Jayne's World Pt. 06

So, the conundrum of the age difference between a mature man and a young woman continues. The 'should they, shouldn't they?' question hangs over them and they find the answer.

It's probably better if you read the previous parts although that's not essential as hopefully this works as a self-contained story. And, by the way there are more parts to follow

Him.

Bit ironic, don't you think?" I asked, unbuttoning the top button of your denim waistcoat.

Your blue eyes narrowed in puzzlement. "What is?"

"You calling me gramps, and yet you live in a granny flat," I laughed, flicking open a second button.

Your eyes followed my fingers for a moment, before returning to meet mine. "Well, you should feel at home here, then, shouldn't you?"

"At home here?" I asked quizzically, opening the third of the five buttons on the waistcoat you were wearing over the long-sleeved blue and white tee shirt.

You nodded. "Yeah... keep up. A grandad in a granny flat."

"I understood," I explained, flicking open the fourth button. "It was the assumption that I was going to be staying here. Thought you said it depended on how I behaved?"

"It does," you grinned, glancing down at my hands. "What are you doing?"

"What you told me to do," I answered, opening the final button and pulling the waistcoat open.

"Which is?" you asked, as I ran my fingers across your stomach, gently edging up the short, tee shirt.

"Using my instincts," I told you, my voice not much more than a whisper as I eased the waistcoat off your arms and let it drop to the floor..

You leant in and kissed me as you felt my hands under your tee shirt, my fingers tracing a light pattern across your bare tummy. When we had kissed previously, I had the impression you were unsure whether you were ready to go further. This time, the soft, entwined lips the duelling and the unhurried kiss suggested you were, but I couldn't be sure.

"That's good," you murmured into my mouth, your body trembling slightly as my fingers edged upwards across your naked skin. "I like it when you use your instincts."

"Mmmm, me too," I agreed, running my fingertips around the deliciously round undersides of your tits. "So, there I was, wondering whether you were a pricktease?"

"And now?" you interrupted, gasping as I cupped your naked boobs, palms gently kneading the flesh, thumbs flicking your hard nipples.

"And now," I said, leaning in and running my tongue along one side of your neck, "I think your nipples feel wonderful."

"Mmmm, your hands feel pretty good too," your strained, presumably aroused voice told me in your typically understated style, as your hands went to the back of my head and stroked my hair.

"Good," I murmured, trailing little kisses down the other side of your neck. My hands kneaded your tits, loving the warm roundness of them against my palms. "Think my lips will feel good, too?" I whispered as our lips parted.

"Your lips?" you asked, digging your fingers into my hair and pulling my head back, so that you could look in my eyes. You were giving me that Jayne-look and we both felt the extra surge between my thighs in response. I'd made a point of not grinding into you yet, but we were both aware of the hardness pressing against you. "Yes, they do feel good," you mumbled.

"That's good, Jayne" I murmured again into your mouth as I took each nipple in turn between my thumb and forefinger and lightly pulled. "But that's not what I meant."

Your eyes narrowed in both desire and puzzlement.

"I meant on your breasts," I explained before you could speak again. "Kissing them, licking them. I meant on your nipples. Feeling them hard in my mouth, sucking on them. Think my lips will feel good on those fabulous tits of yours, Jayne?"

"Quite big into feelings, aren't you?" I asked

"What do you mean?"

"Well, this all really started by you telling me that you wondered what it would feel like to fuck me didn't it?"

"Yes so?"

"Not what it would be like to fuck me as most guys think but what it would feel like."

"So, am I going to find that out Lady Jayne?" I said softly.

Her.

It came as a bit of shock being kissed and having my breasts fondled and nipples pinched and pulled at the same time. But it felt right. And in my book if it felt right, then it probably was right. And if it was right, then my inclination was to go with it. Like in the doorway, it felt right to let you finger but not fuck me. So that's what I did. Now it was different. I felt different; you seemed different, more relaxed, cooler, more with it. Most importantly, I felt different. I was on my home patch, but where, strangely enough, I had never had sex. In fact, I had rarely even brought boys back here, let alone a mature man, I smiled thinking, one old enough to be my father, one older than either of my parents. Above all else I felt free and comfortable. I felt good about you and us, felt good about myself and what we were doing and I felt assured about what we were going to do.

