When does it end?
Was thinking about the ends of interactions the other day, along the same lines as contemplating all the girls I've loved before, as the song had it. I say interactions as it's fairer than relationships though some have been, however brief. In any event contemplating how they may end is an interesting exercise - extrapolating experience to current situations and thinking about how they may end.
A case in point, I've been seeing Miss for many years, with a milestone coming up in December. She's a bit older than me, though I've never asked by how much as a gentleman shouldn't ask and a cad doesn't want to know.
As i always joke with her.
So i was wondering how it might end. One day she'll retire and I'll reach the age of many of her current clients, retired from work myself but still with urges that smoulder and need treating.
I imagine Miss retired to a nice seaside community, where she blends in seamlessly and where she's a popular figure amongst the local market traders and small shop keepers and cafe proprietors.
Perhaps we'd lose contact but another part of me thought- why must that be so?
So i thought, I'll visit as often as i can, and may be amongst the last to still do so, noting the previous comment about the main demographic of her regulars. I sit in her neat front room and we drink tea and reminisce.
Her spirit hasn't dimmed though her strength has and she makes me sit next to her on the big sofa. It is like the old days, and she unzips my fly to expose the knoblet.
Reminiscing continues but shifts to remembered scenes and fabled nights of years ago. My knoblet rests in her hand and there is strength there yet. Firm grips and firm pats on my balls have the usual effect and i am swollen and dripping as ever.
Miss bids me rise to my feet and my trousers fall to my ankles. I help her to hers and she takes the knoblet in a very firm grip and i shuffle humiliated to the bathroom. There waits the chunky vibrator, and she quickly applies it to my cock head, bringing me to the edge, repeatedly, and then allows me to slip over it as she removes the vibe and watches me release hard but without relief into the bowl, while my hands rest obediently on the back of my head.
Before i can recover the vibe is back and this time it stays as i come to a very intense second, dribbling less but hurting more. Miss cleans up my sensitive head and washes my collected slime away with no more fanfare than washing her own hands.
I am left standing at the basin. I am done but my knoblet is not responding as it should. It is red and angry but not subsiding. I am alarmed and only then realise that she has left nothing to chance and laced my tea with viagra. And oh how powerful will it, or its equivalent be, in a couple of decades time?
Miss unplugs the vibe and grabs a towel over her wrist. In the other hand she grips my sore, hard knoblet and leads me to the bedroom.
I'm told to strip and comply. Miss throws back the cover and i see an old friend - the red satin short nightie. I put it on and then I am flung onto the bed and the vibe and towel follow. Miss grabs a pair of elastic hair bands and tells me to scootch up the bed while she slips off her clothes and into a silk nightgown. She plugs in the vibe and climbs into bed with it.
Miss bids me lie on my side and positions the towel under my still alarmingly hard knoblet. To which she attaches the elasticated bands slipping over it and over the vibe to trap it pressed to the underside of my cock flesh and flicks it back on. She slips next to me, the big spoon to my little spoon. Her hands trail to my chest to tease nipples with firm tenderness as she has done for decades. Unbidden and now unwanted the knoblet hardens still further. The vibe drones away with irrepressible persistence and i know it will take me to another orgasm. And i know Miss's tastes, her appetite for my destruction remains undimmed. My best hope is that she will at least switch off the vibe between each bruising orgasm.
'Just like old times eh Smamf?'
And i moan like old times and she chuckles in my ear.
A case in point, I've been seeing Miss for many years, with a milestone coming up in December. She's a bit older than me, though I've never asked by how much as a gentleman shouldn't ask and a cad doesn't want to know.
As i always joke with her.
So i was wondering how it might end. One day she'll retire and I'll reach the age of many of her current clients, retired from work myself but still with urges that smoulder and need treating.
I imagine Miss retired to a nice seaside community, where she blends in seamlessly and where she's a popular figure amongst the local market traders and small shop keepers and cafe proprietors.
Perhaps we'd lose contact but another part of me thought- why must that be so?
So i thought, I'll visit as often as i can, and may be amongst the last to still do so, noting the previous comment about the main demographic of her regulars. I sit in her neat front room and we drink tea and reminisce.
Her spirit hasn't dimmed though her strength has and she makes me sit next to her on the big sofa. It is like the old days, and she unzips my fly to expose the knoblet.
Reminiscing continues but shifts to remembered scenes and fabled nights of years ago. My knoblet rests in her hand and there is strength there yet. Firm grips and firm pats on my balls have the usual effect and i am swollen and dripping as ever.
Miss bids me rise to my feet and my trousers fall to my ankles. I help her to hers and she takes the knoblet in a very firm grip and i shuffle humiliated to the bathroom. There waits the chunky vibrator, and she quickly applies it to my cock head, bringing me to the edge, repeatedly, and then allows me to slip over it as she removes the vibe and watches me release hard but without relief into the bowl, while my hands rest obediently on the back of my head.
Before i can recover the vibe is back and this time it stays as i come to a very intense second, dribbling less but hurting more. Miss cleans up my sensitive head and washes my collected slime away with no more fanfare than washing her own hands.
I am left standing at the basin. I am done but my knoblet is not responding as it should. It is red and angry but not subsiding. I am alarmed and only then realise that she has left nothing to chance and laced my tea with viagra. And oh how powerful will it, or its equivalent be, in a couple of decades time?
Miss unplugs the vibe and grabs a towel over her wrist. In the other hand she grips my sore, hard knoblet and leads me to the bedroom.
I'm told to strip and comply. Miss throws back the cover and i see an old friend - the red satin short nightie. I put it on and then I am flung onto the bed and the vibe and towel follow. Miss grabs a pair of elastic hair bands and tells me to scootch up the bed while she slips off her clothes and into a silk nightgown. She plugs in the vibe and climbs into bed with it.
Miss bids me lie on my side and positions the towel under my still alarmingly hard knoblet. To which she attaches the elasticated bands slipping over it and over the vibe to trap it pressed to the underside of my cock flesh and flicks it back on. She slips next to me, the big spoon to my little spoon. Her hands trail to my chest to tease nipples with firm tenderness as she has done for decades. Unbidden and now unwanted the knoblet hardens still further. The vibe drones away with irrepressible persistence and i know it will take me to another orgasm. And i know Miss's tastes, her appetite for my destruction remains undimmed. My best hope is that she will at least switch off the vibe between each bruising orgasm.
'Just like old times eh Smamf?'
And i moan like old times and she chuckles in my ear.
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