Lustful desire and sexual fantasy over a younger man
Author: Nicci Haydon Categories: Sexual Fantasy, Written by Ladies, Female Masturbation, Free Erotic StoriesComment
“They’re worried, Loren. Renson doesn’t need this kind of publicity right now.” The voice on the other end of the phone belonged to Heather, my assistant. “How do we get ahead of this?”
I huffed as I stared at the headline in front of me. Our client, Renson Foods, was in the middle of a takeover deal that would move them into the top-end catering business. They were on the up, and they had always played to their reputation as a caring, family business. I had to admit, a story like this could ruin them if it wasn’t handled the right way.
“Is it true?” I asked, taking a sip of coffee. Black, strong, bitter; the way I liked it.
“Does it matter?”
“It might. Find out if it’s true, and for Christ’s sake find out if his wife cares. If she doesn’t, we can use the behind closed doors defence. Might even be able to get some ordinary people to come out in his favour. A lot care more about privacy than they do about stories like this.”
“His wife doesn’t strike me as the type to—”
“People wear masks,” I said, cutting her off, not wanting to go into details. All couples had their private lives, kinks they only shared with each other. Women who love to masturbate behind the safety of closed doors. Men who get off on fulfilling their partners sexual fantasies. Samson and I certainly did, and if he’d been caught in the same situation as Gerald Renson, it wouldn’t necessarily be without my permission. Our sex life was our business. “Find out if she cares.”
“OK. I’m on it.”
“I’ll be in at eleven. I have a couple of errands to run first. Arrange a meeting with Gerry Renson for this afternoon or at least a phone conference.”
We signed off, and I scanned the rest of the story. It was lurid, but that was to be expected. The tabloids loved a good scandal, all the better if it involved sex. If we were lucky, it could all blow over in a day or two.
I drew a deep breath, hoping the story wasn’t going to cause any lasting damage. He wasn’t a politician or a film star, just a filthy rich businessman who was a lot more selfish than the public persona he liked to project. I didn’t like him, but I didn’t have to. I’d do my job as I always did.
I took a bite of toast as I started turning pages through the newspaper, scanning headlines, then paused at a small black and white photograph, attached to an unassuming story about a startup firm that had just secured funding. The young man in the photograph had his arm around a very pretty girl, and I found myself going back over the story to find out who she was to him. Just a business partner? Or more than that?
Frustratingly, the story didn’t say.
Did I see myself in her? More importantly, did he see a younger version of me when he looked at her? Same dark hair, same shaped face. It wasn’t exactly like looking in a mirror, but she certainly could have been a relative. A younger sister, maybe, or a close cousin.
How long had it been since he and SJ split up? Three years? It was good to see him doing well, I told myself, as I pushed the newspaper aside and went back to my coffee. I no longer had any appetite for toast.
And this must be the boyfriend I’ve heard so much about?
Samson’s words when SJ first introduced us to Theo rang in my head. I shivered as I remembered the way our eyes had met. The way I’d been forced to squeeze my legs together in a vain attempt to stem my body’s reaction. How could a single glance be so erotic?
Dad, meet Theo. Theo, this is my dad. And my stepmother, Loren. She’s wicked, but not in an evil way.
The blush rose to my face even after so many years, remembering SJ’s goofy attempt at a joke, and the embarrassed laughter from his dad and Theo. Who even used the word ‘wicked’ anymore? But he’d always been the weird kid, first in high school, then in college, the same at university. Lame jokes were kind of his thing, and I supposed they were a part of the charm for the men who always fell for him. Certainly, he’d never had a shortage of boyfriends since he came out to his dad and me all those years before.
But until Theo, none of them had ever turned my head.
He wasn’t even handsome. Not conventionally, anyway; not in the way that my husband was handsome. Samson was tall and broad, with a jaw that could cut paper. Accountants were supposed to be nerdy and weak, but my husband could press nearly 300 lbs and he filled out a suit like some sort of superhero. I was a very lucky woman, and I knew it.
