Cynthia's Two Lives - Sex Stories

Cynthia's Two Lives

... Kenya, had made her think, again, about what motivated her to feel and behave as she now did.

Were her feelings, or latent lust for a gifted man, simply an acknowledgment that she had suppressed a promiscuous streak for long enough and that she should now give full expression to the woman she was or had been, a woman faithful to Jeffrey? Her trip to Kenya had confounded her for the ease she had fallen from grace, even if it was in her eyes only. But she’d had fun and had known of physical pleasure that had gone far beyond what she had believed possible, moments heightened by the knowledge of whom she had surrendered to and then coupled with.

Julian, the man who now possessed her thoughts, had given no overt sign of his attraction to her, but he had offered encouragement to the work that she did in the art club. Only too prosaic circumstances could be a cover for what played out between people when another’s eyes weren’t on them. In her case, she already knew that Julian had become engaged by her presence whenever the art club met.

“Just where am I to go with this if Julian acts on what his look upon me suggests is at work in him?”

She wrapped a thin dressing gown around her body and went downstairs. Alone for the day, and with Jeffrey away when the art club met, she had time to deal with all that now possessed her waking thoughts.

Dreams sometimes had a habit of becoming real.

♥

Seeing Cynthia again at the art club meeting had made him realize just how ...

... much he had missed the woman over the days since the last gathering. She was tall, and slim but not skinny, and possessed a lovely, softly tanned, complexion and skin, her greying hair like a crown and cut short and making her face all the better to see.

Yes, he hungered for the woman seen in her artist’s smock, a scarf tied casually around her neck; a woman with long slender legs, firm thighs, and a narrow waist that flared at the hips, her bum shaped so wonderfully by her slacks. And, he had taken delight in seeing the slow sway of her breasts under her ribbed, magenta-coloured, scoop-necked cotton jumper before her smock was put on. The sculptor in him, he who had crafted many pieces of a woman’s figure, imagined their weight, took pleasure again, now, on seeing their sensuous droop. He’d wondered about her and seeing Cynthia dressed so alluringly he no longer needed to reimagine how her nipples poked at the fabric of her jumper, that they were big and rounded.

“I sure want you, woman,” he murmured and felt the ache in his groin and the tightening in his sac. His prick needed a workout and he sure wanted it to be with her…while there was just the chance, now that her man was away for the day as he so often was with fellow car enthusiasts. Cynthia had offered this information when they had stopped to talk over a coffee, and as everyone attending the art club’s gathering took a break.

Something had provoked her into telling him that.

Now, the meeting was over and ...