Just For Some Comfort

Dear You,

I know you didn't want to hear from me ever again – no more contact, you said - but here I am. I didn't believe you, you see. I think you do want to hear from me. I think you're suffering from guilt. So was I, at first; for the first couple of weeks, actually. But the guilt has gone now. I enjoyed what happened and you enjoyed it, too. I know that. So why the guilt? You needed comforting and I was there to offer that comfort. You might not want me to do this, but let me remind you of what happened.

You had just had Peggy, your little dog, put to sleep and you were crying. You rushed to me for a hug as soon as I walked in the door and I gave you a kiss on the cheek. You pulled back from me slightly, still in my arms, your eyes red-rimmed from crying and I kissed you on the lips. Just a peck, and just to give you comfort, as I said. The peck turned into a proper kiss as you leaned back into me and pushed your mouth hard against mine. I never thought about it. Didn't consider the possible consequences of what we were doing. I should have realised that nothing would ever be the same between us again. I responded and pushed my tongue into your open mouth. Our tongues twisted together, our mouths moved against each other and I could feel your hips grinding against mine. I felt myself hardening and tried to pull my lower body away from you but you would have none of it, pulling me harder against you.

When the kiss ended, we just looked at each other, neither of us saying a word. Then you took my hand and we went into the sitting room. I must have been in a state of shock. This was about the last thing I expected. Sure you're a good-looking woman; beautiful even: slender, yet with a great figure and very shapely legs. A little prim and proper, that's for sure – I've never heard even the mildest profanity from you - and not one to dress even remotely provocatively. Your skirts and dresses are always knee-length or, at most an inch above the knee and your necklines never show the merest hint of cleavage. You wear your light brown hair shoulder-length and your make-up is always conservative. I guess all these things are the outward signs of twenty-eight years of married respectability.

The sun was streaming through the glass patio doors as we sat side by side on the sofa, you on my right. You crossed your legs, looking demure, like any respectable housewife. I put my right arm round you and drew you close and we kissed again. Your skirt had ridden up to show a glimpse of thigh sheathed in dark pantyhose. Your arms came round me again, your hands in my hair, your fingers digging into the back of my neck. I put my left hand on your right breast. You whimpered and I took my hand away, thinking I'd gone too far, but you took that hand and put it back on your breast, pushing it harder against the mound. I took the hint and pushed harder still, rotating the palm of my hand against the firm mound. Your lips left mine and the kiss that I thought would last forever was broken. You threw your head back, your eyes closed, your mouth open. Your chin was wet with saliva. I kept my hand where it was, still pushing, still rotating. I'd never felt so hard in my life. I kissed your throat. You moaned and I kissed lower, to where the top button of your blouse was undone. Then you sat up, moved my hand away. I thought you'd had enough. That we really had gone too far. But then you unbuttoned the rest of the buttons so that I could kiss lower and so that my hand would have easier access to your breast.

I stroked and squeezed you through your bra and for some reason the feel of the lacy pattern under my hand made my arousal almost unbearable. You helped my pull your blouse off your shoulders, your fingers frantically scrabbling to pull it free from the waistband of your skirt. And then there you were in your pink lacy bra, leaning back on the sofa, smiling at me, your arms out to me. Oddly, it seems to me now, your lovely slender legs were still crossed, though your skirt had ridden further up. I went into your arms, held you against me, feeling the heat of your breasts through the material of your bra and the cotton of my t-shirt. You reached back and unclipped the bra yourself, freeing your lovely breasts. And they are lovely; a slight droop after having a child twenty-five years ago, but still wonderfully firm and yet soft, the nipples large and thrusting out at me as I bent forward to take first one and then the other in my mouth.

Again, you moaned but this time I knew it was from pleasure. I pulled my t-shirt off and felt you crush your breasts against me. Now I could really feel the heat of your arousal, your nipples jutting hard against my chest. I kissed the side of your neck, nibbling a little as you your fingers kneaded my shoulders, your nails digging at my skin. I took my hand from your right breast and buried my face in your soft white throat. You tilted your head back and whimpered as I kissed and licked, and then you squirmed as my hand went to your leg, to the hem of your skirt.

