The Affidavit Ch. 01

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“How did I get here?” Ian thought to himself as he walked down the street, looking for the turning. 28 years old and mixed up in some legal case, through no fault of his own. Hopefully he can get this affidavit sorted today and he won’t have to do anything else, fingers crossed.

He wanders on until he finds the right road and starts looking for the house number. It’s a warm day and he wish he hadn’t decided to wear a shirt he must be roughly the same age as Sandra, her daughter? But yet she felt this terrible attraction to him. What was it? Yes, he was certainly handsome and had that sleek, athletic frame that she loved, but there was something else. Finally, it came to her: his confidence. He exuded self-assurance. He had that air of someone who was used to getting his way, and knew only privilege in life. The other thing, which had unsettled her, was the coldness in his eyes that made him seem stern at times.

The door opens suddenly and Helen quickly withdraws her hand, placing it back on the desk. Before he sits down, she notices to see that his erection has subsided and she wonders if he had masturbated in the toilet. Part of her likes the thought of that, while another part wishes she had been there even if it was only to watch. “God, I need a man” she thinks and knows the vibrator in her bedside cabinet will be getting some use later.

Fortunately, Helen is very good at compartmentalising her thoughts and she had almost recovered her composure completely.

His mind is working overtime as he sits back down opposite her; surely she was just resting her hands in her lap, he puzzles. But she did jump, he remembers, when he walked back in. Perhaps she’s not as demure as her dress and her business-like attitude would suggest.

He looks across the desk at her again, his eyes lingering. Her head is bowed and she is busily scanning the text. Although her face is somewhat flushed, this may have been because of the overheated room. When he looks down at her fitted blouse, the tell-tale sign of outlined nipples is no longer apparent. Perhaps he had just imagined it, or maybe she just had prominent nipples? He was adept at creating fictions in his mind, particularly where mature women were considered, and it had gotten him into trouble before. There was nothing in the expression on her matronly face to suggest that sensual thoughts were rushing through her mind, or ever had for that matter. Damn, he thought, I must try to drag my mind back to the document and not let my imagination run wild; I can’t use the bathroom as a refuge again if I get too aroused.

Despite the awkwardness of their initial encounter, they manage to get through the next 10 minutes without any further distractions and complete the review of the document.

“Shall I print out the new version for you?” she asks and he, with an air of distraction, nods his ascent.

However the printer has other ideas and nothing happens, so reluctantly she stands up and goes over to the printer.

“I’m not very good with technology. It must be a generational thing” she laughs uneasily. “Do you know what this message means?” With a sigh of frustration, he pulls himself out of his chair and goes to investigate the problem. Very quickly he establishes that the printer is out of paper. Feeling even more stupid than usual, she hurries to the stationary cupboard.

In her canlı bahis şirketleri haste to replenish the printer, Helen forgets that he is watching and crouches down to take a sheaf of paper from the lower shelf. Her skirt rides up in a most unladylike fashion and stretches across the wide expanse of her posterior, affording him a tantalising glimpse of her stocking tops. He sucks in his breath as he realises that this sliver of pale, meaty thigh is possibly the most erotic thing he has seen in a long time. Almost on cue, he feels the familiar hardness growing in his trousers, distending it. In an effort to disguise the unmistakeable bulge, he turns at an angle to the printer. Good heavens, what is it with him, he muses. He could have almost any woman his own age, but instead he has always lusted after the older, more seasoned type. While his contemporaries had the hots for each other’s sister, his eyes were always drawn to their mothers. There was something about their faded beauty and their full, even chunky bodies that seemed more real to him, somehow more visceral. Hard, youthful forms without curves did nothing for him. Generally middle-aged women seemed more sophisticated, more knowing, more experienced than their younger counterparts. There was also, of course, the whole taboo aspect of it; the idea of older men with younger women was a lot more socially acceptable than older women with younger men. Even thinking about his proclivities made him harder still. Damn it.

When she returns with the paper, she immediately senses his discomfort. Peering downwards, she notices the tenting in the young man’s trousers and the coy manner that he keeps turning away in a forlorn attempt to conceal it. Oh Christ, it’s starting again as warning bells begin to go off in her head. How am I going to extricate myself from this situation? She tries to ignore her renewed anxiety and loads the printer with paper, listening to it whirring into life and the first sheets of paper spewing out. As she watches the machine and tries to calculate her next move, he creeps behind her with the stealth of a hungry jaguar. Before she has an opportunity to react, she can feel his warm breath on her neck and his strong hands on her shoulders, and then lower down something long and hard, like a metal bar, pressing against the parting of her buttocks. For what seems like ages, she just stands there speechless, her body trembling from this unexpected contact, not knowing what to do next, contradictory sensations of shock, repulsion and excitement filling her head.

When his hands fall to her breasts, and the grinding against her nether regions increases, she spins around angrily. “How dare you…” she begins before looking down and realising that he has already unzipped himself. Her chin literally hits the floor when she is confronted by the starkness of his manhood bobbing grotesquely in front of him. He just sneers at her unease. His powerful erection throbs and enlarges even further as she stares at it, confused and frightened, the shaft covered with veins and as thick as her wrist, the bulbous head already leaking precum. She has never seen anything like it. His red and angry cock, and the heavy scrotum that dangles beneath it, the testicles as large as tennis balls, look like they belong fixed to some animal rather than the skinny body of this twenty-year old.

“I canlı kaçak iddaa think you should l…l…leave…” she stammers. “Leave?” he responds calmly, “I’m going nowhere. I saw how you looked at me earlier. You want me just as much as I want you”. His hand grabs his fat penis and strokes it, furiously. “Look what you’ve done to me. Now, on your knees, bitch”.

