The Story of Miranda

"You look fabulous Miranda," I said, "fabulous."

"Do you really think so?"

"No," I said and saw her face drop, then added with a smile that surprised her, "I KNOW so!" This seemed to give her confidence and she stood up straight although a bit wobbly on the shoes. Her boobs were held delectably by the brassiere and her sex, covered of course by her knickers, was framed by the suspenders. The white stockings showed her legs off to excellent effect and the shoes, as well as making her taller, caused her bottom to take on an immensely sexy pout.

I was having trouble now, JT was really bulging and I had to furtively adjust things down below. As I did so I caught her looking this time which caused a slight blush but still that little smile.

"Let's do some pictures," I said so she stood, she sat, and she knelt. In the latter case leaning forward on the chaise longue again looking over her shoulder -- god she was lovely. She was wearing the knickers under the suspenders which, I suppose, is the natural way to wear them but, although it is still sexy, I think that wearing them over the suspenders infers more so after several shots I made a suggestion.

"Miranda," I said as she sat, "you're wearing the knickers under the suspenders."

"Mmm," she said, "why?"

"We . . . ll," I said hesitantly.

"Well what?" she said with a smile.

"Well, you're wearing the knickers inside the suspenders," I said again.

"I don't understand?" she said, puzzled.

"Errrmm, look," I hesitated, "if you were going to take them off it would be difficult. Wearing them like that, sort of, infers they are not coming off."

She missed my point, "I don't need to take them off. Anyway, if I did I could undo the suspenders."

I took a deep breath, "Yes," I said, "but what if someone else wanted to take them off but leave the suspenders on?" For a moment she didn't see the point then she coloured up.

"Oh, oh, oh I see. Right! OK. Yes, I see now." I could see her mind working now as she dealt with her embarrassment. Then she looked at me, her poise having returned.

She surprised me, "Shall I wear them like that then?" Her glance was frank and open. Was there a suggestion? I couldn't be sure.

"Only if you want to," I said. I wanted her to decide.

She said nothing, just turned into the changing room. I fiddled with the camera and adjusted my dress until she came out a couple of minutes later with the knickers over the suspenders.

"How about this?" she said stroking her hands down her body accentuating her shape.

"Yes," I said with a catch in my voice. I was close to cumming at that point. Her eroticism was almost overwhelming and my cock was straining at the leash to such an extent that it was becoming uncomfortable. I couldn't adjust properly because she was standing there watching me. Now her attitude shouted confidence; she knew full well how she looked and exactly what it was doing to me. There was a tiny smile on her face as we stood looking at each other.

Then she said, "It's not very comfortable wearing them like this. They pinch the suspenders. Shall I take them off?" she added fixing me with her eyes.

She was killing me slowly and now she knew it! I was so surprised at her apparent brazenness that I could only mumble a disjointed, "Yes, oh errm, errrr, yes," in reply.

"I will then!" and she slowly lowered them and stepped out. Now she looked at me almost pleadingly. She seemed to need my approval. Well, by heck, she had it. It was almost too much.

"Oh my God Miranda, oh shit," I managed to blurt out, "fantastic, absolutely bloody fantastic." I think that was the approval she needed. The recognition that she was lovely. I was being completely out manoeuvred here, she was taking control as only a woman can when she finally realises exactly how beautiful, sexy, and attractive she is. We mere males have no chance do we? From leading I was now following, at least for the moment. She seemed pleased with herself, pleased with her decision, as she continued to watch me flounder.

Trying to regain some semblance of control I said, "Shall I take some shots?"

"No," she said as she walked towards me, "I think we need to release some pressure."

Now she had me foxed. "Pressure?"

"Yes," she said, "pressure." Then, looking down at my erection stretching my trousers, she said with a great big smile, "You look a bit uncomfortable."

"Oh Miranda, I'm sorry."

"What for?" she asked enjoying, I think, the idea of being in charge.

"Well, you know, 'reacting'."

"I don't think you should be sorry for 'reacting'," she said with a smile then a more direct look, "perhaps for not reacting. I think it's nice that you 'reacted'. Anyway," she went on, as if to herself, "I think I ought to do something about it." And with that she knelt in front of me, undid my slacks and dragged them to the floor. Now, given its freedom, my cock shot to attention, the head poking above the waistband of my pants.

