At this point, I undid my trousers and slid them down to my knees to give some relief to my stiff, aching prick, which was harder than I had ever felt it, and poking through the fly of my shorts with yearning, demanding to be caressed, to be teased, and to be jolly well wanked.
My heart was thumping as I left the hotel. I walked up the road, turned left into the high street, headed for the newsagent's at the far end of town.
I was 18, and on holiday with my parents. How uncool can you get
It was as though my entire life had been leading up to this point. I was alone, and I was going to buy my first porno mag. I had feigned illness that morning to avoid going on the bus tour, and my parents had left the hotel for the day.
You see, I had had a very strict upbringing. Mother had made it plain that pornoraphy was bad, and that sex was something married people did to each other in private, but what it actually entailed, you didn't find out until you were married yourself. Consequently I had developed into a very shy seventeen year old who had had next to no physical contact with the opposite sex. (In fact, the nearest I had come to actual physical contact with a girl was having my backside felt during a "which sixth-former has the squeeziest ass" competition between the girls.) My misery was compounded by the fact that I was overweight. Mother said it was puppy fat, but my contemporaries teased and jibed mercilessly.
My sex life (such as it was) was limited to my imagination and my black-and-white portable television in my bedroom. I would spend night after night surfing the various channels in the pursuit of female nudity. Each glimpse of breast or uncovered buttock was carefully stored away in my memory, and a fleeting glimpse of pubic hair was enough to send me into rapture.
I had never seen any live female flesh save for my mother (and I wasn't that kind of seventeen year old), and an actual porno film was like Halley's comet - you know it's out there, but you don't expect you'll ever see it. I'd recently come across a few tattered remnants of an old porno mag on the school playing field, and, having secreted them away in the lining of my coat, took them home and pored over them for many nights.
I would never have dreamt of buying one for myself at home ( - my mother might find out, and the risk just simply wasn't worth it, believe me), and I had resolved that on holiday I would, by some means or other, get my hands on a porno mag of my own.
So there I was in the newsagents, doing the four-eyed-cross-eyed shuffle - trying to see the porno mags out of the corner of one eye whilst pretending to look at the car mags with another, and keeping one eye on the door and one on the counter. Judging the moment to perfection, I made a desperate grab and made for the counter with my purchase. My heart was definitely making an escape attempt. It was hammering so hard against my chest, that I was convinced it would break free with the next beat. It didn't, and the man behind the counter hardly took his eyes off the picture on the portable TV he was watching as he took my money. I hurriedly concealed the magazine in my coat, and hurried back to the hotel, convinced my mother must surely somehow on my tail.
Once back in the hotel, I started to relax somewhat, no longer convinced I was about to be arrested or grounded for eternity, though my excitement was building. I was shortly to experience pornagraphy first hand (if you'll pardon the pun), and I practically floated up the narrow stairs to my small room at the rear of the hotel.
Once inside my room, I divested myself of my coat and collapsed onto my small bed. My heart was now back up to jackhammer pace as I picked up the magazine and started to drink in the contents. So many breasts! I never imagined there could be such diversity. Large ones; small ones; ones with small nipples; ones with large nipples; upturned ones; saggy ones. And all these beautiful women were naked for me! And real life, actual cunts! Some had shaved their pubic hair off completely, and their labia were visible. I'd only just begun, but I was in heaven.
At this point, I undid my trousers and slid them down to my knees to give some relief to my stiff, aching prick, which was harder than I had ever felt it, and poking through the fly of my shorts with yearning, demanding to be caressed, to be teased, and to be jolly well wanked. I curled my clammy fist around my straining pipe, and began to joyously masturbate. I was lost in my own little world, and that's perhaps why I didn't hear the discreet knock on the door that preceeded its opening.
Horror-struck, and convinced my mother was about to discover me in flagrante masturbatio, I frantically tried to make myself invisible, cover my embarrassment and die, all at the same time. None worked, and I was mentally preparing to meet my doom when I realised that the head poking round the door did not belong to my mother, but to the hotel manageress. There was a split second of silence as we looked into one another's eyes before we spoke.
"Oh!..I...umm...er..." I began "Oh, excuse me!" she said. "I was coming to clean the room. I didn't realise you were......". She tailed off, realising what I'd been doing. She looked from my face down to my cock, to my jazz mag and back to my face. "you were....busy."
It's funny, but I had often imagined a similar scenario when wanking - that of being discovered whilst in the act of masturbation, and I had always found it a big turn on. The reality appeared to be somewhat different. My cock appeared to be succeding where I had failed - making itself invisible. My fright and embarrassment had contrived to cool my ardour, you might say.
I was wishing she would go away so I could just kill myself, when she stepped into the room, shut the door behind her and spoke again.
"You know, it's such a shame to waste yourself like this. I could show you a much better way to pass the time". And without further ado, she turned to face me and with infinite slowness began to unbutton the front of her blouse. I watched transfixed as her black lacy bra was revealed to me with its globes of delight.
