Kevin's Special Delivery Pt. 02

Frankly I would have done pretty much anything she asked for another chance to slide my dick into her. I couldn't help feeling guilty though. "Oh damn, Ms.... Lois... did I hurt you last time? I'd never...."

"You did exactly what I wanted you to do Kevin and it was wonderful," she assured me. " It's just that my body isn't as young as my mind thinks it is, so I need a little help to keep things comfortable."

Lois shimmied up the bed and pulled a tube of something out of her side table drawer. Returning to where my dick was standing at attention, she shot me a wicked grin as she unscrewed the cap and squeezed some clear liquid out over the head of my cock. It was cold as she spread it down my shaft with her other hand, but I didn't give a crap.

When she finished with me, Lois screwed a thin plastic cylinder onto the top of the tube and rolled to her back with her legs and pussy facing toward me. "Now me," she said, "would you like to do the honors?"

I wasn't sure what she meant, so I said "I'll do anything for you M -- Lois -- but you'll need to show me how."

She handed me the tube and then slowly lined the curved end of the plastic thingy up with the entrance to her vagina. "Slide it into me and then give it a little squeeze," she instructed. "Not too much though."

I was absolutely fascinated as I gently eased the applicator (she later told me that's what it's called) into where my lucky dick was going to be. I gave the tube a little squeeze and then eased it out.

"Ooh, that's cold," she gasped, "but it won't be for long." Lois took the lube from me, tossed it on top of the table and returned. "Now then young Master Kevin, how do you want me? You on top like a good little Catholic missionary, or cowgirl Lois riding you, or... something new and different?"

"How about all of the above," I responded eagerly?

"I like the way you think," Lois purred back. "Let's start with you on top, but with a little variation that will get you deeper inside me" With that she lay on her back, hooked a hand behind each of her knees and opened herself wide for me.

I wasted no time in moving into place and, taking my rigid and slick cock in hand, pressed the head into her juicy vagina.

"Oh my yes," Lois sighed deeply as she raised her legs to rest on my shoulders, "now slow and deep Kevin. Let me feel every sweet inch of you inside me."

I slid my hips slowly forward until the base of my cock was flush with her opening and my balls were pressed tight up against her cushy bottom. Then back out and back in, with long slow strokes. Her hands free, Lois grabbed my butt and pulled me into her with each forward thrust. We locked eyes and moved together like we were lifelong dance partners.

The feeling of her pussy hugging my shaft was fantastic: snug and slippery. Lois's beautiful little boobs jiggled as our bodies moved back and forth. We went at it like that for a good long while and I could happily have done it all night long in that position, but Lois asked to switch so I rolled backwards and pulled her with me.

We disconnected for just a moment before Lois moved to straddle me and slid my greased-up dick back in where it belonged. "Ride me cowgirl," I teased as she took the reins, grinding the top of her pussy into me as my cock resumed its deep penetration of her.

I reached up to fondle her dangling breasts and lightly pinch her nipples as Lois leaned over me. While I was squeezing her tits, she moved her right hand to play with her own pussy. I couldn't really see what she was doing down there, but I assume she was stroking her clitoris while she slid up and down my dick making happy noises.

After not nearly long enough of that, Lois told me that her legs were getting tired and asked me: "Are you ready for the new and different part?"

"I'm ready for anything," I told her, in what I hoped was a confident lover's voice.

Lois dismounted my stiff-as-a-flagpole cock, grabbed the lube tube off the table and added another coat to my head and shaft. I wasn't sure whether we really needed more or if she just wanted to touch my cock again, but I wasn't complaining either way. When she finished, she tossed the tube away and rose up on her hands and knees in the middle of the bed, facing away from me.

"I want you to take me from behind now," she told me, using her low, sexy voice. She also told me what the position was called in French, which I immediately forgot because -- Christ -- who can concentrate on a French lesson when an attractive woman is inviting you to fuck her from behind?

Frankly, I really didn't much care what it was called: I just wanted to be back inside her. I took a sec to admire the sight of Lois hunched over with her pointy-nippled little tits dangling down and her cute butt up in the air, before moving in behind her with my slick dick leading the way.

