Wednesday Evenings with Babs Pt. 04

Literotic asexstories – Wednesday Evenings with Babs Pt. 04 by secret_passion_49,secret_passion_49
A Brief Recap of Wednesday Evenings With Babs Pt 03

James is now fully ensnared in Bab’s web. The first three sessions began the process of fashioning that web, strand by strand. The first was the initial seduction. The second

featured his newly developed ejaculation control. The third, the delights of fucking doggie style.

The fourth session was, to use Jame’s own one word description, ‘epic!’ It began with a shared shower, followed by the fun of taking turns drying each other off. As he kneeled in front of Babs to dry off her legs, he gets not only a clear, closeup view of her shaved pussy, but the gap between her thighs that frames it. He becomes filled with the urge to bury his face between her legs and eat her pussy.

But once again, his inexperience-running-to-cluelessness causes him to balk, concerned that she might think that his doing such a thing was ‘perverted’. He even questions what wanting to eat her might mean about him and where his head was. However, once in bed together, she mounts him in the 69 position and proceeds to introduce him to the joys of getting a blow job. Her pussy, now inches from his mouth, proves to be too much to resist and he goes for it. To his surprise, she begins to press herself more firmly against his mouth and her pelvis begins to writhe. His cock slips from her mouth as her focus shifts to that deliciously sensitive spot that lies in that snug thigh gap. In short order, she is reduced to panting and shuddering from an orgasm the intensity of which is as surprising to her as it is inexplicable. How could this mere kid have gotten to her like that?

She rewards him with a blowjob that is full-throated, sending her to the bathroom to rinse and gargle so she can even speak clearly. As she is doing so, James walks up behind her, wraps his arms around her waist, and pulls her close to him. For a few moments, they stand there looking at their reflection in the mirror. As they do so, James begins to fill his mind with thoughts of wonderful things that could never be.

Yes, he IS fully ensnared in that web, and now willing and eager as well.

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Her Top Secret Home Phone Number – Sessions Five and Six

Wednesday, November 13, 1968.

Wednesday night. It was always Wednesday night. Though I should have, I never developed any curiosity about that fact. And her call to check on my ‘availability’ would always come on the Tuesday afternoon prior. And THAT always came sometime between two and two thirty in the afternoon. I made a point of not being somewhere else in the office during that time window. But on the Tuesday before the fifth session, the ‘usual’ time came around but the call didn’t. Though I had constantly reminded myself that she could bring things to an end at any time for any reason, not hearing from her was like waiting at the airport for an overdue flight carrying a loved one to you, and there is no information as to why the flight is running late.

Maybe she thought about it and concluded I wasn’t such a natural-born pussy muncher after all. Maybe, I joked to myself, she had ‘found someone whose tongue was more talented’.

But not to worry, on Wednesday afternoon she calls.

Babs: “Sorry I didn’t call yesterday… Am I too late for tonight?”

Me: “No problem at all. The regular time? I replied.

Babs: “Sure”

Me: “Shower?”

Babs: “Absolutely”

The tone of her voice was that of a person smiling as she said “Absolutely”.

Me: “Okay, see you then. Goodbye.”

From her, just a click as she hung up.

In retrospect the ‘Sorry I didn’t call yesterday’ was amusing in a way. It was as though she presumed I was expecting her call. It was like ‘I’m so sorry. I forgot to call you in a timely fashion to arrange this week’s fuck session’.

Communication with Babs was a one-way street. She never gave me her home phone number, and in what should have been a red flag the phone on the side of her bed was missing the phone number label that all those old-school dial phones had back then. If something had happened that made me unable to make the ‘appointment’ I would have no way of calling her. I decided that it wasn’t worth making an issue over it as it wasn’t worth the risk of losing the privilege of burying my face between her legs.

In the week since I had my first taste of this unique delicacy, eating pussy had become my number one masturbation fantasy. Bab’s enthusiastic, unqualified rave review of my oral efforts served to whet my appetite for more… and more… and more. But for all the encouragement her comments generated I was still filled with a bit of doubt. Was it really that good for her? Was I really THAT good? She was not the kind to toss compliments around freely to anyone for anything, and even when she did you really weren’t sure if she was being sincere or manipulative. At times she could be her own worst enemy because of it. I decided that for the time being I’d take her at her word… but put that ‘word’ to a harmless but potentially mutually enjoyable test. In other words ‘trust but verify’.

