I was at university, studying English Lit. and hating every minute of it. My studies required me to spend a lot of time in the library and it was there I first noticed Eleanor.
She was no stunner but there was something about her that intrigued me. She was in her 40s, sharp-featured, a petite sexy milf with short, mousy hair and always wore blouses and long skirts. In the winter these would be thick and tweedy, but in the summer she allowed herself the luxury of thin cotton and floral prints.
She was a librarian and I found her useful in searching out ancient tomes I was meant to study. Her normal station was at a high desk in a remote corner of the library, bending over indexes or whatever. I would approach her and stand by her side till she finished what she was doing before asking her for help. She always seemed pleased enough to assist me, but never gave any sign that she ever really noticed me or could differentiate me from any of the other thousands of students. Which is why it still surprises me that I made a move on her when I was at an age when I had no confidence with older women.
It was spring, coming to the end of the academic year and Eleanor had just switched to cotton skirts. They caught my eye and I began to think about her, and what might lie beneath that skirt.
I was looking for some stuff on Chaucer and stood by Eleanor till she acknowledged me. Bending over, her blouse had ridden up from her skirt and a small band of pale white flesh was on view. She looked up and before I could make my request, said, “Could you help me read this, I’ve forgotten my reading glasses?”
Gallant to the end I bent over and read out to her what some ancient tutor had scrawled on a piece of card. I stood up again and waited. A few seconds later she asked me for help again and I of course obliged. But this time as I bent down beside her I let my hand rest on the small of her back. Not on the strip of naked flesh, but just above it. She didn’t flinch.
And that was it, the first time I’d touched Eleanor. I got my Chaucer and left.
A few days later I was back and the same scenario played out again. I stood, she asked for help, and I let my hand rest on her back while reading for her. But this time as I bent over I noticed her handbag lying on the floor and her spectacles peeping from it. My mind raced, she didn’t need help at all. She wanted me beside her. Never have spectacles had such an influence on testicles.
Knowing this made me brave and I let my hand slip down her back a little, onto her bare skin. She seemed to tense a little, but this could have been my imagination.
Eleanor apologised for taking so long, but the message it sent me was that she enjoyed the touch of my hand and wasn’t going to end it by moving. But I had to be right. If I was wrong I’d be accused of harassment and thrown out of the university. More to the point, my friends would mock me to death for touching up an old woman. Was the feel of this morsel of flesh worth all that?
Faint heart never won fair lady, they say, but as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb also came to mind. I let my hand slip lower. Now I was off her bare skin and onto the material of her skirt but heat still emanated from her. Another inch and I would encounter the crack of her butt. That’s when I would really find out if she was enjoying the attention. I never had the chance to find out. She straightened up, my hand fell away, and she asked what I was looking for.
A few days later again I returned, more determined than ever to grab her behind. If she asked me for help and I spotted her specs I was going for it.
And sure enough she asked for my help. I couldn’t see her glasses, but this constant request for help was suspicious enough in itself. If she objected I’d apologise and say I’d felt dizzy. She surely couldn’t object to a fainting man grabbing her ass in order to stay upright.
Well, in truth, I didn’t grab her ass. I rested my palm ever so gently on the base of her spine. But then, gradually, I let my hand slip lower. The cotton of her skirt was almost non-existent and soon my hand was cupping one of her tiny round buttocks. But having reached this point I had no idea what to do next. With a girl of my own age I’d have squeezed, but was that acceptable behaviour with an older woman? There was no rule-book.
In the end a sense of maturity prevailed and rather than squeeze I caressed, circling her bottom with the palm of my hand and keeping my fingertips from digging into her soft flesh. She seemed to appreciate it and a soft moan seemed to come from her before she straightened up.
Now I took to visiting the library every day, spending my evenings thinking up reasons to visit and tormented with the thought of lifting that thin cotton and getting my hands on Eleanor herself. But the library was too public to risk lifting her skirt and often I had to use my body to shield what I was doing from prying eyes. I delved, however, further between the cheeks of her ass and my fingers teased her bumhole and once ventured far between her legs to stroke her pussy lips. With every liberty I took Eleanor would bend further and raise her ass invitingly towards my hand. Her moans now were far from discreet and once she clenched her pen between her teeth to curb the noise.
We had been proceeding like this for several weeks when she turned her face to me, still bent over, and said, “You do realise that you’re getting me terribly aroused.”
I didn’t know how to respond but moved my crotch against her thigh so she could feel that she was having a similar effect on me. At this she closed her eyes and moaned again.
Finally her eyes opened and she asked, “How do you intend to proceed?”
“It’s up to you,” I mumbled.
She straightened up now and stroked my cheek with her fingers. “I’m a married woman you know.”
I hadn’t really thought about it, but said, “Yes, I assumed you would be.”
She smiled thinly. “Do you want to make love to me?”
I nodded eagerly.
