The music still echoes in my head as I grab my coat. Outside the autumn air is cold and clear. At the party Elena and I had only chatted a bit, just some casual talk, nothing serious.
Still I keep seeing her in the crowd, Elena, thirty two years young, slim, sporty, with messy dark curls, glasses, tight jeans and boots. Her top is too thin for the time of year. And yes, she flirts freely. Laughter, quick glances, shoulder to shoulder. I pretend it does not bother me, but my body registers every move she makes. I first ran into her at least fifteen years ago. Was it in high school or during a night out? No idea. Even then she was already a beautiful tall girl in my eyes. Apart from having fun, chatting and dancing at parties, nothing ever happened between us. Maybe something smoldered in my head, but I never really had anything with her. Somewhere along the way I lost sight of her. I traveled a lot for work and she studied somewhere, no idea where.
My family and I have lived in my wife’s hometown for three years now. “Seven hundred residents, eight hundred cows,” I always say. Elena lives with her family diagonally across from us. Our children are almost the same age and we have a good neighborly relationship. Nothing more, nothing less. Okay, I admit that lately I look at her more often and longer when she is outside, in the garden, at the supermarket, when she walks her little dog. More than once my thoughts have drifted to erotic fantasies. That is why I feel a bit uncomfortable watching her flirt like this. With many other men, but not with me.
As I leave, she suddenly appears beside me. “Are you going home?” she asks, softer than before. I do not dare ask her why. She has put on a jacket and we walk side by side through the rustling leaves toward our street. I stop at my house. “Don’t you want to come in for a moment? Have a glass? It is so cold.” She shrugs. “Just for a bit.” She walks with me up the garden path and I open the door, we step inside. The hallway smells of heating, of everyday life. Elena hesitates for a moment, looks around, almost as if she is thinking it over. “It is completely quiet here,” I say. “There is no one, only the two of us.”
“That is strange,” she murmurs, “I have never experienced you inviting me into your home.” “Normally there is always someone here. But not today.”
We go to the living room while I ask Siri for music, she sits carefully on the couch, almost on the edge. I pour two glasses of wine. “Come on, make yourself a bit more comfortable,” I say. “You must be cold.” I strengthen my argument. With the remote I turn on the pellet stove. That thing gives off a wonderful warmth in about fifteen minutes. She looks at me questioningly. “Oh, I don’t know…” I take a blanket and spread it over her legs. “Just warm up under the blanket. We drink a bit, chat a bit. Nothing more.”
She looks at me hesitantly, then takes off her boots and crawls under the blanket. Admittedly, there is some distance between us, but still. We toast with the wine. “To friendship!” The wine burns warm in our stomachs. We talk about insignificant things, then a silence falls.
“Do you know why I flirted so much today?” she asks suddenly, breaking the silence. “Tell me.” She looks away a little shyly. “Because otherwise I am never seen as a woman anymore. I am a mother, a housewife, for everyone just the one who takes care of the children and the house and the garden. But no longer the woman I really am.”
I nod understandingly. “I understand. I feel the same, I am always the father, the husband, the organizer, the problem solver. But almost no one sees the man behind it. The man who still has desires, needs and fantasies.” She looks at me for a long time, her eyes showing tears. “Wow… that sounds like you can feel it exactly.” I wait a few seconds. “Yes, I think so too. We are in the same boat.” Then tears roll freely and she shakes her head. I put an arm around her and wipe her tears away. She stutters, “I have not had sex for years…” I look up at this confession. “Three weeks ago he confessed he is gay and has a relationship with someone else, a man!” Then follows a heavy crying fit. I just hold her because this was a message no one, I think, had counted on.
When she has calmed down a bit she slides close against me and maybe unconsciously lays her head against my shoulder. “Maybe that is why I feel so safe here now. You know what I mean.” Then another silence falls. Then she says bitterly, “And no one saw me that way tonight. Probably because men only fall for blond hair and big breasts. I have neither.” In a flash I raise my hand to contradict her… the alcohol starts to work. Thank God I quickly realize she is completely right. She has dark hair and her breasts are small and, in my estimation, quite firm.
