Sexual Biography of a Young Woman Pt. 15

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Well the “new” photo came up quickly, for Lit that is. I hope you like the studious Sammi look. I’ll have to select the next one soon, any suggestions?

I hope you are all still enjoying me and thanks for the feedback, most of which is gratefully received. I try to reply to all and as quickly as possible. I’ve made some good friends through the feedback and have found corresponding with them a real pleasure, well mostly.

If you have read the previous parts, you will know the score, so you can skip the rest of the intro and go straight to the action. If you haven’t read them, I would strongly suggest you do. You see the accounts flow naturally and are intrinsically linked. In most parts, and particularly in this one where DD features strongly, I refer back to what has happened in previous parts, so they really do need to be read in the sequence I wrote them.

Nevertheless, whatever way you do read them, I hope you enjoy them and get as great amount of pleasure from reading them as I do from writing them for you, well and me. Please feel free to leave whatever comments you wish or e-mail me if you prefer.

My bio, Part 15

A night with DD and bucket loads of anticipation about mum.

Chapter 1

Mum was sitting on the patio in the sun when I got home from DD’s. She was wearing one of those men’s type vests that have thin shoulder straps and a scooped front with a hem that reaches just beneath the waist, and bikini panties. She had been swimming and her long, usually wavy, chestnut coloured hair was hanging down straight framing her beautiful face and falling onto her bare, nicely tanned shoulders.

I couldn’t see if the bikini panties were wet so I didn’t know if she had been swimming naked, as she often did. I could see most clearly, though, that she was not wearing a bra, so I knew she would have been swimming topless, as she almost always does.

She looked fantastic, even with no make up.

“Was it a good shoot?” She asked, for she now knew I was doing glamour photographic modelling.

A couple of months ago, one of her friends, a professional photographer, had seen my entry in a studio’s online portfolio of models. He had asked mum about it and downloaded the four or five shots and sent them to her. She had confronted me one evening. I naturally lied, but when she said for me to look at the shots on her PC, I had nowhere to go. So, I owned up to it and told her all about it, well not all, not about the extras, of course. She had been surprisingly cool about her twenty-year-old daughter stripping off to her undies and more and posing for photographers, but then my mum was always relaxed about most aspects of sex.

When I’d been looking at her PC, I had poked around a bit and had been amazed to find a file containing some tastefully erotic shots of her. “No wonder”, I had thought, “she was so cool about me doing it!” I hadn’t mentioned it to her, but that evening when I masturbated, it was those photos that were uppermost in my mind.

I had had similar sexual feelings about her for some months now. They started that day when I arrived home unannounced and walked into the small gym behind the garage. I saw her and her personal trainer kneeling on a mat. His tracky trousers were round his knees, the top of her leotard was round her waist. She was holding his erect cock; he was cupping her bare breasts. It looked as though she was just about to take him into her mouth, or slide his erection between her lovely tits.

Since then my feelings about her had become so muddled and confused.

When I had been in Spain with her there was a wet and cold day. I had gone to her room and she had said. “Come on let’s cuddle up in bed and watch TV.” A simple motherly gesture to her, but to me a suggestion that was full of sexually provocative undertones. We didn’t cuddle up, but we did lay there for a couple of hours our legs often touching. I was trembling with excitement the whole time.

There had been several other occasions when I was with her and suddenly a rush of sexual want flooded through me. I didn’t understand it and I found it hard to control. I wanted to hold her, kiss her, feel her body against mine. I wanted to make love to my own mother.

I knew I was bi. I found that out during the year and a half I spent at university. I found it out with Stephanie Gordon, an immensely clever economics student, a beautiful looking tall woman three years older than me. We had a fling all the time I was there.

Despite knowing and being comfortable about being bi, but then most girls my age mess around with other females now and then don’t they, it was not that easy to accept that those feelings extended to my mother. However, after experiencing them, with increasing intensity for the best part of a year now, I had to accept that they existed and desperately sought ways to handle them. So far, I had succeeded, but I had doubts as to how long I could control myself.

Mum, you see, had me when she was nineteen. She is only just forty, but could easily pass karataş escort bayan for early thirties, particularly in a nice light. Several times, we have been mistaken for sisters, oddly by guys like pool attendants or men in bars!

