tagFirst TimeLonely MILF: A Sexual Awakening

Lonely MILF: A Sexual Awakening

bysilkstockingslover©

Summary: Sexy college coed entwines lonely MILF in her sexual web.

Note 1: This is dedicated to the real Elizabeth, who requested this story.

Note 2: This is an April Fools' Day Contest story so please vote.

Thanks to: Tex Beethoven, Robert, and Wayne for editing.

Lonely MILF: A Sexual Awakening

Sometimes you don't know you're in a rut until something happens to make it obvious.

I'm about as stereotypical as it gets.

I'm a stay at home mother, member of my two girls' PTA, a stereotypical housewife (aka the 1950s world where the wife cleaned, cooked and the man worked), married to a husband who was more actions than words.

Truth was, I never realized this until after meeting Sam ... but I was very lonely.

In retrospect, I can now say that I hid this loneliness from myself by keeping as busy as possible. In addition to doing all my household chores, I was heavily involved at my children's school as head of the elementary school PTA, and I was a regular volunteer in the kindergarten classroom. Which is where everything changed.

I was at school helping with my daughter's kindergarten class when I met her... Samantha. She was a first-year college student with an Education major, who was doing her required first-year classroom hours. She was an amazing young woman. Pretty, confident, friendly and sweet.

We were chatting one day a few days into her time at the school when she told me, "I've just got to say that for a woman with two kids, you look amazing."

I was stunned and flattered. I literally couldn't remember the last time my husband Jack had offered me a compliment, and for a few years now I'd been desperately trying to get his attention, which had used to be as easy as wiggling my nylon-clad toes, or walking into the bedroom in lingerie that showcased my 36C breasts.

Sex between us had never been amazing... I had never climaxed from sex with Jack... ever... and even from the very start of our relationship in high school if it lasted five minutes, including foreplay, that qualified as a marathon encounter.

My fingers and hairbrush had long been my regular finishing tools for what my husband had barely started.

I should also note that although this may seem unbelievable... especially in today's kinky sex-obsessed world, but I had only ever been with one man... my husband. I may have kissed a few boys before dating Jack, but before him nobody had even gotten to second base with me.

I replied to Samantha, "Thank you very much."

"You must work out," she said, as she admired my toned legs.

"I try," I admitted, thinking of my daily stair master routine. "The pantyhose help make my legs look more toned than they are."

To my surprise, she placed her hand on my leg and rubbed the nylons softly, "Oh, these are nice. What brand are they?"

"Donna Karan," I answered, a little flustered to have someone touching my leg.

"I really like the glossy shine," she said as if she were a TV ad, giving me one more rub before moving her hand away, "it enhances your look, and makes you look really sexy."

"Thanks," I said, feeling my cheeks burning red from this rather harmless conversation. Clearly the lack of attention from my husband was impacting how desperately lonely I felt and how urgently I felt the need for any sort of positive attention. I pointed out, awkwardly I'm sure, "Your outfit is really cute." I added, looking at her plaid skirt and red blouse and beige pantyhose, "I'm surprised to see you wearing pantyhose." My words were vanilla, but behind them was a compulsive need to prolong this conversation: if I said something nice back to her, then she may say something even nicer back to me, and etcetera, and wouldn't that be wonderful! You can see how pitiful I was.

"Why would you be surprised?" she asked.

"I'm... it's just..." I babbled, floundering for what to say, her casual question somehow achieving monumental importance to me and requiring the ultimate in witty or insightful replies. I settled for replying lamely, "Most young people don't think they're fashionable."

She shrugged and said, her soft tone shifting ever so slightly, "I'm not like most of my peers."

"That's good," I laughed awkwardly.

"You're intriguing, Elizabeth," she said warmly, giving my leg a brief squeeze before going away to help a student with his finger painting.

Over the next couple of weeks, we chatted a few times and I couldn't explain it, but whenever I glanced over to her, she seemed to be looking at me, or her eyes were roaming over my body. If she'd caught me looking at her, my focus would have fled instantly to some other part of the room, but whenever I caught her, she would just give me a warm, relaxed smile before eventually allowing her attention to wander someplace else.