The smile widened and she looked down at the bulge in my trousers. “We’ll have to be discreet.”
‘You be discreet’, I felt like shouting, ‘I’m just horny.’
She looked around and confirmed that no-one was within earshot. “There’s a storeroom with a couch above the reading room. Stay in the reading room when it closes. I’ll be on duty and we can have some privacy up there.”
I nodded, my brain drooling.
Her attitude became professional. “Now, what book were you looking for?”
And so Eleanor Brown took my MILF virginity in that storeroom above the reading room and a grand introduction to older pussy it was.
Once we were on the couch she came at me like a lioness, showering kisses over my face but avoiding my mouth when possible. When I suggested we undress she refused with a giggle and these two refusals set the tone for my relationships with older women. They can be as sexual as you want but will avoid open mouth kissing which implies a level of intimacy they reserve for their husbands, and they often refuse to strip, fearing you will make unwelcome comparisons between their older bodies and those of younger girls.
But with these two restrictions Eleanor went to town on me.
Within seconds her blouse was off and her perky little tits were in my mouth. Meantime she was hoisting up that cotton skirt and peeling down her demure white cotton panties revealing a thick bush that came half way up her belly. My hands, for so long denied, dived in eagerly. Her pussy was waiting for me, lips spread and moist and two fingers slipped easily inside her.
She lay on the couch as I knelt on the floor, sucking her tits and finger-fucking her to a chorus of moans and delighted squeals.
I was no expert on the clitoris at that time in my sexual career, but she moved my fingers to where she wanted them and within seconds was bucking her hips and biting at my ears. The two fingers inside her became three and then four as she roared her way to the first orgasm of the bout.
Having reached that she grabbed me by the belt and pulled me up so she could undo my flies. Her urgent little fingers pried my cock out and she croaked, “Oh my!”
Now I knew I wasn’t that big, I’d seen much more spectacular specimens in the showers which made me assume that her husband had a small one and she didn’t have much experience. She had enough though to move her head to it and take it into her mouth without that preliminary licking so many women think are necessary as an introduction.
My Milf loves Balls
Cupping my balls with one hand she tugged me onto the couch facing opposite her. Her dark minge stared me in the face and I lowered my tongue to it and dived into her moist crack. Her thick bush was something of a barrier but I brushed it aside with sweeps of my tongue and found her solid little clit nestling between her lips. A few licks and she was heading towards her second orgasm while I could feel the steam rising in my balls. I wasn’t that used to blow jobs and her mouth was exquisite.
She seemed to sense my condition too but was determined to get a fuck out of the situation. She pushed my throbbing cock out of her mouth and started manoeuvring me round so that we faced each other.
Up to now we’d said very little to each other. There was an unspoken understanding that we were only there to fuck each others’ brains out, but now she became quite vocal which added to my excitement.
“Fuck me, baby,”she gasped, “Fuck my pussy. Fuck it good.”
My cock slipped into her and it was much looser than her mouth. I wondered how many children she’d had. But it was good and I didn’t care. I started pumping.
She grabbed my head and pulled me down to nuzzle her neck while her legs tried to wrap themselves round me. But, petite as she was, they were too short and she settled for getting her heels dug into my back, the cork of her sandals rasping my skin.
She continued with the ‘fuck me, screw me, ride me’ litany for quite a while as I went about my work but finally after one long shudder she went silent. I raised my head to look at her and tears were trickling down her face. I hoped the tears were of joy and pumped her harder, taking the weight off my elbows and putting my hands under her arse to pull her small body up to meet my thrusts.
This brought her back to life and she told me I was the best shag she’d had in twenty years, that I had the biggest cock she’d ever had, that she wanted a big heavy dose of my spunk up her cunt. It was all the words that a prim middle-aged, middle-class woman would never use and they came flooding out of her and excited me to the point where I spewed my lust into her with much groaning and panting.
I collapsed on top of her and she pecked my cheek and whispered, “That was wonderful. Thank you.”
You can say what you like about the middle classes, but they’re always polite. My cock shrivelled out of her and I rolled off, falling onto the floor.
She sat up and pulled her skirt down. “I’ve dreamed of a student seducing me for many years,” she confided, “and I’m glad you were the one who was brave enough to do it.”
There was an awkward pause.
She reached for her panties and slid them up her legs. “Will there ever be a repeat performance?”
I didn’t know and said so.
“I’ll tell you what,” she said, fastening up her blouse, “Whenever you feel like it , come and see me like you normally do, and if I feel like it and I’m available, I’ll ask you to help me with reading. That’ll be our little secret code.”
It seemed sensible, but there was a flaw. “What if I genuinely am looking for a book?” I asked.
“Oh dear,” she grinned, “You’ll just have to fuck me anyway.”
Yeah, she was a cheeky little thing, Eleanor, but she introduced me to the joys of older women and I’ll always be grateful for my milf encounter.