No one had ever spoken to her like that before. Certainly none of Sandra’s young friends. Even at work, where she was low in the hierarchy, the partners addressed her with respect, acknowledging her service to the firm and her value to them. She opens her mouth to protest, but one glance in his direction tells her it is futile. He just leers at her, all the time his cupped hand gliding up and down the glistening shaft. He’s enjoying her discomfort and his hold over her; he’s getting off on it. She has spent enough time involved in criminal cases to know that dissent can sometimes make matters even worse.

Hesitantly she sinks to her knees, looking up at him, towering above him. “Good girl. You know this makes sense”, he growls, smirking. “Now take off your blouse”, his face again becoming serious. “Please, don’t make me do…” she pleads. “Now!” he shouts in response. Slowly she opens the buttons, her head hanging in shame. He watches intently as her black lace bra came into view, together with her deep plunging cleavage. The more conservative, the more buttoned up his female conquests, the more he likes it. Quickening the pace of his stroking, his hand almost a blur, he looks down on her and says: “Fuck, Helen. You’re a sight for sore eyes. Look at those great tits that you have”. She shudders at the coarseness of his expletives, but also something within her is also aroused by his crude brashness, and the affect that her breasts are clearly having on him. Even at school she had always liked the bad boys. A warm, wet feeling radiates from her crotch.

As the blouse falls to the floor, he shouts: “Don’t stop, Helen. Next the bra”. Self-consciously she reaches behind her and unclasps the bra. Although many of her clothes were staid and outmoded, she had always spent money on expensive, alluring lingerie. She loved the idea that no one would have expected frumpy old Helen to possess such things. Her 36DD boobs spill out from the insubstantial support as it joins the blouse on the ground. Although her breasts are not as pert as they once were, they are still firm and full. The young man whistles his appreciation. Helen’s face reddens in embarrassment. Only her ex-husband had ever seen her naked (or semi-naked) before. She tries to cross her arms over her chest, but he barks “leave them, bitch, I want to see; place a hand under each one and raise them, so I can get a better look”. She cups her boobs and, for the first time, looks up into his face. He has a concentrated, faraway countenance that could only be described as pure lust, his eyes focused on her nipples, which harden under his scrutiny. “I do believe that Helen is a little bit excited”, he exclaims triumphantly. Her face now turns a shade of puce, a colour that extends down her neck.

“Kneel up straighter”, he commands. She does as she’s bid, not bothering to shield her breasts any longer, her arms at her sides. His colossal tool is only inches from her face now, pulsing madly. She recoils when he suddenly slaps it against canlı kaçak bahis her face. Angered, he reaches out and holds the back of her head. “Open your mouth”, he orders, and “stick out your tongue”. Cautiously, her lips part and, emboldened by her own needs, her tongue snakes out and slides tentatively along the swollen cock head, tasting him for the first time. The saltiness surprises her. This was a service that her ex-husband had never demanded of her. Encouraged somewhat, and with the young man’s urgent hands pressing against her head, she takes some of the tip into her mouth, gagging somewhat initially before she adapts to the size. She sucks on it, her tongue swirling under the sensitive area between the head and the shaft. He groans loudly: “That’s it, bitch, you’re a natural born cocksucker”. Slowly, he starts to sway his hips, fucking her mouth, unbuttoning his trousers and letting it fall to the floor in the process. She struggles to breath, her mouth wider than it has ever been, but he is insistent. About to tumble over, she reaches out and places her hands on his hips, to steady herself. Impatiently, he jerks into her, his balls hitting against her chin, and then he screams “I’m cumming…” His body tenses and then she feels a jet of jism hit the back of her throat, knocking her head backwards. As she gasps for breath, semen oozes out of her mouth and drops onto her heaving boobs. She cannot believe how copious the discharge is. “God, I needed that”, he confides. “Stand up”.

Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Helen stands up to her full height, delicately balancing on her high heels. He stretches out his hand and caresses one of her breasts. She bites her lip to stifle a sigh, and is astonished to notice that his erection has not fully subsided, notwithstanding his orgasm. Even at half-mast, it is still a majestic sight. He takes her two engorged nipples between the thumb and forefinger of each hand and twirls them roughly, staring directly into her eyes. This time, she can do nothing to conceal her pleasure and grunts loudly. “My, my, you are a naughty girl”, he bellows, “now, turn and face the wall”.

This time he undresses her. He quickly unzips her skirt and slides it down her long stockinged legs, followed by the high-cut black lace panties. The latter he examines carefully, bringing it to his nose and inhaling. “You smell divine, Helen. Your knickers are saturated with your juices”, he exclaims. She is glad that her face is turned to the wall, so that he isn’t aware of how deeply she is blushing, not only at his words but also at the sweet intoxicating scent of her arousal that fills the air. When eventually she summons up some courage, she looks over her shoulder meekly and winces when she sees him wanking his now rigid appendage with the flimsy, wet panties, rubbing it up and down the steel-like rod, his eyes closed in concentration. Some seconds later she becomes aware of him falling to his kneels behind her, his hands kneading her broad, globular buttocks, and kissing along her stout legs and flabby thighs. She quivers as he alternates between trailing his tongue and biting as he reaches her core, pushing her legs further apart. His fingers slide through the slippery entanglement of her public hair, pulling open her labia. And then his darting tongue joins his probing digits, licking along the puffy folds of flesh, teasing the swollen nub of her clitoris. An instinctual, guttural groan begins deep in her chest and then reaches ear-shattering decibels as she achieves orgasm. She grips the wall as best as she can to steady herself as her legs turn to jelly.

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