Gently, very gently, I stroked upwards, using my fingers to tease the sensitive area on the back of your thigh. You uncrossed you legs. Or, rather, you lifted your right knee and turned to me, almost sagging against me as your leg draped itself over me thighs. Your leg was now off the sofa and I stroked upwards again, to the very top of your thigh. You turned your body even more, encouraging me to be bolder, to cup your right buttock in my hand and squeeze it and knead it – to enjoy that part of your body as much as I had enjoyed your breasts. Gently, but firmly, I pushed you back upright, allowing my hand to stroke across the front of your thighs as I did so. I rubbed your lower belly and then let my hand roam lower. You spread your thighs slightly and my hand went to your crotch. You opened your legs wide and thrust yourself against my hand, your breath coming in panting gasps and whimpers.

"Mmm, yes, please, please, please do that!" You said.

I obliged and stroked your mound through your pantyhose and tights. Your hips went up and down and then your legs closed, trapping my hand. I kept stroking with my fingers – my hand was held immovable by your legs.

"Open your legs," I commanded you. And you did, spreading them wide again. I took my hand from between your legs.

"Don't stop," you begged. "Please don't stop. I love being rubbed there!" I decided to play a game. I was so aroused, so hard that I thought I would explode in my jeans, and I didn't want that!

"Where do you like being rubbed?" I asked.

"Put your hand back; put your hand back on me. Please!" You were gasping.

"Where do you want to my hand?"

"Between my legs. On me!"

"What do you want my hand on?" I asked you.

"On my thing!"

"What is your thing?" I was getting into it now.

"My doo-dah!"

I raised my eyebrows. "What the hell is a doo-dah?"

"You know what it is." I put my hand back to her crotch, patted it once, and stroked it once.

"Do you mean here?"

"Yes yes yes!" I took my hand away. I had to; I was getting close to explosion again.

"Don't tease me," you said. "Please don't tease me."

I was stroking the inside of your thigh now, tantalisingly close to where you wanted my hand to be. Tell me what it's called," I told you."

You said nothing. Once more, I took my hand away.

"Tell me what it's called," I repeated.

You paused, looking at me, your eyes half-closed, panting with lust.

"My pussy," you said, quietly.

"I'm sorry, I can't hear you," I said.

"Please put your hand on my pussy." Your voice was louder now, firmer. "Rub my pussy, please!"

I put my hand on your pussy and gave you what you wanted. You gasped and groaned and whimpered, jerked around on the sofa like a landed fish.

When I took my hand off your pussy the next time, it was to hook my fingers into the waistband of your panty hose and start pulling them down. When you felt me doing that, you pulled your skirt up to you waist and raised your bottom to make it easier for me. As I pulled them off your feet, I looked up, between your legs. Your panties had come a little way down and I could see black crinkly pubic hair peeking over the waistband. I reached up and pulled you panties down, too. Once they were off, I had a view straight between your legs. And what a view it was! You'd trimmed your pubic hair to your panty line but the rest was largely untouched. But your pussy..! Ahh, what a sight! The lips were thick and serrated, purplish and they had parted so that I could see the moist pinkness of your channel beyond them. Did I say moist? You were soaking. I'm no virgin. I've been with my share of women. But I've never seen a woman has aroused as you were that day on the sofa.

I reached out and touched those lovely lips with the fingertips of my right hand. You quivered as though you'd had an electric shock. The tremor seemed to start between your legs and ripple outwards. I pushed against you and allowed my middle finger to slip into you. God, you were hot and wet, and you had that wonderful smell… sort of ozone mixed with perspiration. But clean. Wholesome. Your knees flexed and you gave a long groan.

"Oh, God, yes," you said. "Ooh…mmm…aah! Put two fingers in me!"

