Orphans Of The Storm - Sex Stories

Orphans Of The Storm

... chin to my throat, then onto my chest, a breathless kiss for every step en route to somewhere I can only imagine, and I picture her kneeling in front of me, my cock in her mouth. My arousal is quick and hard and I know she must feel it against the soft curve of her stomach. Small sexy bites send shivers down my spine, whilst warm hands pull at my shirt. I instinctively return her lust and slide my hand under her skirt; a madness in my passion that I'd never known before. Her legs part for me, and I feel the heat against my hand. She responds with soft, feminine sighs, which I find breathlessly alluring. Our hungry hands pulling, undoing and opening, and her top falls to the ground, followed by my shirt. Then just as my fingers find her wetness, her body goes rigid and she pushes me away. "No! Stop! We can't, this isn't right!" Her hand's cover her naked breasts. I back further away, scared of what I'd done. Had I forced myself upon her? Had I taken advantage of her drunkenness? She'd warned me about having another beer. Had I misread the signs? "What's wrong? I thought you wanted to...," I'm alarmed by the sudden change between us. "I went too fast, didn't I." My voice gets louder, angry at my own stupidity. "It's your mum isn't it? Oh fuck! I'm so sorry!" "No, you don't understand. Please, I did want to." She reaches out a hand, but I refuse it. A perfect brown nipple comes into view, defying me to turn away. I don't want to be like some stereo-typical man, I want to show ...

... her that I'm different. That I'm a gentleman, wise and understanding. Yet somehow my male pride gets in the way and her rejection becomes too strong for me. "Its my age isn't it? I'm too old for you, you don't have to deny it. Next, you'll be saying, 'its me, not you'. Please spare me that one at least." I shout at her in anger and hate myself for doing it. If the tornado is coming I want it to come now. I don't care about hiding under the table anymore. It seemed romantic a few moments ago, but now the idea is hateful. Let the wind come and do its worst and break my guilt. I quickly drink my beer and open another, anything to block out the reality and the awful coldness between us. "I need to tell you something, I need to explain." her face is pleading with me now and she pulls her top over her head, shielding herself from me. "You don't have to, it's ok. I completely understand. Why would ' you', fancy ' me'? " I could hear my own voice, full of self-pity. "Don't be like that, please. It doesn't suit you." Suddenly she seems much older than her years, she's become the teacher and I'm the half-witted and embarrassed pupil. "Please let me explain," she adds, rushing her words. "I want to tell you everything, then maybe you'll understand. You see, like your mum, I was born in Southern Spain. I never knew my father, and I lived alone with my mother, who had been cast out by her family. They couldn't accept her pregnancy, she was only sixteen - it was awful for both of us yet the ...