Smita’s Smitten Boy-Bitch

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Green hedges flashed past the passenger window, occasional gaps and gates giving Ben glimpses of the fields of Warwickshire, the distant trees rendered grey by the March rain. Really not much to keep his attention from Smita’s wedding ring, glinting on her light brown finger below a deep red, painted nail whenever she turned the steering wheel.I really shouldn’t be doing this.He tried to steal a glance at her unseen, but she caught him instantly, her eyes crinkling into lines left by five decades of giving the same smile, and he quickly looked away — he didn’t want her to think he was having second thoughts.“Relax, Ben,” she said and placed that same hand that kept pulling his gaze on his jeans, making his skin look so pasty in comparison. He hoped she didn’t hear his intake of breath. “Patrick won’t be back from his conference until tomorrow, so we have all day and night to have fun.”Her brown eyes sparkled at him before she brought her hand back to the steering wheel. He swallowed and nodded.Don’t feel weird! Just because she’s as old as your mum doesn’t mean you’ve gone oedipal. “Tell me, Ben, who’s your favourite author?”“Terry Pratchett.” Blood rushed to his cheeks as he realised too late he should have lied and said something more sophisticated to a professor of English Literature, but the question had come out of nowhere.She smirked at him. “I should have guessed. No need to be embarrassed; I enjoy his books too. He was a very entertaining author. I always felt sorry for the character ‘Rincewind’.”“Rincewind? The cowardly wizard?”“Yes. Always running away from adventure instead of enjoying the one he’s having at the time. Don’t be a Rincewind and run from what scares you, Ben. You might find things out about yourself that you never knew. Trust me.”“Right, er, Smita.” It still seemed odd, calling her by first name rather than Professor Wilkins. “I won’t. Run, I mean.”The whole situation was surreal. Three years of having her as his course tutor and experiencing nothing but friendly professionalism. Three years of hiding his lust, even from himself. Three years of confusion at finding a woman the same age as his own mother invading his wet dreams. Acıbadem Escort Then one drunken confession at the Student Guild bar somehow led to clumsy fumbling in a dark corridor, and a week later he was accepting an invitation to her home, with no doubt as to what she had planned.Ben’s heart beat faster as they passed the sign announcing the name of a village, the first part obscured by a low hanging tree branch so that only ending, “bourne”, was visible. Fuck, I don’t even know where I’m going. I should ask. But he didn’t. Part of him wanted to let go completely and be totally lost.All moisture evaporated from his mouth when they turned into the local version of the same new housing estate found in every village in England — another reminder of adolescence, this time of visiting his friends’ houses. Friends with mothers he’d tried desperately not to ogle. Identical cream detached houses, perfect for the middle-class to have their home in the country without the inconvenience of an old house and the quirks of terrible insulation that brought. Comfortable, sure, but devoid of all character.Good job that architectural critique happened in my head; we’ve just pulled into the drive of one. He stared at the garage door, his mind going blank. Am I really doing this?“We’re here,” Smita said, popping the safety belt out and opening her door. She ducked back in, strands of black hair that had escaped her loose bun framing her face, large eyes capturing his before they could slide down her proffered cleavage. “Coming?”Gnawing on his lip, he wordlessly got out, almost falling when his legs tangled themselves in the straps of his backpack. Nervously, he scanned the surrounding windows for the twitching curtains he associated with these dens of judgemental hypocrisy but saw nothing. He shivered in the drizzle, regretting his decision to attempt at dressing up in a semi-smart shirt instead of his usual comfortable, invisibilising black hoody and t-shirt.It probably looks ridiculous with jeans and Cons, anyway. Oh well, it’s the thought that counts.Smita had certainly made an effort, though, between hurried train station pick-up Acıbadem Escort Bayan in the rain and driving, it was only now that he had the time to admire the tight navy blue dress hugging her figure. Not an outrageously slim figure attempting to conceal her years, but a gorgeously curvy one Ben struggled to avoid staring at every tutorial, although the indentations made by her underwear in her flesh were not usually quite so noticeable.So hot for a lady in her early fifties, he began thinking for the thousandth time and then caught himself. I should stop reminding myself of her age, he told himself, but it was hard. Fifty really shouldn’t count as old, but to a twenty-one-year-old, that was how it felt.She turned the key in the loan and entered, switching on the light to transform the doorway into an inviting golden gateway in the dreary early spring afternoon. He exhaled and entered. The door clicked shut, and she turned to him.Her fingers brushed his as she took his bag and dropped it under the coat rack. His safety net gone, he became hyper-aware of himself — the awkward way his arms hung at his sides, the millimetre gap between his dry lips, his bad posture. His gaze kept being drawn to the signs of their age difference, like the lines on her face or the faint wrinkles in her cleavage, so close and on display with the low cut of her dress.With a predatory glint in her eye, she advanced, her two-inch heels giving her a slight height advantage over him. She paused, giving him one last chance to back out.“I’ve been waiting all semester for this,” she told him.“M-me too,” he answered. “Longer, actually.”He could smell a perfume, but what do twenty-one-year-old men know about the perfume choices of women thirty years their senior? There was also the bite of tobacco from the cigarette she’d been smoking while she waited for him at the station and the faint taste of it in the air that you get in a smoker’s house. Another step, and their lips connected. Hers were soft, with a light down of fine hairs. He let go and melted into her. Lessons from his handful of exes flew out the window, forgotten, but she Escort Acıbadem was patient, guiding his tongue with hers when it flicked between her teeth.She tasted of cigarettes and mints.Pushing him back against the door he had just entered through, she pressed her body against his. He tried and failed to act more experienced than he was, moving his hands over her dress hesitantly, then, as he got bolder, descending down her back, pausing and then daring to grab her arse. Breaking from the kiss, he moved his mouth down her neck as he had seen in movies and pawed somewhat clumsily at her breasts, the nipple hardening against his palm through her clothes.Her hand slid confidently from his waist to the bulge straining at his jeans, squeezing it. In a smooth, elegant movement, she sank to her knees, her other hand sliding from his neck over his shirt to his fly. With practised fingers, she undid the buttons and freed him from the confines of his boxers, stroking the underside gently and smiling as it jerked upwards from her touch.“Mmmm, gorgeous, Ben,” she said. She gave it a playful kiss and then ran her tongue down to his balls and back again. “I love the taste of young cock.”She gave some more teasing licks, then opened her mouth and took him in. Though she kept her movements light, he worried he might cum right then, watching his dick disappear between her lips. Trying to delay his climax, he looked away, concentrating on the bland white and cream of the suburban home. A table by the stairs with a picture of her with a man he recognised from photos in her office as Patrick, her husband, caught his eye. Holiday snaps featuring his cheerful, bespectacled face and rather portly, frequently sunburnt semi-naked body covered the opposite wall.No wonder she wants a younger, slimmer model like me.Moments later, he spotted a photo of their wedding in Warwick — he remembered her telling him that just because she was born in Mumbai didn’t mean she got married there — showing him with less belly and more hair on his head. Next to it was a more recent one of the couple standing under a banner congratulating them on their silver anniversary, which gave him a jolt of guilt.Shit! Am I really willing to risk wrecking the poor man’s marriage for a fuck?Smita picked that moment to take a break and look up at him, smiling. Her wedding ring flashed in the light as she stroked her hand up and down his shaft, and a shiver of wrongness that felt so right ran down his spine.

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