Teresa

My sexual adventures with Mrs Ronson had broadened my outlook significantly and given me greater confidence with elder women though not, unfortunately, with girls of my own age. Without that confidence, the following events would not have taken place, so I am included this true story in with the Mrs Ronson series, although she does not appear within this. The fact is that, without my experiences with Mrs Ronson, what happened between me and Teresa simply would not have taken place.

Teresa was an old friend of my mother's. Not an old school friend, but an old friend that she had known since we had moved into our house about twelve years ago.

Teresa was older than my mother but not a lot older. During the time that we had known her, her husband had died, I believed, though he may have just walked out on her. She had been on her own for at least six years at the time of my story, but I really knew very little about Teresa. I thought that Mom knew her through her book group.

Up until the events of the story, I had only ever seen Teresa when she would visit Mom at home, just for a coffee. I called her Teresa because Mom called her Teresa. I only knew her as Teresa and did not know her surname. I had no reason to know anything more about her and, generally, I was not interested in knowing more. I had always thought of her as a 'serious' type of person and, at my age, that was not my sort.

Although I knew nothing more about Teresa, I found out that she lived alone, not far away from our house. I discovered this when Mom asked me if I could go over and cut down an overhanging branch for Teresa, in her back garden. It seemed that Mom had offered my services to her friend, possibly because of similar jobs that she believed that I was doing for Mrs Ronson.

I had no intention of disillusioning Mom about what I was doing for, and to, Mrs Ronson.

It is strange, when I think about it, that I always knew Mrs Ronson as Mrs Ronson and only ever addressed her as such, despite the intimacy of our relationship, and knowing that her first name was Eileen. I only knew Teresa as Teresa.

So it was that one morning I turned up at Teresa's front door with a woodsaw.

Teresa opened the door wearing a light blue housecoat. I had not thought about Teresa in any particular way before and this was really the first time that we had been alone together, so I started to notice her as a woman.

I couldn't just stare at her, of course, but she offered me a glass of water which I accepted because it was a warm day and we made some polite conversation, which was a novelty because I don't think we had exchanged anything more than a couple of sentences before. I noticed her red hair cropped close to the head with ringlets, a nicely curved bow of an upper lip above a lower lip of pleasing fullness. She must have been in her late 40s but she looked good for her age.

No obvious make-up, which probably means not excessive. If make-up is not plastered on, I hardly ever notice it. Ever.

The housecoat came down to her mid-thigh. Although I could not see through it, the way that her body filled it out told me that she probably had a slim figure with a pair of modestly average sized breasts.

I had also not seen her before standing beside me. My usual encounters with Teresa had been her sitting down with Mom, usually drinking coffee. She was not as tall as I had imagined, standing at about five foot five, a few inches shorter than myself.

I finished the water and Teresa led me into the back garden, which gave me further opportunity to watch her move and deduce more about the body under the housecoat. She moved lithely, the housecoat only tightening across her breasts and fitting loosely until what appeared to be the swell of a nicely rounded bottom lower down. She clearly did not have much surplus weight and I did not think there was much under the housecoat, probably just a bra and panties, her legs were bare. I like a nice round bottom.

I could see why the branch had become a problem. there was too much weight there anyway and it was only a matter of time before it broke off and came down itself, possibly damaging a nearby fence in the process. I tried to cut it into four equal sections, but I then had to trim off the smaller branches to bring them all to a manageable size for disposal.

It must have taken a bit over an hour, I suppose, then I made my way back to the house and the kitchen where Teresa was standing at the sink.

"All done, Teresa," I said, "I've stacked the wood at the base of the tree, I didn' know what you wanted to do with it."

"Thank you, Danny, I don't know what I want to do with it, either. I'll have to think about it.

"Oh, Danny, you're covered in sawdust. "

I looked down. Indeed, I was.

"I'm sorry, Teresa, I just didn't notice."

"Never mind, Danny, I'm sure it will just brush off," and then she started brushing the sawdust from the front of my trousers with her hand.

Oh my God. I let her do it, although I knew what was likely to happen. I think she just started brushing the sawdust away without thinking and I just let it happen because I was unprepared to do anything else.

