Mature Bliss Ch. 01

I hated it. I had just turned eighteen, but still my mother and my stepfather insisted that I accompany them on their summer vacation to this summer resort by the sea; an old, crappy beach hotel that had seen better days. The only nice part was that I had got my own room, whilst my mother and stepfather slept in a family room together with my two younger, irritating sisters. That at least gave me some privacy.

When the rest of the family went to the beach each morning, I retreated to my hide-out. I had no intention of enjoying the sun with them. The hotel had an old, overgrown conservatory that no one used, and here I had found a particularly gloomy space that suited my mood perfectly – just two cushioned benches hidden behind some large palms and a mass of green foliage. Here I could surely read my books about dungeons, dragons, doom and death without being interrupted. Or so I thought.

On my second day there, I was interrupted in my reading by an older woman with bleached hair who seated herself on the other bench. I had noticed her before. She dressed in a rather sluttish fashion. My mother had pointed her out in the breakfast room on the first morning and criticized her appearance and my stepfather had made concurring noises and shook his head. To me she was an old hag – old enough to be my mother; older than my real mom even. But looking closer, I had to admit that there was something about her that I liked.

She dressed as if she did not care one bit about what others thought about her. In the breakfast room she looked as if she had just risen from bed in a black, oversized, fuzzy knitted morning coat of the wrap-around kind – only held together at the waist with a matching belt - and added to that black high-heeled "fuck me" slippers and black fishnet stockings. She looked a bit out of place in a family hotel. She could have been an actress in some sleazy movie, I thought. Looking at her now in her warm and fuzzy wrap-around coat, a voice at the back of my mind admitted that I would not mind being wrapped up inside that soft, cosy coat, sharing its warmth with this mature woman, being caressed by the soft fluffy wool.

What really put that idea into my head was that I knew her to be practically naked underneath. In fact, I had caught a glimpse of one of her tits during breakfast. I had seated myself a bit apart from my boring family, and this woman had seated herself at my table – not directly across from me, but near enough for me to peak down her cleavage. And a couple of times when she reached for her coffee, her morning coat fell sufficiently open for me to get a glimpse of her naked breast and a brown, jutting nipple. The sight had understandably sparked my fantasy.

Her breasts must have received some surgical help, for they sat rather high and jutted out nicely, straining against the black, fluffy fabric. And she did not wear any bra – I could see that. And when I rose to help myself to some more food from the buffet, she had followed close behind. Normally, I have a distinct need for private space. I do not like people who stand too close. But she did not seem to notice – in fact, more than once I could feel her perky tits pressing against my arm or my back. And once I am sure that she stroked my bottom.

Oddly enough, I did not recoil from her touch as I normally would. She smelled nice and those amazingly firm naked tits under that cosy knitted morning coat had sent my head spinning. And now she sat here across from me, dangling her high-heeled slippers in very enticing fashion. I tried to concentrate on my book and the young damsel in distress, but somehow, even though she was described as young and supple, the heroine in the book could not compete with the woman in the flesh across from me. This woman was after not a fantasy; she was very real and very alluring. I had noticed that her legs were quite nice too – their shape outlined by the texture of her fishnet stockings.

She seemed to be totally absorbed in her reading matter; some kind of colourful magazine. As she read on, she seemed to stroke herself. Her long, scarlet fingernails looked like drops of blood against the dark knitted material. She seemed to caress her breasts and – if I was not totally mistaken – even pinch her nipples through the woollen coat. It was hard not to stare. It was also very disturbing when she constantly crossed and uncrossed her legs. From where I sat, I had almost an unrestricted view.

Once her hand slid down towards her lap and slipped under her coat. I could feel my cheeks burn when I imagined that she maybe stroked herself down there. Could that be? She still was an old hag in many ways, but an interesting one and also quite sexy, the more I thought about it. A woman an older man would find quite attractive and a woman a young man like me might easily fantasize about. In my thoughts I could see myself kneeling before her starting at her feet...

Suddenly she looked at her watch and sprang to her feet as if she was late for some appointment. She left in a rush, and I saw she had forgotten to take her magazine with her. I reached for it and picked it up. It was an erotic magazine about women aged 50+ and young men. On the front there was a picture of a buxom mature woman hugging her soft breasts and captions like: "Ripe and Raunchy Redhead", "Inside: GILF on the Prowl" and "Mature Karen: Bang my Butt". I was shocked!

