She & Ms. Jones SeXStoRY

Note: Completely fictional, like all of my stories. My name’s Melissa, and I have a problem. I’ve known Ms. Jones for years, her daughter Vicki is my best friend. Ms. Jones lives alone, she’s single, and she kept the large house from the divorce. Vicki was about to go to Europe for grad school, and she invited me over for a sl**pover, a throwback from our grade school days. When I was 19, Vicki invited me over for after she had a bad break-up. I left to use the restroom down the hall, and I was walking back to the living room, Ms. Jones cornered me, and something inside of me didn’t want to say no. Her lips were soft, her skin softer than mine, and breasts that looked like they never aged a day, probably because she hadn’t had strong, coarse hands trying to squeeze them off of her chest for ten years. We were violently interrupted when Vicki started calling for me in the living room, jokingly worried that I had fallen in. I never had another encounter with a girl again, instead I was faced with the strange interactions of college guys, intellectual and otherwise. Back to my problem, after a night of cheesy movies and a stack of homemade almond macaroons provided by Ms. Jones, Vicki and I fell asl**p on the living room floor. I was shaken awake to find Ms. Jones standing over me, worried that the moans I make in my sl**p were signs of pain. “I’m ok, Ms. Jones, I promise, it’s just an issue I’ve had for a few months, where’s Vicki?” “She’s sl**ping in her room,” Ms. Jones responded, “her back was hurting. Do you want some company?” I wasn’t sure if I should have taken that sexual or not, but I wanted the company, especially because of the weird creaks the house made when the wind hit it the right way. She laid down in the blanket next to me, and she faced me. She started “There’s something I wanted to get off of my chest. It was terrible of me to corner you the last time you were here a few years ago. The last thing I would want is for you to feel like you were f***ed into it.” I awkwardly smiled, fishing around for the right words, “Something inside of me couldn’t say no. I found you attractive, but I still feel like I betrayed Vicki in some way.” “ Did you tell her?” “I couldn’t. I was afraid that she would never talk to me again if I did, and your daughter has been there for me more than I have been for myself.” “I understand, thanks you.” She reached over to the cupped hands underneath my face and held them. She kissed them with those soft lips, and closed her eyes. I squeezed one of her hands, and used an exposed thumb to stroke the outside of the mass that was our intertwined hands. Her raven hair was beautiful, a light curl in it that I saw in Vicki’s, her cheekbones high, still speckled with the freckles that she must have had since she was a young girl. Her blue eyes slowly opened, and she smiled. “I’ve been thinking about you” she whispered. “I think I need you.” We scooted closer, started kissing, and our hands let go. As both of her hands were at my back, I moved mine inside her shirt and unhooked her bra. She shimmied out of the shirt and threw the bra over the couch. We pulled my shirt off and she started back to kissing me harder, the passion that I missed from years ago. She rolled me over and stratled me at the waist. She smiled menacingly and began kissing my collarbone. I slipped my hands into her panties and squeezed her ass. A shiver ran up her spine and she stood up and took off her panties. “I can’t handle this anymore. I need you so bad.” She slipped off mine and she started grinding her pelvic bone against mine, slowly, rhythmically. “I’m sorry this might be a little fast for you, but you have no idea how long it’s been.” I reassured her and she started to moan. I propped myself up and used the hand that wasn’t at her ass to hug her closer to my face. Her nipples were hard and she started moaning louder, grinding faster, and I had to bring my thoughts elsewhere from an orgasm. I laid back down flat and closed my eyes. I felt her place her weight on her hands and she was on the verge of coming. “Melissa, I’m ready…yes!” She nearly yelled. I orgasmed too, at the amazing sight of middle-aged, single-female, pre-menopausal, secretly in-need beauty. We put our clothes back on in an awkward sense of shame, and we fell asl**p in each other’s arms. I awoke the next morning to the smell of scrambled eggs and Vicki’s perfume filling the room as she entered. If you don’t see my problem, I shall tell you. Should I pursue a constant relationship with Ms. Jones, or should I move on?