Of course, the inevitable happened and Teresa suddenly realised that while she was brushing the sawdust away from the front of my jeans, she was also stroking my cock through the material. Needless to say my cock realised that before even I did and started to rise to the occasion.

"Oh," she said, lamely, stopping suddenly and pulling her hand away, "maybe you had best finish doing that."

Without my experiences with Mrs Ronson, I think I would just have left it at that but I now had what I considered to be some insight into older women and what were sometimes quite complex patterns of desire.

I have to say those insights occasionally led me into unwise and unfortunate courses of action, but not on this occasion.

"That felt nice," I said.

"I expect that it did, Daniel, but I don't think we need to discuss it."

I noticed how the informal "Danny" had changed to "Daniel", a more formal address. I was unsure what that meant although I guessed that there was an implied message that we should be dealing with this situation like responsible adults. However, I saw it as an acknowledgement that she had felt my stiffening cock through the material of my jeans and, more important, that she knew she had made it happen. And that made it feel even stiffer. I knew that she knew that I knew that she had been stroking my cock, and she didn't want to talk about it.

I didn't feel uncomfortable, at all, talking about it. One of the things I thought that I had learned from Mrs Ronson was that talking through a situation often felt better and worked out better than shying away from it.

"I'm sorry, Teresa, but it did feel nice and, although I do feel embarrassed having you see me like this, it still feels good.

"I'm sorry," I said again.

"No, Daniel, you haven't done anything wrong, so you shouldn't feel that way. I should have known better, but I didn't realise that a young boy like you would have physical feelings like that for me.

"It's kind of nice and flattering, Daniel, but we both know this is wrong."

I noted her reference to the 'young boy' meaning me. She was trying to assert authority, emphasizing the age difference and telling me that I was just 'a young boy'. I felt that I had the confidence to tackle that and, anyway, I was nineteen.

"I'm sorry, Teresa, but I don't think of you as being old and out of reach. You might be an old friend of Mom's, but I've always felt an attraction to you. It's just so easy for me to get turned on, whether accidentally or otherwise. "

"Otherwise, Daniel? You surely wouldn't think I would do this on purpose?"

"No, Teresa, of course not. I'm afraid that I am just a horny teenage boy and my brain and my body go at different speeds and often in different directions. It's not easy. I'm sorry, Teresa."

I mentally slapped myself - "Don't keep being so apologetic! You don't need to be apologetic!" I told myself.

"Actually, Teresa, I'm sorry that we seem to have reached an uncomfortable situation, but I can't be sorry that my body wants to show that it likes you, even though that is embarrassing and a bit uncomfortable for both of us. My body can be a bit too honest for me sometimes."

I could see that surprised her. She didn't expect me to be assertive like that. She did not expect me to be candid, like that.

She relaxed. She had not expected to be reprimanded and she was now closer to accepting what I was saying and respecting it. Our roles were reversing a little.

"Yes, Danny, you're right. I think your body is a bit too honest for me, too. I understand, and there's no reason why you should feel uncomfortable about it, either, it's just natural."

I noticed that I was 'Danny' again. I saw that as a good sign.

"Actually, Teresa, I didn't mean socially uncomfortable, my 'honesty' is literally physically uncomfortable at the moment and I'm not too sure what to do about it."

"Oh, I see, Danny. Well, would you like to go to the bathroom?"

"To be honest, Teresa, I would feel awkward going to the bathroom right now, because I know that you would know that I was going to the bathroom to masturbate. I would kind of feel that to be a bit shameful and disrespectful to you, especially since I think we have reached a certain level of honesty with each other, now."

Teresa didn't say anything, but just looked thoughtful. Talking things through seemed to be opening up possibilities, maybe because my conversation was taking both of us into uncharted territory. It felt exciting but I think, dear reader, that you will have guessed which part of me was getting most excited?

Still saying nothing, she moved her hand back to the bulge in the front of my jeans, feeling my stiffness through the fabric. It was becoming more uncomfortable. I covered her hand with mine, holding it there upon my constrained erection which I imagined struggling for freedom.