She is stunning looking with a more rounded body and figure than mine and lustrous, long chestnut hair. She has fuller lips and bigger eyes than I do and other than our noses and chins, we do not look muck like each other. I sometimes wonder if I am really hers, for even in temperament, attitudes and approach we are not alike. Her most striking feature, among many, is her breasts. They simply are awesome and are still firm and pert despite both my brother and me having suckled them when young. Actually, the word that always comes to my mind when I see them, as I could now underneath the thin vest, is luscious. They are full and round, firm yet wobbly as they should be and are capped with deep pink, quite large nipples with nicely sized centres, even when uncrossed.

“Yes it was fine thanks,” I replied, pouring myself a glass of wine.

“And did you have a good time at Bec’s?” she asked mentioning the friend I had used as the excuse for not coming all night.

“Yes it was good to see her after all this time”, I lied.

There probably wasn’t all that need to tell porkys about spending the night with a guy, for mum really was cool about my sex life. I did not think she was quite ready yet, though, to learn that her daughter was sleeping with a guy that was older than she was, and on top of that, if she met DD, he’d probably fall for her!

“Have you had a nice morning?”

“Ok, I’ve done my laps, did some exercises and had my daily row with your father.”

“Was it bad?”

“Pretty bad, the bastard really is getting mean, but then he usually does when he’s trying to fund a new project.”

Mum and dad had recently “officially” parted. It was probably the fourth time. This time, though, did look to be a little more permanent, for he had moved to Spain where he was trying to get a huge building development project underway. He had left mum with the house and two cars, the MINI Cooper S, she and I shared, and the Porsche Cayenne 4 x 4 which I hated. He was paying the household bills but not her credit cards. This meant she was not able to indulge her habit, feed her craving or satisfy her tremendous need …….. for shopping that is! Thus, the number of Jimmy Choo, Fendi, Gucci and Louis Vuiton bags had dwindled to a mere trickle making her as mad as hell.

It was also, why I now lived with her in the large six bedroom rambling house in the suburbs of Essex, just outside London. I had been living in a flat dad owned in trendy Islington, but that had gone by the board, so now I had a daily commute into London to get to college, and what a fucking drag that was, I hated it.

“How’s it going?” I asked, pretending not to look but ogling like hell as she leaned forward to pick up the wine bottle, which I noticed was as good as empty. I glanced at my watch and saw that it wasn’t yet noon.

“He’s being so bloody-minded and I do think it really is over this time”, she went on answering a different question to what I asked for I meant with the project.

I was on tenterhooks staring down the front of her vest. I could see the lovely golden globes jiggling as she moved, the flesh glistening and almost all of the deep pink of both of my mother’s nipples. It was all I could do to stop myself reaching out, sliding my hand down the front of her vest and cupping her luscious tits. Of course I didn’t. Instead I went to my room, stripped completely naked and imagined I was, as I finger fucked myself to a moody, moaning and not at all satisfying orgasm.

Chapter 2

I had heard the bleep as a message was left on my mobile just as James was running his tongue along the crease of my pussy. It didn’t seem polite to stop him, especially as he was paying a hundred pounds for the privilege of orally giving me an orgasm.

I checked my messages in the cab on the way home after finishing the shoot in the studio in Hackney, a few miles from Central London. I used this studio as much as I could for it had good changing facilities for the models, including a shower. That was essential nowadays, for quite often I ended the session having had cum on my breasts or face and having been very wet between my legs.

I was not that surprised to see that the message was from DD, David Durkins, my lover. Yes lover, not boy friend, partner, intended or friend, but lover. Such an evocative word and apt description. I had met him when I was at university. He was a lecturer in his late thirties, married with two children and I felt, unusually for me, that he was drop dead gorgeous; I do not accord many men with that description! Not just to look at, but to talk to and to think with and both of the latter are far more important to me than the former. DD had a great body, a wonderful mind and a sparkling personality. On top karkamış escort bayan of that he was a bit of a philanderer, had a wandering eye, fancied me and could fuck like a superman; what more could a girl ask for?

