Sexual Biography of a Young Woman Pt. 11

So much for older guys not being able to get it up.

Chapter 5.

"Let me do your hair," Jon said.

It was a Sunday afternoon two weeks later. I was in his flat. He'd asked me to come round as he had a special treat for me. I had no idea what that could be. Our sex since that time he'd cum on my face had been fairly straightforward, although he clearly had an anal obsession for his focus was so much on my bum. He'd lightly smacked my bum a couple of times since that first amazing time when he'd lost his hard on, but nowhere near as strongly as he had then.

It had been the time, two days, after the spanking when he'd asked if I'd ever had anal intercourse. I'd told him no and I didn't feel ready for it just yet.

"I understand Sammi and I'll never push you to do anything you aren't comfortable with," he'd said in his polite and diplomatic, old fashioned manner.

"Are you ok with what I did to your bottom last time though?" He'd asked obviously referring to the spanking.

"Yes Jon, I suppose I am."

"Have you done that before?" He asked pulling me closer to him on the sofa.

"No, never," I replied wondering what was going to happen when he made me stand in front of him. He turned me round and with that enormous sexual self-confidence that so turned me on he said.

"Take your jeans down for me Sammi please."

My hands were shaking as I eased the zip down. It hadn't entered my head for one second to refuse, so quickly I'd pushed my jeans down round my knees. I was of course acutely aware that his face would now be right in line with the cheeks of my bottom. The full rounded cheeks, the cheeks that ballooned out from the white thong, the cheeks that were still a bright, burning pink in colour, yes the cheeks that showed the marks of the strong spanking, the cheeks that were covered in his trophy markings.

"Oh baby," he'd breathed as he so gently ran the tips of his fingers over them. "My lovely baby," he'd whispered.

"What is it Jon?."

"Oh I so love your bum."

Looking over my shoulder at him I said with a smile.

"Just my bum?"

He smiled back and said, slightly worryingly.

"Oh OK all bums, well nice shaped ones." I didn't pursue whether that mean bums of the male as well as female versions!

"What do you want to do to my hair?"

"I want to wash and dry it, comb and brush it and then put it into two pigtails. Is that ok?"

Quite intrigued by the erotic possibilities of what Jon was suggesting I'd replied that it was. I vividly recalled the time at uni when Stephanie had washed my hair. Her fingers massaging my scalp and the back of my neck as I pushed myself backwards against her tummy and occasionally her breasts, really was one of the sexiest non sex, if you get my meaning, situations I'd encountered.

"Shall I undress?" I asked, "you wouldn't want to soak my clothes would you?"

"Yes please, but wrap this towel around you," he said handing me a large, fluffy beige coloured towel.

He walked out the room and I undressed completely and wrapped the towel round me.

Jon came back wearing a rather old fashioned, long, silk, blue and green, paisley patterned dressing gown; I was almost surprised that he wasn't wearing a cravat! He led me to his bathroom. He'd placed a chair with its back to the sink and indicated for me to sit there. He pulled the chair back so that the front feet came off the ground and the back rested against the sink.

"Lean back Sammi, put your head back," he whispered.

He took my long blonde hair in his hands and simply held it for a while just running his fingers through it, making low moans in his throat. My eyes were closed. I felt warm water being poured over it; water that was wonderfully the perfect temperature. Then he poured some shampoo onto my head and his fingers tenderly rubbed it into my scalp.

It was gorgeous and I felt in heaven

As Jon massaged my head and rubbed the shampoo into my hair so he moved from one side to the other of me and the chair. He'd press himself, mostly lightly, against my hip, knee or arm. Sometimes though, it was more overt and I'd feel his tummy or his, what seemed to be at least, semi-erect cock against me. And that was exciting.

I was laying back on the chair the back of my neck and head over the sink. My body was at an acute angle, my feet tucked onto the rail between the legs of the chair. The towel had, inevitably, ridden up a little bit, but as it was such a large one it was still only mid thigh. I'd wrapped the top edge around my body just above my boobs and one side was tucked into the other.

As I was coming to expect from John he was once again creating a wonderful scenario. To him, so he'd explained, making love was like the theatre, it needed to be staged, it should be dramatic, it might require roles to be played, but most of all it had to be memorable. And I have to say, throughout my short affair with him, he continually achieved those objectives, even when he lost his erection as he did several times.

This time, I had the continual sound of the running water merging with the lovely classical music that he was always playing; I think it was Bach violin concertos. I had the warm water on my head and the scented, creamy shampoo in my hair. His fingers were massaging my scalp, something I find highly erotic even when done by a stranger of a hairdresser, and his hands were running through my hair. I had the frequent unseen, as I had my eyes closed, touching of his body against mine, the silk of his robe on my skin and the vulnerability of my nearly supine, almost naked position.