I have to say I hadn't taken much notice of her during my stay at the hotel up to that point. I had been aware of her, but she would have been, I suppose, about thirty, which to me at that time was quite old. However, I was rapidly beginning to change my perception of her, and to look at her in a
Her hair, which hung down to just below shoulder height was black. I mean jet black. Her skin, more of which was being revealed to my incredulous gaze each moment was pale, almost white. Her breasts, still in their lace confinement were full, and swayed very gently as she moved. Her waist was slender without being thin, and her hips, clad in blue denim were delightfully flared. She removed her blouse from the waistband of her jeans and began to unbutton the jeans, revealing to me a pair of matching briefs. She pushed the denim down her thighs, and stood before me, a vision in black lace.
"Well, are you going to stay down there, or shall we make you a little more comfortable" she said. I sprang from the bed, preceeded by my re-tumescent organ, which now felt long enough to pole vault with, and hard enough to cut diamonds. I stood before her, still unsure how to proceed. Sensing my naivety, she began divesting me of my clothes. I stepped out of my jeans and shorts, and my shirt joined them on the floor. Taking my trembling left hand,
she placed it on her right breast, and oh joy! . For the first time, I was feeling female flesh! I watched as if from outside my body as my right hand met and moulded to the shape of her left breast through the lacy bra. I slowly massaged her bosoms, enjoying their firmness, yet somehow feeling unreal, worrying that I might wake up at any moment.
She turned around without speaking, and presented me with the fastener to her bra. After a momentary fumble, I released it, and eased her bra straps down off her shoulders. The garment slid to the floor. She turned back to me, her breasts swaying gently from side to side with the motion. I stood staring at them, transfixed. In fact I would probably have remained like that for ever, had she not taken my trembling hands and placed them on her hips at the waistband of her panties.
Coming back to the present, I took her gentle hint and slowly rolled the panties off her hips until they joined the rest of our clothes on the carpet.
She stood before me naked. Naked for me! This couldn't be true. Surely I'd wake up at any moment.
My eyes were now drawn to the thicket of her jet black pubic hair. Incredulously I moved my hand towards it, convinced that she must be a mirage, that my hand would go right through her, but it didn't. She must have wanted things to speed up a little, as she encircled my wrist with her arm and placed my hand right between her legs, so that I could feel the warmth there. I could also smell what I now know was the fruits of her arousal.
Meanwhile, she took hold of my throbbing erection, rubbing my foreskin back and forth over its cherry tip. Her palm opened and then shut over the full girth, and she began to slowly pump me. She hadn't given above a dozen strokes when my orgasm was upon me, as if from nowhere. I had precious little warning, and as I started to say "hey! hang on!" my first globule of semen splashed onto her belly, followed by several more, making a pattern on her midriff and thighs. A cum-collage, you might say. I bucked at the knees as she milked the last few drops from my penis.
I expected her to be angry, or at the very least disappointed that I'd cum so quickly, and I didn't dare look her in the eye, for fear of seeing her disproval painted there. But she simply said "never mind. It'll make it better next time", and with that knelt before me, and with both hands cupped my genitals. One hand gently kneaded and massaged my balls, while the other took hold of my penis and delivered it into her mouth. Reason tottered on its throne, then fell off. My first hand job, immediately followed by my first blow job!
My penis fitted completely in her mouth at first, though under her tender ministrations it swiftly began to swell and enlarge once more, at which point she stopped what she was doing, lay down on the bed, looked me in the eye and said "now, fuck me please".
My earlier hesitancy was more or less a distant memory as I joined her on the cramped single bed. I began to suck greedily on her pink nipples, which responded by tightening and lengthening within my mouth. She once more was slowly wanking me, but with my recent ejaculation, the danger of a repeat performance of prem-ejac was not so great. Presently she nudged me into a position so that I lay on top of her, my penis jammed between our bellies. After a few fumbling attempts on my part to reach her cunt, she helped me our, taking my glans in her fingers and placing me at the head of her tunnel.
She was very well-lubricated, and I more or less slipped inside her. My rapture was almost complete. Here I was actually fucking someone other than my teddy bear! Instinct more or less took over, I suppose, because within seconds I was pumping in and out of her like a veteran (or so I supposed). Soon I recognised the signs that I was about to cum again, and told her so. "Go on, enjoy it" she said, so I did. I increased my pace to warp factor 9 and within seconds was at my peak again, jamming my spurting penis deep into her vagina.
Utterly spent, I now slumped against her, and tried to utter my thanks. All that came out was a stream of garbage about my mother and god knows what else. I think she sensed my jumbled up feelings, because she simply said "that was lovely. Thank you. We won't say a word of this to anyone, and it won't happen again." With this, she swiftly put on her bra, blouse and jeans and was gone.
I hardly saw her again, and three days later it was time to leave, the end of our holiday. Nothing was said between us, nor did it really need to be. I do feel a little guilty that I never officially thanked her for what she did for me. She'll never know how much she actually did for me on that rainy afternoon in an English hotel room.
She left her knickers behind - did I tell you that I don't know whether that was intentional on her part, but I chose to believe that. I still have them today, 10 years on. Even now just looking at them turns me on a little, and all I have to do is close my eyes, and I can see her beautiful, mature body. Naked. For me.
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