Story Time - Lynda

"Story Time" came about when in the early 90's I reunited with Maribeth, a woman that I had dated in college but had lost track of for twenty years. This bagan an affair that lasted over a decade until distance made it impossible to continue.

I had begun traveling extensively for the company I worked for in the late 70's. Initially it was almost exclusively in the United States and most trips were rarely more than a couple of days. In 1980 we acquired a company that was based in Chicago and I was given the responsibility of integrating it into ours. For the better part of the next year I was spending four days a week, either in Chicago, or other sites where it had operations. As a result I was only home on weekends.

A couple of years later I was appointed to manage that entire business group which had operations all over the United States plus Canada and Mexico. Later global procurement was added which resulted in numerous trips abroad, mostly to what we would call third world countries. So to make a long story short, I was on the road a lot. As you might imagine, this impacted my marriage pretty signicantly. Suffice to say we were almost in different worlds.

It probably will come as no great surprise, but being away from home for extended periods gets lonely, and I succumbed to temptation, not for the first time, while working in Chicago. I should also point out that the period I'm describing was just prior to the HIV outbreaks and the general hysteria that ensued. So some of what I'm going to relate probablys would not have happened just a few years later.

Anyway, during this time I had more than my share of erotic encounters on the road, including two other affairs.

As my relationship with Maribeth deepened, she would occasionally ask about these experiences. Usually this occured in that blissful period immediately following sex when we would cuddle and just talk. Thus, what we would come to call "Story Time" began. So, in response to Maribeth's request, I began telling her about Lynda.

Lynda was someone I had met in that period where I was commuting to Chicago. I ran into her occasionally at the bar in a restaurant I frequented. When I was alone I'd eat at the bar rather than a table and once in a while Lynda would be there and we would talk about whatever the TV was showing or just small talk.

The company that we had acquired had an executive apartment in a building just off the loop and that was my home away from home during that year, and it was located about a block away from the restaurant.

One night, I was eating at the bar watching some basketball game, when Lynda slid onto the stool next to me and says, "I thought I'd find you here, let me buy you a drink." By that time we were on a first name basis and she knew generally what I did and why I was in Chicago. I knew she was divorced and worked for the Convention Bureau which was a few blocks in the other direction. As a rule, Lynda was there with one or two other women, but this night she was alone.

I told her I'd have a beer, but she ignored that request and we ended up with his and hers tequila sunrises. When those were gone, it was my turn to order. We repeated this process for another hour or so, during which time we were making frequent, if fleeing, physical contact with each other.

I had come directly from the office, so I was dressed in a gray business suit, and a maroon and white striped shirt, but my red tie was in my pocket so the collar was open. She must have apparently done the same because she had on a blue jacket over a white frilly blouse, a grey skirt, no nylons and red 3" heels. When she'd cross her legs, she'd dangle one of her shoes by the toe.

At the time I was 36 and Lynda never actually told me her age, but I would guess it to be early to mid forties. She had medium length blondish hair and brown eyes. She minimized make up, but she really didn't need much help. I would describe her as attractive rather than beautiful, and she emanated an aura that I would describe a an "innocent lost soul." She was a very nice person, who seemed to me to be looking for something she didn't know what.

I don't actually remember, but I'm assuming that I had to be the one to suggest we take our discussion up to my apàrtment, and that's where we ended up, both a little tipsy from one tequila too many.

At this point I would like to be able to describe in exacting detail how I masterfully seduced fair Lynda with my masculine charm, but the truth of the matter is that, as soon as I opened the door, she asked where the bedroom was and began to leave a trail of clothing down the hall heading in that direction.

By the time I reached the bedroom door she was down to bra, panties and shoes and she was in the act of releasing her not inconsequential breasts from captivity.

Our lovemaking that night was passionate and lustful. There was no pretence as to why we both there. She was a woman "in heat", and was more than willing to sample whatever sexual delight she could extract from our coupling.

