Oh, Those Darn Dominant MILFs- the Goddesses of Suburbia

by Ralph Greco Jr

  “Try not to,” I simply said, and concentrating as much on her clenched bare bottom as the backs of her long white legs, the pinching of her shoulder blades, her honey hair loose now across her shoulders, a splay of an errand strand of it down her right cheek, I circled the buzzing vibrator deeper.

  “Don’t stop, pa…please. Let me finish, let me…”

  “You’re wiggling again, we can’t have that,” I said, and I thrummed up good so I was rubbing the teasing jumping vibe up against the back of Jerri’s pussy and some of her ass, then a second later plucked the vibe up out of her gloppy bald winking chestnut.

  As much to shake off my more than raging tickle for the sweet girl under me, as to impart another lesson I somehow managed to lift my round ass from the side of Jerri’s bed and as she turned I hit her with a simple: “Time for me to go anyway.”

  “Noooo,” the girl cried.

  ****

  “Don’t ask me where this is coming from, ok?” Jerri had said, sitting at my kitchen her first time ever a week ago.

  I had taken the chair opposite after grabbing two small bottles of water from the fridge.

  “I can’t even explain it really. But I just thought if anybody…well I kinda could trust you, ya know?”

  Are lesbians infinitely trustworthy? Or was it that Jerri thought, as do most her age, that because you are a sexual minority you simply have to be liberal in politics, your world view and overly accepting?

  “Just let me get it out,” my neighbor’s kid said, bouncing in her chair after managing a big long gulp from the Fuji bottle.

  Leaning forward, Jerri had sighed deep long and heartfelt:

  “Like I said, I don’t know why I got this thought in my head, but I have been fantasizing about, ya know…”

  “Lesbian chic hits lots of women your age,” I spat, maybe a bit too harshly.

  Seeing as how long I had lived my life on the down-low I was decidedly a little prickly in these matters.

  Jesus, can’t a woman just have a worry-free Saturday?

  I took a breath, allowed myself to settle back, smiled and give the girl her due.

  “No, nothing ‘chic’ about it,” Jerri said, smiling with mine.

  “I am very attracted to you and figure if I am ever going to try…”

  “I guess I should be flattered, huh?”

  “I guess you maybe should just take what’s being offered, no?”

  Fuck this kid was brash. But let’s face it, what was being offered, though I had only ever considered her/it on the periphery of my lusts, was damn well pretty fantastic. Still, Jerri was the daughter of a semi-friend of mine and I had to live here across the street from the family. Was I in the mood really to be this young woman’s Sapphic mentor?

  There was no place in Jerri’s make-up, as far as what I could sense (and I was pretty damn good at sensing feelings of this kind) that she was truly interested in her gender in any really long-lasting way. Yes, I was indeed flattered she’d take to me to experiment, and I was enjoying this semi-flirty banter so far, but I knew this was simply the young woman seeing how the other half lusted, more than it would be a lifestyle choice; this girl wasn’t even bi as far as I could suss out. Again, don’t ask me to rightly explain how I knew anything really about Jerri then, as I sense the true sexuality of just about anyone I meet, even if what they are claiming runs totally opposite to what I sense, it’s just that one gets to a certain age, one lives through enough and one is suddenly even slightly pursued, that one (me in this case) can easily manage a step back and examine what comes before them in the clear light of day.

  I had to tread lightly here as much for my sanity as for Jerri’s nascent urges. Sure, I was the older, wiser and more experienced lady, but having a ripe and ready twenty-year-old is a heady thing, something I knew I could get lost in. Seeing what was being offered, then that it was actually being offered, I knew I could become quite locked in some deep never-ending play with this young woman. Jerri was delicious, young, yearning, so open, fresh-faced and free; a very intoxicating little fruit to taste time and again if I allowed myself to pluck it.

  “And what do you want?” I said, stalling best I could.

  “Just…” Jerri said, stood, took three steps to my kitchen counter, managed a heavy quick lean across it with her tight ass basically right there in my face and lifted her sweater up all the way off the bump of her buns.