And so during this, our fifth little session, I suggested that she take full advantage of our freshly showered bodies (which of course included our pubes) and instead of straddling my pelvis she might straddle my face.

“Use me and any and all of my facial features in pursuit of your pleasure”.

That suggestion took zero powers of persuasion to get her to accept. You might say she ‘jumped on it’… my face that is!

As she moved into position she looked down and smiled, saying “Now, you are not worried about me smothering you, are you?” I shot back “Well, if that happens I can think of no better way to leave this world!”

It quickly became obvious that Babs was a very experienced, very sophisticated face sitter/rider. One who had developed and refined techniques for maximizing the pleasure it generated for her. Instead of crudely smashing her pussy down over my mouth and grinding away, she lowered herself carefully and began moving her pelvis back and forth slowly as if she was trying to find just the right point of contact for with my face. That point turned out to be the TIP of my NOSE! She used it to tease her clit, combining very small pelvic movements and very light pressure. The warmth and moisture that radiated from her pussy along with its subtle scent was arousing for me as well.

For a couple of minutes, her exercise in self-teasing continued as little coos escaped from her lips. She then changed the angle of her pelvis slightly, lowered her hips a bit more, and proceeded to rub her clit on the BRIDGE of my nose. Pretty soon my schnozz is buried in the warmth of her labia, my cheeks getting soaked with her pussy juices. She would later tell me she had discovered the stimulative properties of the nose many years ago. Understandably I did not press her for the details of this discovery… you know… things like the ‘when’ and the ‘who’.

The only downside to this was that my lips and tongue were left looking for something to do with themselves. They soon found some fun teasing her perineum. You know, that little neutral zone between a woman’s vagina and her rectum? The one sometimes referred to as the ‘taint’? ‘It taint pussy but it taint asshole’? I was tempted to flick my tongue at her ‘bottom button’ but thought the better of it.

Pretty soon Babs is riding my nose and mouth like a rodeo cowboy riding a bull, the only difference being that the ride lasted much longer than eight seconds. I might have developed concerns about her smothering me but for two things. First, between her pelvic cycles, I was able to take in just enough air to stay conscious. The second thing was how quickly she got an orgasm. In no time at all she was whimpering, yelping, and shuddering in relief. It was pretty obvious that the pleasure she was experiencing was real. Thankfully she wasn’t a ‘squirter’ because I might have drowned instead of suffocating.

After regaining her composure, she shifts her body up a bit and back away from my face. She looks down at me and smiles, and still panting a bit, provides me with words of encouragement that really weren’t required but greatly appreciated.

“Woo…woo… That was fantastic! Now, YOUR turn! YOUR turn to use ME! TAKE me as you wish, and be selfish in the doing!” The woman had a way with words. With that, I drained my balls in her, doggie style.

Her ability to reach orgasm so quickly and easily was amazing. And do so with intensity, passion and theatrics. When she got off, she REALLY got off, regardless of body position or the source of stimulation. I would have been willing to bet she could have straddled a wooden split rail fence and ridden it to climax while she was wearing a tight pair of jeans. But why? Nice as it might have been to flatter myself into thinking I was a real stud I knew that was self-delusion.

With no other experience with any other woman or girl to compare it with, I came to the misbegotten conclusion that getting an orgasm so easily was NORMAL for ANY woman! Every bit as easy and every bit as sure a thing as a horny man could get relief, even if it was through masturbation!

What more logical, lucid conclusion would you expect to get from a young man who still had not of the word ‘nymphomaniac’, let alone what it meant?

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Wednesday, November 20th, 1968

Another Wednesday, another session preceded by another mutual shower. Another face-sitting orgasm for her. Another exercise in draining myself in her, doggie style. This might make it sound as if a certain routine was beginning to evolve. If that was the case, it would probably take many repeats before it became ‘boring’.

Actually, our intimacy was becoming more refined. Fine-tuned. Tweaked. And Babs seemed to have a knack for finding just the right words to keep things HOT. After I finished unloading myself in her and withdrew, she remained in the doggie position for a few moments, finally saying “I love the feel of your load draining out of me and running down my thighs”.

