Jonathan's voice cut through the wonderful daze that had come over me.
"Glynnis! I hope you believe me now!"
"I... I don't know what to say!"
"No need for words. I was thinking all afternoon about you standing there yesterday. Such a fine-looking woman, such passion buried there. And I thought about how you reacted to me yesterday and I just had to show you what effect it has on me. What effect you have on me."
The full impact of what he was saying took my breath away and I just uttered a noise somewhere between a laugh and a moan.
Jonathan's hand dropped to that magnificent cock and he gave it a single, slow stroke, "There's just one problem, Glynnis. You're too far away."
My knees really did buckle for a moment and a surge of excitement broke over me like a tidal wave, leaving every nerve end tingling. Could he really mean...?
The tinkle of keys clattering onto my kitchen floor made me gasp. I looked up to see Jonathan's smile and he gestured to the keys. "Please, Glynnis! It's your fault I'm like this right now. The least you could do is come over and help."
"Do you...?" It was all I could manage.
"Do I want you to pick up those keys and come to my apartment? Yes, totally. Absolutely. And right now would be very good indeed."
I bent as if hypnotised, one trembling hand clutching the keys at the third attempt. With no thought in my mind but for the prospect of sexual release, I stood and walked quickly through my apartment, out the door and along to Jonathan's. It took several attempts before I managed to insert the key in the lock and I stumbled into his hallway, my pulse racing.
I looked towards the living room, but he was nowhere to be seen and it was only when I heard his voice floating from the bedroom that I realised I wasn't dreaming.
"Glynnis, I really need you."
I walked into the room to find him standing there waiting for me, his erection even more pronounced, even more desirable.
I shook my head, "I can't quite believe this."
"It's real," Jonathan said, stepping forward.
He bent low and scooped up the hem of my nightdress. As he stood, he raised his arms in one movement, pulling the gown over my head, leaving me naked before him. I felt so completely, wonderfully exposed. My nipples were rigid and aching, my pussy wet and needy.
When he gave a low whistle and said, "You are beautiful, a real, wonderful woman", I didn't know whether to cry, moan, laugh, or scream with pleasure.
When he reached out his hands, placed them on my shoulders and then let them drift down to cup my breasts, squeezing oh-so gently, I let out a moan of pure pleasure as he eased me back onto his bed.
In slow-motion, Jonathan brought his lips to mine, kissing deeply but softly. They moved on to my shoulders, my chest, and my breasts, where teeth and tongue teased my nipples. Then lower, slowly meandering across my belly, on to my hip, across my thigh where they lingered for a moment. Then slowly inwards where those lips almost, almost met my own, where that tongue licked everywhere but where I needed it, the teasing driving me to moan aloud. His response was immediate, his mouth going to my pussy, his tongue probing inside me, then up, flicking at my clitoris in a way that had me gasping. I could feel my juices flowing wildly, feel a climax building deep inside – and as he pulled his head away I felt a yearning sense of loss for a few seconds until I opened my eyes and saw his face staring down at me, his smile lighting up my personal heaven.
Lower I could feel the heat of his erection pressing softly against my welcoming, wet lips and I shifted my weight, lifting my hips to tell him that I wanted him, and wanted him now. With the slightest nod of acknowledgement, Jonathan pushed his hips forward and the head of that magnificent cock entered me. I cried out in sheer delight, writhing with the joy, and he responded with a quiet moan of pleasure as he thrust deeply inside me, filling me with his manhood.
My first orgasm crashed through me within seconds, a decade of desire released in a wave of pure ecstasy. The second arrived ten minutes or thirty minutes or an hour later – I've no idea to this day – and as I rode upwards on the spiral of that glorious climax, Jonathan rode with me, our bodies locked in perpetual pleasure-giving movement. I felt him grow rigid in my arms and the knowledge that he was just about to release his cum into me pushed me over into a climax that left me stunned.