She was slightly to one side and now her eyes were fixed on the bulge and the head as if gauging what to do next. Then, apparently having made up her mind, she grabbed the waistband and pulled them down. Her eyes widened in surprise. Look I'm not that well endowed but I am a bit bigger than average, about 8½ inches long and quite thick on a good day. She obviously hadn't seen one that size before and her face was a picture. She looked at my cock, then up into my eyes as if seeking approval for what she did next. I was rock steady. Can you imagine? Here is this woman I've fantasised over for the last few weeks kneeling at my feet, her hands and mouth only inches away from an erection that was begging for relief. For all that I didn't know what to do, what to say. It was as if we were both in a static tableau, stuck in a moment of indecision. In the end she must have read the desire and the need in my eyes because her hand came up and grasped my cock at the base and started to masturbate me. Well it didn't take long, about three strokes I think. Then bang, off I went. The first pulse, further than I'd sent one in ages, hit her shoulder and ran down on to the bra, the second, less strong, hit the bra full on. Her eyes widened in surprise. Subsequent pulses, weakening, dribbled onto her thigh and the stockings. All the while she was watching my cock wide-eyed, almost as if she'd not seen one before or, at least, not seen one cum at such close range.

"Oh Miranda, Miranda, love. I'm sorry," I managed to say breathlessly. This was quite an achievement because she still had hold of my softening cock. Sadly, I can't maintain an erection very long after cumming, it's a curse of age I'm afraid, but it doesn't make my cock any the less sensitive just afterwards.

My apology seemed to break into her apparent reverie. I hadn't noticed at the time, I had other things on my mind, but now I saw that her other hand was returning from between her legs. Did she orgasm, had she masturbated herself as she did me? She let go of my cock and seemed suddenly embarrassed, very embarrassed.

"OH dear, oh dear," she looked in my eyes, "I don't know what came over me."

I smiled, reached down, and touched her cheek gently, "I don't either," I said, "but I hope it does again!"

She smiled shyly then said looking down at her spunk covered body, bra, and stockings, "I'd better get changed."

"Mmm," I said.

"I'm sorry, we didn't get any pictures."

I smiled, "I can live with that," I said, "sod the pictures!"

Now she seemed to have regained her poise, "Perhaps I can wear it next time?"

"Will there be a next time?" I said seriously. I'm sure she knew what I meant.

"Yes," she said holding my eyes with hers, "yes I think there will be." It was clear she had made a decision.

"Good," I said with feeling, "good. Then wear it again."

"I will," she said, "for you."

Oh that I was thirty years younger, I thought, you wouldn't have to wear it again, I'd take you now but that wasn't to be. I smiled, "I look forward to that," I said then, "look, leave that in there, I'll sort it out."

"No, no, it's all right," she said quickly, "I'll take it home and wash it. Don't worry."

"Thanks. I'm sorry for messing you up."

She smiled, at ease with the situation now, "I think I had something to do with it as well!"

I laughed, "Yes, dressed, or rather undressed, in that outfit you're dead right."

She laughed and went into the changing room. "I'll make some coffee," I shouted through the door, "see you downstairs."

She came down about half an hour later. I wondered what she was doing up there. I'd heard the shower go but not for a while after I came downstairs. I had a sneaking suspicion that she might have been pleasuring herself. Good luck to her I thought. She looked radiant now, much more confident, certainly with me. Her smiles were full and her eyes met mine on every occasion. Seeing her like this pleased me, not only because I was sure now that I would achieve my aims, which I must admit, were beginning to change, but she seemed happier as well, as if her decision was made and she would go forward from here. My feelings were difficult to assess. Originally I just wanted to get a MILF back to the house and do all the things I'd seen on line. I still wanted to do that but the desire was tempered by the beginnings of a strong emotional connection with Miranda. Her position, her apparent 'flowering', her realisation of her own sexuality, were all having an effect on me, bringing a remembrance of the happiness I had experienced with my wife before her death.

We didn't say much to each other over coffee, just minor chit-chat really. About the photographs and the video. Then I realised that, all the time, the VT had been on. I wondered how much it had caught.

I smiled at Miranda, "I left the VT camera on," I said with a smile, "so our escapade may well be on film."

"Oh dear," she said not embarrassed at all, "perhaps we can watch it next time." She was surprising me with regularity now so I had to say something.

"Miranda love, you've changed?"