At first I thought it was just me, but it continued to happen, and soon whenever we made eye contact she wouldn't avert her eyes at all, as if she welcomed my knowledge that she enjoyed looking at me.

She wanted me to know that I had her attention.

I couldn't explain it, but I felt like I was on display, and even though it was awkward, it soon became me who always broke the eye contact... I frequently looked back shortly afterwards and would feel a slight disappointment whenever she wasn't still admiring me, although often she still was.

When we chatted, she often touched my hand or leg, and complimented me about this or that, frequently to point out some fresh aspect of my alleged beauty.

This should have disturbed me.

I was married.

I was straight.

I was a mom.

I was twenty-eight.

She was nineteen.

Yet somehow she made me feel more alive. I couldn't explain it, but I began to like her looking at me, it even made me feel lusted after (which surprisingly made me feel warm inside instead of objectified), even though she'd never said a word to imply that she might be a lesbian or into me.

Yet, they say actions speak louder than words, and her actions kept repeating that she was attracted to me.

I began looking forward to seeing her, and I felt disappointed on the days she wasn't there.

I started dressing a little sexier, always in nylons, since I wanted to give her more opportunities to admire and hopefully even touch my legs... even though such expectations were ridiculous. Even if she was a lesbian, I wasn't going to do anything with her... although the thought excited me and created feelings I'd never felt before.

Samantha was pretty much the polar opposite of me:

Samantha, although she went by Sam, had dark hair; I was a blonde.

Samantha had short hair; my long hair went halfway down my back.

Samantha was 5'4"; I towered over her at 5'10".

Samantha had small and, I assumed, perky breasts; mine were quite large 36C's.

Samantha was slim and athletic and even a track star; I was curvy with almost no athletic ability.

Samantha was tech savvy; I was a complete tech illiterate... which is what triggered what was about to happen.

Before I get to that, I should point out that although I never fathomed ever doing anything with her for real, visualisations of her began to pop into my fantasies.

Pleasuring myself after another one of Jack's quick cum deposits before he dropped off to sleep, I was fingering myself while still lying next to him, and I was nearing another self-induced orgasm in a lifetime of that being my only kind. Samantha's face popped into my head and I came immediately, barely managing not to cry out her name.

So the next day on my phone I searched lesbian stories for the first time on my favourite website Literotica (I usually read gangbang stories... my secret taboo fantasy until Samantha). I found hundreds of them, so I narrowed the search to seductions. I found quite a few of those where a younger girl seduced an older woman, and I dove right in. I was reading a crazy series called Lesbian MILF Seductress, where a young and pretty girl named Bree achieved a dozen plus conquests of older women. As I read each one, I imagined I was the MILF and Samantha was Bree. (It was a bit of a stretch to imagine myself as a lady cop or as a black woman, but if I focused on their thoughts and feelings as they succumbed to this powerful young woman, I found it wasn't a stretch at all.)

I was reading one of them about a woman celebrating her thirtieth birthday sitting in the balcony between Bree and her boyfriend at a musical, except as I imagined myself being her, I pictured myself as sitting between Samantha and my husband, while Samantha worked Bree's magic on me. The scenario drew me in completely and got me totally horny and I closed my eyes, fingering myself to a frenzy and a glorious orgasm, imagining Samantha taking me the way Bree took whomever the eye of this story was... me... where I knew I should resist, but simply couldn't. Since I was home by myself, I allowed myself to surrender totally to this vision just like this woman surrendered to Bree... to Samantha... in the story. I'd gotten to the point where the woman was rubbing herself furiously to a climax while Bree touched her leg and looked on from one side of her while her boyfriend gradually became aware of what she was doing from the other side. Meanwhile I was rubbing myself for real, while imagining Samantha urging me on from one side of me while my husband watched from the other, astonished that I had a sexual bone in my body that wasn't reserved exclusively for his own pleasure. I became totally lost in this vision as I brought myself to a screaming orgasm, calling out Samantha's name at the top of my lungs! "I'm coming for you, Samantha! Oh God, oh God!!"