In my eagerness, I screwed up -- no pun intended. I tried to slide myself in where I thought I belonged, only to have Lois flinch and yelp.

"The spot you're looking for is a little bit lower, dear," she calmly instructed me. I took a moment to spread my legs a bit wider and lower my hips, then taking my dick in my hand I slid the head downward until it found the gooey warmth of her vagina and slipped happily inside. Oh wow!

Lois's pussy felt wonderfully different from this angle. The underside of my dick, which is the most sensitive part, was lined up directly against the top of Lois's snug vagina and it felt incredible. For balance and leverage, I took her hips in my hands and slowly pulled myself all the way in until my balls were pressed tight against her upside-down pussy. I'm pretty sure this was the deepest I had ever been inside her, and she made a happy gasping sound.

I pulled slowly back out and it was totally cool to be able to look down and see my cock emerging from Lois, with her inner lips looking like they were trying to hold onto my cock and try to keep it from getting away. Squeezing her hips in my hands I moved forward again until our bodies met with a slight slapping sound. Jesus, I liked this position a lot!

We found a slow, steady rhythm of me thrusting and Lois backing to meet me, and the feeling was out of this world. After a couple of minutes, I bent my body further forward over Lois and moved my hands up to take one of her delicate dangling breasts in each. The sensation of my dick fully insider her while my fingers caressed her tits and nipples was great. However, it was harder for me to slide in and out of her in that position, so I moved back to grab her hips again.

We both picked up the pace of our fucking at that stage, and Lois reached back to take my right hand and move it around to her pussy. I took the hint and began to grope her lips and stroke her clitoris while we continued the regular collision of my hips into her butt cheeks. The slapping sounds became more frequent, and so did the volume of Lois's moans with each of my thrusts in. Her little buns rippled each time our bodies met.

I wasn't going to be able to hold back much longer, so I let her know: "Lois, I'm going to cum!"

"Yes, Kevin, I want your cum in me," was her immediate music-to-my-ears response.

We picked up the pace yet again, and after three or four more slaps and ripples I pushed as deep into her as I could and came in repeated spasms as I called out her name. She pushed back against me and moved her hips which made things even better.

When I was completely done, I collapsed on top of Lois and our bodies fell together to the bed with my cock still firmly lodged inside her and my hips plastered to her bottom.

As I lay panting on top of Lois, my insecurity compelled me to ask if she had cum too. "No," she confided, "I almost never climax during intercourse."

I apologized, which again brought out the tease in Lois. "Truth be told," she said, "I'm not enjoying myself at all. I'm really only doing this as a public service for the young coeds at Loyola who may someday find themselves in bed with you. I want to make sure you're properly trained to satisfy those poor girls."

I pulled out of her and playfully spanked her for that, which led her to turn around and kiss me passionately. "I'm only joking," she confessed, "I didn't have an orgasm but that doesn't mean I wasn't thoroughly enjoying myself. You're turning into quite a wonderful lover... which is no surprise given the high caliber of your mentor!"

I couldn't argue. "I have had an excellent instructor," I admitted, "but I guess I'm going to have to work even harder if I'm going to make the dean's list."

We both laughed and settled back into a warm and somewhat sticky snuggle session. We kissed and stroked and talked.

"So, have you decided on a favorite position," Lois asked after a while?

"Hmm," I replied, "they all have their strong points. But this sort of important decision shouldn't be rushed. I think I'll need to try them all again several times before I can be confident in my choice."

"A very wise plan," Lois nodded in fake seriousness, "I suppose I might be persuaded to make the unpleasant personal sacrifice of assisting you in your ongoing investigations. Especially if you keep employing that silver tongue of yours so persuasively!"

We lay in each other's arms for a while longer, as I tried to wish away the moment I'd have to leave her bed and return to reality.

Lois

I wasn't quite sure what to do with myself after closing the door behind Kevin. My apartment suddenly seemed a great deal emptier without the young man's kinetic presence. If not for the unquestionable fact that I was nearly naked with a pleasant thrumming continuing to pulse through my damp loins, I might have even begun to doubt the reality of what I had just experienced.

It all seemed so entirely implausible in retrospect: That Lois Green had just spent the better part of the late afternoon touching, fellating, and engaging in sexual intercourse with an 18-year-old virgin boy. Would anyone believe me if I told them?