“As for male interests…” I begin after a few seconds. “Blond hair, big breasts, you mean?” she answers sharply, I blush. I had never thought she would use the word “breasts” so casually. And already twice. I compose myself and answer, “Yes, exactly… well… not everyone falls for that.” She takes a big sip and tilts her head. “Really? What do YOU like then?” “Well, I have no fixed type. I am more about the right proportions and curves.” She laughs. “Curves? Have you ever looked at me properly?” she asks mockingly or is it curiously. “Well, curves, that is everything… scenes I observe.” I begin as if I am telling her something very general, yet I know very well that she knows the pictures. “Take for example a woman working in the garden in summer. Sweat on her skin, a tight top, and you can see she is not wearing a bra. Her breasts and nipples are clearly visible through the fabric of her shirt. I cannot help looking.”
She takes a nervous sip from her glass. I continue. “Or when a woman in riding clothes, boots on, gets out of the car, takes the bag from the trunk… and then bends deep forward. Those buttocks in that tight riding pants, absolutely beautiful. Every time I think to myself, the man who gets to unpack that at home is enviable.” Elena moves a little under the blanket, as if she has to change position. “Or when someone lies in the garden in a bikini in summer. You can see how tight her body is, every muscle, every line. Sometimes the fabric is so tight that you almost see more than intended.” Her breathing becomes more audible, she stares fixedly into the glass. “Or when a woman wears short shorts, so you can see the edge of her thong above them. Just a little, but enough to catch my attention.”
I insert a tactical pause and roll the last sip of wine back and forth in the glass. I grab the bottle and refill our glasses. “Or when a woman walks through the garden and puts her hair up, the curls stick to her neck from the sweat, and you can see exactly how athletic her back is. Those kinds of moments turn me on completely.” Elena reaches forward and slowly sets her glass down. “You talk as if you… are observing… me.” It sounded timid. “I observe at random,” I say, deliberately nonchalant. “Such scenes stick with you. It does not matter who it is.”
She presses her lips together, but stays close against me. I lean a little closer to her. “And I fall for striking facial features. For example women with a slightly crooked nose.” Now she turns indignantly, “I do not have a crooked nose!” It sounds playfully angry. I pause for a moment, grin and pretend I know nothing, “Why would these examples be about you?”
That was it! She took everything personally, exactly as I wanted. Her cheeks glow, she stutters, “Because… because you… you have been doing this all this time…” I lean closer. “You have been listening to me. With every breath.” “And,” I say calmly, “I do like small breasts.” “Nonsense,” she murmurs, but her voice is soft and curious. “Really, about the size of a mandarin, firm, sporty. When fabric rubs against them and… you get the idea.” She turned her head and stares at me astonished. Her eyes grow large. “You are joking! You mean… me?” I nod. “Yes. In all the examples.” She stays silent. Her breathing becomes heavier. “Well, except about my crooked nose,” I laugh. “Alex, do you mean this seriously?” she wanted to know, there was a tremor in her voice. “Yes, I mean it completely seriously.” “I flirted with half the village, but…” she begins, “and not with the one who tonight might have been the only one who would have fallen for it.” I continue and give her a naughty smile. She poured herself some more wine, takes a sip and then stares at the glass in her hands.
The silence after my last remark lingers. She sits next to me, the blanket pulled over her, her cheeks red. Her breathing betrays more than she wants to say. I lean back and let a long silence fall, long enough to make her nervous. Then I say softly but determinedly, “May I get to know them?” Elena recoiled as if I had hit her. “Excuse me?!” “Your breasts. May I see them?!” My voice is calm, almost businesslike, but my gaze is fixed on myself. She stares at me and searches for the right words. “Have you gone crazy? We are neighbors!” “Yes,” I say calmly. “And still I want to know. Just see. Nothing more.” She laughs nervously and shakes her head. “You are really crazy.” “I know. But I mean it.”
Again a silence falls. Her gaze wanders back and forth between my face and her glass. Then she sets the glass down and takes a deep breath. “Only looking. Not touching. Agreed?” I nod solemnly. “Promised.” Slowly she pulls the blanket from her shoulders. Her hands tremble as she pulls her top over her head. A simple black bra holds her breasts captive. She purses her lips and fiddles at the back of her head. “Oh, never mind,” she murmurs, and the clasp opens. The fabric slides off, she holds it for a moment before letting it fall forward. There they are. Small, firm, their dark nipples hard from the cold or nervousness? She immediately crosses her arms in front of them. “You said you were only looking.” Her voice sounded reproachful. “And I am looking,” I say calmly, while I keep my gaze fixed on her breasts. She makes a face. “You stare at me as if I am a work of art.” “You are. A damn beautiful one.”