Theo, on the other hand, stood out in a different way. Mousy hair past his ears, parted in the centre. Tall and slender, not unattractive but somehow unmatched to his face, the set of his jaw, the cheekbones, the brow. You expected to see muscle where there wasn’t any, expected rough hands where his were smooth, expected clumsiness where he was refined. Almost like he had been put together from spare parts.
Even his voice was off-kilter somehow, like it belonged to someone else and he was just borrowing it for the evening.
So why couldn’t I get him out of my head?
I found my hand drifting down my body as I thought about him. At first, all I was doing was smoothing my dress, but my flesh tingled as my fingers stimulated each inch. Between my breasts, down my belly, between my legs. I drew a sharp breath at the jolt of electricity that made me squirm and my eyes drifted closed.
Straightening in my chair, I teased my inner thigh with my fingertips, lifting the hem of my dress, playing with the lowest button.
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As I bit into my lower lip, my breath coming harder, I spread my legs, pushing back from the breakfast table as I grazed nervous fingers along the lacy top of my stocking.
Loren, would it be OK for Theo to come for Easter? His parents are away and—
It would be a pleasure. I’ll make up a double room for you both.
My fingers moved higher, tantalizingly close to my sex as I thought about those two weeks. Theo had lasted longer than any of SJ’s previous boyfriends. Nearly two months after we first met him in the restaurant, there he was in my house, just a single wall separating us each night. It was wrong for me to fantasize about him. He was my stepson’s lover. He was fifteen years younger than me. But I couldn’t help myself. When Samson was late getting home one night, I lay on top of the sheets, my knees wide, and stroked my fingers up and down my slit until I came with Theo’s name on my lips. Then, as soon as Samson returned, I tore his clothes off and barely contained the screams as I took him hard. I was a woman possessed, and my husband did not complain about the attention.
Days in the office were spent trying to distract myself, evenings were spent trying to avoid meeting Theo’s eyes. Even a glance and I found my nipples tightening. Even the briefest touch of his hand as I passed him coffee or condiments made my pelvic muscles clench.
On my day off, I used housework as a distraction. We had a cleaner, the place was spotless, but that didn’t matter to me. I scrubbed the kitchen. I hoovered the stairs. I cleaned my own bedroom, followed by the office and the two smaller guest bedrooms until I couldn’t justify any more.
And then I found myself outside their room.
I told myself to ignore it. SJ was always a clean kid anyway, and I had no right to go snooping. If I found sex toys or lube it would only lead to awkwardness between us. After all, he was bound to know someone had been in there. Was I even sure they weren’t in there right now? I knocked lightly on the door.
Dragging myself out of the memory, I shuddered and pulled my hand out from between my legs, putting my dress back in place, my face hot. “Get to work, Loren,” I told myself. “You can do without this distraction right now.”
But I didn’t move. I sat there, remembering, my foot shaking up and down as I crossed and re-crossed my legs. When I pulled the newspaper back in front of me, and saw his smiling face, I huffed and licked my lips, spreading my legs again and pulling the dress up to my hips as I stroked a tentative finger over the front of my panties. I shuddered and squeezed my legs together, almost crying out but managing to contain myself. My pussy tingled, my clit burned. I stroked my hand over the elastic at my leg, teasing myself with the idea of slipping a finger beneath as my other hand absently moved to my breast, massaging, kneading, imagining he stood behind me, an arm over my shoulder.
Unable to contain myself any longer, I unfastened three buttons at the top of my dress. Samson worked late the night before, and would sleep until lunchtime. The cleaner wouldn’t be in until later. I was alone, so why not enjoy it?
Thinking of Theo, I slipped my other hand inside my dress, pushing my bra cup aside and grazing a finger over my nipple, making it tighten. I imagined seducing him, my stepson’s boyfriend, and leading him back to my bed. So taboo, to strip his clothes from his body, to push him down onto the mattress and climb on top, to lead as he hardened, to put his cock inside me and claw at his flesh as he moaned.
