Chapter 143 – The perfect end of a long Journey

Three weeks ago, my long-term affair Nguyet and I had begun a new sensual journey together: Not only was she pretending to be innocent again, but the premise was that she had exaggerated her sexual experience in front of her new beau Huy and now needed my help to catch up. So far, we had done a nice, coy missionary-position lesson and, last week, she had blown me, before I had banged her from behind with a little tender anus play mixed in, during which we had been forging plans for the next few weeks.

The menu for this month would comprise titillating beginnings in lovely dresses and skirts, possibly coupled with stockings, tights or a garter belt, we had agreed. Other options could include a prostrate massage, swallowing a decent load, a naked lunch, and – yes – even anal intercourse. So far, the two of us had only done it from behind with my finger in her anus but, for some reason, I was sure that Nguyet had been practicing with slimmer noodles than mine ever since we had begun our anal exploration.

The highlight of last week’s rod-polishing/cum plan-forging had been, however, that she had issued me an unadulterated carte blanche: Any day now, I could do whatever I wanted with her, with impunity, she had said. This sure had a consensual-non-consent ring to it but, in the end, it had sounded more like boundless trust. She knew how much I had been suffering five years back, when she had repeatedly rejected me, and now appeared to want to make up for it.

Our mutual wish to experience anal sex wasn’t part of the carte blanche, however. That had grown out of seeing Nguyet’s colleague Thuy’s soft, wide, flat sphincter at the thermal springs back in March. When petite Thuy had requested a preparation period, though, Nguyet had filled the void, and the two of us had embarked on a sweet, slow journey of anal exploration that included licking, fingering, and rimming. But for actual penetration, my relatively thick cock had at all times proven too much for her tight, leathery sphincter. I did have a hunch, though, that she had taken steps – either with Huy himself or Vu, her former lover and my former student – to stretch her anus over the last few months.

One of the great things about Nguyet was that she had a knack for plausibly arranging potentially erotic situations. And so I was decidedly optimistic that today, we would discover ourselves in circumstances again that would allow our lust to create up and then be released in an utmost pleasing and gratifying fashion. Nowadays, we were meeting at an empty, quaint bed-and-breakfast, which Nguyet’s real estate business had recently acquired. It was slated to be torn down, but for the time being, the cozy abode was ideal for the sensual breaking-in that Nguyet desired so much.

I had started to think about what we could do there, with all those empty beds and rooms. Set up a mock-brothel for one afternoon? Well, for now, it would have to be just the two of us but, slowly, we should be able to arrange titillating meetings with the other members of our orgy circle again. And what would Nguyet be wearing today? A dress, or a pair of jeans? Or a nice skirt with pantyhose? Or, God forbid, lacy tights and a garter belt? The black or the white one? I knew she had at least those two. And what would we do? Quickly grind off the peaks of our arousal, eat, and then do it for a second time, a bit more slowly? Or did she have a completely different plan?

Would we, heavily panting again, bang away more new ideas of things we needed to try while banging each other? Or would today’s fuck be more languid and drawn out? Was she menstruating today, perhaps? We hadn’t done that for a while. Well, Nguyet knew what would be best for the two of us, and so I decided to stop worrying and just drove over to the old guesthouse around 11:30, as she had requested. Her lunch break lasted from 11 to 1:30, and she had told me that we would eat together. Of course, I procured a few beers and ice, as one does.

Unlike the last time, the door was closed, but Nguyet’s older Honda was already parked outside. I tried the handle, and the door opened, creaking, but decided to smoke a quick ciggy before I would go in. Nguyet didn’t show herself during those eight minutes, but if she had heard me arrive, she knew what I was doing and that I would be with her soon. As I was puffing away, I looked at the rain coat that was draped over the dashboard; yes, it had been unseasonably cool and wet the last four or five days.

When I finally stepped inside, it was dark and eerily quiet in the hall down here. Of course, I wondered about the possibility that Nguyet could be playing a game with me. Now, what could she want me to do? Since I couldn’t spot any clothes or other clues and since she could simply be upstairs, I slowly walked up the steps; I could feel and almost hear my heart pounding. I remembered the little scene we had had here on the stairs the previous week, when I had told her that I wanted to watch her ascend the stairs either naked or just in a blouse. Or with her light porcelain ass and wet hairy peach under her butt crack exposed under her skirt.