Afterwards, as we lay panting in the tangled mess of his bed, our juices mingling inside me and down my thighs, Jonathan caressed my breasts with his fingers, lips and tongue. He spent a long time kissing me, savouring my taste, and he told me again and again how grateful he was to me for being so honest. If I had any doubt about his sincerity, it was blown away entirely when he apologised – really – and said that he just couldn't let me go anywhere before he had been allowed to make love to me again.
And so we did. Slowly at first, with much gentle talk of things that we secretly love and had loved. We talked of dares and chances taken, of how it felt to be watched, what positions we had tried and which ones we had loved. We agreed that we would both enjoy being caught in the throes of passion, we agreed that we would enjoy each other's bodies after that day had ended.
Jonathan made me feel so young and vibrant that day, and the climax I enjoyed that third time was beyond anything I had ever experienced before. For every second that the shudders and shakes coursed through me, Jonathan stared deep into my eyes, his own orgasm joining mine, his attention focused on nothing but me and us and sexual release.
I felt re-born – and I do to this day. Jonathan is still my neighbour and we enjoy each other's company, and each other's body, every few days. We've even travelled a little together. And we've found out that getting caught in the throes of passion really is as much fun as we thought.
And I've learned that confession really is good for you. In so many ways.
The Mouse That Roared
We never really know ourselves, do we? We're never truly aware of all of our hidden desires and wants and needs, and it seems to me that we don't even know that we're somehow suppressing those things. But sometimes something happens – something unplanned and unexpected – that opens our eyes to the inner self and lets us view ourselves in a whole new light.
When that happened to me just a few months ago, I didn't really believe what I was seeing. In some ways I still find it hard to comprehend that I had all of that hidden and suppressed inside me.
What ‘that’? Let me explain...
My name is Marina, which is hardly a fashionable name. There again, I'm hardly a fashionable girl. I'm twenty-seven now, going on fifty as my wonderful husband, Matt, is fond of saying. Or rather, was fond of saying. Up until last summer I was the picture of an old-fashioned girl – shy, demure, conservative and lacking in a great deal of self-confidence.
This was certainly not Matt's fault because ever since we met, he has been at pains to boost my self-belief and bring me out of my shell. He has never failed to tell me that I am beautiful – his words, you understand – and that I am desirable. Despite my shyness, we have always enjoyed a wonderful sex-life, and I was never in any doubt that he found me attractive in that way. The evidence was... well, obvious.
But for all that, I honestly believed that I was just very fortunate to have found someone with an odd taste in women – someone who likes their ladies small, slender and shy.
We had been together for five years when this all began, and in all that time Matt had never once pressured me to do anything that I didn't want to do. Well, except for going to the dentist, but that really isn't what I'm talking about. It got to the point where I was starting to fret that I wasn't being a proper wife to him, sexually, and that I wasn't exploring his desires or even giving him the opportunity to tell me about them.
Maybe I was afraid of what I'd hear, or maybe I was just too damned shy, but whatever the cause it was becoming obvious even to me that there was more to life than simple love-making, and that most men seemed to have interests in that direction – whatever 't
hat direction' was.
Without boring you with details of my days of preparation, worry, nervousness, mental-anguish and fits of self-denial, I finally plucked up the courage to raise the subject one evening (after a few glasses of wine). I stammered and stuttered my way through my concerns and finally managed to ask Matt directly if there was anything that he might like me to try in the interests of increasing our pleasure together.
I have no idea what I thought his answer would be. To be honest, I didn't really understand what all of the possibilities were, but I did know that I would listen to his answer carefully and react as sensibly as I possibly could no matter how outrageous his response had been. Deep down, I knew that I would be looking for any reason I could find to say, 'Sorry, but that's just not me', but at least I was trying.
Despite all of my preparations, when his answer came, I was shocked. Oh, not by what he suggested – not in the least. No, I was shocked by my body's reaction.
