One Night Stand

Dear readers – much of the following story is based on fact. I hope you enjoy it!

We had known each other for many years, always flirting, always brushing against each other in a sensual way.

We met when she was in her early twenties. I was newly married, and some seven years older.

She had graduated young, and was an assistant professor at a university about three hours away by car. I had been invited to lecture for one night.

We met late in the afternoon to discuss my lecture, and for her to learn a little about me. She was to give the introduction.

She was, and is, a small, pretty, petite, dark haired girl. She had a “Peter Pan” haircut that was then shorter than mine. She had a strange air of vulnerability. I like it in women; it brings out the protective male in me.

I felt that there was a degree of instant, indefinable electricity.

We talked over coffee in the refectory. I let her range wide on many subjects. We found that we had much in common. We shared a love of the play, of music, of the visual arts, of history, especially early American, and of people.

She began to unfold, to talk of how she had an affair with a tutor in her final year at university, and how she was looking for a long term mate.

I gave my lecture, said my goodbyes, and left.

I began to see her twice every year when I returned to lecture, and I ‘phoned at odd times.

On one occasion I ‘phoned, she was full of excitement. She had found a man.

I did not ‘phone for a while, then I had a message to call her. It had not worked out. She cried, and raged down the ‘phone. He was an absolute bastard. They had arranged to holiday together, but he cancelled at the very last minute, when she was packed, and ready to go to the airport.

Her travel to the terminal was paid in full, and she had that ticket. He had all the other tickets; it seemed strange, so she decided to take the trip to the airport.

She watched him check in with somebody else!

I think her vulnerability to mean men attracted me! I hoped that I would never be unkind to her.

She was very angry. I calmed her down. Suddenly she asked me to take her out. I arranged another lecture evening, followed by a day of teaching. We would have dinner at the end of that day.

We had a gentle, quiet, meal in an exceptional restaurant. She looked wonderful, sparkling, sexily dressed, a great date for any man. Other men threw envious glares, one even winked at me, when I went to the men’s room.

She knew the affect she was having, and we had to confront our demons. We talked about it, and agreed that we would spoil our friendship if we ever made love.

We continued in this state for years, meeting for dinner, kissing goodbye after a night out together, then meeting again once or twice a year.

Neither of us wanted it to go further. Very early on we agreed that I would introduce her to my wife. This was a great success. They became, and remain, very good friends.

Yet there was always this sexual undercurrent whenever we met.

She would dress provocatively, she would go braless, and set up down blouse situations, where I could see her breasts. She would wear a suspender belt with stockings, and a tight skirt so that I could see the sexy outline of the clips on her fine body.

Other times she would wear flouncy skirts. She would wear stockings and suspenders, and let me see the whites of her thighs. One day she whispered that she had forgotten her panties!

It was innocent fun. I was happy, still fairly newly wed, and had become a father.

Then one evening, after a lecture, she announced that she was engaged, and was going to be married. He was a very high powered consultant, so we invited them to dinner. They stayed overnight.

We decided not to invite others, so there were four of us to drink a bottle of champagne to toast their engagement.

Dinner was a huge success, but it was obvious that he drank too much. She dressed in her normal provocative manner. There was always one button to many undone. I stole glimpses, catching sight of her white bra, and the tops of her small breasts. It remained harmless fun.

They married; we were at their wedding. We continued to meet for dinner. I continued to see her at the university.

Two years later we were asked to become guardians to their newborn first child.

We were tickled pink at the idea, and they were all invited for dinner.

She was breast feeding their daughter. She was put to bed in our resident cot, and we all changed for dinner.

It was a special winter evening. We had a raging fire in the grate. The house was wonderfully warm, and romantic. Our children were away overnight.

We ate by candlelight, and lit the whole house, but for the kitchen, with candles.

We drank vintage champagne again. We had a good claret with dinner, and a half bottle of Chateau Climens as a pudding wine. We had a magnificent dessert to suit.

We were not far into the evening when I realised that her husband had been drinking before they arrived. He continued to drink heavily.