"Mmm," she said with a smile, "you've changed me. You've showed me what I can be, what I can achieve. I'm not going back now. I'm enjoying myself," then she fixed me with her lovely smiling eyes, "aren't you?"

"Bloody hell, Miranda, of course I am."

"Good," she said in that self satisfied way women have when they have their chosen 'victim' in their sights, "good!"

I laughed. She looked at the clock, "I think I need to get home now," she said, "Kirsten is phoning about next week. I'll phone you to arrange the next time, OK?"

"OK," I said then added, "I can't wait!"

She smiled again, that secretive, powerful smile of a woman in control!

I drove her home this time, she didn't seem bothered about the neighbours now, and she leant over and pecked my cheek as she got out of the car -- the first time she'd done that. I wanted to drag her back in and fuck the arse off her frankly but perhaps that was inappropriate! As I drove home I did wonder if she was doing this in some way to get back at her husband. She would have her own reasons, I was sure.

I got back and tidied up, watching the video as I did so. Unfortunately it wasn't up to much, I was in the way of almost everything. Mind you, the dialogue was quite sexy. It's amazing how much feeling was in the words. I thought that, if I was going to make a video like those on-line I'd have to give more thought to camera position. There were, however, some excellent pictures of her in the suspenders and pyjamas so I did have a quick wank, two in fact, over those as I lay in bed. I didn't know at the time but she told me later that she was doing the same. She hadn't washed the underclothes but had worn them to bed revelling in the feel of the material and, and this is strange, licking where the spunk had fallen: she wanted to taste me. She said she masturbated herself to sleep, cumming half a dozen times.

Chapter 6 - To bed!

Of course I didn't know how she had spent that evening so I was surprised to hear her voice on the phone the next morning. "Hi," she said with a smile in her voice, "it's Miranda. How are you?"

"Great Miranda and you?"

"I'm fine," she said then, "you said you work on weekdays. Do you work at weekends as well?"

"Yes," I said, "I can work when I want."

"What about tomorrow then?"

"Yes, errr, fine. What time?"

"Pick me up at 10. At home. Don't be late," she added with a smile in her voice. No, I won't, I thought. No way! I picked her up on the dot at 10 o'clock and she seemed happy to see me. As she sat in the car she leaned across and kissed my cheek, not a peck like last time but a real kiss. To say I was surprised was and understatement!

"Hi," she said with a big smile.

"Hi yourself," I managed to blurt out.

"Wardrobe three today?" she asked with a smile.

I took a deep breath as I drove off, "Yes Miranda, wardrobe three but only if you want to."

"Oh, I do," she said, "I can't tell you how much."

Oh shit, she was beginning to manipulate me already because I was starting to think about fucking her. Mind you my feelings were becoming quite difficult to identify. I was really pleased to see her and not just because my MILF hunt was progressing. She seemed so different; confident and assured. Again that fleeting resurgence of pleasant memories.

We got back and, as we entered the house, she said, "I haven't seen the rest of your house. Why don't you show me around." Well, I didn't mind, in fact I hoped we would end up in the bedroom at some stage. Although my original aim, to film her being fucked in every way if that was possible, still existed, I did realise that that wouldn't really be for pleasure. You can't film a good fuck if you're enjoying it, you can't concentrate on two things at the same time, especially if one of them is a gorgeous woman: well I can't anyway. Even if someone else is filming, and I hoped a friend of mine would, (he is gay incidentally so he wouldn't be overly put off by what was happening because I knew he didn't fancy me!), you have to stop and start so it isn't for pleasure. I was beginning to feel that I wanted it to be good for her as well, not just a quick fuck for the camera. I didn't think that she'd ever been really satisfied sexually. I don't know why, it was just her sudden change as she realised her effect upon me.

I showed her around, downstairs first. I have a very large kitchen cum breakfast room with a utility room off. A large lounge, dining room and downstairs study. It's finished off by a shower room and toilet. Upstairs, as well as the studio suite that she knew well, I had a very large master bedroom with a six foot bed and an en-suite with a four person shower that you could sit in. There were two other bedrooms, a computer room, and a big family bathroom with a whirlpool Jacuzzi bath and a shower.

"It's nice," she said when I'd finished, "perhaps we can take some pictures around the house."

Yes please, I thought, especially in the bedroom. "I'd like that," I said, "in fact I've got an idea I'll explain later ."