After taking a leak (You guys know how it is sometimes when after emptying your balls you have to empty your bladder too!) I emerged from the bathroom to find her sitting, still naked and cross-legged on the bed, motioning with her hand for me to join her. It seems she had a little surprise for me.

Babs: “Any plans for Thanksgiving?” she asks.

Me: “Oh, nothing out of the ordinary. Family, football. Truth be told I’ll probably think of you a lot. Can’t help that, I’m afraid.”

Babs: “Just be careful not to get caught touching yourself in front of any visitors if you do…If you do think of me that is”.

Me: “Oh I’ll be careful for sure. Thoughts of you and any effect they may have on my privates are… well… strictly private matters!”

At this, she busted out laughing. I just sat there grinning, surprised at my own rejoinder.

Babs: “That’s hilarious! Oh gee, I think I might have created a monster! A genuine Bad Ass Bad Boy! And a comedian!”

Me: “Yes! And a horny one to boot!”

Babs: “Well, funny you should say that. Because horny or not, and think of me or not, there is something I want to give you something that might ‘stimulate’ thoughts of me and perhaps generate any related hormonal outbreaks.”

Me: “And what is this you want to give me?”

Babs: “Well, I’m going out of town all next week. Visiting relatives in Ohio. So while I’m gone here’s something to ensure you won’t forget about me in that short of a time.”

Reaching behind her back, she produces a pair of her panties, and using their elastic waistband as a slingshot, takes aim at me and scores a direct hit on my crotch! We end up all but rolling on the floor laughing.

Babs: “That was an easy shot!” she exclaims. “Too easy. After all you’re sitting here cross-legged in front of me, not two feet away with your… your… everything in full view!

I wore those to work today. I figured you would prefer them to a pair that are freshly washed. I’m sure you’ll find something useful to do with them. Perhaps use them for a bit of ‘aroma therapy’.

Me: “Aromatherapy? That’s a new term to me but I think I understand what you are suggesting. I vow that I will treasure, protect and above all, keep them well hidden. Aromatherapy? Well, I never!”

Laughter broke out again. It was another one of those moments when I could fool myself (or be fooled) into thinking she was opening up to me. Once again she parted the curtains to show that there was a real person behind that mostly aloof facade. The panties were a subtle signal to me that once Thanksgiving week had passed the phone might continue to ring on Tuesday afternoon.

As I reached the door to leave, she finally did it. She grabbed my arm, turned me around, and kissed me goodnight.

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The Week Eternal

Though it was only three days, Thanksgiving week at the office seemed like it would never end. Like most businesses, we would be closed on both Thursday and Friday. Many had taken vacation that entire week, so it was pretty dead around there. On Tuesday afternoon, at about the time Babs would usually call to set up our weekly ‘appointment’, I made a discreet ‘visit’ to her office. It was more of a casual walk-by. Her door was open and the office was dark, but I just needed to walk by it and grab a glance. Fourteen days… It would be at least fourteen days before the next time that phone would ring if it did ring at all.

Ms. Barbara ‘Babs’ Knight, my forty-two-year-old co-worker and secret sex professor/fuck buddy now dominated my thoughts. Truth be told I was like a kid with a crush on his hot homeroom teacher but with a big difference. I had after-hours access to this ‘teacher’ and the ‘course’ she was teaching was Intercourse 101. The class had the best teacher-to-student ratio that is mathematically possible. It was like being hooked on a drug. Critical thinking coupled with common sense should have led me to conclude this was a dead end. By taking off her clothes, spreading her legs, and letting my cock in that little slot between them she had already given me everything she could and would ever be able to give me.

Most guys at that age would think ‘I’ll enjoy the pussy supply while it lasts then masturbate to the memories when it’s gone’. But I found myself wanting more. I wasn’t sure what more would look like but I wanted it. Perhaps it was a subconscious desire to have her look at me as being on an equal footing with her. To have her take me seriously. Have her look upon me as the adult I felt like I was whenever we were alone together. Maybe I just wanted her to fall for me, to get in her head like she had gotten in mine.

I located a good hiding place for the panties in my room. To preserve their subtle scent a plastic bag in which to store them quietly disappeared from the kitchen pantry. I’d find private moments to pull them out and take a sniff. I masturbated again and again whenever the opportunity was there. While they helped with the tedium, those panties also elevated expectations. I must be special to her. Why else would she give to me such a personal item and in unabashed fashion, tell me it was for me to sniff?