She had only deigned once to let me look at that utmost rousing sight, which had been at our very first time, at her parents’ house. Yes, my long-term affair’s perineum was fairly hairy, but she had light skin, which was a hot combo, I wondered. Anyway, I believed I had heard a faint noise in the hall, and so I put the beer and the ice on the table here in the alcove next to the stairs and looked down the hall. Almost all the way back, there was a door ajar and, much closer to me, she had left a floor bucket with dirty water in it. The mop itself was leaning against the wall, and her older yellow flip-flops were parked next to it.

Was she pretending to be the cleaning lady today, who needed a good shag during lunch, as her market-woman cunt was itching? I immediately imagined Nguyet in a simple skirt and coarse pantyhose, with hairy armpits, some perspiration on her forehead, and a little red bandana. But I couldn’t see her: not the woman, nor the clothes. And so I just got a glass and fixed myself a beer. Was I supposed to wait here? Or go one more floor up, where she would greet me, lying naked on a bed? Or did she want me to come to that room whose door was ajar? Naked, with my whipping whip? To break in the horsy? Without a saddle?

I didn’t get further with my ruminations, as Nguyet had stepped out of another room and was now walking away from me, towards the open room at the end of the hall. She didn’t seem to have noticed me, but she looked absolutely stunning: She wasn’t wearing a skirt, pants, or a dress but only pantyhose and a blouse, whose tails protruded a bit at the bottom. The contours of her slim, girlish frame were sharpened by the fact that I was looking at them contre jour. Absolutely bewitching and entrancing.

Pantyhose, but no skirt. Like a girl. Or a very young woman, one week after her 18^th birthday. Tantalizing. But what was she expecting me to do? Okay, we were engaged in a role-play, in which she was open-minded and almost willing – not prissy, prudish, or finicky. And so I sauntered down the hall, eventually looking at her through the three-inch opening between the door and the frame, which reminded me of the morning at Yen’s house, when her nephew Charlie and I had watched his aunt undress.

Being peeked at surreptitiously was perhaps only very few women’s favorite pastime, but Nguyet was an ardent exhibitionist, and we were meeting here today to fuck, so I wasn’t feeling bad about my intrusion. This wasn’t actually her private sphere, but the deliberate beginning of a rousing sex session, I was sure – just as I had been when Charlie and I had been spying on his aunt at her house. After all, Yen had just jerked her nephew off downstairs, in her kitchen, barely ten minutes earlier.

But, sweet Jesus, did this petite woman look enticing: Nguyet’s black pantyhose seemed soft and fit her perfectly. But her legwear wasn’t of the kind one wears to the opera house. Only simple, soft and smooth. Nothing expensive. Her stockings weren’t shiny, and the pistachio-green skirt that she was holding with both hands appeared to be a bit older as well. And yes, her blouse was certainly meant to be worn on top of the waistband of a skirt, not inside. She had her hair pinned up in the back but wasn’t wearing her glasses.

Eventually, I faintly knocked on the door and pushed it slowly open. Of course, she turned but then covered her midsection with her skirt, smiling impishly.

“Oops, Mister Ben… I didn’t hear you coming… I thought you were still downstairs, smoking…”

“Well, no… yes, I was… but then I began searching for you… you look devastatingly ravishing in your pantyhose… I watched you mosey down the hall…”

“Well, the skirt got dirty when I was cleaning… but I don’t have any spare clothes here, unfortunately…”

“You’ve cleaned the whole building?” I asked, for some reason. “That wouldn’t have been necessary…”

“Well, tomorrow, someone is coming to look at the property… but, yeah, I messed up somewhere… I didn’t notice…”

She flipped her skirt in front of her midsection, which she was still covering abashedly. Oh, man, was she endearing and hot at the same time! Now, I could see a dark blotch, perhaps the size of the palm of my hand, which looked like dirt, smeared with water. Nothing dramatic. I liked the skirt, too.

“Well, you look so lovely in your pantyhose… without the skirt… with your slender figure…” I paid her a compliment.

Was the exhibitionist embarrassed? I liked that I wasn’t able to tell. Was she actually wearing panties under her stockings? If she wasn’t, that wouldn’t fit the role-play, I wondered to myself.