I felt the edges of the towel on my thighs being opened and then nothing. He resumed washing my hair. They were opened more, but I couldn't tell just what was on show. They were replaced. He carried on washing my hair making sure my head was continually pushed back so I couldn't see; in any case with the water running over my forehead and at times across my forehead meant I had to keep my eyes closed. I felt him pulling on the tucked in edges of the towel across my chest. The pressure loosened and I felt the air on my body as he clearly opened the edges and looked at me. I could feel him pulling the two edges apart all the way down from the top to the bottom. It was a weirdly exciting sensation to know he was looking at my full nakedness but I couldn't see him.

His fingers so softly touched my nipples; nowhere else, just the tips of each nipple, just the very end, gently and softly. There were a couple of immediate reactions. My nipples, of course, exploded into hardness like two pebbles and shudders of sexual pleasure and expectancy, probably in equal amounts, rushed through me.

I moaned, though I didn't say anything. The scene we were creating didn't call for words, simply deeds

Now he was holding each nipple, between his fingertips, his nails pressing into them, fairly hard. In effect he was pinching them, hard, he was squirming them around and he was pulling them. Pulling them to a length, or so it felt, they'd never been pulled before. Pulling and then letting go and then repeating that. "A bit like milking a cow," I thought to myself almost smiling.

It was remarkable, it was unthinkable and so surprising, but I felt as if I was going to cum. Could that happen? Could a man make a woman cum just by arousing her nipples? But then I suppose lying back on a chair, having one's hair washed as your lover slowly reveals your nudity and presses his evident hardness against your arm or hip is a little more than just having your nipples played with, isn't it? Whatever, he was doing it again. Just as he had when he played with my bum that first time, he was close to making me cum without penetration, or this time even touching my bum or pussy.

"Please Jon, please?" I whimpered, as under the running mixer tap my head began to roll from side to side.

"What Sammi, what does Sammi want?"

"Oh you know Jon, you know," I groaned reaching out trying to touch him. In my highly aroused state I suddenly wanted a cock. I wanted to feel it, hold it, rub it, have it against me or have it in me. But he moved away, apparently that wasn't in the script.

"Tell me what you want."

"To cum, I need to cum. I want you to make me cum."

"You want me to make baby cum?"

"Yes, yes please I do."

He didn't say or do anything for a few moments other than to release my nipples and go back to washing my hair.

I felt so frustrated. He'd taken me this far and was now refusing me the needed outcome, the required result, the essential solution; yes, he not only refused me his cock, but also wasn't making me cum, or so it seemed. Well that's what he thought, I had other ideas.

My hand found my nipples and repeated what he'd been doing. They found my breasts and squeezed and kneaded them, pinched and pushed the two mounds together as they continued squeezing and pulling the nipples. It was happening, well starting to happen; yes I was beginning to cum.

Even had I wanted to I couldn't have stopped my right hand, my masturbating hand that is, slithering down my body. It slid easily across my flat smooth tummy, into the little thatch of tawny coloured pubes and right onto my clit. I opened my legs a little. All other considerations fled from my mind as the extreme sensations reverberated out from that delicious piece of sensitive gristle. I rubbed myself and gripped my left tit as I masturbated myself to a full and wonderful orgasm.

I'd almost forgotten where I was when Jon's voice brought me back to reality.

"Mmmm that's pretty naughty isn't it? Quite a dirty little girl aren't you?" he asked turning off the tap and straightening the chair. I sat before him naked, my wet hair all straight hanging down around my face onto my shoulders, my upper thighs smeared with my own female excretions.

"Aren't you?" He repeated.

"Am I, why?" I asked, finding it quite easy and fairly natural to fall into the role-play.

"Wanking yourself like that in front of me," he said tweaking one of my bow soft nipples. "That's very naughty and when you're naughty, what should happen?" he asked.

"I don't know," I replied looking at him.

"Oh Sammi I think you do know, or I think you can guess can't you?"

I could guess now where this was going and my pulse started to race a bit.

"No Jon," I replied as coolly as I could muster, "I don't"

"Well when little girls are naughty they have to be punished don't they."

I was now sure where this was leading and my heart started to pound. Was that with fear or excitement, trepidation or anticipation I wondered?

"Yes," I heard myself saying in my confusion, "they do."

"And how should she be punished?" Jon asked his voice tight and a little croaky.

"I don't know," I said quietly, quite in dread of saying what I guess he wanted to hear and what I may well have deep down wanted to happen.

"Then shall I tell you?"

"Yes, yes please," I stammered.

"You have to be spanked don't you? I have to spank your bottom, as I did the other day. That's what you want isn't it?"

Having that question out to me seemed impossible. Hearing those words for the first time in my life when directed towards me was incredible. I'd never thought I'd hear a man say he was going to spank my bum. I'd equally never thought I'd hear a man asking if that's what I wanted.

"Isn't it?" He repeated slightly tersely.

And most of all I never thought I'd hear myself say.

"Yes Jon it is."

"Tell me, tell me what you want Sammi." He insisted turning the screw of extreme eroticism very tight.

"Oh Jon I want you to spank me. I want you to spank my bottom." I whimpered near to tears with want.