  I saw instantly that she was wearing a thong under her tights and if I had never considered it before―and I’m not sure I truly had ever had the opportunity to―I did then: the girl had a magnificent little booty on her, tight and high, but not so small it wasn’t round and womanly.

  “…some touching?”

  ****

  As I had that day in my kitchen once again I felt I had managed a small victory as I walked from the townhouse across the street.

  Jerri had turned over in her mewling pleading with me to stay, as if the full frontal naked sight of her little slightly pointy boobs and diamond hard ruby red nipples, her shaved pussy, all of her powdery wonderfulness imploring me from her bed would make me change my mind. But I was determined not to have this girl come just yet…and I knew I had to get my ass out of that fucking house!

  In my mind my denial of Jerri (and truly I was seeing those words THE DENIAL OF JERRI like a movie marquee in my mind) was actually my way of getting back at the too-cute-for-her-own-good girl for even suggesting and then exploiting what she knew would be my serious sexual ache for her once I saw her naked…or she even got close. Jerri was not a tease, she seemed to have only courted two or three boyfriends in the seven years since her mom’s divorce and moving in across the street with her and her brother, but I did feel she knew that her youthful attractiveness could carry her far; men or women, gay or straight, it’s been my experience that you know when you’re attractive and those people who are use it to a greater or lesser degree. By not letting her climax, maybe I was striking a blow for gay girls and hetero men everywhere waylaid by alluring hetero Lolitas.

  I certainly was doing my best to keep my growing ache for her at bay…or so I told myself. Sure, I’d be masturbating over what I was putting her through as much as I hoped she would be. But for now this “training” of Jerri, if that was what it truly was, would serve us both…or so I hoped. I knew the dam would break open soon as much with Jerri letting loose an orgasm maybe even within the first few minutes of me touching her next time, as me not being able to get round the fact that I had such a lovely strumpet living right across the street, aching for me to tickle and touch her.

  But for now, at least, I was in control…or felt I was.

  ****

  I purposely did not peel down her tights, as much as I was aching to do so. As Jerri splayed her torso further across my kitchen counter I simply massaged what I was coming to realize was a more magnificently firm ass than I had first even thought.

  “God, this feels so fucking good, God,” the woman bent before me said, and shuddered as I made sure not to exactly touch her down and between her legs, but as much made sure I circled my hand across the tights so I was pulling the very bottom of her cheeks taut enough that she’d feel it in the very most back part of her cunt. Really, all I wanted to do was get the girl bare, unzip myself and push my heating pussy against her sweet ass as I slipped a couple fingers here and there into Jerri, but I was determined to keep what I had assumed then would be our first and only time to a fever edge.

  Or maybe I knew what would happen that day in my always-too-small-for-me kitchen if I didn’t do much more than massage Jerri over her tights.

  ****

  As I sat on the edge of my couch, a towel under my naked ass, what I knew was going to be a great grand squirting roiling up in me (how would Jerri take to that, a woman squirting on her?) I realized that my denial of Jerri during now our two times together and for however many more moments we had and I could manage my trickery, was keeping me as locked to what I knew would probably cra
sh and burn for me, as I knew probably kept my neighbor’s daughter interested beyond her curiosity,

  And I realized I didn’t much care if it damn well did.

  THE PROGRESSION OF A SUBURBAN MISTRESS

  I have been very naughty, Damien typed as his hello our fourth time on.

  I laughed and typed back: What did you do, bad boy?

  I jerked off all weekend to thoughts of you.

  All weekend?

  Well, I took some breaks.

  Again I laughed and took a second to think hard on what Damien was revealing. No longer were we even trying to pretend some sort of social preamble.