Also, I felt pretty confident that if I did ever introduce you to mum, heaven forbid, then she would make a play for you. As we kissed that got me thinking. Maybe we would fall in love and would want to live together or, for fuck's silly sake, want to get married. Just what the hell that would be like with my parents, aunts and uncles all younger than you and your children older than me, I couldn't imagine but I couldn't help smilng into the kiss.

For some reason, I felt more womanly than I usually did when having sex. Most of the guys, all ten or so, I had been with, were mostly in their late twenties or early thirties and they treated me and made me feel like a young bird, a chick, but then I rationalised that's what I was, or thought I was and what they thought I was. But you didn't, you treated me so differently more like, well that I didn't know but certainly differently, perhaps like a woman and not a chick! Why that was and why with you I felt differently I had no idea. But all the time both in the alleyway when you fingerfucked me and now in my home, I felt so different and it felt good.

It took me some time to work it out. As usual with a new situation eventually I put my finger on it and I did work it out. With you I was a woman. And it wasn't me that made me that but you. Perhaps some sort of fucking defence mechanism about the inevitable guilt you'd have about picking up a young bird thirty years your junior and was just about to fuck her or, maybe in your world make love or, experience her.

And on top of all those interesting feelings there was another which was that I wanted to be a woman and not a kid for you, did you realise that though, I wondered as I made my mind up? Revelling in the lovely feelings your teeth and tongue were giving me on my breasts and the anticipation your other hand was providing by squeezing my bum, I wanted more. More felt right, and at that moment, right was good. And right meant for me to be grown up, become a sophisticated, mature lover so, I grabbed the hem of the tee shirt and with you at first not seeing that, for your eyes were otherwise engaged, I pulled it up. I had to struggle a bit, for what you were doing was hindering what I was doing. You looked up, your mouth still enjoying my boobs and our eyes caught, just before I yanked it over my head. Now I was excitingly bare above the waist and that felt great. When I am like that, naked above the waist and dressed beneath it, I feel sort of liberated and get some idea as to how the bra burners felt in the sixties. Rather tritely, but nevertheless sincerely I whispered as I cradled your head to my chest.

"They're yours James take them."

I pushed them more firmly against your face, loving your attention, patience and understanding. Purely by coincidence I promise, we were standing so we were reflected in a full-length mirror. Glancing at and seeing my half naked form with your hands on my bum, and your mouth on my breasts as I leaned back my hands behind my head, gave me a tremendous turn on. At that moment I knew we would not just fuck, but also make love. I said quietly.

"Did we decide whether it was the drink, pizza or me you wanted James?"

Him.

I glanced up at you as you spoke. Your eyes weren't looking at me; they were looking over to the side at our reflections in the full-length mirror. I hadn't really noticed that the mirror was there, and the sensual sight that surprised me instantly may have brought an extra inch to the length of my cock.

There was something about the reflection on display that was so erotic. Maybe it was the fact you weren't totally naked? Dressed in just your hot pants and tights, naked breasts covered in saliva, with those diamond hard, succulent pink, nipples, you were picture frame perfect.

Add the fact that your hands were behind your head in a submissive pose and your back was arched, and the eroticism of the scene increased manyfold.

The fact that I was there, too, hands kneading your wonderfully firm ass, mouth paused to your tits ready to resume their pleasuring, only added to the arousal running through my body. You looked hot, but the sight was even hotter because of the aroused look on your face, and the knowledge that I was the cause.

It wasn't, though, just what I saw but also what I heard. If the phrase, 'did we decide whether it was the drink, pizza or me you wanted James?' was exciting the earlier one, 'they're yours James take them,' was erotically explosive. They crashed into my mind like a sexual bomb going off and gave me such a buzz. Momentarily, I wondered whether it was something you said to all your men or perhaps it was something she had dreamed up for me and had rehearsed it. But no, it wasn't, I knew that it was simply another Jayneism and I loved her for it.

Almost in daze of wanton desire I could barely mumble my reply.

"We didn't decide," I said, turning my gaze away from the mirror to look into your narrowed blue eyes. "Though if you believe in actions rather than words, I think my feelings are obvious."

"And if you believe in words?" you asked.

"Then I need to tell you that I want you, Jayne. The drink and pizza can wait."