We were in bed, snuggled under the duvet after a gentle session of lovemaking, the sweat still cooling. I had stammered my question and could hardly look at Matt as I waited for his answer.
"Well," he said, at length, "There is one little thing. Look, you know I love you, right?"
I nodded, dread seeping into my bones, "Of course."
"I'd like... if you'd be happy to... I mean it would be just for me... that is, it would mean so much..."
"Matt?" His nervousness was increasing my dread by the second and I was now desperate to hear his answer. "Tell me."
He closed his eyes and spoke quickly, "Well, I know you're shy and I know it's asking a lot but you did tell me to be honest and so here it is... I'd really, really like one little photograph of you... I mean one of you showing a little... just topless maybe or even just in kind of revealing underwear or something like that. Just for me, just to keep locked away so I can look at it when you have to work away, or you go to visit your parents. But only ever for me, never to be looked at by anyone else ever, I promise that. And like I said, I know it's a lot to ask what with you... well-"
"Okay." My mouth moved before my brain fully engaged gear, simply because my body had already decided. Despite all of my preparations, all of my dread and fear, I found myself feeling something that I had not even considered possible – I was suddenly, irrefutably, turned on by the idea.
Looking back, I'm fairly sure that it was Matt's evident excitement and hope that had me reacting quite so strongly, but I can't deny that the thought of being photographed in such a way – something I'd never once considered before – brought heat to my groin.
That night there was a lot of comments along the lines of 'you sure', 'I will', 'just for me', 'it's okay' and so on, and there was also another bout of lovemaking. It was the latter that had my mind absolutely made up over this thing – it was intense and wild and... well, liberated, I guess.
He was even finally able to tell me that he meant a ‘proper’ camera rather than one of our phones or tablets and that only seemed to make things seem more real somehow…
In the days that followed, every time I thought I had got over the shock of how my body reacted to the idea of Matt pointing a camera at me, something else – the look in his eye, a glance at my reflection – had me trembling in anticipation and excitement. It was so weird, to feel something like that when there was no precedent and no hint that I could ever feel that way.
Matt's reaction was almost as unexpected as mine. When the day for the photograph came, he was shaking so much that we had to dig out his old tripod, and even then, the start of the session was twice interrupted for frantic bouts of lovemaking.
Finally though, the photographs were taken and the three images loaded onto our computer. When I first saw them I could scarcely believe that they were of me – not because I failed to recognise the person staring – smiling! – back at me, but because I was still finding it hard to believe that I had actually gone through with it.
In the first I was wearing a translucent white bra and panties, staring coyly at the camera. In the second I had lost the bra and was sitting on the edge of the bed with a look of nervousness and anticipation mingling awkwardly on my face. Oh, but the third... in that I was naked, completely, standing at the foot of the bed with one hand partially covering the pale hairs at my groin and the other covering almost nothing of my bare breasts, staring at the camera with a smile that could have been interpreted as shyness, but seemed far more lascivious when you stared harder at it.
Viewing them led to a third bout of lovemaking – although its wild intensity spoke little of love yet shouted lust – and the printing of the pictures brought about an unheard of fourth session. It was during the latter that I experienced a shockingly intense orgasm – my first ever during sex. If I'd had any doubts about what I had done, they scattered like mice before a combine harvester when that happened.
In the days and weeks that followed, I basked in the knowledge that I had unlocked my innermost desires. Matt and I made love more often than ever before, and the satisfaction I received made all of my nervousness seem like a bad dream. Even with the passage of time, the effect of those photographs never waned and even the quickest glance at them – or at Matt looking at them – had me doing things I'd never dreamed myself capable of, such as dragging Matt into bed, and sometimes deliberately letting him see me changing.
While these things might not seem so dramatic to you, for me they were alien and new and so desperately exciting. This was the new me, the real me, and the discovery left me reeling with delight.
I had finally unearthed my most secret desires. Or so I thought.