I withdrew from others a bit that week. I became restless. I drove past her house several times. But merely driving by wasn’t enough on Wednesday night, Thanksgiving eve.

Her house, nice as it was in comparison to where I lived, had only a carport. Whenever ‘class’ was ‘in session’ I just drove right up and parked behind her 1966 Audi Super 90.

As luck would have it the house was across the street from a park. It wasn’t a big park, but it had lots of bushes and shade trees. It would have been very easy and perhaps preferable to have parked my car on its far side, out of view of her house. Truth be told, I was surprised that Babs hadn’t directed me to park do just that and WALK to her house each time.

The park also had a good number of benches. Some of those benches had unobstructed views of the house. Some of those views included her bedroom window down the left side towards the back. It was the type of window where the sill was chest high for privacy.

I made an excuse to my parents to go out for a couple of hours. I didn’t really have to say anything, but I was a bit self-conscious about my intended destination. I headed straight for the park, found a good spot to stash the car, then picked out one of those strategically located benches. It was a chilly night, and anyone in their right mind was inside somewhere, someplace warm. But not me. No, not the infatuated, suddenly sex-crazed prisoner of puppy love. I sat there in the dark staring at the house. My focus narrowed to her bedroom window, now dark and with its curtains drawn. Just a week ago that window and those curtains were backlit the light by the lamp on the nightstand next to her bed. It was a chilly night then as well, but beyond that window and behind those curtains it was warm and cozy.

My attention shifted to the front door. I conjured a mental picture of it opening and me walking out to the car to leave. Babs is standing at the door, in that white terrycloth bathrobe, leaning against the door frame and waving to me as I drove away. I ‘see’ the door close and a few minutes later the bedroom window goes dark as she turns the nightstand lamp off.

If anything, the ‘downtime’ caused by the holiday week provided an opportunity for reflection… and comparisons of the differences between being with Babs and being with Lizzie.

One evening I’m in bed with a grown woman, one who is easily old enough to be my mother. Our arms, legs and tongues are in a wonderful tangle as my cock attempts to find the bottom of her pussy. The soft music coming from that clock radio found itself in competition with a soundtrack of heavy breathing, and little moans and coos of our shared pleasure. Age difference be damned, she knew how to please a man. Or in my case, take a young guy to school, a real-life, hands-on, dick in pussy (or pussy on face) home school style Academy of Sex.

There was no pretense or ambiguity about what we were doing. It was all about getting together and getting it on. Unabashed, all out fucking just for the fuck of it. It wasn’t completely cold and impersonal, but there was not much in the way of cozy pillow talk either before or after. There were a few playful moments where something unexpected might have occurred that made us both laugh.

We had nothing in common other than the fact that we had the same place of employment. I was careful in any questions I might have asked her to simply get to know her better for fear she might think I was ‘getting too personal’. Hell, until our last time together she wouldn’t even kiss me goodnight when I left. There were times when I had the feeling I was just a boy toy to be played with… and psychologically toyed with. Maybe I was that young schoolboy she had a crush on, the kid who didn’t know she existed. Or maybe I was her ‘see I’ve still got it’ revenge against her ex-husband.

But every once in a while, she’d toss me an emotional crumb that kept me dreaming of things improbable. Things utterly impossible.

Gradually I realized that it was best to put aside any big ideas of a real ‘relationship’ developing. ‘Just enjoy the ride for as long as it lasts and when it ends, be grateful for the memories’ was becoming my only consolation.

Though I was hardly equipped to fully deal with its myriad of realities and complexities, these sessions with Babs made me feel like I had ‘graduated’ from adolescent life and had become an adult. Even if just for a few hours.

People may remember an enormously popular movie that was out about that time. That movie, The Graduate, launched Dustin Hoffman in his successful career. It also had similarities to my experience with Babs which were downright spooky. There were times when strains of the Simon and Garfunkel tune ‘The Sounds of Silence’ ran through my head as I drove to and from her house.

