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Five Times: Second Time

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Masturbating an older girl


This is the second of five accounts I’d like to share with you about my experiences between 2008 and 2016. The first one can be found here: https://www.solotouch.com/story/five-times-first-time-72452 Most of this took place in December 2010 when I was 18. As with my previous account, this is a true story; however, in this one I’ve made the decision to change the nature of the place that I did my apprenticeship at, and changed the name of the girl, because both of us still work there.   About a week after I masturbated with his girlfriend, Martin told me that he and Kathy had split up. It was early on a Saturday morning when he texted me. WE’VE FINISHED, the message said. ALL OK, MUTUAL DECISION. Then he’d sent me a picture message with the caption, SO WE DON’T FORGET ;) I wish I still had that picture. I lost it or inadvertently deleted it years ago, but I remember it perfectly: it was a photo Kathy had taken of herself and Martin, reflected in a mirror. Kathy was in the foreground, with Martin stood behind her. Kathy was holding her camera phone in one hand and holding up the hem of her skirt with the other, and she wasn’t wearing any underwear. Martin was reaching forward and down, his hand pressed against her mound, spreading her lips open with his fingers. The picture was dark, but it was clear enough to see the glistening inner pink of her beauty. A few days later, during the autumn half-term holiday, Martin and I were in his room, sat next to one another, he in his gaming chair and me on the floor beside him, watching YouTube videos on his laptop and masturbating. ‘Don’t you mind that Kathy showed herself off to me?’ I asked him. Martin shook his head. ‘Nah,’ he said. ‘We’re friends, so it doesn’t matter.’ ‘But I saw her totally naked. She spread her legs and touched herself, right in front of me. Aren’t you, like, jealous that I got to see that?’ Martin turned to look at me, and he stopped stroking his cock. ‘Look man, I knew you liked Kathy. We’d fantasised about her for so long. Finally, when I got the chance, I wanted you to see her.’ He started jacking again. ‘Anyway, it was hot. I got her to tell me all about it after you left.’ ‘Did you ever have sex with her?’ I asked him. ‘No,’ he replied. ‘Obviously I wanted to, and we did other stuff, but we never had actual sex.’ I asked him what ‘other stuff’ they’d gotten up to. ‘Oh, you know,’ he said, ‘we masturbated together, and masturbated one another. She never let me put my fingers inside her though, I was only allowed to touch her lips and diddle her clit.’ I was getting close to coming. ‘I wish I’d been able to touch her,’ I said. ‘I wish I’d been able to rub my dick against her. Fuck, I’m so close.’ Martin reached for his laptop and opened the picture of him spreading Kathy’s pussy lips apart. We stared at the picture, at Kathy, at the pink between her legs, and we came within a few seconds of each other. *** Over the next eighteen months, Martin had a couple of girlfriends, but none of them lasted long and he wasn’t able to organise another evening like the one I’d spent with Kathy. We met up regularly to masturbate together, sometimes at his house, sometimes at mine. Once, his sister caught us: Martin and I were both naked, jacking off like there was no tomorrow, when the door opened and his sister, Esme, walked in; she had just got out of the bath and was wrapped in a towel. Martin had bellowed at her – something like ‘GET OUT, WE’RE GETTING DRESSED!’ – and Esme had squealed, dropped her towel, and ran out of the room. I had carried on masturbating, savouring that fleeting glimpse of her naked body. Another time, when Martin and I were spending the summer holidays at my uncle’s farm in Wales, my cousin and her friend took us down to the wide river at the bottom of their garden. My cousin was a freckled redhead, tall and slightly plump, and Martin took an instant shine to her. I was more interested in her friend, a goth girl with short spiky black hair and a nose piercing. They were both a couple of years older than Martin and me – maybe eighteen or nineteen. It was a hot, humid day, so we stripped down to our underwear and swam in the cool water. Martin and my cousin swam across to the other side of the river and started to make out on the bank. Feigning embarrassment, the goth girl and I swam a little further downstream and sat in the shallows. She took her bra off and showed me her perky, conical breasts and pierced nipples. She let me fondle her breasts for a few minutes, but before I could get any further, she decided it was time to re-join my cousin and Martin. College ended. Martin went to university in Bristol, and I got an apprenticeship at a local law firm. Bristol was only an hour’s drive away, but neither of us had our own transport so we rarely met up. We texted one another, and chatted online when playing Call of Duty, but I missed him a lot. Sometimes