Too much liquor is a problem for me in the performance department, so the first order of business was obviously to get me into the game, and Lynda's oral skills were more than sufficient to achieve the desired result. As I may relate later, it's my experience that there are just some women who seem to really relish the act of taking me inside their mouths. I think for them, in some ways, it's the supreme act of sexual intimacy. Lynda should be a charter member of this group. She had superb instincts on how far she could push and when to back off. Her ability to bring me to the edge without going over was amazing.

Based on her responses, I like to think I was doing my part as well. As much as her femaleness was arousing to me, it appeared that my masculinity was exactly what she desired.

One moment is burned in my memory. Lynda had doubled the pillow under her head and this lifted her head sufficiently to be able to see our imminate coupling. She had spread her legs and I had moved into position to mount when she asked me to wait.

For long seconds she looked at my phallus poised at the gates. I had become solidly erect and from her point of view I'm sure she was savoring the prospect of this penetrating her body. I was already leaking pre-cum and it coated the tip with a silky sheen.

Lynda wasn't the only one looking. Her labia was parted and slick as well and the small purplish petals which glistened with her arousal. There was no mistaking my intended target since the darker pit of her vaginal opening was clearly outlined.

I felt her hands snake up my arms until they rested on my shoulders and squeezed the muscles they found there. Lynda's eyes rose from where her gaze had been riveted to find mine. I sensed her legs beginning to apply pressure and I interpreted these as signs that she wished for us to begin.

I was hard enough and we were both wet enough that no hands were necessary to assist. Lynda was still locked into my eyes when she felt the tip of my cock seat itself just at the entrance, and her desire was made perfectly clear when her husky voice ordered me to "fuck her."

I pushed and was surprised when I impaled her almost to the hilt. Usually this process is completed in several smaller penetrations which allows the vagina to gradually adapt to the invasion, but apparently not this time.

By the way that I had easily slipped into her, you might think that she was loose, but that wasn't my impression at all. The walls of Lynda's vagina felt secure around my cock and I was reveling in the warmth of her. This moment always triggers an increase in firmness and I experienced that quickly.

I sometimes wonder whether a woman also feels an increase in warmth, but I've never actually asked that question. In any event Lynda murmured a satisfied "ummm," as I filled her and the look on her face communicated that she was more than happy to feel my lodged deep in her body.

Fast forward ten years and a soft comment from Maribeth answered my unasked question; "of course we experience your warmth as you enter us, it's one of the sensations that makes fucking so pleasurable." I thanked Maribeth with a kiss and a squeeze of her bare tit, and continued.

Lynda permitted me to withdraw slightly and I was conscious of the slick scraping feeling as I did. Lynda was not going to let me move very far however as I had only pulled out a couple of inches when her legs wrapped around me to pull me back.

This initiated the primeval dance. Over the next fifteen minutes we fucked. We started slow with long pauses where we both just savored the sensation of being physically coupled. I could feel Lynda's vaginal muscles squeezing and measuring me and I used my own muscles to send pulsations through the length of my embedded cock which seemed to trigger guttural sounds of approval from the lady.

In time, our mutual arousal began to dictate stronger and quicker strokes. Lynda's body responded to this up tempo, by pulling even harder with her legs on the "in" stroke, and by uttering strings of profanity all directed at what I should be doing to her.

Maribeth was not satisfied by this general comment and wanted to know exactly what profanity I was talking about. I gazed into her eyes and said, "pretty much the same that comes out of your mouth, little slut. You know, oh...crap...harder....harder...oh fuck my pussy...take me....oh God....oh fuck, fuck, fuck."

Maribeth kissed me interrupting this part of the narrative and then just murmured, "oh."

Several times I glanced down and witnessed myself impaling Lynda's pussy. My cock was shining from our mutual lube and as I thrust forward I could see the lips of her labia being pulled slightly into her. I also found that I could see the roundness of her womanly hips and the flesh of her shins as she held me tightly into her. All of these were serving to rachet my arousal to "critical."