I noticed that, although her hand was back feeling my cock with only the denim stopping direct contact, she had done nothing more than she had already done.

"Oh, Danny!" she said, which I took as an acknowledgement that my problem was real, because she could now feel the increased stiffness. There was a hint of reluctance, or confusion, there too.

"Can I take it out, please, Teresa?"

Teresa said nothing, although I thought she was breathing heavier, but I wasn't really waiting for a reply. Moving her hand to one side, I undid my trousers so that I could release my uncomfortable cock. It was a wonderful relief. I replaced her hand upon my now exposed and growing erection, so that she could properly take it in hand and feel it doing what came naturally.

"I wouldn't want any misunderstandings," I said, and then wondered why I had said it. I probably just felt that I needed to say something.

"I don't think that there's any misunderstanding," she said, weighing my cock in her hand, "I don't think there's anything to misunderstand here.'

"It's a size," she said.

I wasn't too sure what she meant, I don't think of my cock as being particularly big, but I assumed it was a compliment and an appreciation of its nearly full erectness. It is also possible that she hadn't felt one in her hand like this for a while - certainly not a horny teenager's. Her hand moved along the length to the tip and then back again to cup my balls.

"What you said about your body being too honest for you, I know what you mean, Danny.. I think my body is being a bit too honest for me too. We shouldn't be doing this."

"No, we shouldn't, Teresa," I say, knowing that isn't going to stop this happening. I am interested in what she meant by her body being honest now. I unbutton her housecoat. Her hand moves along my erection again.

Slipping my hand inside her housecoat, I discover that, as I thought, she is wearing only a light bra and panties underneath. My fingers touch soft flesh at her waist and I move my hand upwards to the cup of her bra. It is easy to slip my hand inside, but I could already feel the hardness of the nipple as my hand moved over the material. Her breast gave a pleasingly fullness in my exploring hand.

Her hand was still slowly stroking my cock up and down. She was saying nothing. It seemed to be down to me to make the next move. Although Teresa seemed to be most willing, it didn't seem that she wanted to instigate much. I reasoned that she was still feeling guilty about what we were doing and was expecting me to move everything forward.

I moved my hand back down to her waist and then slid it behind her. She didn't resist as I pulled her towards me, so I guessed I was probably doing the right thing, and I pressed my lips against hers and kissed her.

She did not pull away and I felt her body pressing itself against mine. Her hand was still on my dick, her thumb moving over the swollen cockhead now leaking precum fluid. her other hand was behind my head pulling our faces together. Her mouth opened to mine and our tongues met. We were tasting each other's lust.

We had crossed a threshold, we were now both complicit in something. my hand was back to her breast, the other hand holding her to me. Our mouths uncoupled.

"Nothing wrong, Teresa," I said, "but I don't think Mom would understand."

"Fuck your Mom," said Teresa assertively and then, after a brief pause, moved her head to whisper in my ear, softly adding "and while you're about it, fuck me too!"

I hold her close to me, one hand down behind her feeling her nicely rounded bottom, the other hand pressing her breast. Her breasts are nice, like her bottom; not big, but nice. The natural sag is emphasizing their full roundness and looks very sexy.

We break; our clothes are in the way now and they need to come off. Standing apart, we can look at each other. Her housecoat is almost completely unbuttoned and half off one shoulder, her bra also pulled down on that side exposing the naked breast, her body is mostly flushed with excitement, the visible nipple is swollen, hard, and a deep dark red.

I realise that I am now naked from the waist down to my ankles where my pants have fallen. My erection has softened slightly but still swollen and ready to stiffen again for action. I can feel it starting to stiffen again already with the thought of entering this woman. I unbutton my shirt, while watching Teresa.

Teresa has done nothing. She does not want to cover her exposed breast. I think she is enjoying me looking at her. She is thinking of my body on hers, my cock sliding up inside her. She is thinking about me thinking about that.

She unbuttons the lower buttons where the house coat is still closed around her. She takes the housecoat off, and her bra with it. She stands in front of me wearing only her panties which are white and unexpectedly frilly.

I have kicked off my pants and shoes and dropped my shirt on top. I am now completely naked. I am gently stroking myself, partly to keep it hard, partly to keep her looking at it.