In late June Matt and I moved from our apartment into a new house in a quiet little village – one of those lovely country cottages. We could only afford the new place because it was terribly dilapidated, but we didn't have a care in the world. Our friends, Suzy and Michael, lived on the outskirts of the village and were off travelling at the time of our move. They were kindness itself and let us stay at their house while we carried out the necessary work on our new cottage to make it habitable.
For us it was a perfect arrangement and we moved a lot of our things into their place to save money on storage while the work progressed. Matt even set up his computer so that he could keep up with things where he works – and so that he (and we) could have the occasional peek at the magical photos. Many an evening we returned paint- and plaster-covered from the new cottage and livened ourselves up with a quick viewing and a much longer play on Suzy and Mike's double bed.
The work went without a hitch until the end of the second week when we were awoken by a phone call from one of the builders telling us that there had been an overnight leak in one of the new heating pipes. Despite being tired from the previous day's work and the previous night's sex, we dashed off to the cottage within minutes, leaving the keys to our friends' place under the front doormat because their own handyman was due that day to replace a broken wardrobe door.
Once the leak had been dealt with and the mess cleared up, we left the cottage to the builders and returned to Suzy and Mike's where the handyman, a surprisingly young guy called Danny, was just leaving. Suzy had told me that he was an easy-going, quiet sort of guy, but to Matt and me, he was cheerfulness personified and friendly in the extreme.
After he had left, Matt and I exchanged slightly puzzled looks, shrugged and went through to the bedroom to change out of our scruffy work clothes. I had just finished peeling off my sweaty t-shirt when I noticed a strange look on Matt's face.
"What's up?"
He forced a smile, "Um, nothing."
Matt is great at many things, but lying isn't one of them, "Something's up. What?"
"Look, Mar, I'm really, really sorry and I swear on anything you name that it wasn't on purpose."
I was beginning to worry, "What wasn't? What are you talking about?"
Matt closed his eyes and nodded at the computer monitor.
Which was sitting where he had set it
up. On the table next to the wardrobe. Or more accurately, next to the wardrobe with its new door. The monitor was displaying an old Matrix screensaver.
It took me a few seconds to work out what had happened. The screensaver would only be running if the computer itself had been running recently and neither of us had touched it when we'd dashed out that morning. Which meant that it had either been deliberately switched on, or a bump on the desk would have woken it up from the power-save mode after we had left it on last night...
My heart leapt into my throat, and with a shaking hand I nudged the mouse.
The Matrix array faded, and I was now staring at my own image. The third picture to be precise.
Behind me Matt said, "I'm so sorry, Mar. It must still have been on from last night and I guess he put something down on the table, or nudged it or... Oh, Mar, I am just so sorry..."
I barely heard him. It felt as if my whole body was tingling – every nerve, every fibre – and I knew that I should feel shocked, maybe even horrified. And I was beginning to feel shock, but not in the way that I would have imagined just a minute earlier. Oh no – I was shocked at my body's reaction to what I now knew must have happened. I shook my head firmly in denial, knowing even as I did so that I was fooling no one.
"Mar? Can you ever forgive me?"
I realised that Matt was at my side now, staring down at my near naked form on the monitor. I turned to him and put a hand on his arm, "It's okay, Matt."
"No, it isn't. It's unforgivable after all the promises I made to you about those pictures."
"Matt? Listen to me," my mouth was working but I had no idea what I was going to say next. I just knew that I couldn't leave my beloved husband in mental anguish for a second longer, "It really is okay. I know this sounds like an alien speaking and believe me, I really didn't expect this, but it's okay. I mean... well, I'm not sure what I mean, except that I don't feel bad about it. In fact, it's kind of... good. No, not 'kind of' good, it's... a bit exciting..." I closed my eyes and turned away, "Oh, Matt, what on earth must you think of me. I just wish I could lie to you and tell you I'm ashamed or whatever but... well, I'm not. It's me that should be sorry."
Butterflies Page 6