Over the years that we had played our games, and when we had our occasional dinners, we realised that neither of us liked to drink too much. It helped us keep level heads.

We finished our champagne with the starter. We ate a spectacular main course with the claret, and I was clearing away dishes when she made her first move.

She had come silently into the kitchen, carrying vegetable dishes. I was loading the dishwasher, and did not hear her.

She was right behind me when I stood up, and turned. She reached on tiptoe and kissed me fully on my lips. I was totally taken by surprise.

We had kissed lip to lip for years, but this was immediately different. Her arms went around my neck, and she sucked my tongue into her mouth. She crushed our faces together. My hand went to her right breast, and I mashed it hard through her clothing.

My left hand went to her mons, and I gripped the bone hard through her skirt. My fingers went lower, under the lip, to where I had never been in all the years that we had known each other.

They turned the corner. They remained outside her clothing, but I forced them hard to her body. It was a completely involuntary movement. She let out a long, loud moan. We were both rather shocked at our reactions.

We pulled apart.

We paused.

We should have stopped then, but we did not. The others were still talking loudly in the dining room some twenty feet away.

I blurted out, “I love you. I have loved you for years.”

She said, “Oh No!”

Then we kissed again. My hand snaked across her blouse on a journey of it’s own. It went in through her provocative opening. My fingers ran inside her bra, and onto the bareness of her naked breast.

She was still nursing, her nipple was huge, and giving milk.

We broke from our embrace, and she said, “I think I will need some more protection, or I will leak through, and it will be seen.”

She grabbed some kitchen towel, folded two pieces, and unceremoniously thrust them into the points of her bra.

The atmosphere was electric. I had never felt anything like it. All our years of playing, all the pent up love, all the tenderness of many discussions, all her pain, the intimacies, and heartache, all my trials and tribulations, came to the surface in that one kiss.

We had to stop.

We did, walking hand in hand to the door of the dining room, where my wife was still in animated conversation with her husband.

We were carrying the pudding, and wine in our other hands, so it looked completely innocent.

Dinner finished, and I announced that I had decanted a bottle of Graham’s 1963 port. We retired to the blazing fire, and to good music.

I will always associate the third movement of Beethoven’s Sixth Symphony, the Pastorale, with that night.

It brings tears to my eyes every time I hear it. It will ‘til the day I die.

We settled down to listen, my wife sitting at her husband’s feet. He was running his fingers through her hair. We were together on a huge couch. She had her feet curled up under her skirt.

My hand was touching her feet.

Looking back at the situation I see a picture of intimate innocence, except that the other two had drunk too much.

The decanter went around, we all had a glass of that exquisite 1963 port. We toasted the good life.

Suddenly the other two said that they were tired, and needed to go to bed.

Innocence prevailed; we both said that we would follow them up stairs at the end of the next movement.

We sat through eleven and a half minutes of bliss.

She lent to kiss me as the others left the room, my hand went up her skirt, she was wearing stockings as usual, and, as far as I could tell, nothing else. I stroked her body as we kissed, but I did not go exploring. My fingers rested on the bareness of her smooth thigh.

There was no time to be intimate. The movement is only eleven minutes.

The others called, I removed my hand, we had one last kiss, and we started for bed.

I began to close the house down. She went to see that her daughter was still sleeping peacefully.

I could hear her husband snoring at the far end of the house. He was in a total deep sleep.

I thought our intimacy would end there.

I changed into nightclothes, and put on my dressing gown. This is unusual for me, but we had guests. I was on my way to bed when I glanced across the garden. I noticed that I had left a kitchen light on. I looked into our bedroom; my wife was also fast asleep.

I crossed to open the window. We always sleep with them wide open, even on the coldest winter nights. She did not stir.

I turned back, through my dressing room, and out onto the main landing.

The most beautiful apparition, a young woman in white, was standing holding the banister rail some twenty feet away. She had just come out of her daughter’s room; the light of the further landing was behind her.

She was wearing an embroidered cotton nightdress, demurely laced from the neck down to below her breasts. It had full length sleeves that reminded me of Elizabethan dress. It reached almost to the floor. I could see her toes, and her bare feet.