"Really? But we have all day..."

"... and all night," I added. "I hope. But right now, some things can't wait."

"Such as?" you asked, watching me closely.

"I'm hungry," I told you, my tongue sneaking out to lick around the outline of your right breast. When you gave a small moan, I took your nipple in my mouth again and lightly pulled on it with my teeth.

"For these, but not for pizza," I explained as you moaned again. I left your breast and slowly licked my way up your freckled chest. "I want you, Jayne. Right now."

"What do you want?" you asked, dropping your hands to my hair. "Tell me."

"I want you," I murmured, lightly kissing your lips while my fingertips stroked along your legs. "All of you," and then waxing almost, but not quite as lyrically as you, I added. "Everything you have that you can give my Jayney."

"And now?"

"Now, it's the aperitif. I want to start by showing you what an old man can do. I'm going to make love to you, Jayne. With my lips, my tongue, my mouth, my fingers. I'm going to make you moan, Jayne. I'm going to have your body twisting in pleasure. I'm going to have you begging me to fuck you. But before then."

"Before then what?" you asked, and I swear your voice was unsteady.

I gently ran my hand over your hot pants, lightly pressing and rubbing along the length of your young pussy. "Before then, Jayne, I'm going to make you cum."

"Like you did before, you dirty old sod fingerfucking me in an office doorway?"

The soft moan you gave from my words, or the touch of my fingers on your sex, made my mind up.

My hands moved to the brass button on your hot pants and pinged it free. Watching your half-closed, blue eyes, I slowly pulled the zip down, as if every movement had to be exaggerated and unhurried so it was teasing to both of us. The pants slid easily down your thighs and you stepped out of them. The look on your face said you were unsure, but that you wanted to see where this was going, find out whether gramps knew what he was doing? My fingers went to the waistband of your almost opaque, blue tights. It was more difficult to peel those down your legs than the hotpants, but a few drags and tugs eventually did the trick, with you holding onto my shoulders to make sure you didn't topple over as I forced the material down your legs and off your feet as you wiggled the strappy, silver shoes off.

It had entered my mind to try to fuck you by, either ripping a hole in the tights or, with them just rolled down beneath your bum. On balance, I thought it wiser for such more overt stuff to be left for later. With just that thong to protect your modesty, you looked every bit the young temptress you were. I almost expected you to put one finger in your mouth, Lolita-like, and provocatively suck on it, but you didn't. Instead, you stood there, your eyes telling me this was my show. What next, they asked? Surprise me, they said. But they sent out a warning, too, be careful, because I'm moving out of my comfort zone. Glancing around, I tugged you across to your bed, gently easing you down, onto your back, not a word being spoken as I leant forward to kiss you. A soft kiss, one you returned, your hands raising themselves to stroke my hair. I pulled away a fraction, so we could look at one another, try and read each other's eyes, see what the other was thinking. At the same time, I reached down, taking hold of one end of the thong with my right hand, and another part with my left. Eyes on one another, I thought of tearing the material and ripping the flimsy garment from you. Quickly, though, I abandoned the adventurous idea as previous attempts at such a demonstration had taught me just how strong even a flimsy thong is. I realised that it really could make me look like an old prick if it didn't tear and I had to revert to pulling it down your legs after probably hurting you.

Instead, I growled. "One day I'll rip your knickers off you, you sexy little bitch."

"Mmmmm, you replied, promises, promises."

"Don't worry I'd buy you new ones."

Typically, you answered. "Yes, you fuckingwell would, these are sixty quid of AP's best stuff," making me wonder, but afraid to ask, if you had bought them especially for today realising quickly that was almost certainly wishful thinking.