I let out a little mewl of excitement as I rubbed my hand over my pussy, feeling the rush of need as the smooth fabric of my panties moved against my lips, growing damp as I worked my own flesh, both between my legs and at my breast.
Throwing my head back, I finally gave in to my own temptation and slid my hand down under the waistband of my panties, feeling the tickle of fine hairs against my wrist as my fingers found my dampened labia, slick with my own juice. I rolled my hips as I played, one hand inside my panties, the other inside my bra, my breathing growing faster with every stroke.
The memory of that day in their room, when I convinced myself that it was OK to just go in, change their sheets, and leave again, came back to me as I closed my eyes. I could still see the edge of the curtain flapping in the fresh breeze through the open window, could still smell the lingering scent of body spray and incense. Perhaps that should have alerted me, but at the time I just indulged my senses, and then set about pulling the duvet out of its case.
Until I heard it.
Soft humming. That country-sounding pop song that was popular at the time. My own heartbeat, increasing in rhythm.
It wasn’t SJ. It was Theo.
As my fingers moved inside my panties, teasing my own flesh, I thought about the sound of his voice that day. So light, so soft. Somehow, the voice that simply shouldn’t have belonged to him was perfect in those acoustics. It was melodic, ancient, coming through from another place. How he hadn’t heard me enter was a mystery, as was the question of why he was there on his own. None of that mattered. As I heard the first splashes of water, I turned to the en-suite bathroom and it was like the mirror had been placed there just for me.
It was wrong. I should have fled. I shouldn’t have stayed, watching, as he stood under the shower, mercifully facing away from me, the glass of the cubicle getting steadily more obscured as the water streamed over his head, his shoulders, his back.
Remembering the way my heart had thundered made my pulse race as I thought about him, and I shifted in the chair, almost willing my former self to get out of there before the inevitable happened; before he turned under the water, the view of his body only slightly obscured by the condensation.
Soft abdominal muscles, barely defined, led the way down beneath his chest, a centre line like an arrow, unavoidable as my eyes followed. Trimmed pubic hair, shaped into a wide, short triangle, and then that cock. Even flaccid, he was well endowed. It shifted between his legs, thick and heavy, as he stood under the shower, soapy water trickling down and falling from the tip.
I shoved my panties aside and ran my fingers through the folds of my pussy, spreading my lips, the scent of my own arousal strong now as I moved against my hand. The cooler air hitting my slit sent a shiver racing through my body, and I sighed as I clenched my stomach, lifting a leg up onto the breakfast table and finally pushing one finger, then two, inside my body, curling them against my sweet spot. Moaning with pleasure, I thrust my fingers in and out.
It wasn’t the first time since that day that I’d imagined Theo’s cock entering me as I masturbated. Despite only getting a glance before I fled, it was enough to feed my daydreams. I imagined gripping his shaft in one hand as I knelt before him, looking up into his eyes as I leaned forward and licked the tip, running my tongue around it as he hardened, then taking him into my mouth. I imagined the look of pure ecstasy on his face as I sucked him off, eyes locked on each other as his jaw clenched. Then his fingers tightening in my hair, encouraging me as I ran my tongue along the underside of his cock and swirled around the swollen head.
“Oh, fuck…” I sighed as I lifted my pelvis higher, fingers delving deeper as the old thoughts came flooding back. My stomach muscles clenched, sending a flood of arousal over my fingers. “Theo. Theo…”
Just leave them there, Theo.
I remembered the way his eyes had lingered that day, his arms full of used bedding. He must have known that I had been in there. We were the only two people in the house, and I had fled, leaving the duvet half out of its case. He had to know what I’d seen. I remembered the heat rising to my face, the question running through my head: should I say something? Apologise? Or act like nothing had happened to spare any awkwardness?
Somehow, the memory of that moment was more arousing than embarrassing. I masturbated, legs spread, pussy on full display, dress held together by only a few buttons, and I thought about the prickle of tension that had tightened my back, my shoulders.
I don’t mind.