“Yeah, thanks, but I can’t present myself like that…” she contended, chuckling. “But then, you’ve seen me half-naked twice already…” she reminded me and tossed the skirt onto the bed, so that I finally could admire her thighs, whose cross-section was nicely oval.

She seemed younger today, like a girl taking ballet lessons: barefoot and fleet-footed, as she was moving about. But she really seemed to be thinking what her options were. It was pretty awesome that I still didn’t know if she had arranged everything, or if it was really all a coincidence. But she probably knew that she looked ravishing in her pantyhose, without a skirt.

It was funny that we had talked about wearing dresses and skirts, possibly with stockings or tights, but now she was presenting herself in the only option we hadn’t talked about – just when I wondered I had seen everything. Okay, not too long ago, during our anal preparations, on the day I had met Casey, Nguyet had been sporting a blouse and pantyhose, coming out of the bathroom. With no panties. I then had cut her stockings in the crotch and played with her sphincter. And yes, there was also her one-piece swimsuit that was open in the crotch, so she could parade her pussy around. But pantyhose and no skirt?! No, I absolutely loved it. Beguiling. Definitely.

But what would she do now?

“I mean; do you mind?” she asked.

“That you aren’t wearing a skirt? Nope, not at all… I love it… if you want, I’ll take off my pants, too… so that we’d be even…”

She smiled, while she was looking down on herself. She was actually wearing lacy, turquoise panties, which were kinda see-through, so that I could make out some pubic hair. Which led me to believe that she had planned everything. Or maybe not. But, no, yes, everything was fricking salacious.

“Aah, nonsense…” she played down the problem. “Leave your pants on,” she laughed. “I’ll go and try to clean the skirt, and then we’ll eat, huh?”

While she had been talking, she had covered her crotch with both hands, but now she realized that that would make for an awkward walk. She picked up the skirt, while I pushed myself off the doorframe with my shoulder, and then we sauntered back to the alcove, where I fixed myself another beer and lit a ciggy.

Did she actually think about all this while she was working at her desk, or were all those neat little ideas and setups spontaneous revelations? Everything seemed so natural, yet it fit what we were about to do so perfectly.

“Or you just put it back on… your skirt, I mean,” I suggested. “I mean, you’re working here… and sometimes, one gets dirty…”

“Well, Mister Ben, that’s nice of you… but I can’t sit here in a dirty skirt… I mean, aren’t we on some kind of date?”

Oh, that saucy little minx! So, she couldn’t present herself in a dirty skirt, but just pantyhose was proper on a date? Awesome! Oh, she knew how to turn me on – and then, in turn, herself. But I loved it. Of course. Absolutely.

I could hear the water running in the nearest room and took a sip of my beer. Her little ass had looked hot in her pantyhose when she had been walking away from me to take care of her skirt. My cock had already twitched a couple of times and did so again, as she was walking towards me now – elegant, like a professional dancer at a rehearsal.

As she was wiping the table, she eventually landed between my legs, of course, and pressed her butt towards me, which prompted me to fondle her little cheeks through the soft material, which was at least 95 percent cotton. Her pantyhose was neither thin nor thick, and at some point she remarked from the other end of her torso that she had really liked our last session, when I had fucked her from behind.

“It was so nice that we talked so much during sex… see, with Huy, it’s different: we talk first but then we always stop when we do it… but both together was pleasant…” she insisted again.

Should I have her confirm the carte blanche? Now would be a good moment, perhaps. But it would also have been kinda clumsy, I decided, and commented instead:

“Well, in many ways, sex is communication,” but I was too distracted to elaborate on my point.

Elaborate I did on her tantalizing little ass, though. Not sure if she wanted to eat first or me to pull her pantyhose down right away, I traversed a bit more over her nimble tight, petite MILF body, but when she rested her torso on her forearms on the table, I slowly pulled her lovely legwear down.

Her oval, firm buttocks, which were roughly the size of my hands, snapped out, and I could feel my cock stiffening. The crotch piece of her panties today was really narrow, so that I pulled it apart, wetted my fingertips in her treasure, and began to caress her brown anus funnel. I could hear her pant and giggle, but when I proposed to communicate on the sexual plane right here and then, she stopped me:

“Oh, Mister Ben, let’s eat first…”

And so I just licked her whitish sticky juice off my fingers and pulled her pantyhose back up, like one would do with one’s little sister. I took good care that the waistband wasn’t twisted, before I squeezed her little cheeks once more and slapped her like a little pony.