My lips and tongue found the inside of one thigh, and then moved across to the other. An upwards kiss, lick, kiss, lick across both thighs and then I was there, staring at the treasure I wanted so badly. You were smooth, delightfully smooth; smooth just for me, I wondered remembering vividly that you had a landing strip when I finger fucked you? I let your eyes see my tongue - not lewdly, just a glimpse - as you stared down, propping yourself up on your elbows. My eyes surveyed your wet pinkness and then my head dipped forward. It was just the very tip of my tongue that licked across the full length of your opening, my senses savouring the feel, the erotic smell and your lovely taste. Your body shuddered, then trembled. Your hands reached down to my hair, perhaps unsure whether to pull me closer or push me away. I lapped again, with a little more pressure this time, my fingertips drawing the lightest of patterns on your inner thighs, a feather like touch, running up and then down your soft skin. I heard a noise. A murmur? A groan? A gurgle? A moan? I licked again, harder this time, pushing my tongue along your soft folds so that you could better feel the pressure. Your body trembled again, just a little. A tremble of pleasure, I hoped, though this was unfamiliar territory for both of us. Take it slowly, I told myself, though my arousal insisted I should feed on the wonderful offering open to me. My hands went to your knees and slid under each one so that I could pull and push your bum upwards. Taking advantage, I slid my tongue along that sensitive patch of flesh between your sex and your bum, for a second or two toying with your bum hole. Your body jerked in my hands, and I slid my tongue back on its return journey, this time slipping it inside your lips and tongue fucking you for a few seconds. The move was sudden, unexpected, and your body jerked as my hands pulled your legs a little wider apart. Your hands gripped my hair more tightly. To stop me? Or encourage me? Whichever, I changed the pace, sucking in the Jayne-juices that were flowing into my mouth and then moving upwards, my whole mouth engulfing your clit. I sucked it inside, as much and as deeply as I could, until I felt your body move, your bum press upwards, as if involuntarily offering yourself for more. Then I released the wonderful mouthful of flesh and allowed my tongue to get back in on the act, slowly lapping up and down the little bud, then drawing figure of eights all around it. For a brief second, I wondered if this was giving you as much pleasure as it was giving me?

Her.

From the moment when it had become obvious that you were trying to pull me and from the time when I had realised that I didn't particularly object to what some might consider that rather ambitious aim on your part given our ages, two things had occupied my mind.

The first was whether your maturity and experience would make it much different. Would you go about having me in a different manner to younger guys: are there techniques that men acquire with experience and do they give more pleasure? I simply didn't really know, but somehow doubted it. Sex could well be a little like rock and roll, there's quite a low ceiling; that's why stuff from the seventies sounds as good as new, with rock that is, but maybe sex as well. I mean there are only so many ways a clit can be pressed, a nipple sucked or a girl's pussy can be stuffed with a guy's cock isn't there? Isn't there? I wondered, but knew that I would soon find out. And second, was how you would feel. Daft I know, but I am a bit touchy feely; being tactile, isn't it? By that I had wondered to myself, would your skin and flesh feel different to the other younger guys who had been in my arms? An odd thought maybe, but one that seemed important to me. Those thoughts had been occupying much of my thinking. They were there when I phoned you with that joking customer call, when we were arranging to meet, when I was waiting for the day and when I waited; aroused I have to admit, at the platform at Kings Cross. God aren't railway stations and trains sexy things? Well, I think so.

All that had been near the forefront of my mind when we sat together on the Central Line to Loughton, tube trains are the exception to my sexy feelings with railways by the way, and in the cab to my home. And, of course, as I showed you around our suburban mansion, they were uppermost in my mind for I knew the time when I would get my answers was nigh. As we kissed, as you touched me, as you undid the waistcoat, as your hands went under my top and as you caressed and then sucked my breasts those questions were screaming out to be answered. Somehow, though, when I pulled the top over my head and bared my breasts for you, offering them to you, giving them to you to do with as you wished, things changed.

How you would go about taking me seemed rather irrelevant. It was merely the technical aspect of sex. As was how you would feel, did it matter? No not really. Those thoughts that had troubled me so much, that had been in my mind so frequently, that had kept me awake as I masturbated myself thinking about them, suddenly lost their significance. As you removed my little silly, little, 'come and fuck me' shorts, as you stared at my half-undressed form, your eyes boring through the dark blue nylon of my lower half and the total nakedness of my upper body, they didn't seem to matter. As so quickly you stripped those tights and the tiny thong from my tummy and legs to bare me completely, the technical and the feel slunk into the back ground. Yes, as you took me naked to my bed, all that seemed to matter was us. Not a young, blonde bimbo and a mature, aging, man, not a pick up and a seducer, not an adchick and a retired businessman, but simply a man and a woman. A man and woman about to make love. And make love we did.