later the central two were buried deep inside Helen's cleft, while my thumb ground roughly against her clitoris.

I transferred my other hand to Helen's breasts, reaching into each cup of her skimpy bra in turn to dig out the delights within. Helen's breasts weren't especially large, though the nipples certainly were and both her breasts and nipples offered that heft and... resilience which I'd never found in a girl of my own age - including Helen's own daughter!

Pressing forward my mouth joined the fray, sharing with my left hand in the pleasures of Helen's pliant breasts and swollen nipples. Within seconds Helen responded, discharging a scream of release as she succumbed to a powerful and presumably much needed orgasm of her own; even as that climax tore through her my hands continued to ravage Helen's groin and breasts.

Only my lips had ceased in their assault, instead they delivered a tirade of foul-mouthed abuse; Helen certainly heard me branding her a dripping slut, an adulterous-whore and a filthy bitch. The spark in Helen's eyes became a flame, while Helen's pelvis pitched and bucked to meet my intruding fingers as she screamed 'Yes!' in response to every epithet that I threw at her.

Helen abruptly fell silent and still, save for an almost epileptic twitching; Helen's eyes were closed and the fluids simply poured out of her pussy, had she pissed herself? Perhaps more importantly, was Helen even still conscious? I'd never seen anything like it and became increasingly worried as to what was going on, during the long seconds I waited for Helen's eyes to flicker open once again.

When finally they did the fire was still apparent in Helen's eyes and any remaining concerns fled as a lewd smile spread across Helen's face a moment later. "That was just what Mummy needed; aren't you a clever boy..." Helen's hand then drifted between her own legs and teased at her labia, I couldn't stop my gaze following the languid movement.

I was still watching entranced when Helen continued "But you're a wicked boy too... you tell lies..." Those words dragged my attention away from Helen's probing fingers; the blazing eyes and lewd smile were still apparent and Helen's tongue was tracing around her parted lips: "You said that you wanted to taste my pussy... and you haven't done that... not yet."

It was my turn to project a wicked smile, I was no stranger to muff-diving and considered myself a master of the art. Yea ... I know, I know... But as I mentioned earlier, back then I was only twenty-one, God's-gift to women and convinced that I knew it all; fifteen minutes and three orgasms for Helen later, I certainly knew a hell of a lot more!

I've no idea whether Helen... directed all her lovers in that way or whether she saw me as a special case, but direct me Helen surely did. I was given a graphically detailed insight into the female anatomy and a blow by blow tutorial in how to arouse and excite her; before that night I'd never have even thought of using my teeth on a girl's pussy.

But those were certainly a favourite for Helen, whether nibbling at her labia or scraping delicately across her exposed clitoris. Tongue, lips and fingers came into play too, but teeth gently brushing her clit had Helen bucking and squealing with delight every time. That lady taught me things that night which many other women, not least her daughter, have subsequently enjoyed.

Distracting as Helen's lesson had been, it couldn't keep my attention away from my own pleasure forever, I crawled up between Helen's legs, pausing along the way for long enough to reacquaint myself with her breasts. Wow! They looked and more especially felt, even better than I'd remembered, perhaps the most gorgeous pair of tits I'd ever set eyes on... or in the flesh at least.

I wrapped my hand around the Helen's left breast and my mouth around her right nipple for confirmation of my assessment and wasn't I disappointed. Judging from the guttural moan which issued from Helen's mouth and her hand clasping into my hair to press my teeth even harder into her breast, it seemed that Helen too appreciated my interlude.

When Helen's grip eased, I switched my mouth's attention to her left nipple and Helen's moaned-response was equally forceful. I might've tarried there longer, but it was Helen who was now impatient: "Enough; go back to those later... Mummy can feel your cock pressing into her thigh, but where she really wants to feel it pressing, is into her aching pussy."

It would've been rude to refuse; I released my grip on Helen's boobs and scrambled the last few inches required to meet her request. Helen's hand had found and grasped my cock even before I got there, so with her guiding the way, my momentum never even slowed; my crown pressed through the yielding folds of Helen's vulva and a second later I was buried deep within her.

That thrust drew another guttural moan; one we both shared. Having wallowed in the pleasure of that first incursion, I began to fuck Helen; stroking slow, steady and very deep. I enjoyed three, perhaps four penetrations before Helen took command once more: "Remember what I told you Rob: Forget the love making, just shag the arse off me!"