I did as you asked, and then removed them so that I could climb back onto the sofa next to you. I didn't think I could last much longer and from your reactions I knew you couldn't. But I put my right arm round you and pushed my left hand between you legs, coating your pubic hair with your wetness. My hand was soaked.

And then you pushed away from me. You put your hand on my throbbing cock, looking at me as you did so, your tongue poking through your lips as though you were concentrating very hard. You rubbed me through my jeans and it was almost more than I could bear! Then you unzipped my fly, allowing my cock to spring free. You mouth made an O as you stared at it and then curled you fingers around it, slowly and gently pulling my foreskin back. I gritted my teeth and hung on. My cock isn't that big; not as big as the cocks you can see in porn movies. But you were obviously impressed.

"Take them off," you said. Your voice was quiet, husky, and thick with desire. So I stood and took off the rest of my clothes so that I was standing naked before you. My pulse made my cock bounce up and down and there was a drop of moisture on its tip.

Then you stood up, unzipped you skirt and let it fall to the floor so that you, too, were nude. You lay lengthways on the sofa, your legs splayed as wide as possible, your right leg thrown over the sofa's back, your left leg bent at the knee. You held your arms out to me.

"Please," you said. "Please come and fuck me." I almost came on the spot. I'd never heard you say anything remotely like that. I'd never even heard you talk about sex and here you were asking me to fuck you!

"I haven't got a condom," I said, but you smiled and shook your head.

"Doesn't matter. I've been sterilized."

"Suppose he comes back?"

"He won't. He's away all this week. That's why I called you."

I kneeled between you legs and guided my cock to the entrance to your vagina. I rubbed its head against you flaps then leaned forward, taking my weight on my left arm. I slid the tip of my cock into you, feeling your cunt muscles gripping me. I hesitated, catching my breath, regaining control, resisting the urge to plunge into you and pound away until I came. You whimpered, then said, "Please, darling. Please put it all the way in."

Then I did push into you, as slowly as I could, an inch at a time. And then I was all the way in. Our pubic hair mashed together. I paused and then, as slowly as I could, I pulled out until just the tip of my cock was in you. Your muscled worked on me, trying to hold me in you. Then I moved forward again, until I could feel my balls resting against your hot flesh. Then out again. In again. Out again, picking up the pace, going faster until I was pounding you.

God, you were tight and hot and wet. I couldn't believe that a woman who'd been married all those years and had given birth could be so tight.

Do you remember the way I thrust into you? The way your breasts bounced and the way our bellies slapped together? Do remember the things you said?

"Ooh, fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me harder! Harder! Fuck your cock up me! Oh, my cunt's loving it! Mmmm..!"

And then I came, uncontrollably. I thought it was coming from the depth of my soul. You wrapped your legs around my hips and your arms hugged me as you felt me spasm. Then you came, too, squealing and grunting and gasping. I felt hot wetness pour out of you and wash across my groin. Sweat drenched us both as we clung to each other. I'd never cum like that in my life. And you told me that you hadn't either. I believed you. My half-limp cock popped out of you, covered with a mix of my cum and your wetness. When we'd got our breath back, I disengaged myself from your arms. Your legs no longer gripped my hips. I pushed myself to my knees and then off the sofa to stand looking down at you. You were still sprawled on the sofa, your legs wide apart, your breasts and nipples still flushed and swollen with passion. Between your legs, your hair was matted and your cunt lips were puffy and swollen as a trickle of my cum began to leak from you. You were smiling. I put my hands out to you. You took them and I helped you to your feet and we hugged again, running our hands over each others' bodies, kissing each others' faces with small, eager kisses: lips, faces, eyes…

We gathered up our clothes and went upstairs. We showered together and went to your bed, where we made love again, slept a little and then made love again.

So why, after all that, did you say you never want to hear from me again? Was it that bad? I didn't force you. You didn't force me. We're both adults and you know I love you. I can't accept that we will never have any contact ever again. You love me as much as I love you.

Think about things. I want to hold you in my arms again and I know that's what you want, too.

I'll wait for you.

Your loving son,

Rob.