Chuckling, she wiggled herself out from between my legs and the table and disappeared down the hall here to my right. I cracked another beer open and then watched her come back with a large rectangular glass container, which was covered with tin foil. The knife in her hand looked daunting, but I liked how she took the cover off with panache. Like a magician. Now, I was looking at some meat pie that had a yellowish-brown crust, a bit like her anus. With her teeth clamping her tongue, she cut horizontally and vertically twice, each, during which I fondled her supple ass again. Jesus, shouldn’t I just take off my pants, at least?

I cracked another beer open, instead, and dropped some ice in our glasses, as one does in Vietnam with room-temperature beer. She pulled the bowl closer to the edge of the table and now used the large knife like a cake spatula.

“We don’t need silverware, do we?” she asked rhetorically, inviting me to grab a piece of the puff pastry.

I could immediately identify the meat, of course, as well as onions and carrots, but the whole concoction reminded me of Indian food, as there also was some curry in there. It struck me as highly unusual for a Vietnamese lunch dish, especially since Nguyet insisted that she had baked it herself. The pie was barely lukewarm, but then, in the tropics, lunch is better not too hot, anyway. When I had finished my first slice, she insisted I eat one more and leaned forward again, over the glass dish, so that the flakes wouldn’t fall on the table.

Since the layers of dough were crisp, I focused on the eating process myself. Basically, we were taking turns now leaning forward over the glass dish. At least, I had had the presence of mind only to use my left hand to hold the food, so that I could still use my other hand to caress her thigh, which made my cock pump more eagerly – and probably gave her a few more batches of gooey juices.

“Do you know what we could do after lunch?” she suddenly asked, with her mouth full, chewing.

I had been wondering what we could talk about now, but when I didn’t instantly reply, she continued:

“I don’t know if you’ll like the idea… you know, it is a bit nippy today… but I’ve found a room with a bathtub… on the second floor… and I know where the fuses are for the hot water heater,” she grinned.

Before I could reply to her fulminant proposal, I had to chew and swallow my food. Eventually, I agree, of course:

“Oh, yeah, sure… that would be awesome…”

“But I gotta wash myself first… I sweated quite a bit when I was cleaning earlier…” she added.

“I can’t imagine you smelling bad, to be honest…” was all I could think of as a reply.

When I had been talking, a flake of the crust had leaped from my mouth onto her thigh, which I now picked up gingerly. I cannot even say when exactly, but then I had the glorious idea of taking the food upstairs, where we could continue to eat in the bathtub. And have two more beers.

“Well, Mister Ben, I guess we could do that… good call!” she exclaimed excitedly and nodded.

And so we got up and went. I was carrying the bag with the cans and the ice, and since she had opened the top-two buttons on her blouse, I could now even ogle her décolleté, as we were ascending. Her bobbing tits were small, but they fit and decorated her slender, small frame perfectly. Oh no, yes, she knew what she was doing. Everything seemed super-innocent, although I was sure that the last half-an-hour had cost quite a bit of brain power beforehand. But now we had arranged the situation to our benefit, and nothing could go adrift anymore. Nguyet seemed wonderfully chipper and remarked, along the lines of our role-play, that for the first time a man would see her completely naked now.

“But, I guess, it’s about time… I mean, I can’t have sex and stay dressed, can I?!” she added.

“Oh, speaking of: How was your weekend with Huy?” I asked her, as she was pretending she saw him between our breaking-in lessons.

I still wasn’t sure if that was actually the case. Back in April, the day I had met Casey, Nguyet had told me that she had broken up with him, since he was still living with his ex-wife. I wasn’t sure if Nguyet and him had reconnected since, or if she was just using her relationship with Huy as a ‘background foil’, for the lack of a better term.

“Oh, we didn’t see each other this weekend… he was busy… he’s a doctor at the hospital… but one of the other doctors got sick, you know…”

Well, that could have been true, but I didn’t want to talk about him and their purported adventures too much as, in the end it didn’t matter. After we had put the dish and the drinks on the wide edge of the bathtub, Nguyet undressed and went into the shower, where she made sure to only expose her back and butt to me. I could see the charming black fluff between her porcelain cheeks. I took a whiff of her pantyhose and arranged the drinks and food neatly, so that we could eat and drink with ease once we were sitting in the water.