Good lord woman, why on earth would you tell anyone such a thing!

These odd musings were soon pushed aside by three urgent realities: 1. I was absolutely famished; 2. I was in desperate need of a bath; and 3. I was utterly exhausted. After brief consideration, I decided to make myself a sandwich and eat it in the tub before collapsing into bed.

The sandwich part was easy, as Kevin's delivery had included bread, cold cuts and cheese. But drawing a bath was literally more of a pain as it required that I first wrestle my drying rack out of the tub while balancing on one gimpy foot. But I managed and turned on the taps to fill the tub.

Turning back to the drying rack, I was struck by the fact that the underwear on it was frankly a bit dull for the sort of scarlet woman who had just concluded a sexual liaison with a much younger man. Prior to and during my marriage, I had enjoyed wearing more stylish and provocative underthings. But at the moment everything in my unmentionables drawer was pretty damned mentionable.

Mental note to self: buy some new and more interesting underwear.

After luxuriating in the warm bath for an indulgent period of time, I finally rose and quickly dried and brushed and moisturized myself for an early trip to dreamland.

Stumbling wearily into my boudoir, I determined that my comforter was a lost cause for the evening given that it was spattered with various bodily fluids. I swept it theatrically off the bed and into the far corner of the room, tossing my previously discarded brassiere atop it in the laundry pile of shame. Somewhere in the room there was also an abandoned pair of my underpants, but I could not manage to locate them after a brief (ahem!) search, so I gave up and settled my exhausted body into bed.

The sheets, thankfully, were unsullied from the day's activities. Kevin and I had been so focused on our frolicking that we had never bothered to get in between them. The pillows were similarly pristine, I was pleased to note. Nightclothes seemed superfluous in view of the events of the still-steamy day, so I crawled in under the covers as god made me and settled my wicked head to rest.

My final thought, before descending into the sleep of the dead, was that it had been quite some time since I had been in a room that reeked so sinfully of sex.

* * *

I awoke to Saturday morning sunlight and birdsong, and to a momentary bit of confusion as to why I was lying in my bed naked. My memory quickly engaged and I have to say that rather I enjoyed replaying in my head the scandalous goings on of the prior afternoon.

The call of nature compelled me to cut short that nostalgic noodling, however, and I slipped out of bed and hobbled into the bathroom. In the process of relieving myself, I discovered that I was feeling a bit sore in an area that hadn't experienced that sort of discomfort in many years.

That's what happens when a celibate, post-menopausal woman cavorts with an energetic 18-year-old, I chided myself. I ruefully recalled that in the final event of our sexual triathlon I had given Kevin free rein to -- well -- ride me as hard as he wished, and I was feeling the effects of that questionable indulgence this morning.

I determined that when Kevin and I met again I would have to put some more stringent ground rules in place, or at the very least make certain that we employ some supplementary lubrication when engaging those lately underutilized parts of my anatomy.

But would we -- and in particular our respective "parts" -- in fact meet again? Aye there's the rub (ahem again!), as Shakespeare said. Did I want a reprise with young Kevin? And equally to the point: Did Kevin fancy a further frolic with (literally) little old me?

At 7:30 on the morning after, I had no ready answer for either question. I recalled that in the afterglow of our hasty hanky-panky, both Kevin and I had made rash reference to the possibility of future "deliveries." But in the cool, sober reality of Saturday morning, were such future deliveries and receipts mutually desirable... advisable... even possible?

At this point, all I actually knew about Kevin was his first name, the fact that he was young and attractive with a lovely and indefatigable penis, and that he worked at Conrad's Drugs. I made myself laugh with the naughty thought that I should call Conrad's and ask them to send the delivery boy over with a large tube of KY Jelly!

Regardless of whether or not there were to be more "deliveries" from Kevin in my future, the past afternoon with him had made one thing perfectly clear in my mind: I absolutely DID want to resume having an active sex life.

Just not for a couple of days at least.

My bad ankle kept me confined to quarters for the remainder of the weekend, apart from my regular every-other-week visit to the hairdresser on Saturday afternoon. I caught up on my reading, watched a bit of television, and cooked for myself in between lascivious reminiscences of my Friday afternoon escapades.