She laughs uncertainly and lowers her arms. “Now that you have seen them, are you satisfied?” she wants to know. “No.” My voice sounds confident. “What, no?!” it sounds sharp. “I want to see them, not hidden. Completely. Exactly as they are.” Her eyes grow large, her body tenses. Elena breathes audibly, seconds crawl by. Then, almost challengingly, she lowers her arms. She remains sitting, visibly shy, but open. “Wow…” I groan. “They are beautiful. You are so beautiful.” She rolls her eyes and blushes. “What an idiot you are.” “A happy idiot though, because I have just seen the most beautiful breasts ever.” She wants to laugh, but the laugh sticks in her throat. “You are… you are really disturbed.” I grin and try to strike while the iron is hot. “Now I ask you boldly, may I also touch them?”
She turned her head away abruptly. “Have you gone crazy?! You may look but not touch.”
“I know.” I lean closer. “But I want to be sure. Are they really as firm and hard as they seem?” She bites her lip and visibly struggles with her feelings. Then she sighs and looks up at the ceiling. “Okay. But only briefly and only my breasts. No nonsense.” Elena looks at me intently. “As you wish.” I place my hand very carefully on her breasts, feather light. She startles for a moment, tenses them first, then relaxes and breathes out sharply. “Damn…” she sighs. “This feels way too good.” “Do you want me to stop?” she nods no. “Shut up… and continue.”
I play with her breasts, first gently, then a bit firmer. Her breathing quickens, she sinks deeper into the cushions. My fingers gently pinch her hardening nipples. Then I let my hands slide a little lower, down to her stomach. Firm, warm, athletic. “Not there!” she groans, while she grabs my hand. “Only my tits and my stomach, all right then. Not further down.” “Okay, that is fine,” I say, while I stay above her waistband. I make very slow circular movements around her navel, so that her muscles contract. She squeezes her eyes shut. “You are mean.” She groans softly.
“Why?” I tease. “You know damn well I am sensitive there.” “That is why I stroke you there.” My hands continue gently. “Rat,” she murmurs, but she laughs with it and taps me softly on the shoulder. I let my fingers slide gently along the waistband of her jeans. “Tell me… how comfortable do these actually sit?” “What do you mean?” “Well, you are lying here under the same blanket, we are drinking wine. Do you really want to stay in those tight jeans?” She snorts. “You just want to see me naked.” “No. I want you to feel comfortable.” I parry. “Yes…” She bites her lip, looks at me sideways and then suddenly says, “Turn around.”
“Why?” “Just for a moment. Don’t look.” I grin and turn my head meaningfully. I hear the soft rustle as she undoes the button and slowly opens the zipper. The fabric slides away. “Well, are you ready?” “Not yet!” Then she gave me a push with her elbow. “Okay.”
I turn toward her. Her jeans lie crumpled on the floor, she sits there in black panties, she has put her boots back on. “The boots?” I ask. “They stay on.” It sounds sharp. “Elena… in boots and underwear on my couch? Do you mean that?” She laughs for a moment, then rolls her eyes. “Oh, damn.” She pulls her boots off one by one and throws them next to her jeans. Her socks slide off with them.
Now she sits there, only in her panties. She pulls her legs half up, as if she wants to hide, but the blanket lies suspiciously far back. “Look, now it is more comfortable.” “You are an asshole,” she grins. I let my hand slide over her stomach again, lower, almost to her panties. “Only over the fabric,” she warns immediately, “not inside.” “OK.” My fingers lie flat on the fabric. Warm. Wet. I circle gently around it. She makes a face, groans softly. “Damn… you notice that.” She groans. “That you are wet?” “Stop that talking. Do something!”
My hand moves lightly over her panties. Gently I press on the smooth fabric and feel the shapes of her femininity. Now and then a bit more pressure or speed. Her pelvis moves restlessly along. She bites her lip. “Only on the outside…” she groans softly. I obey because I want more of and with her! Too much pressure can ruin everything. Suddenly her hand grabs mine and pushes it tighter against her mound. She spreads her legs and pushes my hand down between her firm thighs. Her labia are warm and her wetness is palpable. “Elena, are you sure?” “Shut up!” she groans, while she pushes my fingers harder against the fabric and it slides a little between her labia. “You said… only on the outside…” my voice sounded full of innocence, “And yet you lead me straight into it.”