She opens her legs and pulls her panties up tight at the front into her pubic crease. It also shows the dampness of the gusset.

"My honesty," she says, and smiles.

She then takes off her panties and throws them onto my pile of clothes as if symbolically giving them to me. Her pubic hair is a light red and short, but not stubbly. It looks amazingly soft.

"You can come inside me, if you have to," she says.

"I will fill your cunt, Teresa."

"That's very graphic, Daniel. I think that's the nastiest and the nicest thing that anyone has ever said to me."

We were bsck to "Daniel' again, but this was not 'Daniel, you're being naughty' or 'Danny, my friend's son', this was 'Daniel, the man who is going to fuck me and talks about my cunt as if he owns it'.

This was all very different to Mrs Ronson, to whom I was always 'Danny, a horny teenager'. My relationship with Teresa had changed, matured, over the space of a couple of hours.

We were still downstaurs in the lounge, so this is where I was going to fuck her. It didn't really matter to me, but I would have thought that she would have been more comfortable upstairs. It was too late for that now; now was not about manoeuvring ourselves somewhere else, it was about manoeuvring my cock into her cunt.

I moved over to her, put one arm around her and behind to grasp her round asscheek and pulled it towards me while my other hand cupped her breast and pushed her back do that my weight could bring her down onto the sofa. I pressed my mouth to hers again in another open kiss.

My hand was all over her tits and then, breaking away from the kiss, my mouth moved to her breasts too, helping out the one hand - the other was still on her ass, holding her to me.

I was alternately kissing and sucking on her nipples. She was lying back with one hand on the back of my head. The other hand had moved from my cock and was now just resting on the small of my back. Her legs were open, my body between them. I could smell the scent of her arousal. She is breathing heavily while pushing her pelvis up towards me. I can feel her wetness on my lower stomach.

"I want your cock," She says, breathlessly.

I move my hand from behind her around and between her legs into the folds of her labia and her slippery heat.

My cock is back to full hardness as I run the cockhead along her eager slit. I am trying to tease her but it is difficult to stop it sliding in, so I give up and just let it happen.

As I enter her, I feel her cunt tighten around me. I push harder and she lets me deeply enter to my full length.

"Oh, Danny!"

I pull back a bit and start making short hard thrusts into her cunt's grip. She is pushing her hungry snatch back on to me so every short thrust is forcing my thick swollen cockhead just a little deeper up inside her. Even within her tight warm folds I can feel my cock getting harder and bigger with the excitement of her body responses.

I am fucking one of my mom's friends. That thought is exciting me too. I am thinking of Mom watching me ramming my cock up inside Teresa, and maybe thinking that she might be next.

"Oh, Danny. Yes, Danny!"

"I love your cunt, Teresa!" I am imagining Mom hearing me being nasty with her friend.

"Oh, Danny, that feels so good inside."

I have started pulling out further and coming back inside her with longer thrusts now. I am going to give her my spunk soon. I want to give her loads of it.

Both of my hands are behind her now holding her below her hips at the swell of her asscheeks, holding her so that I can thrust full and deep. My mouth finds hers again and my tongue enters. I am inside her at both ends now and with this realisation, my last thrust releases the cream of my lust inside her.

"Oooh, Danny", she gasps, and then my body tells her that I haven't finished yet.

She's clearly not used to getting fucked by a young guy like me. I have the stamina and I have more creamy semen for her. I really do intend to fill her cunt.

"Oh," I can hear her surprise - she realises that I am going to give her more.

I don't know if she wants any more but my body is now a fuck machine and both of us are going to have to fuck along with it until it has run out of steam and stops naturally.

Fortunately, she seems to be enjoying it, although she has run out of vocabulary. She gasps as I plunge in and out of her, one hand on my shoulder and the other on the small of my back. She's just letting it happen.

I'm not much better, I'm saving my energy for the fucking. I don't want to say anything, I just want to finish, finally, inside her. I'm enjoying the sensation of her juicy squelchy cunt, though. It feels nice, but I'm not sure that I am getting enough friction from it.