  I wasn’t so inexperienced not to realize how a classic older-woman-younger-man dynamic could birth certain specific fantasies. When Damien revealed to me that he was 28, far younger than the usual people who frequented the “OVER40INCT” room, I sniffed out my first hint. But then his typed “Yes Ma’ams”―even though he told me he was being overtly respectful―turned my mind even deeper to what I was suspecting. Why else would this young hot guy (Damien had sent his picture through our second time chatting) be in this particular chat with the likes of a woman with the screen name “ Sassy CT ” unless he was trying to glom onto something he was fantasizing about?

  The time has certainly come to punish you.

  Oh God, Claire.

  No harm him knowing my name I had reasoned way back during chat one when I first told him it. Plus, I wanted to avoid the ma’ams and feared the possibility of a ‘mommy’ might not be too far round the corner with this guy (even in play calling me mommy would kill it for me as I had two sons and didn’t want any connection to being a real mom in my chat here.)

  Mmm, I wonder what you deserve for this…

  Make it bad Claire, make it a very harsh punishment.

  Do you think you can handle that? I can be very firm when I need be.

  Claire.

  If the guy didn’t have this penis out of his pants right then I’d be surprised. I was doing all I could not to roll my pelvis and bounce my bottom on my wooden desk chair myself.

  Strip.

  I could literally sense Damien doing so.

  Please, Claire, Please.

  Pleading already? God, I was really starting to feel quite a tingle. I had no idea how often Damien indulged in this kind of chat or how many times he had found an older―or younger―lady to dominate him; he was a dark haired, dark eyed, muscular cutie and I was sure he had plenty of women around to do his bidding. Now that we had finally reached this stage―albeit only at our third chat―could I deliver what he desired?

  Are you naked?

  Yes, I was stalling, but I got even wetter just asking the question.

  Yes.

  I suddenly had a very real urge to see Damien, see how hard he might be getting. I knew he had a cam; hell, so did I. On our first chat he had announced he’d turn it on if I liked but I had declined.

  I would have even then.

  Are you hard?

  Raging.

  Even with all that masturbating you managed?

  Yes. You make me so horny.

  And what exactly were your fantasies of me this weekend?

  Claire.

  Tell me.

  Let’s face it; I was out on a limb here, not having ever dominated a man and certainly never having flirted with one so much younger than me. The more Damien revealed to me maybe I’d be able to glean a clue of what he wanted, how to “punish” and tease him, beyond the obvious filthy scenes just then running across my mind, I thought.

  You were wearing a short loose skirt and I kept stealing peaks up under it.

  Really?

  You told me you had great legs, right?

  I had and I did, although it had been years since I wore one of my killer skirts to show them off. My recent divorce, though something I indeed had prompted, had taken the wind out of my sails for dressing sexy. In fact, the past week and a half flirting with Damien had been the first truly sexy thing I had been involved in for quite a while.

  Did I see you staring?

  No, I…

  Oh, I think I saw you. I just kept right on letting you look so I’d have plenty to punish you about now.

  Claire, Oh God!

  I really loved this and an all-too-obvious punishment rolled forward into my mind then.

  You like them so much I best get you up and across my knee for a hard spanking, no?

  Claire. Claire. Claire. Oh God.

  Up and over sweetheart, it is time you learned your lesson.

  Claire.

  I actually found myself spreading my thighs slightly imagining the young man lying across me. In my mind’s eye Damien wasn’t bare when he got across me; I unloosened his jeans, unzipped him and then commanded him over my high lap. As I pressed the heel of my left hand into the top ridge of my pussy mound, I “saw” Damien draped across me and me peeling down the back of his jeans to expose his tight white cotton undies.

  Ten to get started I typed with my right hand only and then followed with a metered and slow: SMAT, SMAT, SMAT, SMAT, SMAT, now the other cheek SMAT, SMAT, SMAT, SMAT, SMAT.

  Oh God Claire.

  Was he coming already, I wondered.

  I nearly was.

  This is just the beginning, wait until I get my wooden spoon.

  No, not that, noooooooooooo.

  Ten more for saying no…very hard and high. You have been a very bad boy staring at my legs like that. You deserve this punishment!!!