She laughs hoarsely, she sounds horny and looks at me excitedly. “Oh, never mind.” She says and with a quick movement she lifts her panties a little and lets my hand slide in. I feel her soft, shaved pubic area. I have to control myself and try to take it easy. My fingers follow her mound and I let them slide gently over her lips. I feel how wet she is, how swollen and warm her labia. Even the lightest touch makes her startle and gasp for breath… while she still tries to suppress a groan. “You are inside now. Are you happy?” her hoarse voice sounds. I nod affirmatively. Her hips shoot up immediately, her breathing becomes panting. “But just a little… not too deep…” But her body has long been telling a different story. Elena lies half back, my hand deep in her panties. Her body trembles. Suddenly she grabs my hand and pulls it away. “Stop!” she whispered, while breathing heavily. “This cannot go on like this. I… I cannot be the only one, can I?” I smile and pretend nothing is wrong. “What do you mean?” I ask innocently. “Get undressed!!” she orders.
“Do it yourself,” I say naughty and lean back. She looks at me, playfully indignant, partly amused. “What an asshole you are.” She snaps at me. “Maybe. But you want it anyway, right?” “Oh, shut your mouth,” She pulls my hand out of her panties and sits up straight. Slowly she grabs my T shirt and pulls it over my head. Her gaze rests for a moment on my torso and then slides over my stomach. “Damn, you are really…” She stops and bites her lip. “Say it then.” “No.” She shakes her head and giggles. “Asshole.”
Then she fiddles with my belt. “I thought you did not want to go further?” I ask for certainty. “I don’t either!” she hisses, and yet she undoes the button and slowly pulls the zipper down. She hesitates and looks at me appraisingly. Then she pulls my pants over my hips to my knees. Only my boxers remain. My erection stretches the fabric and I look down and see what I have been feeling for a while, a wet spot near my glans… Elena freezes. Her eyes close, her breathing quickens. “Damn… you are… so…” She swallows. “Hard?” I fill in. She presses her lips together, wants to look away, but does not. Her hand hovers above my thigh, as if she does not know whether she is allowed. “Feel free to touch it,” I say softly. “I should not…” “Should not want or should not do?” A few seconds of struggle were readable on her face. Then she hesitantly laid her hand on my boxers exactly on my bulge. “Jesus, you are really…” She stops abruptly and pulls her hand away. “That was not my intention!” I only nod. “Okay. Then we stop.” She stares at me as if she had not expected that. “You… you would really…?” I nod yes, “Of course. If you do not want that.”
She hides her face in her hands and laughs hysterically. “You drive me crazy. I do not want it, but my body does!” I give her space, “Then say what you want.” She takes a deep breath and pulls her hands back. Her eyes burn. “Plan changed.”
She grabs my boxers with both hands and pulls them abruptly down. My penis springs out, hard and shiny in the dim light. She holds her breath, stares at me with large pupils. “Oh God…” She laughs hoarsely and shakes her head. “I am not allowed to do all this. But oh well, never mind.” Then she stretches out her hand, lays her fingers around my cock, her grip feels firm. “Rock hard…” She moves lightly, fascinated, excited. “This is your fault,” I say hoarsely. “And I love it,” she whispers, half surprised at herself.
Elena holds my penis in her hand and moves it slowly back and forth, as if she wants to check whether it is really as hard as it looks. I can hardly sit still. “Damn… you are attractive,” she whispers. “This feels so good, years since I had a hard cock in my hand.” “I should not…” she says again. “But you want it.” She laughs nervously, strokes it first only with her fingertips, then takes it more firmly. She moves her hand to her stomach and then boldly grabs my balls. I say, “Damn… that feels so forbidden.” “Forbidden only makes it better…” I groan. “Shut up.” She laughs blushing. Without any hesitation I slide my hand into her panties, straight to my goal. She recoils, tries to push my hand away, but then lays her own hand over it and presses it even further down. “Just a little… not too much.”
“You are soaking wet,” I whisper. “Do not say things like that!” But at the same time she groans.
We play with each other, she against me, I against her, faster and faster. Her pelvis rocks, my hips tremble, it becomes both raw and tender. She closes her eyes and presses her forehead against my shoulder. “If anyone knew…”
“No one knows. Only we know. No one will ever know!” I promise. “What if someone comes?” she whispers while she massages his penis and testicles more and more intensively. “Well, I hope at least someone comes today,” I try to say jokingly. “Never mind.” she murmurs. I slide lower, kiss her stomach, then her panties, wet and hot. She holds her breath. “Not… not there with your mouth.” I grin. “Why not?” “Because… oh shit…” She grabs my hair, defensive but also directing. At the same moment she grabs my cock again, this time with more boldness. She bends forward, strokes it with her lips, hesitates a moment, and then does it. She opens her mouth and lets my glans slide in. Warm, wet, soft. “I thought it was not supposed to be with the mouth?” She laughs hoarsely. “Plan changed.”