It was the finest material, the detailing was exquisite, lace panels enhanced its beauty. It was tailored with darts to fit quite closely.

The light behind outlined her wonderful petite figure, and our low wattage light on the main landing allowed me to see her breasts, her large dark areolae, and her nipples.

She was obviously clean shaven, or she was wearing flesh coloured panties.

She was crying very softly as she beckoned me towards her. It was as though we were attached, attracted by magnets.

I tiptoed across the landing, and started down the stairs.

I took her hand as I passed, and paused so that she could follow me. I sat on the carpeted step, just over half way down. We would be out of sight to a casual onlooker.

She tiptoed down holding my fingers, and started to sit beside me. I motioned her to sit on my knees.

We knew then that our evening had not ended.

She lifted her nightdress as she turned to sit down. She was facing me. She was not wearing panties, so her naked cunt was on my pyjama trouser leg. Her cum instantly flooded through, and onto my thigh.

It felt wonderfully warm and wet.

Not a word was spoken; she had continued to lift the hem of her nightdress, so that she was bare below the waist. It had been a very sexy movement, and my erection was rising for the second time that night.

Then she began to unlace that wonderful demure collar. I watched entranced as lace after lace was unthreaded from high on her neck. More of her beautiful upper body came into my sight.

She had obviously brought the garment so that she could nurse, but also, so that it would be of use afterwards as a nightdress. It seemed that she wanted to nurse me then.

She slowly unlaced her top until she could fold it back below both breasts at once. Her silent movements were divine. Her left hand lifted her right breast free of the embroidered edge of the material. Her right hand lifted her left breast. The fingers of both hands rolled the cotton below.

She was comfortable, and fully exposed for the first time.

She offered me her right breast.

It was too much of an invitation.

Her right hand went below, and she held it up to me. She placed her other hand behind my neck, both to hold herself as she lent backwards, and to feed me.

I lowered my lips to her breast, and drank. She wriggled, and pressed her cunt into my leg as I suckled.

I drank of her wonder for a short time, then she wanted to kiss.

She held on as I moved my lips to her eyes. I brushed them gently. One kiss was placed on each closed eyelid. I kissed the tip of her nose, and our mouths met. We explored each others mouths as my free hands began to explore her body.

They went to her waist, and onto the nakedness of her hips. I ran them together to the inside of her thighs to about half way to heaven. Her legs were parted so that her knees were high either side of my body, with her lower legs folded tight, her feet either side of my bum. The tips of her toes were wriggling through the material of my pyjamas.

My feet were splayed apart, and the cheeks of her bum were resting close to my knees.

She was opened for exploration.

Slowly, very slowly, I ran my fingers down the inside of her legs. I went past the point of no return, where I had been while we listened to the third movement.

She stopped breathing; she held her breath. I was close to her haven, to where I had never been in all the years that we had known each other.

My hands touched her baldness, her nakedness, her wet cunt. I rolled the tips of each finger, in turn, up her crack. They were moving in unison, hinging on my wrists. I slipped upwards onto the flatness where her baby had been, where she had been full.

I stroked her belly very gently. She was wonderfully firm.

I moved on upwards.

My fingers touched the underside of her breasts. She moved one hand to her nightdress, and let them both fall back inside. I felt more of her firmness, of her beauty. My fingers traced up to her nipples. I took one between each forefinger and thumb. I tented the front of her nightdress away from her teats. I squeezed gently.

Little wet marks appeared on the front. She was squirting milk onto the inside of her nightdress.

She whispered, “Please make love to me. Please empty my breasts of your milk.”

I whispered that we would make love together, and that I would love to continue to suckle her milk. She repeated that it was mine.

We made love together.

I asked her to stand up, then to sit down where I had been. I stood, and took three more steps down the stairs. I turned. She was sitting quietly with her knees as far apart as possible. She was holding the rucked nightdress above her abdomen.

I was being shown the window into her life.

I removed my dressing gown, and knelt down. I started to brush kisses on the open inside of her right knee. My mouth murmured inwards towards her most private place. She had a small mole about two inches from her wetness. I kissed, and licked it.