  I wasn’t sure if extra punctuation added to the effect of the game here. All I knew was that in my mind’s eye I was then ripping down the back of Damien’s tight undies, exposing his perfect little tan ass (and I really had no idea if it was) and humping my pelvis up into his side as I landed ten more swats, which I then typed in IM:

  SWAT, SWAT, SWAT, SWAT, SWAT, SWAT, SWAT, SWAT, SWAT, SWAT.

  I imagined my big palm connecting high and hard and snapping as it literally bounced off this young man’s tight ass, the delicious sound egging me on. I lifted my hand from the keyboard, grabbed my right breast hard and as I pushed up against the heel of my palm I actually orgasmed with such a quick shuddering that I didn’t even care when I saw Damien had suddenly signed off.

  ****

  The next step for Damien and I was camming, of course. Yes, he had been asking for my picture (and for me to get on cam actually) since the first time we “met,” but I felt the mystery of what I looked like added to the idea of me having the upper hand. Plus, I was nervous. I knew I cut an attractive figure with my shapely thick thighs (yes, they really were rather nice, if I do say so myself) heavy 38C’s and oval pretty pale face, still I was the older wide-hipped woman here; even though Damien was into older ladies, and it gave me pause to be near a quarter of century older than him. The overall concept of the dominant older woman turned Damien on to be sure, whether I put him across my lap, made him undress or simply typed commands and come-on’s I knew I pretty much would have him enraptured. But how I looked still mattered to me and I damn well was nervous if he’d find me attractive when he finally saw me.

  I was well prepared for our next time, confident there would be one even though Damien had cut the connection presumably after he had just come. Two days later when I logged onto chat at my usual 6:30 time I was dressed in a high cut sheer pink blouse with a rivulet of tiny buttons down its front, a loose blue skirt (yes, I knew my colors did not match, but this skirt was the shortest and loosest I owned) no panties or pantyhose, and my highest heels. What of any of this outfit Damien would see, how I’d precisely angle this way and that on cam, I had no idea but I knew staying dressed―albeit this sexy―might feed this guy’s fantasy even more and I set the challenge to myself that I’d be the one to suggest camming when Damien IMed this night, as I assumed (hoped) he would.

  Hi he typed.

  In reply I sent Damien a cam request.

  My cam window popped open as I received a cam request from Damien in reply. I cl
icked and opened his.

  “Wow, you have really nice breasts, huh?” Damien said, and at that second I wasn’t sure if looking at the dark curly haired guy sitting across from me was as unnerving as hearing him actually speaking for the first time.

  “I guess,” I said, and cupped a hand under each of my tits, “You like?”

  “God yes.”

  “Good,” I said, then leaned back in my chair ever so slightly and unbuttoned the top two buttons on my blouse. Spreading the front open I revealed a goodly amount of the top most part of my milky white tits popping up nearly out of the lacey black push-up bra that I was wearing.

  I looked good in the cam view I could see of myself.

  I liked Damien’s deep blue eyes widening, his muscular forearms popping as he pitched slightly forward in his chair and concentrated on what I was showing him.

  “Show me more,” he whined.

  I knew I’d have to as much get used to this man and I seeing one another as I did hearing that peculiar little boy-like whine coming from the back of Damien’s throat.

  “I’ll do nothing of the sort young man…until you are properly punished.”

  For good measure I scooted my chair back even further and made a long point of crossing my right knee high over my left, revealing lots of bare leg. As I expected (more like hoped) Damien’s eyes went even wider as he caught all that thigh flashing, me giving him the perfect picture of what he had told me he had fantasized over.

  “Fuck, you’re killing me Claire, killing me.”

  “Stand, strip and present yourself…now.”

  How could this man do anything but?

  My secret little place flooding, my head on fire, I watched the stout guy stand and quickly rip free of his jeans, T-shirt and then boxers as I tried the best I could to remember who I was to him and how I had to act. I really wanted to paw and peel at my clothes and get naked with Damien, but I stayed seated, back rigid, demurely posed, the pretty picture of calm older dominance.