we didn’t speak for several weeks at a time, and when he visited me during the summer break of 2010 – the first time we’d actually met face-to-face since he’d started uni – things were a little awkward between us. He told me about some of his adventures with the girls in his class, but we never quite settled back into our relaxed discussions, and neither of us brought up the topic of masturbating together. A week after he had returned to uni, he phoned me. He said he was sorry things had been weird when he visited me, and he wanted us to be friends like we used to. I told him that it would be easier if we kept in touch more. We decided to book a holiday together for the following summer. ‘Amsterdam,’ he suggested. ‘We can stay in a cheap hostel. We can drink and visit the coffee-shops and red-light-zone, catch a sex show, that sort of thing.’ I agreed; it would give us something to look forward to and encourage us to keep in touch. From that point on, everything was about saving money for our trip. I focussed on my study, hoping to finish my apprenticeship early and start full-time work for the law firm. My hard work was acknowledged and in September I became a junior probate solicitor. By the end of November I had saved enough money to cover the deposit for the Amsterdam trip. And in December I met Violet. *** Last Saturday, following the easing of the Covid-19 lockdown, I visited Martin. His wife was out – she works for the NHS – so we sat together in his back garden at a social distance and spoke about old times and old girlfriends. I told him that I’d written about Kathy. ‘You got her age wrong,’ he told me after he’d read the story. ‘She was in the school year below us, so she was fifteen, not sixteen. Otherwise, it’s really good. Really hot.’ He asked me if I was planning to write about our holiday in Wales. ‘I lost my virginity to your cousin on that riverbank,’ he told me with a wistful look. ‘Crap sex, but wow, she taught me stuff.’ I pointed out that he’d only been alone with her on the riverbank for five minutes. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I’m a fast learner.’ Later, just before I left, Martin told me that he was looking forward to reading the next story. ‘When are you going to mention the hotel incident? And are you going to write about Esme?’ ‘The next one is about Violet,’ I said. ‘Amsterdam and the hostel incident and the brothel, that will probably be the third one.’ ‘And Esme?’ ‘That’ll be the last one, I guess.’ ‘I don’t think I’ll read that one,’ Martin said. *** I met Violet on 6 December 2010. It was a Monday. I remember it vividly. Here is how I might have described her to Martin: She’s twenty-four, six years older than us. Five foot seven. Blonde hair, grey-blue eyes, the usual number of limbs. But not just blonde hair – it’s really, really fair, almost white; and it’s straight and long, almost waist-length; and when she’s intensely involved in something or deep in concentration, she pushes her hair back and tucks it behind her ears. She has a thin smile and high cheekbones and brilliantly white teeth. Her body is lithe, athletic, toned. She has full round breasts which look bigger than they are because of her slim build. ‘She’s obviously looked after her body,’ I would have said to Martin, if he hadn’t been at university. ‘Really worked to get back into shape. You’d never have guessed.’ ‘What?’ Martin would have said, frowning. ‘Guessed what?’ ‘That Monday, the sixth of December, was her first day back in the office after twelve months’ maternity leave.’ Martin would have grinned and slapped me on the back. ‘Ah, brother,’ he’d have said, ‘you’ve gone and fallen for a MILF.’ *** Violet wasn’t married, but she had been with her boyfriend, Luke, since college, and they had one child. She worked part-time as a receptionist for the law firm whilst her son was at nursery, and then worked part-time as a waitress at a local restaurant in the evenings when Luke got home from work. She was down-to-earth, easy to chat to, and laughed at everything. Everyone found her fun to be around – and I was no exception. Within the first couple of weeks of December, she took me under her wing. She had worked in the probate department for several years before she took maternity leave, and although I was a junior probate solicitor and she was just a receptionist, she knew more about the legislation and administration than I did, and she assisted me with difficult cases. ‘I did all the same training as you,’ she told me at breaktime on that first day. We were stood in the alley at the back of the building, sharing a cigarette. I never used to smoke much back then, but she had offered me a ciggie and I had accepted, mostly as an excuse to stand and chat with her. ‘They offered me a junior solicitor role two years ago, but they wanted me to go full-time and that wasn’t going to work for me because Luke and I were trying for a baby, and I knew I’d want to take a year off.’ She was always really open, and she could talk for ages about anything. And when she wasn’t talking, she genuinely listened. She remembered things that I said in passing – for instance, one day I mentioned something about Doctor Who, and the next day she brought me in a stash of old Doctor Who DVDs that Luke no longer wanted. I used to start work before her, so I’d have a cup of tea waiting for her when she got in. We’d take a ciggie break together at around 11am, then I’d take a late lunchbreak at 2pm (when Violet finished work) and we’d walk into town and grab a coffee or a sandwich before she collected her son from nursery. Within a week, I was hopelessly infatuated with her. But there was nothing I could do; Violet had a boyfriend, not to mention a year-old-son; there was no way she’d throw that away for an inexperienced virgin who was six years younger than her. *** During the third week in December, there were two developments: First, Violet booked one of the function rooms at the restaurant she worked at, on the Friday night, as the venue for our office’s Christmas party. I was excited – it was for staff only, no partners, and when I jokingly asked Violet whether she’d go as my date, she had laughed and agreed. The second development was something of a mixed bag. When Violet came into work on the day before the Christmas party, she wasn’t her usual chirpy self. She barely spoke to anyone, and when it was time for our cigarette break, she made her excuses and said she need to make a personal phone call. She didn’t return after that, and when I asked my colleagues where she’d gone, they told me that she and Luke had broken up, and she had taken annual leave. She wouldn’t be back to work until the new year. My initial response – I’m somewhat embarrassed to admit – was one of joy. Violet was single! I could make my move! But I quickly had a sobering thought – it dawned on me that if she was taking time off work, she was unlikely to be at the Christmas party the following evening. I spent the rest of the day in the doldrums. I couldn’t focus on my work. At lunchtime I wandered aimlessly around town on my own. I had never felt so pissed off or morose in my entire life. In the course of just a couple of days I had been given the opportunity to spend the evening with Violet as her date at the Christmas party, and then had the rug pulled from under my feet. That night, I couldn’t sleep. I wasn’t even in the mood to masturbate. Eventually I texted Martin, asked if he was awake. He phoned me straight away. ‘Thanks for sending me the money for the deposit,’ he said. ‘I’ve booked the trip! Man, in six months’ time we’ll be in Amsterdam!’ I told him that was cool, I was excited, that sort of thing. He could tell straight away that something was wrong. I explained about Violet (twenty-four, five foot seven, usual number of limbs) and the party, and her breakup with her boyfriend, and that she wouldn’t be going to the Christmas party tomorrow. ‘You know that for a fact, do you?’ ‘Well.’ I faltered. ‘Well, no, actually I don’t. But she’s had to take time off work because of the breakup. I can’t see her going to a party after that.’ ‘But she took annual leave, right?’ asked Martin. ‘If she took sick leave to deal with that shit, it would be different; it probably wouldn’t be right for her to go to the party. But if she’s taken the time off as annual leave, that means she’s being sensible about the whole thing, and maybe that means she’ll be at the party.’ I wasn’t sure I entirely followed Martin’s logic, but it gave me a glimmer of hope. ‘Trust me, man,’ Martin said. ‘Dress to impress. She’ll be there.’ *** And the son of a bitch was right. Seven o’clock, Friday night: I’m sitting with my colleagues in the function room at the restaurant, wearing a paper crown from a Christmas cracker and sipping a pint of Carlsberg, and suddenly I feel a hand on my shoulder. ‘Sorry I’m late,’ Violet said. ‘I hope you didn’t think I’d stood you up.’ She laughed, and I bought her a glass of wine, and we spent the whole evening talking. We sat together in one corner of the room, avoiding our work colleagues. Violet was wearing a little red dress with a wide black belt. It looked like very thin material, and I couldn’t see any bra lines or straps, and I wondered if she was wearing anything under it. ‘Luke and I have had our ups and downs over the last eighteen months,’ she explained. ‘I was pretty hard work throughout the pregnancy, really hormonal. Luke was really good the whole way through, and we both thought it would be easier when Jess was born. But boy, were we wrong!’ ‘Not easier?’ ‘Not a bit.’ She smiled, took a sip of her wine. ‘I mean, we both love Jess to bits, and it’s so rewarding, but bringing up a child is difficult. And although Luke had been brilliant throughout the pregnancy, he’s struggled since. Things haven’t been good between us for quite a while.’ ‘Do you think you’ll get back together?’ I asked her. Violet shrugged. ‘Maybe. I mean, probably, eventually. We just need some space from one another for a bit, learn to appreciate one another. But space is difficult, especially when you’re bringing up a one-year-old.’ I finished my beer. ‘Yeah,’ I told her, ‘you definitely need some space, some downtime. Want another drink?’ Violet gave a mock-flirtatious smile. ‘Why, sir, I do believe you’re trying to make me tipsy!’ We both laughed. Then, probably because the beer had given me false confidence, I said, ‘There are other ways of getting some downtime…’ Violet laughed again, and then suddenly stopped. ‘What are you saying?’ Then, slowly, she tucked her hair behind her ears and stood up. ‘Uh, never mind – just wait here a sec.’ She wandered off towards the toilets, but she was back in less than a minute. ‘Hey, come with me,’ she said. I asked her why, and she smiled, and said, ‘Just come with me, alright?’ I followed her through the restaurant, past the toilets, and then through a door marked STAFF ONLY. We walked down a corridor, past the kitchens, and out the back into a courtyard. She led me over to a small hut and opened the door. ‘It’s the dry store,’ she told me. ‘Where they keep all the non-perishable food, tins and pasta and stuff. Go on in.’ She put her hand on my shoulder and gently pushed me inside, then closed the door behind us. It was dark for a moment – pitch black – before Violet found the switch and turned on the light. We were alone in a small room, surrounded by tins of beans and packets of rice and bags of flour and cartons of juice. A single lightbulb hung above us, flickering as it warmed up. ‘Sorry there’s not much space,’ Violet whispered, ‘but it was here or the toilets. Trust me, this is better.’ ‘Better for what?’ I asked. ‘Downtime,’ Violet replied. *** Picture me: A nervous boy dressed in smart jeans and a blazer, still wearing a paper hat in his unruly brown hair. He’s shifting his weight from one foot to the other, uncertain, not knowing what to do. The young woman hooks her hair behind her ears, barely breathing, just watching, waiting for him to make the first move. He speaks, stammers, clears his throat; she reaches up and puts a finger to his lips, quietens him. ‘Take your clothes off,’ she says. He pauses for a long moment. Then he obliges. He undoes his laces, takes off his shoes and socks. He removes his blazer, slowly unbuttons his shirt, and lets them drop to the floor. Then he unbuckles his belt, unzips his jeans, and carefully pulls them down and steps out of them. He’s stood before her in just his shorts. Still uncertain. Still nervous. She looks him up and down. He’s slim – almost scrawny – with wisps of dark hair on his chest and legs. She nods, encouraging him to continue stripping. Another long pause. Then he reaches down, lowers his shorts, and stands up straight, hands by his sides. His soft cock is slender and slightly curved, about four and half inches long, nestled in pubic hair which is as dark and unruly as the hair on his head. She smiles at the boy and then, quite blatantly, stares at his cock. ‘I like it,’ she says quietly, and his cock twitches and begins to stiffen. *** I’ve always been a bit insecure of my tight foreskin. When I’m erect, it takes a bit of gentle encouragement to pull it back fully, and when I masturbate, I don’t always bother retracting it. Right then, stood naked in front of Violet, I was conscious of the fact that my erection was straining against its foreskin, only revealing the tip of my glans. ‘I like it,’ Violet said again. ‘All the guys I’ve been with have been cut.’ Then she removed her dress, lifting it over her head in one quick fluid motion, and stood before me entirely naked. She wasn’t wearing any underwear beneath her dress – whether she had come out like that, or removed it just before she brought me to the storeroom, I don’t know. She reached down and wrapped her fingers around my cock. ‘Be gentle,’ I said as she tugged at me, and then the bulbous head of my penis suddenly slipped free. She carried on stroking me, long slow strokes from the base to the tip. I hadn’t masturbated for a couple of days, and I was worried that I would come too quickly. ‘Wait, wait,’ I told her. ‘I want to see you.’ She reluctantly let go of me, and I took a step back to survey her. My eyes were drawn straight to her breasts. They were magnificent: full, round, and close-set, tipped with small nipples. She reached up and caressed one of the nipples coyly. I wanted to press my face between those gorgeous globes, wanted to feel the delicate skin against my cheek. My cock spasmed involuntary, eager for attention, but I ignored it. I looked down. Her stomach was flat, except for small well of her belly button. Beneath that, low across her waist was a long thin white scar. ‘Jess was born by caesarean,’ Violet explained. I reached out and lightly traced the scan with my finger. Then, eager for more, I knelt down and rested my hands on her hips. Violet immediately dropped one hand to cover her mound. ‘Let me see you,’ I said, but she shook her head, embarrassed. I said it again and gently took her hand in mine and withdrew it. The first thing I noticed in the half-light of the flickering bulb