It does not take a minute before we both pant with pleasure, our bodies intimately intertwined. We automatically slide into position 69. I lie underneath, she lies on top of me. “Just for a moment,” she whispers while she takes my penis completely into her mouth. “I promise,” I mumble, and lick her exactly at the moment she least expects it. “Oh God…” she almost screams, her hips jerk, she presses her pussy harder against my mouth. We drive each other to the extreme, a hurricane of moaning, laughing, biting, sucking, until we can both hardly continue. I feel her stiffen, her hand clamps tighter around my cock and we come almost simultaneously. I hear her swallow and gurgle, then she is silent, after that she groans loudly, and starts shaking and trembling wildly. She collapses on top of me, breathing heavily and laughing hysterically. “Damn… our first orgasm.” She states. “Not the last.” I promise.
“Absolutely not.”
Then Elena rolls off me and we lie side by side, both still out of breath from our start. She wipes her mouth and looks at me, her eyes dark, her lips and cheeks deep red, her curls wild. “You are really disturbed,” she says, while gasping for breath. “You are even crazier.”
She slowly rises and sits with her legs spread over my stomach. “Would you maybe put your boots back on?” I ask carefully. She looks at me appraisingly and smiles. “Oh yes… you are thinking of my riding clothes, right?” she says, while she slides off my body to put her boots back on. “They are not riding boots, but…” she says, and demonstratively stretches one leg. “Thank you. That is great.” She laughs hoarsely. “You are really an idiot.” Her hands slide back to my penis, which after a short time of stroking slowly becomes hard again. She lifts it a little and looks at me as if she wants to ask whether I can handle it.
“Only… only the tip,” she murmurs, while she rises a little higher. She squats down and guides my penis with one hand. Her labia glisten, are swollen and open by themselves. She breathes heavily, lets herself sink slowly and lets only the tip slide in. A hot ring of tightness that immediately makes me tremble. “Only the tip,” she pants, as if she is trying to calm herself. I laugh. “Only the tip, right?” “Yes… nothing more.” She bites her lip and tries to compose herself, but I already feel her vagina eagerly trembling, longing for deeper inside her. She freezes, the tip of my glans inside her trembles. Her pelvis tilts, she gasps sharply. “Fuck it!” she hisses and with a jerk she sinks deeper over my cock. She bounces up and then again, almost as if she takes me completely into her. “Oh God, Elena…”
She throws her head back, her curls fly around. “Damn… your hard cock fills me completely.” And that from the woman who earlier that evening did not want dirty language. Slowly she begins to move. First carefully, in small circles, then she goes up and down. Her moist, tight skin pulls me toward her with every movement, as if she is sucking me in. Every millimeter rubs against both of us. “Slower,” I whisper, half pleading. “I decide,” she pants, and she speeds up. “So suddenly so confident?”
“Plan changed.” Her grin is hoarse, she rides harder, more intensely on me.
I grab her hips and thrust into her. The wet, sucking sounds of her cunt fill the room, every up and down movement makes me slide deeper into her. She groans harder, her breasts bounce, I grab them and pinch her nipples. “Harder!” she screams. “Pinch me there!” I obey. “Do it,” she says, and she recoils, her eyes wide open. “Damn, yes!” “I thought you did not want that,” I groan.
“Plan changed!” She laughs hysterically.
The rhythm speeds up, her cunt clamps tighter around my cock, as if she will not let me go anymore. Her whole body rides me, she makes me wild. “I am coming… I am coming on your cock!” she cried startled. “With you…” My fingers dig into her hips, I thrust harder. Then it happens to both of us more or less at the same time. Her vagina clamps fiercely around my penis, I feel how I come and shoot my seed deep into her. She groans softly, presses herself completely against me, as if she wants to keep me fully inside her. My whole body shudders, it discharges.
She stays sitting on me, trembling and sweating, her forehead against mine.
“Damn… plans changed.”
I kiss her, out of breath. “The best change that was possible.”
She laughs, out of breath. “And not for the last time!”
