She nodded and took my wrist, placing my hand on her waist. I stroked her stomach, her thighs, from her armpits down her body to her knees. She turned, letting me touch her back, massage her shoulders and run over her buttocks, feeling their firm tension. She faced me again and as I touched her, grabbed my head, pulling my face on to her stomach. My lips brushed against her strong, ridged abs and I worked down to her thighs, avoiding the parts of her that were still covered.
“You’ve got no hair,” I mumbled as she drew me up to my full height.
“No. None whatsoever. I have a full body wax regularly. I have no body hair whatsoever.” She raised an eyebrow at me, almost begging the obvious question. My late wife had shaved her pubic hair during the earlier years of our marriage, but as we got older, she didn’t bother. It always disappointed me, as we continued to have sex, and she knew I loved to see her labia exposed — but I felt my feelings were unimportant. I didn’t make a fuss over it – it was her choice, but the idea that this woman was not only hairless, but the skin would have no stubble and would soft and tender brought me to full hardness.
Now she dropped to her knees and grabbed the waistband of my boxer shorts, Slowly, she pulled them down, catching the head of my cock and pulling it down until it sprung free, slapping her across the side of the face. She looked up at me and smiled, letting my shorts fall to the floor as she grabbed my erection.
It was like a bizarre fantasy, as if I’d walked into a parallel world. This magnificent woman, young enough to be my daughter and with a body which entranced me was seducing me. Not just that, but she did it with total confidence. I wondered fleetingly if this was her ‘thing’, finding random older men and creating notches on her bedpost. Using the fact that she was irresistible to further her game. Maybe if anyone resisted, she used her undoubtedly considerable strength to force herself on them. Would that count as rape? I suppose it would, but in my case, I had no intention of resisting.
Her grip was firm, much firmer than my own, and I felt she could make me ejaculate in seconds if she wished. She might have read my mind, for I felt her fingers relax as her head dipped forward and she took me in her mouth.
What was clear was that she found my girth difficult to manage. My wife had commented previously that she got jaw ache if she sucked me for too long, and I was sure that this would also be the case now.
Her mouth was soft and moist as her tongue ran around my engorged head, probing the small hole in the centre, as her hand reached my balls. She squeezed, gently for her, I assumed, but sufficient to make me draw breath as a frisson of pain and pleasure made me shiver, despite the warm room. It was only then that I realised how vulnerable I actually was. She could probably have torn my testicles right off if the urge took her — she could certainly overpower me. And yet, that realisation heightened the experience as she pressed a finger between my buttocks.
She took in more of my length and moved her head back and forth, bringing me to the verge of climax, before suddenly withdrawing.
She gazed up at me, apparently only just realising what she was doing. Again the smile played around her lips, as a trickle of saliva, or maybe pre-cum ran from the corner of her mouth.
“I’ve … I’ve never done this before,” she said, suddenly vulnerable. “I must seem like some predator, just searching for older men to seduce, but I’m not. I haven’t had sex in … well … a long time, but it felt right. You feel right.”
She seemed unaware of my cock, barely an inch from her face as she spoke.
“You don’t have to fuck me if you don’t want to … but I’d like it. You don’t have to see me again either. I just … got carried away. The way you looked at me and seemed to want me. Sorry …”
Suddenly, she was vulnerable, back to the little fat girl she had been in her teens, not able to understand that she was gorgeous and perfect in my eyes. Looking down at the absurd situation, as my penis bobbed against her cheek, like a huge compass needle pointing at her pleading eyes, I gently drew her to her feet.
I smiled, hoping to reassure her.
“You are devastatingly gorgeous. The most wonderful woman I’ve ever met. I don’t think you’re some kind of muscle-bound psycho, or that this is some sort of fetish — well — if it is, it’s my fetish, not yours. I know that I want you, and will keep wanting you for as long as you want me. You’re intoxicating, my dream come true. The fantasy I never had and have been missing my whole life.”
I had never spoken to anyone like this, not even my late wife, and every word was true. I was finding myself falling in love in a way which was beyond anything I had ever imagined, at a time when I had given up on romance. I wondered what those who knew me would think. Probably that she was after my money, or I was having a mid-life crisis. In truth, I didn’t care.
I kissed her, embracing her firm physique, and feeling, as I stood naked and puny, that I was the one in control for the first time since I had opened the door to her.
Gently, I lifted the sports bra over her head. Her breasts were not large, but very evident, held perfectly in position by the muscle around them. I realised that, unlike most women, whose breasts formed part of the side of their body, hers did not. They were surrounded by muscle, swellings from the solid mass of her chest, topped with dark areolae and small, pointed nipples. I bent to kiss them, drawing first one nipple, then the other into my mouth, hearing her gasp and mew like a kitten as I did so.
We made our way to the sofa, where I continued to manipulate her nipples, which were clearly extremely sensitive.
Suddenly, she lifted my face to look into her eyes, and I was delighted to see that the confidence and devilry which had been there before had returned.
“Do you want me to prove that I’m hairless all over?” She teased. “I bet you’re wondering if I’m the same down there as every other woman.”
Suddenly uncertainty returned. “Actually, I don’t know for certain myself. I’ve … well … I’ve not been with many men, but none of them have said anything’s any different.”
I smiled. It was obvious to me that she could only be the same as any other woman, but it was clearly a matter of some insecurity for her.
“I’ll have a good look,” I promised, “believe me, every woman’s different anyway, but at least I shan’t have to fight through a forest of hair to find out.”
She smiled as I dropped to my knees before her and grabbed the top of her lycra shorts. She raised her buttocks, and again, I was struck by her control as she managed even this often tricky manoeuvre with grace. At first she kept her knees together, clearly self-conscious, but I placed a hand either side, and although she initially resisted (and I was very aware that she could have resisted all night if she wanted to), she allowed me to part her thighs and take in the beautiful, budding flower between her legs.