He was, of course, married. His type always are aren’t they? She was a little older than him, about forty-four, when he and I started. She was petite and very slim, titless I called her, with short hair cut in a sensible style and I suppose, in an elfish way, she was quite pretty, a bit like Audrey Hepburn, but without the fab eyes. She had thin lips and slightly slitty eyes making her look hard and stern, which I learned from DD, was how she really was. Hard, stern, cold and standoffish. How the fuck such a warm, handsome, loveable catch as David had married her I had no idea, but then I am biased.

She is some form of highflying civil servant and works on EU issues meaning she travels a lot to Brussels and Stuttgart. As both of their children are at boarding school that usually provides DD and me with ample opportunities to pursue our affair. It had been even easier when I was at uni for he then lived in Bristol whilst the bitch stayed in London, they would meet at weekends. However, shortly after I left Bristol DD landed a great job at London University so he followed me up to the smoke, yeah I wish, it was pure coincidence, but a nice one. The only real fly in the ointment was that as Mr. and Mrs. Durkins were both hugely successful and frantically busy careerists they had to have live in help in the large townhouse in Highgate. Luckily, she had a couple of afternoons and Monday evenings off so you can guess when I got my DD fixes can’t you?

I txt back.


Quite quickly a reply came through.

“Hi how are things?”

I took a moment or two thinking about my reply. I hadn’t seen David for almost a month, actually when I thought about it, it was nearer six weeks and even though my sex drive isn’t that high, that’s a long time with out full sex. He and the bitch were going through one of their regular attempts at mending their marriage and at such times, by mutual agreement, we had no contact.

“Gd ty and u?”

“With her, f awful, other things fine”

“Gr8.” I sent back.

The phone rang.

“HI Sam,” he said, his warm, chestnut voice sending a pang of something through my body.

“Hello David how are you?”

“Missing you, badly.”

“So it didn’t work then?”

“No, not properly, but we are staying together, for the children.”

I was pleased, for although I yearned for him and loved being with him, I didn’t want that to become too permanent, I didn’t want to be too tied or entangled and, quite frankly, I got a kick from the illicitness of our affair.

“Best way.” I said, truthfully.

“But my resolve is fading Sam.”

“How do you mean?”

“I still want you so badly.”

“Oh David.”

“Sam I really do.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“I know but I do, don’t you.”

I paused before whispering. “Yes.”

“When can I see you?”

“When do you want to,” I replied a bit lamely.

DD and I have never played games with our affair. We are both very aware that it will never really go anywhere, in some ways that’s its attraction. We know we sort of love each other, but equally we know we are not in love. It’s sexual convenience for both of us that lies at the heart of our affair. So I did not have to play the “persuade me role”. I had told him when he had said about the latest attempted reconciliation that I would wait, and I had, but now that was over.

“What are you doing now?”

He did not know about my modelling, after all why should he.

“Er just on my way home from college.”

“You’re still living with your mum are you?”


“So any chance this evening? Would you like to make a detour?” He knew that Highgate was broadly on my way home to Essex.

Fortunately, I knew the driver well, for I used him frequently to cart me and my gear to and from jobs.

“Hold on a mo,” I said, covering the phone.

“Mike,” I said to the driver, “would you mind doing me a favour?”

“What’s that Sammi?”

“Keeping my gear in your boot overnight, you’re collecting me tomorrow.”

“Sure, no problem.”

“Thanks mate, so can you drop me in Highgate then?”

“Sure, no problem, heavy date?”

Feeling elated and excited I smiled. “Yes something like that”, as I uncovered the phone.

“I’ll be there in half hour David, have the kettle on won’t you?”

“Fantastic, yes I will, see you soon then.”

“Mmmm, very soon.”

I phoned mum and gave her some yarn about meeting an old friend Becky, who she vaguely knew, but would not have a phone number or anything, and that I was staying the night at her flat.

As we drove through North East London away from the rather depressing inner city deprivation of Hackney towards the leafy up market area of Highgate, I was thinking of kilis escort bayan the last time I had been to DD’s house. It had been an absolute fucking disaster!