As I recovered from my intense orgasm, thinking this was the second time in a row that my orgasm had erupted from a powerful image of Samantha, I realized I was going to be late getting to school.

I rushed to the school, ending up being a few minutes late.

I was only a volunteer, I wasn't on the payroll, but still.

I was never late.

Ever.

Carol, the teacher and a friend of mine, even teased me, "Elizabeth, what could possibly have made you late?"

Instant paranoia! Do I look flustered? I asked myself. I got flustered easily.



Are my cheeks still red from those naughty stories I read and my climax with Samantha's name on my lips? I hoped not.

Can Carol tell I just had an orgasm? I could feel some wetness in my panties, but there's no way anyone would be able to see that.

"I-I-I just lost track of t-t-time," I stammered awkwardly.

"I was just teasing," she smiled.

Samantha said, "You look rejuvenated." Oh God, Samantha's part of this conversation too? Dare I even look at her?

"Pardon?" I asked her, blushing as I managed to meet her gaze.

"There's something different about you right now," she said, looking me up and down as if seeing right through me. I felt like sinking through the floor.

"There is?" I asked, feeling a chill go down my spine as she looked deep into my soul.

"Yes, but I can't put my finger on it," she said, looking at me, slightly perplexed as she pondered the mystery of my looks and my nervous behaviour.

A child started crying and we both went to deal with her.

Half an hour later, as the kids ran boisterously out the door to recess, and I was talking about how I get awakened all night by alerts on my phone, but I didn't want to put it on mute and miss an important call.

"I hear there's a way to solve that," Carol mentioned, "although I have no idea how to do it."

"I do," Samantha offered.

"So I could have it so it still rings if someone calls, but it won't bing for every text message, twitter update or Facebook message?" I asked.

"Sure, it's easy," Samantha said. "Let me see your phone."

I handed it to her and she asked, "What time do you need it to go into Do-Not-Disturb mode?"

"Ten."

"What time do you want it to turn itself back on?"

"Eight, I guess," I said, as I noticed her intriguing cinnamon scent.

"Okay," she said, as the school bell rang, summoning the kids back to class. "I'll need a couple of minutes."

"Sure," I said.

I went to help the children again, and it was at least twenty minutes later before I glanced over to her and caught her staring at me with a slight smile on her face. As always, she continued gazing at me unapologetically.

I walked over to her and she said in a whisper, handing me back my phone, "It's all set up for you." (Carol was addressing the class about something, so she didn't want to distract the children.)

"Thanks," I whispered back, accepting it.

"By the way, I'm impressed."

"By what?"

"I had no idea you were bi," she said, dropping a bombshell.

"Pardon?" I gasped.

"I've read all the Bree stories too," she revealed. "I love them!"

My eyes went wide.

My cheeks went red.

"If you like the silkstockingslover stories, I highly recommend Lesbian Seduction: A Stockings Tale. It too is a pretty hot story," she continued whispering.

"Oh my God!" I gasped some more, mortified that she knew my secret obsession. Did she also know that it was because of her I was reading lesbian porn? That it was her gorgeous face and hot athletic body that inhabited all these stories for me?

"Liz," she said, grasping my hand earnestly and shortening my name for the first time, which made me think of Bree and how she always manipulated her targets to her advantage, "there's no shame in having fantasies."

"It's so embarrassing," I breathed.

"It needn't be; it's natural," she assured me, then looked at me straight in the eye with intent, or at least it felt like intent, "We all have fantasies." She then added, "Some of us even fulfill them."

This awkward, erotic moment was interrupted by a five-year-old asking her a question and I quickly scurried away, not sure what to say or do.

The classroom day ended, and I left immediately, taking pains to avoid Samantha.

That night though, once Jack was asleep, I hid myself in the washroom, on my phone scanning the list of sillystockingslover's stories, trying to remember which story Samantha had mentioned.

I eventually found it and devoured it while slowly fingering myself into a frenzy.

I was getting close when I got a text message.

A text message from someone named Sam asking: Read the story?

My eyes went wide.

I didn't know a Sam. Unless this was short for Samantha? We'd never exchanged numbers.

I considered not responding, but I was curious, and hoped it was that Sam. It had to be! Who else would ask that question?