Fleetingly, and much too lately, I thought about birth control. I was much too close to orgasm to seriously break our rhythm, but in those few seconds, I rationalized that Lynda had obviously been the seducer this night and I assumed that she had considered that issue long before this critical moment. Later in "cuddle mode," she confirmed she had.

There had been a couple of times during cotis, that I thought Lynda experienced waves of pleasure, since she screwed up her face and I could see her face and neck had flushed somewhat, but I, like most men, are relatively clueless when it comes to the subject of female sexual satisfaction.

I had asked Maribeth about this on numerous occasions, and she had tried her best to explain. Yes, orgasms were welcome and important, but it seemed that, for women, there were a lot of other things that were in the mix. Just the sense of closeness that came from being filled, the amoma of men and feeling their strength and protection were key. One aspect that I learned from her was at the man's "moment of truth," there is a corresponding rush of pleasure a woman feels at the very point of insemination. Maribeth described it as something nature programmed into them to insure that the act of receiving the man's sperm was as deeply received as possible.

I could see that Maribeth's observation had probably been in play in those last few seconds with Lynda. As I felt control slipping away and ejaculation imminent, Lynda pulled me strongly with both arms and legs.

I emptied my seed deep in her womb and incredible waves of pleasure exploded in my brain. Particularly when I have been "edged" to the brink over a period of time, the orgasm is powerful enough that I can't sort out whether I'm feeling pleasure or pain, and that's what I was feeling. I was dimly aware of Lynda thrashing beneath me, but whether she was experiencing a similar feeling, I could not say.

I was aware, as I finally collapsed beside her, that sweat was covering my body and I could see its sheen on her as well. I sensed my spent cock slipping from her and idly thought that the sheets were going to be ruined.

We cuddled together. Both of us were breathing in ragged gasps but we embraced and brought our lips together in the most gentle kiss of this passionate evening.

Lynda, who has been either quiet or profane over the last half hour, started to tell me how wonderful that had been, and the more she talked the more expressive her kisses became until she was covering my whole face, lips, cheeks, eyes, and throat. At one point, she paused long enough to look into my eyes and tell me, "I just knew you'd be good."

The lady had a way of stroking my ego, that was for sure

As I predicted, the sheets were a mess and so too was Lynda. She excused herself and disappeared into the bathroom and I heard water running and the toilet flushed. I cleaned myself up the best I could with paper towels and I retrieved our half empty glasses. A turned down top sheet served to make the bed habitable and when Lynda emerged from the bathroom we settled back and sipped wine and cuddled.

We both expressed satisfaction about our coupling and Lynda admitted that she had come to the bar with the intention of taking me to bed. Yes, she is was on birth control, but she said she hadn't had sex with a man since her divorce six months previous. I was her first pick up. I myself hadn't had sex in about the same length of time, but I chose not to mention the reason for that sad state of affairs.

Lynda soon got dressed, did what women do in the bathroom and thanked me for a "wonderful evening," called a cab and was gone. I never saw her again.

I truly enjoyed her company and I believe she mine, but as I've sense learned, one night stands usually stay one night

Over the next few years, I discovered that there are a lot of "Lyndas" out there. Mostly professional women in their forties and fifties that for one reason or another need, either something extra or something different. I didn't have a ton of these kinds of experiences, but I had a few.

Maribeth snuggled close, enough so that our lips easily met in a kiss that started out gentle but became more demanding the longer it went.

As I had observed before, "Story Time" always seemed to result in Maribeth clinging to my naked body in a very possessive way and I idly wondered if it was some kind of unconscious response that women feel when "their man" is the subject of some other woman's desire.

When Maribeth's reached under the sheets and grasped my shaft, these deep philosophical thoughts seemed to magically vanish, and for the next hour I was erotically absorbed by Maribeth's exhibition of feminine arousal. I did wonder if "Story Time" could have been responsible.