"Mmm," she said, "that sounds interesting." Then, as we sat down to coffee she said, "About Friday . . ."

"I'm sorry," I said, "I shouldn't have done that."

She smiled, "No, don't be sorry." She looked me in the eye, seemingly confident now, "I enjoyed it. Do you know I've never seen that happen before, it was funny."

I don't know whether she was kidding or serious. She was talking about it quite normally, as if it was a normal thing. I decided to play along, "What, you've never seen a man, you know . .?"

She laughed, "No, not as much as that and that hard anyway." Then a touch of sadness mingled with anger, "We never did anything like that. My husband didn't seem interested."

You poor woman, I thought, he must be some sort of idiot. Or was it just familiarity breeding contempt. "Did you dress like you have here for him?"

"No," she said looking at me, "no I didn't." Then she said, almost as a plea, "It wasn't my fault was it, really?"

This was dangerous ground for me. I didn't know the history but I suspected that their marriage had foundered as neither had worked very hard to keep it going.

I was lucky. I had a fabulous marriage with a wonderful, truly wonderful woman. We had a serious problem after a couple of years of marriage which resulted in us both having affairs but, thank god (if there is one) we managed to sort ourselves out. After that we both worked hard at our marriage. You have to. Marriage isn't a walk in the park and it won't be really successful unless both parties make an effort. Our marriage worked because we both tried. We came to understand that what goes on in the bedroom is the basis for a happy marriage and satisfying each other sexually became important to us both. Sadly it had slowed down after our marriage. A slow down caused by all those usual problems, overwork and stress, deaths of loved ones, and the troubles of close friends. My wife was attractive and appealing but even so after our problems we both used clothing, stories, and adult movies sometimes, to increase our appeal to each other and to excite us both. I believe that a woman should be cosseted, complemented, and that a man should work at that to show her how much he cares. So, to play my part in the marriage I let her know how valuable she was to me. Thankfully it seemed to work for almost 20 years so something must have been right.

I had to answer her question. "Miranda, darling, I can't say can I? I don't know you both. All I can say Miranda, is that you are a very attractive woman," I laughed trying to ease her mood, "as you can tell from Friday's performance. You caused that," I said looking at her intensely, "you and only you!"

This seemed to cheer her up and she gave me a long and intense look. It appeared she'd made up her mind about something but I didn't know what. "Well," she said, "Friday was fun. Now, what have you got planned for today?" she asked with a strange smile.

I smiled back, "Well," I said, "maybe we can take some pictures around the house. I've got a several outfits in the third wardrobe," I went on suggestively, "that will definitely make you look fabulous and we can use them in a number of settings."

"That sounds like fun," she said with a degree of suggestibility that really had me on edge, "let's go upstairs and choose some things."

So off we went to the studio where I gave her an outfit that, whilst not immediately sexy, suited her so well.

"Can I really wear this?" she said, "it's so short!"

"You can wear it," I said, "and it will look marvellous on you. Go on, try it on," then I added, "please." She gave me a look that seemed to ask a question. "I'd love to see you in this," I said, "I bought it with you in mind." And I had, I really did want to see her in this outfit.

She smiled her soft smile and went into the changing room. When she came out I was right, she looked well, fantastic, but she wasn't sure.

"Come out on to the landing," I said, "and let me look at you." The outfit consisted of a pink/red/white check pinafore dress not cut too low over her breasts but certainly showing plenty of cleavage without going over the top. It was waisted, being cut close to show her figure. It appeared that it had a separate skirt but it was all one piece. The skirt was short, not much longer than the mini she'd worn on Friday, although you couldn't see her knickers in the normal course of events!

It was finished off with white thigh length self supporting stockings that had a tiny cloth bow in matching check fabric attached to the top. Add to this the three inch high white platform shoes.

As she stood there in front of the bathroom door I had to take a very deep breath because she looked so shaggable it was unreal but I was conscious of something else as well. Familiar feelings were stirring inside me as I looked at her. Not just arousal but care, affection even. Feelings I had thought lost when Kate died. The dress showed off her figure to perfection. As I said, she didn't have a really narrow waist but she was in proportion. The cut of the décolletage showed just enough of the swell of her breasts to suggest a lot more. The whole outfit was a wonderful example of how clothing can make a woman so, so attractive.