Grabbing the magazine I hastened to my room and spent the rest of the day there, pouring over the magazine, inspecting the pictures and reading every line, including the readers' letters and the ads at the back. As I studied the pictures of ripe and sexy mature women displaying their wares and having sex with men young enough to be their sons, I must admit that my thoughts frequently returned to the owner of the magazine. Was she sending me a not very discreet hint here? I tugged hard at my dick and exploded at the thought.

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I returned early to my secret hide-out the next day. She was not there, and I felt stupid thinking that she would turn up again. But as I had for some time, in vain, tried to engross myself in the story about dungeons and dragons, I heard the sound of high heels tapping on the stone floor. She returned after all!

She seated herself across from me just like the day before. She had brought a new magazine and read it intensely – not speaking or looking at me. And, like the day before, she started stroking herself quite openly and unashamedly. Again she stroked and caressed herself for some time, and I wished that it were my hands that were feeling the soft material, stroking the fuzzy fabric and caressing those perky breasts, feeling their shape through the soft fluff and pinching those erect nipples through the thick knitted material. I could see myself hugging her and burying my head between her breasts.

I tried to concentrate on my book, but my eyes strayed over to her. I looked at her magazine. The woman on the cover was dressed in sexy lingerie, and I could read the captions "What is your Fetish?", "Aunty gets her Ass Filled" and "Fistfucking Feisty Fiona". My mind reeled. As she read her magazine, her coat fell slightly open and revealed a round breast. Her fingers pinched a nipple, making it stand out, hard and firm. She rolled it between her fingers, twisting it and torturing it. Losing all pretence, I stared intensely, not wishing to lose one bit of the action.

Again her hand slipped down towards her lap and under her robe. Looking directly at me, she opened her legs and I could see a curly mass of blond hair. Her fingers disappeared inside the thick blond bush. The middle finger slipped in between swollen labia and came out glistening. She sucked on it loudly and joyfully. Her eyes, outlined in black mascara, locked onto mine. She re-crossed her legs and dangled her shoe as if saying: "Start here!"

Mesmerized I slid to the floor and lifted her high-heeled slipper from her foot. I kissed it reverently and smelled the odd mixture of leather, perfume and her feet; an intoxicating mixture for a young man, a mixture I could easily get used to. We both knew that she was in control and that I had to follow her lead. And my humble position there on the floor before her only added to my excitement. It was not just the age difference. I was the puppy dog, and she was my mistress. I wanted to please her in every way I knew how.

She held her foot against my cheek, and I kissed it. I stroked her stockinged feet, her legs, working my way up towards her thighs. Instinctively, I knew I should take it slowly, revelling in the experience. The rather rough surface of the fishnet stockings excited me. She had covered herself again, but I knew where I was going. She was only trying to tease me, and she succeeded.

I bent forward and buried my face in the soft black knitted coat, inhaling the heady scent of her wet bush underneath. She rested her hands on my head, pushing my down between her soft thighs as she slid down in her seat. It felt so good; the soft wool against my skin and the knowledge that an experienced, mature pussy was inches away. Slowly she pulled the coat away revealing her blond bush. I inched forward, rubbing my cheeks against that soft pillow of bright, tickling growth. She opened her legs wide, welcoming me in. Soft, pink skin revealed itself between two rows of bushy hair, and I stuck out my tongue, gingerly licking my way inside.

The smell and the taste were more intense than I had imagined; overpowering, intoxicating. I doubted that she had had her morning shower, but I loved it. I could not get enough. I rubbed my lips against her pussy lips, stroked my cheeks against her fluffy bush and stuck my tongue up her snatch as far as I could reach. I worshipped her pussy for all it was worth – and it was worth a lot to me. This was practically my first experience of this kind and I was determined that it should not be the last. Fuzzy mature pussy must be the best there is.

She grabbed her legs behind her knees, jutting out her ass and granting me full access to every part of her crotch, and I licked her from beneath her puckered asshole and all the way up past her stiff clit – over and over again. We could hear voices in the hall outside and doors opening and closing, but both of us were past caring. She tried to stifle her moans, though, when she came. Instead, she pressed my face hard against her crotch, scratching my neck with her long fingernails in the process, and I loved every part of it.

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This time she also left in a hurry, again leaving her tantalizing reading matter behind. I retreated hastily to my room, walking rather awkwardly with a stiff dick in my shorts and trying to hide a colourful magazine behind my shirt. Once I was alone, I wanked slowly, reliving the experience. I did not need any magazine to look at – the images in my mind were more than enough.

To be continued...