I withdrew, and began to kiss her left thigh. I drank in more, and more, details of her beauty as my eyes became accustomed to the low level of light. She had many small moles all the way up her left inner thigh. I kissed each in turn, until an inch or so from my goal I nibbled, and lightly bit one.

I lifted my mouth from her skin.

She stifled a small gasp.

Her hands came behind my head, and I was forced into her wetness.

It was a wonderful, enchanted, accurate aim. My mouth automatically gathered up her lips, and I sucked them to me. My nose drank in her deep sensual smell, just as she crushed me against her clit.

I was smothered for a long time.

She released her grip, I came up for air, and her hands went either side of my face. She pulled my mouth to hers, licking her juices from my face before kissing me hard.

She said, “That was amazing. Nobody has ever kissed me there before.”

Much later we talked about this comment. It was true. She was an oral virgin, which says much of the qualities, and education, of many men.

We have often laughed about it, agreeing that there should be a chair in “Sex Education” in all universities, and that proper sex should be taught in schools.

For the moment we continued to whisper, and talk, to hold, touch, and caress each other. She asked me to continue my oral ministrations, and more truths came out. I told her that I would like to give her an oral orgasm.

She had never had one. She had only come to orgasm by herself. She regularly faked them with her husband.

He was an in and out, missionary only man.

I was amazed. I told her that she must stifle any noise, as we should not wake the others. We both agreed that it was extraordinarily exciting making love, exploring, while our respective partners slept close by.

I kissed both her eyes again and moved back to heaven.

She arched backwards against the stairs, and lifted the nightdress completely off her body. I gazed over her wetness, over her stomach, through the valley between her gorgeous milk filled breasts, watching her teats rise and fall.

Her arms were stretched out above her head. They were still encased in fine cotton. She was slowly pulling her arms free of the sleeves.

Her eyes remained tight shut, sealed tight by my kisses.

I was very gentle, very tender, very loving.

I took a single loose labia fold into my mouth, and sucked it from her body. I nibbled it lightly, running my tongue over her sensitive skin.

I dropped the first, and pulled the other out from its nest. She was fast becoming very aroused, she was filling. I ran my tongue up each outer fullness in turn, before searching out her clit with my nose.

All this time I had a sense of awe. This was the first time ever for her. I was privileged, and would make love with her as no man had ever done before.

My mouth moved away, she remained still her arms now bare, her body nude, naked, vulnerable, and open. I marvelled at her beauty in the dim light of the night.

My tongue brushed up her left thigh, tracing a wet line that would feel slightly cold as it evaporated in the warmth of the house.

I was determined to bring her to a climax without my entering her cunt. It would be another first.

I was comfortable stretched out up the carpet of the stairs. My rock hard cock had come loose from my pyjama bottoms. It was pressing into the dept of the step probably leaving a pre cum mark.

She remained stretched out above me, her legs wantonly spread wide apart, her body slightly arched, her arms still stretched above her head. I wanted her to stay in that position, I wanted to bring her to her first oral orgasm without contact, so I stretched my arms above my head, and began a gentle massage of her breasts.

I squeezed her teats very gently, and pulled both slightly outwards. Milk leaked from her ducts, and began to run down her curve of her fullness. I stopped it, on both breasts with my little fingers. I began to massage it into her skin.

She murmured a small deep gurgle of contentment.

It might have sounded like a central heating noise to a casual listener, but there were none. We had been completely silent for a moment following our whisperings.

Both our respective partners were snoring; mine lightly, hers like a gathering thunderstorm.

I continued to milk then massage, lower and lower down each breast. Her whole body was becoming an erogenous zone. She was sensitised for her gathering orgasm. I began to circle her clitoris with my tongue, before sucking it gently, and circling again.

I watched her movements, her signals. Her hands were outstretched above her head, all eight fingers, and her thumbs, taught, and straining with love. She began to weep the tears of joy. Her fingers opened and closed in time with the waves of pleasure that shuddered through her body. She sobbed the tears of love, of ecstasy, and desire.