THIS WEBPAGE CONTAINS ADULT MATERIAL. RESTRICTED TO 18 YEARS OF AGE AND OLDER
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Lovers Middle-Aged or Older
Warm fog swirled around the woman in the shower. The forceful spray set the nerve-endings in her skin tingling. The hot water coursing down her nude flesh induced a feeling of hedonistic abandonment. Groping for the control, she turned off the barrage of droplets, and lathered her upper body with fragrant soap. Sudsy rivulets coursed down smooth white skin, mimicking caressing finger-strokes tracing sinuous curves. Beguiled into dwelling on their slow, sensuous descent, Gabrielle cupped a firm breast in one hand, and soaped the soft skin beneath it. Her thumb inadvertently brushed the nipple, sending tantalizing impulses racing down hypersensitive nerves. A foam-finger insinuated itself between her thighs, riveting her attention on the most intimate part of herself.
Yielding to an irresistible urge, the bather slid a palm between legs that without conscious volition, she spread wide apart. Little gusts of breath hissed between delicately bowed lips that parted to accommodate their expulsion. Employing her right hand as her left still cupped a breast and teased the nipple, she massaged the clit swelling now with need, even as the image of the man due to arrive shortly took surreally clear form in her mind. Hot, sticky essence erupted into the cunt into which three fingers avidly dipped before continuing their vigorous manipulation of the now lavishly lubricated organ of pleasure.
The masturbatorís sphincters loosened. She gained a sense of opening, of spreading, of yielding, of abdicating the last vestige of control over the body she imagined to be fucked by the man she desperately wished would care for her other than as a friend. Shivers, heat flooding into quivering loins, waves of blissful tremors coursing upwards from the rigid shaft protruding from the folds of tender flesh which normally hooded it: that magical combination of exquisite sensations led almost instantly to climax. The paroxysm of internal contractions the woman experienced as the epicenter from which wave after shuddering wave of pleasure expanded relentlessly outwards.
Gratified by her success, she stood motionless for a time, savoring the rush that ebbed all too soon, leaving frustration at the aridity of her sexual life in its wake. Sighing, she reached for the control, and set the forceful spray scouring the last traces of foam from her skin.
I owe Michael a major debt, Gabrielle reminded herself as she dressed. I donít know how Iíd have coped last week, but for his smooth handling of the funeral arrangements, and his help with the tangled financial mess arising from Richardís dying right in the middle of the court proceedings. Suing Richard for divorce took a dreadful toll on my emotional balance, despite our living apart this past six months-and then to have him die so suddenly, in so ghastly a fashion! That drunk driver must have been doing ninety when he ran that stop sign. Michael assured me that Richard died instantly, but stillÖ
Pain blended with an onslaught of guilt that the surviving spouse knew to be irrational.
Richard wasnít even driving, she reminded herself. Random happenstance, that triple fatality. Evil luck. The hot desire we initially felt for each other died long before the wreck: years ago. Why he balked at letting me go, Iíll never figure out. Does Michael know, I wonder? They were close associates in a business senseÖbut were they good enough friends that Richard might have confided in Michael? No. I doubt that he ever unbent that far with any friend, however close.
Clad now in a stylish black pantsuit that breathed respectability without offering the least suggestion of dowdiness, her perfectly coiffed short hair falling in soft waves around a face devoid of makeup except for a dusting of powder and a light application of rosy lipstick, Gabrielle surveyed her image in the bedroom mirror, and sighed again.
No one would take you for other than the scholar you are, she chided herself. You look like the eminently respectable author of three critically acclaimed commentaries on medieval history. You project absolutely no blatant sexiness-none of the exotic allure of the women Michael escorted to the annual shareholdersí dinners, after Richardís company undertook to manufacture those unique electronic components Michael invented. A different woman each time, each more striking than the last.
Enigma, John Michael Rakoczy. Courtly, assured, urbaneÖbut unfathomable. Why did he do me so inestimable a favor this past two weeks? Richard called him a recluse. He couldnít believe that Michael would appear at those company dinners. But the recluse not only came, he lent a magical aura to the table we four shared, and made me feel when we danced as if my glass-shod feet trod on air, and my coach totally lacked the power to turn back into a pumpkin.
A musical chime sent the hostess conscious that her heart fibrillated hurrying to the entry of her quaintly rustic townhouse. Throwing open the door, she smiled warmly on the commanding figure standing on the threshold, noting in a split-second appraisal the casual elegance of the suit she unerringly judged to be costly, the impeccably correct tie, the stylish shirt, the imported shoes buffed to perfection.
"Come in, Michael. Why, thank you! Does this need to be refrigerated?"
"Itís at its best cool, not chilled. If you care to sample it, Iíll open the bottle, Gabrielle. Itís more pleasant before dinner, than after."
"By all means, open it. Dinnerís in the Crock-Pot, so we can eat any time. I didnít dare make a stab at choosing wine for a connoisseur. I figured on playing it safe by whipping up a batch of whiskey sours."
Waving a hand towards the small, well-stocked bar, Gabrielle let the cosmopolite she knew to possess a most discerning taste in wines serve his offering.
"Ahh! You do that with such ease!" she commended him.
"Comes with practice."