Then the next evening I’m at Liz’s parents’ house, down the hall in her bedroom. It was like going back to a high school situation. We had to make sure to keep the door open and always be aware of where her parents were in the house. Though they felt comfortable enough with me to ‘let’ me be with her in her bedroom, we made a point of generating just enough noise so that there were no periods of silence in her room that might make them wonder why it had gotten so quiet all of a sudden. There was always a certain tedium about this, one that to this point I had just accepted as unavoidable. Now I began to become annoyed with it and it became a struggle to keep that annoyance internalized.

I began to see Liz for what she was. She couldn’t help it that she was just a young girl. Full of naive exuberance, she’d go on and on with a sort of ‘we can have it all’ innocence about our future. We’re going to go to college, scoop up our degrees and proceed to set the world on fire. We’re never going to settle for less than the best in anything. Of course, all she focused on was a hazily defined vision of an outcome, and not about all the steps to get there and any struggles that might get in the way. Her vision for our future began to sound like a schedule of assignments to be completed. Sometimes, as she was in the process of painting this fantasy picture I would sit there and my mind would wander off momentarily to thoughts of Babs.

Then there was the physical comparison.

Lizzie was cute to be sure. A real pixie with long brown hair and bangs across her forehead. To this day that is a tonsorial combination that I love most of all, though my color preference has evolved in the direction of dark red or auburn. She had big, lively brown eyes. Her lips were full and so kissably soft. Her skin, what I had been able to see of it, was smooth, soft and flawless.

Babs had lines radiating from her eyes, stretch marks splaying downward from above each of her boobs and on her abdomen. There was her aureola that had been darkened by pregnancy. The freckles that covered her shoulders and upper chest. The little moles that dotted her skin here and there. And while her legs were free of spider veins, she did have the slightest hint of cellulite on her ass cheeks. At an age when most guys might have been repulsed by signs of such ‘wear and tear,’ I found myself looking upon these flaws as badges of honor that were earned while coping with the ups and downs of life as an adult. It engendered in me a combination of respect, admiration, and no small amount of intimidation. I began to recognize that sexiness in a woman is not necessarily a product of skin free of wrinkles and hair free of gray strands. In ways both physical and psychological, she oozed a subtle, sexy presence that I found magnetic. An aura that can only be the product of experience.

To this day I wonder how I might have felt if I had the opportunity to see them side by side.

At the office there were obvious unspoken rules, so obvious it wasn’t even necessary for Babs to load me up with a bunch of warnings. For one, I stayed as far away from her office as possible. When we might pass each other in hallways we might nod in greeting, but I would refrain from little things like winking at her. After all, you never know who might see me doing that and what suspicions it might develop in others. And never call her, ever. Simply put, keep your mouth shut and let her call the shots. If she never invited me to her house again, don’t make the mistake of asking if there was a problem. In a way, having to keep such a radioactive secret made it all the more exciting for me. There was this ‘walking a tightrope’ feeling about it. I was her little fuck toy and at any time I could be disposed of like the garbage from last night’s dinner. Of course, it never occurred to me that I might not be her only fuck toy.

Our little liaison did change one aspect of my work day, a personal activity I sometimes indulged in when lunchtime rolled around. After gulping down whatever I had brought or bought, I might leave our building and spend the rest of the hour walking the streets and ‘girl watching’. There were plenty of sweet young things with long hair and even longer legs perched atop spiked heels. Hemlines were up then, way up, (There goes another mini-skirt) and during warmer weather, this ensured glorious, unobstructed views from upper-thigh on down. ‘Checking out the chicks’ was something I had been doing almost from the day I started the job.

Exposure, literally, to Babs, brought about a change in the ‘targets’ of such harmless ‘reconnaissance’. I began to scan the landscape for the ‘sexiest woman of the day who looks like she is at least forty’. As could be expected in any big city downtown business district environment there was no shortage of such lovely women. They dressed more conservatively, and in much more stylish fashion than the younger women, perhaps in part because they could afford to do so. They carried themselves with a grace and elegance that is the result of an accumulation of life experiences. I had this mental picture of making an ass of myself trying to flirt with some of them. I would probably have just stuttered, stammered and blushed. I had to be careful to not so much as catch their eyes so they wouldn’t see me staring at them. It made me wish there was a small, inconspicuous camera I could acquire and use to discreetly capture candid images of them.

Next: A Steamy Reunion