As Sunday night approached, I hadn't come to any firm conclusions on the subject of Kevin, but I had decided that I was tired of being stuck at home and thus that I would cut my convalescence short and head into the office on Monday morning.

* * *

When Monday dawned, I rose and dressed at the usual time. In deference to my injury, I donned a pair of flats in place of my customary and more stylish heeled work shoes. The walk down all those stairs to the street convinced me to splurge on a taxi rather than my accustomed public transit commute.

The morning went fairly well, but by mid-afternoon the time spent on my recovering ankle began to take its toll and I decided to call it a day at around 3 PM.

Rather than heading directly home, however, I took a detour to Marshall Field's department store, and in particular to the "Intimate Apparel" subdivision of the Ladies' department. I told the young salesclerk that I wished to update my foundational wardrobe, and she was very keen to assist me. Some of what was on offer appalled me, frankly, and in the end we jointly aimed for items that, while hardly modest, were a notch or two below what I might have called the "Jezebel Collection."

I left with a bag filled with items destined to relegate the bulk of my current collection of basic white underwear to the rag bag.

Upon arriving home and spiriting my new array of underthings up the stairs, I was surprised to find a parcel from Grossman's, the local florist, waiting outside my door. I took it inside and unwrapped it to find a lovely arrangement of cut flowers. How thoughtful of someone!

I opened the envelope nestled into the blooms and scanned the notecard inside. It was a stock "Get Well Soon" card, but I turned it over to find the following handwritten on the back:

Dear Ms. Green. Thank you for the most wonderful afternoon of my entire life. I'll never forget the time we spent together, and I'm really hoping that you'll give me the chance to make another 'special' delivery to you very soon! Yours very truly, Kevin Fitzgerald

P.S. Mrs. Grossman, if you're reading this I'll never forgive you!

Oh my! Well... that answered that question. The ball was now in my court.

I set the flowers on the coffee table in my front room where I would best see and enjoy them. Then I carried my shopping bag into my bedroom and emptied the colorful contents onto my bed. Kevin's thoughtful gesture, and in particular his intriguing note, made me eager to slip on some of my new purchases. I had tried them on for size in the store but hadn't taken much time to give them a more critical appraisal.

Even though I was both the sole model and the sole audience member for this intimate fashion show, I found it rather arousing. There should have been some appropriate music -- trumpets and trombones perhaps? -- for the initial striptease portion of the exercise. Lacking that, I quickly and unceremoniously stripped down to my birthday suit and surveyed myself in the full-length mirror on the back of my bedroom door. Not bad for an old gal, I told myself by way of a pep talk.

I then selected a slinky pair of low-cut black panties and a matching bra for the first runway stroll, removed the tags and slipped them on. They felt suitably sexy against my bare skin, and I turned to see how they looked in the mirror.

Uh oh!

At the store, I had tried on the bottoms over my trusty white high-waisted, low-legged drawers. Now that there was nothing under the skimpier silky black fabric of these undies but me, I realized that I had a rather -- well -- "hairy" problem on my hands.

Though my admittedly lush pubic hair was generally well contained within the boundaries of my current collection of more generously cut undies, it spilled over and out of all three openings in this new, more streamlined gear. If I was going to wear these scanties in the presence of another person -- and I was determined that I would -- I had some work ahead of me.

No time like the present I thought, and headed to my bathroom in search of a hand mirror, scissors and a razor. An hour or so and more than a few unladylike expletives later, I again donned the new black undies and voila -- mostly pale, smooth skin around the edges. The full-length mirror confirmed the success of my groundskeeping work.

Curious to see what the new me looked like in the altogether, I slid the bottoms off and surveyed the geometry of my now more compact triangle in the full-length. I had also done a bit of thinning of the brush down there and I thought it all looked pretty good. My subsequent decision to discover what my newly manicured mons veneris felt like started me down an interesting path.

It felt... quite nice thank you. In moments I found myself on top of my bed, with one hand stroking my new-look-and-feel private parts while the other began touching my breasts. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the sensations as I moved the fingers of my right hand between my dampening labia, while my left began a more aggressive campaign of squeezing my breasts and pinching my sensitive nipples.