I asked, to confirm, even though it had to be: Samantha?

She responded: Of course. I added my number to your phone and vice versa when I programmed in the Do Not Disturb.

Why would she do that?

I responded: Oh, okay.

Sam: Did you read it?

I wasn't sure I should tell her the truth, yet I figured why not: I was just doing that now.



Sam: Oh, am I interrupting anything : )

I responded, lying: No, nothing like that.

Sam: If you say so.

I could sense that she didn't believe me.

Sam: See you in a couple of days.

I responded: Sounds good.

I was disappointed when she didn't send me anything else, but by then I was trying to figure out why she'd added her name.

There weren't many logical reasons... and the most logical one was that she was interested in me. Is she? Do I really want her to be? What would I do if any of these stories became a real-life version, with me being the seduced MILF and Sam the younger seductress?

As I pondered this, I furiously fingered myself to an orgasm, imagining exactly that happening.

Of course, as soon as I came, guilt hit me. Am I shamelessly flirting with a nineteen-year-old? Fuck! I need to start acting my age.

The next evening Sam texted me again, this time while I was watching television with my husband. Although truth be told, he was on his iPad and I was reading a book while the TV droned on in the background.

Sam: What you doing?

Me: Reading.

Sam: Erotica?

Me: Grisham.

Sam: Too bad.

Me: I don't usually read erotica.

Sam: It's what I do to let go after a stressful day.

Me: I guess that is when I do it too.

Sam: Want to go out for breakfast tomorrow?

My eyes went wide.

Was she asking me out on a date?

Or was this just a friendly invite?

I wasn't sure which it was, nor was I sure which I wanted it to be, but I answered yes because how would it look if I said no? There was no way I wanted to shove this girl away, even if her intentions were harmless. Or did I really mean that? Didn't I want the opposite of harmless?

Me: Sure.

Sam: Great. How about Tiffany's?

Me: Sure.

Sam: 9:00?

Me: Great. I'll meet you there after I drop off the kids.

Sam: Perfect.

Me: Can't wait.

After I sent that I quietly cursed, "Shit."

"What?" my oblivious husband asked. I'd forgotten he was even here.

"Oh, nothing," I lied, "just another meeting I have to attend."

"Okay," he said, as always not digging any deeper to see if I was actually annoyed, or inquiring what the meeting was about, or asking if I had a situation he could help me with. Fuck, I really did live in a plastic 1950s marriage.

Sam: Me too. I really would like to get to know you better.

What did that mean?

Whatever she meant, I responded with my own, if slightly garbled truth: Me too to that too.

Sam then texted back: Here is a link for a pretty hot story. If you decide you're in the mood, read it. I was thinking of you when I read it.

I responded, curious what story would she possibly read that would have her think of me: Will do.

Sam: See you in the morning.

Me: Sounds great.

Sam: Enjoy the story.

Curious, I glanced over at my husband, who was busy playing some fighting game on his iPad, so I clicked on the link.

I barely held in a gasp when I saw the title: Becoming a Lesbian Slave. The summary described an older business woman being gradually dommed by a younger bitch.

My pussy dampened instantly.

I glanced up at my oblivious husband.

Then I began reading.

Halfway through the story, I excused myself and trotted off to the washroom... no way leaving my phone behind... my pussy on fire.

I grabbed a brush and fucked myself as I continued reading about the humiliating debauchery the older woman suffered at the hands of the younger woman.

I came so fucking hard!

As I cleaned cum off the brush under the sink, I asked myself the obvious question: Why did Samantha send me that particular story?

The obvious answer was that she was offering quite a blunt hint of her interest in me. Does she really want to seduce me? To dominate me?

And conversely, do I want to be seduced? To be dominated?

Both of these ideas startled butterflies into flying around manically inside of me and lighting a fire down below... the idea of being wanted, being used, being dominated, was a powerful stimulation... yet fantasy and reality were very different things.

When I was horny like right now, I was ready just to give in.

When I wasn't, like half an hour later, I became frustrated at my weakness, embarrassed by my lust, and guilty about the temptation I was feeling to cheat on my husband.

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