He had to have noticed the blush spreading over my chest, up my neck. The way my nipples cut through my top at the double entendre. Did he even realise what he was saying? Did he know how his words could be taken to mean he didn’t mind what I’d done? But his expression was inscrutable. I didn’t even know if he had any interest in women, but my body’s reaction was hard-wired.
I’m not inexperienced. I can do it for you.
“Oh, fuck…” My fingers moved faster, my moaning getting louder as I pushed back against the chair.
It’s fine, just leave them there.
Holding my panties out of the way, I rubbed hard at my nub, no longer being cautious about the need in every sound I made, about the way my chair squeaked against the floor. I could smell my own musky-sweet scent and it only drove me on. Hiking my dress up around my waist, I stood and bent over the table, using it to steady myself as I spread my feet apart and delved into my soaked cunt. My mind grew more frantic, and as it did my sense of civility vanished. I imagined being forced down into the hard surface and taken from behind, my face pressed against the tabletop.
“Yes…” I moaned, little squeaking noises coming out between words. “Fuck me. Harder. Rougher. Take me. Like that. Right there.”
Two fingers pounded inside my tight warmth, and I wished I had a dildo to hand. Something big, something that would fill me, stretch me, make me cry out. I wanted to feel the shape of a cock taking me, and at that moment I didn’t care who it belonged to, or if it belonged to nobody at all.
“Harder. I want to feel your balls…slapping my thighs. Make me scream.”
I panted as I felt my orgasm building to a crescendo, and closed my eyes as I remembered.
Scalding hot water, as if it might wash away the dirty thoughts I’d been having. Gritting my teeth against the heat as I turned under the showerhead, trying to push away images of Theo, naked, frothing water dripping from his cock like cum.
The more I tried to forget, the clearer the memory became, and the more my arousal spiked. As I worked my fingers inside my cunt in the present, growing nearer and nearer to my peak, so I had done in the past, hoping that the release might calm me. I mewled as my pelvic muscles gripped and released, driving me insane with need. The coolness of the tabletop matched the coolness of the shower tiles that I had pressed my body against, closing my eyes as I struggled to breathe in the steam.
I raised my fingers and tasted my own fluids, letting the flavour spread over my tongue, then pushed my fingers back inside as I gripped my breast hard, crying out against the pain. In my mind’s eye, Theo had joined me in that shower. I no longer cared that it hadn’t really happened. His arms wrapping around my core, lifting me against the wall of the shower, shoving his cock deep inside me.
Loren. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.
“Yes. So close.”
I imagined wrapping my legs around him, digging my heels into his ass as he thrust hard; once, twice, again, again. Both holding our breath together as our bodies stilled before tipping over into shuddering release.
I breathed a sigh as I slowed my movements, enjoying the tender sensation post-orgasm. Running my fingers up and down through the folds of my pussy made me moan. I was satisfied, it was enough. Just as it had been back then.
Putting my panties back in place and straightening my dress, I remembered stepping out of the shower, my skin pimpling in a cool breeze. Glancing across, I’d been puzzled by the open door leading through to the bedroom. Had I forgotten to close it?
I’d wrapped a towel around me, fastening it in place over my breasts just as I fastened the buttons on my dress. But the bedroom was as I’d left it.
A knock on the door. Loren? It had been SJ’s voice. Me and Theo are going out. Don’t worry about dinner, we’ll get something for ourselves.
I smiled as I pulled the newspaper closer, looking down again at his face in the photograph. If the young woman was Theo’s girlfriend, I wished her well, wished them both well. SJ had grown tired of him a couple of weeks after that Easter break, and we hadn’t seen him since.
I finished off my coffee in a single gulp, then closed the newspaper and checked my online organiser. A note from Heather: Renson’s wife knows all about it, good thinking Loren. She had set the meeting with Gerry for 2pm, which gave me enough time to run my errands before trying to figure out how we would make this story yesterday’s news.
And somehow we would because everyone has their secrets—and if they harm nobody, then why shouldn’t they keep them?
Read all about the wonderful author: Nicci Haydon