We had been out to lunch and we were both a bit pissed. I had hardly got inside the house and DD hadn’t even closed the front door when were frantically kissing and tearing at each other’s clothes. He got my top off and bra unclipped and I had undone all the buttons on his shirt while we were still in the hallway. I went to make for the stairs, but only got half way up when he caught me and pulled me down. He roughly, for that was what the mood demanded, got my jeans and panties round my knees as he held me face down on the staircase in real Renee Rouso, what a sexy woman she is, in The Thomas Crown Affair style. DD was on top of me pushing my legs apart and squeezing and pinching my bum as he prepared to enter me from behind. It was just as his hard, hot cock touched my pussy lips that the titless bitch came home!!!

You can see now why they had to be working at some sort of reconciliation!

He opened the door saying. “Well the kettle is on and that’s all.” He was stark bollock naked holding his mobile phone in his hand.

“Shush, don’t say a word”, he whispered as he pressed a few keys and showed me the number that was clearly international. He pushed the loudspeaker button and I heard his wife’s voice. They chatted a bit in a distant and rather cold manner with her telling him she was just about to go to the official dinner. They finished the call with no affectionate sign off and certainly no, I love you, as many married couples do, even my mum and dad who clearly do not love each other. But at least, it was clear the titless bitch would not be disturbing us this time.

He took me into his arms and we kissed. It was sublime, it was tender, it was affectionate, it was passionate and so fucking exciting that I almost started to cum on the spot. I had never been kissed by a naked man when I was fully dressed. It’s wonderful and I can thoroughly recommend it.

“So no surprises this time then,” I whispered kissing his chest and slipping my hand between us to stroke his growing erection.

“Nope, no chance,” he replied gripping both of my bum cheeks and pulling me harder against him before breaking away and going back to the front door saying, “but just in case,” as he slid the bolts across.

He kissed me again, deep, hard and long and pressed the firmness fullness of his, now, fully enlarged cock against my tummy. God it was sensational and made me so want him.

I moved back a few inches as he slid the jacket I was wearing over the tee shirt and jeans off my shoulders. His mouth engulfed mine, his tongue plunged into my throat and his fingers wiggled their way into the waist of my low cut jeans. He pushed them further down until both sets of fingers were digging into the fleshy fullness of the cheeks of my bum. I felt so rampant and adventurous. I leaned back, got hold of the tee and pulled it up. I pulled it up and up, across my waist, over my stomach past my breasts and over my head. I threw onto the black and white, tiled hallway floor. His mouth immediately went to my boobs searching for and finding my enraged nipples inside my bra. I reached into each cup and eased my tits out to give him better access and provide me with more pleasure. His mouth on those flaming pink buds after so long was fantastic and we both felt a further forceful surge of passion and need.

“Ok bitch”, he growled. “We’ve got some unfinished business haven’t we?”

I didn’t know what he meant, but I quickly found out.

He manoeuvred me towards the stairs, but it was not until we had fumbled our way up four or five with our mouths clamped together and our hands roaming the other’s body that I realised what he meant. Fucking Renee Rouso I thought as again he pushed me face down on the stairs. Kneeling behind me, he pushed his bent leg upwards so it pressed right against my pussy. I squirmed against it and that was good, he pushed harder and I forced myself more firmly backwards. He was fucking me with his leg, I realised, as he built up the orgasmic sensations in me. At the same time as he was doing that, I felt his hands pulling at the waistband of my jeans, I wasn’t wearing a belt. As a slavish follower of fashion, the waistband was more round my hips, round that fleshy part of a woman, than round my waist.

They were sliding down, with the brass button still done up and the zip in place. I felt my hips, then the upward swell of my bum then all of it being exposed. Oddly, at first, the sensation that was paramount in my mind was the slight chill I felt and the thought that hit me was relief that I had put panties on after the session, for sometimes I didn’t

However, the time for rational sensations and thinking was gone. My jeans were now almost down to my knees and DD was pulling the thong to one side. Hey, hang on, no he wasn’t. He wasn’t simply pulling it to one side; no, he wasn’t just moving the material, readjusting the gusset and exposing my pussy so he could get at it. He was yanking at it, pulling it, stretching it. “Oh fuck,” I thought, my heart pounding, “he’s going to tear it”. And that’s exactly what he did, he ripped the thong from me, making me whimper and moan with excitement and anticipation. It was an incredible feeling to have my knickers torn away from me.

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