was that, although Violet’s hair was blonde, her bush was much darker. It was shaped into a wide landing strip. I coaxed her legs apart and parted her hair, desperate to see more of her; and as she altered her stance, her labia were revealed to me. Her beauty was different to Kathy’s, whose outer lips met at the bottom and parted slightly as they rose to show her inner lips, and different to the Barbie slits I’d seen in porn. Violet’s inner lips were prominent, longer and darker than her outer lips, and they protruded slightly from her mound like butterfly wings. I wondered, rather innocently and foolishly, whether her inner labia had been pushed out when she gave birth, but then I remembered the scar on her belly, the C-section. Violet laughed nervously. ‘Get up,’ she said, but I ignored her. I wanted to stroke those delicate inner lips. I wanted to kiss them. ‘Hey, get up,’ she repeated, and I looked up. ‘It’s embarrassing,’ she said. ‘Why?’ I asked. ‘It’s gorgeous. You’re gorgeous.’ And then I leant forward and buried my face in her beauty. I breathed her in, rubbed my cheek against her bush, brushed my lips over her lips. With my fingers I parted the petals of labia and pushed my tongue inside, tasting her cleft from her opening to her clit. ‘Oh, god,’ said Violet weakly, and she swayed. I paused, looked up. She had her eyes closed and was breathing slowly. ‘Okay?’ I asked her. ‘Uh-uh,’ she said. ‘Keep going.’ So I did. *** We were gone long enough for people to ask questions. ‘We just went for a smoke,’ I said. When I got home, I led in bed, staring at the ceiling, savouring her scent and taste, visualising the folds of her labia, the feel of the wet silk of her sex. She hadn’t come, she said, but it was good. ‘Perfect downtime,’ she’d said. I’d wanted to keep touching and kissing her, but she said she wasn’t sure she could finish, not there in the dingy storeroom. ‘Then where?’ I asked, desperate for more. *** The ‘where’ was her apartment, the next evening. Luke would be out at his Christmas party, she told me. ‘Come over at half-seven, after I’ve put Jess to bed.’ I texted her when I arrived outside her block of flats to make sure Luke had gone out. She replied immediately: COME ON UP. When I knocked on the door of her apartment, she opened it straight away. She was wearing a dressing gown and was holding two glasses of wine. She gave one to me and welcomed me in. I told her how much I’d enjoyed the previous night – all of it, her company, chatting in the restaurant, her body. Especially her body. She laughed. ‘I am so self-conscious of, you know, down there,’ she said, gesturing at her crotch. But why, I asked her? ‘I wish it was, I don’t know… tidier. I don’t like how it sticks out.’ I shook my head in disbelief. ‘Don’t be embarrassed. It’s perfect, I love the way it looks, I want to see it again.’ Violet raised an eyebrow. ‘Yeah?’ ‘I want to play with you again,’ I said. She put her glass of wine on the table. ‘I might be persuaded,’ she told me. ‘I’ve got an idea. Come with me.’ I followed her, thinking she was taking me to her bedroom, but she opened a door at the end of the hall and took me inside the bathroom. ‘I love how much you like my pussy,’ she told me (I hadn’t heard her use that word before, and it instantly excited me), ‘and I think it makes me feel more confident about my body. Do you want to see more of it?’ she asked me. Hell, yeah. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Do you want me to shave, so you can see it properly?’ Fuck, yeah. ‘Yes,’ I said. Violet tucked her hair behind her ears and shrugged off her dressing gown. ‘Wanna help me?’ she asked. Fuck-fuck-fucking hell, yeah! ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I believe I would.’ *** She passed me a can of shaving gel, and raised one of her legs and rested her foot on the side of the bath. I squirted some gel into my palm, and, after she’d dampened her bush with a wet flannel, I reached down and massaged the gel into her hair. I took my time, savouring the feel of her coarse pubes and velvety labia between my fingers. When I was done, Violet rinsed off a razor in the sink, then started to shave in quick confident strokes. At one point she said, ‘Honey, will you pull the skin taut between my pussy and my leg, just here? It’ll help me get a closer shave.’ And shortly after that, ‘Just pull my pussy lips to the left whilst I shave this bit.’ I felt like I was in a dream. I was in the same room as a beautiful woman; she was naked; she was shaving herself, especially for me; and she was encouraging to touch and caress her amazing cunt. I was suddenly conscious that my cock was throbbing and straining against my jeans. ‘Do you mind if I take my clothes off?’ I asked her, and when she nodded, I quickly stripped off and, freed from my trunks, my cock bounced immediately to attention. When Violet asked me to hold her lips to the other side as she shaved, I held them with the fingers of my left hand, and with my right I reached down and slowly pumped my cock. ‘Hey,’ Violet admonished me playfully, ‘no time for that, mister. I’m nearly done, but I still need your help.’ And she was nearly done. Although most of her pussy was still concealed by the foam, it was looking a lot barer than before. ‘I need you to rinse me off,’ she told me, and she passed me the flannel. I didn’t bother with it. Instead, I scooped up fresh warm water from the basin and rinsed her using my hands. As the foam washed away, I could feel the tightness of her freshly shaved skin. And then she stood back, showed herself to me. ‘This is the most naked I’ve ever been,’ she told me. ‘Do you like it?’ She was gorgeous. I noticed that her nipples were hard and erect, but I didn’t focus on that. My gaze was drawn straight to her cunt. Last night, it had been mostly concealed by her thick bush, but now it was revealed utterly. Her skin was lightly dimpled and tiny beads of moisture still clung to her. Her puckered inner lips clung together, overhanging her outer lips by nearly half an inch, and rather than hanging down, they jutted proudly forward. I reached down and ran my finger softly along the little ridge where her bulging lips clung together, and I felt them quiver beneath my touch. Her clit pulsated twice, noticeably, like a heartbeat. ‘Moisturise me,’ Violet said faintly, passing me a small bottle of cream. The delicate butterfly wings of her inner lips still clung together, but as she raised her leg and placed her foot on the side of the bath, the wings parted, revealing her glistening cleft. I tenderly massaged the lotion across the skin above and to the sides of her pussy, rubbing my fingers in small circular motions. My cock throbbed, and Violet attended to it, using both hands to oh-so-carefully retract my foreskin and slowly caress its length. I ran my middle finger along the edge of her open lips, before softly dipping inside; her beauty contracted and sucked my finger further in, and I delighted in her wetness and her pulsing rhythm. I withdrew my finger and circled her clit, and when I felt her sway beneath me I knew I’d found the right place, and I focussed my attention there. Meanwhile, Violet had my cock sandwiched between her palms, and as she pulled away with one hand she pushed with the other, like she was rubbing her hands together, in a sort of massage that sent spasms of pleasure all over my body. It wasn’t long before her legs gave way, and Violet sat back on the edge of the bath. She had her legs spread open as far as they would go, and I stood between them, strumming her clit with the thumb of my left hand and alternately stroking her lips and penetrating her with the middle finger of my right hand. I couldn’t believe how wet she was getting; her juices were becoming thicker, and occasionally I paused to lick my finger and taste her nectar – both sweet and salty, rusty and mellow – and I suddenly had a yearning to sink my face between her thighs and kiss her, to thrust my tongue into her. But before I could, Violet started to shudder. Her eyes were scrunched tightly closed and her forehead was furrowed as if she was in pain. ‘D-don’t stop,’ she managed to say amid the convulsions; and she let go of my cock and clamped both her hands over mine, pressing my thumb harder against her clit and thrusting my fingers deeper inside her; and she rocked against me, and I felt her pussy tighten and relax, tighten and relax, and then, after a long pause, Violet moaned and her pussy clenched tight around my fingers and held me there for several seconds. In that moment, the knowledge that I’d brought her to orgasm was so erotic that I felt a deep shudder in my balls and, even though she was no longer touching me, I ejaculated copiously, in long thick strands, all over Violet’s legs and cunt. *** Afterwards, she used the flannel to clean my cock, then clean herself. Under normal circumstances, the sight of her carefully wiping my spunk from her thighs would have sent me to cloud nine, but I was totally spent. Still naked, we went back into the kitchen and shared another glass of wine. Later, when it was time for me to dress and leave, she draped her dressing gown over her shoulders, but she left it untied. When I said goodbye, she kissed me on the cheek and she took my hand; she placed it over her pussy, and closed her eyes as I parted her lips and snuck my finger inside for one last caress. And that truly was the last caress. By the time we returned to work in the new year, Violet and her boyfriend had gotten back together. During our cigarette breaks we sometimes spoke about our evening in the storeroom and the evening she shaved herself for me, but other than occasional flirting, nothing else happened between us. A few years later, after having a second child, Violet and Luke broke up for good, and we spoke about starting a proper relationship – but by then I was going out with Esme so it went no further. But we’re still good friends, and I still have a cup of tea waiting for her when she comes into the office each morning.

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