Slow burn little girl

It was just days before he turned 66 and she turned 44. Despite being 22 years apart, these two have shared something special for a very long time.

Their first meeting was via Redhotpie, which led to a boutique cafe on Sydney's north shore on a rainy day. They ended up sipping their coffee in her car because that little cafe was full! That was about 7 years ago, when he was freshly leaving his marriage and in a state of flux, and she was still exploring her sexuality but was looking for something special. The sparks were present, but not the opportunity, as they continued their respective journeys, despite a memory being made.

Fast forward several years, he had divorced, relocated and settled into a new life with freedom to do as he pleased, including indulging in his kinks. She was deeply immersed in the kink scene, and Fetlife brought them back in contact. Again, the opportunity was not there, but this time the communication was not lost.

The conversation flowed from where they left off, and sparks flew even brighter than before. Now she was stuck in a stagnant relationship that never went anywhere, and he was experiencing the trauma that social media can bring. The shared swinging lifestyle gave opportunity for ethical non-monogamy, but no opportunity for more.

Once respective relationships ended and the drama had passed, communication grew into comfort. The friendship grew into closeness. Verbal intimacy and trust appeared. As for opportunity, it was now sought, desired, and planned, despite the uncertainty of what may or may not eventuate. Excitement, albeit cautiously, had set in.

He arrived on a full moon night into her special wilderness retreat, so far away yet so familiar to him. Non-stop conversation full of eagerness to share her world, which to her delight, he absorbed in detail. They chatted over dinner and hot tea well into the early hours. He was present. He listened. He understood. He collaborated. She showcased her specialties. He shared his knowledge and his point of view.

That morning, they touched. It was sensual and exploratory sex. A renewal of what was briefly examined years ago. His presence, validated. The attraction, verified. The vanilla "ground zero" was established as a base from which the next session was to evolve.

She woke up an hour earlier than anticipated. Warm in bed, wrapped in her girly check flannelette pjs, she stirred, waiting for him. Before long, he was in her room and naked in her bed. She cuddled him, stroking the hair on his chest. He held her close, enjoying her caresses before allowing his hands to wander over her body.

Over her flannelette, his fingers danced, igniting erotic thoughts as he discovered an erect nipple, the shape of which he ever so gently traced over the cloth material. The wandering hand found another nipple in an equally excited state and gifted it the same subtle teasing. She had sensitive nipples, and he capitalised. Furthermore, caressing her nipples so softly, almost secretly over a flannel top, incited a dirtier desire.

She whimpered under his slow teasing; at times, this gentle stimulus was too much to tolerate. On the outside, his touch appeared slow, lazy and almost careless. Rather, it was well controlled and conducted with intentional restraint. The caresses were so subtle, it felt forbidden, it felt dirty and kinky.

Eventually, his hands went under her pyjama top, lifting the material to expose her now highly erect nipples to the open air. His hands touched her musky skin, warm from her sleep. From the arch of her back, to across her belly to the space between her breasts, his hands touched her slowly, only occasionally circling the peaks of her breasts, arousing her desire for more.

Lips joined his hands to explore the warmth of her upper body. He laid on top of her, his hands under her back, lifting her chest to meet his mouth. He smothered his face on her skin, kissing, licking her all over, allowing himself to suck on those screaming nipples, now for his pleasure as much as hers. The gentleness had given way to increasing roughness as his fingers, lips, and tongue took pleasure from her exposed body.

She moaned and groaned and squirmed under him. Her hips pushing up against him, wiggling her rear as she felt the moisture between her legs grow. Watching him enjoy himself with her body, his lofty grey hair bouncing on his forehead as he sucked her nipples, his white beard rubbing against her brown skin, was a huge turn-on. Now and then, their eyes met, those beautiful, soft, large blue-green eyes under bushy brows, surrounded by well-dug wrinkles, looking at her face, a silent statement of control and dominance.

He lifted himself off her and suddenly pulled off her pyjama pants. Except for her flannelette shirt, now tucked up under her chin, she was naked. He spread her legs and spread her lips and explored what lay in between with his fingers, looking intently into her pink womanhood. She watched him and grasped the erotic image. The silhouette of his body, his shoulders, his chest, and his long arms as he gazed upon her body.

He put his lips to her skin again, now kissing her inner thighs, from the outer to the inner labia, circling her clitoris while a finger or two slipped inside. He manually brought her close to orgasm but halted. In almost the reverse of dripping hot wax, he dropped several drops of cold lube directly on her clit and allowed it to flow into her vagina. She yelped and squirmed, but soon started to moan as his eager erection plunged inside.

His fucking advanced to rolling her onto her side and pulling her to the edge of the bed. Arse up, top leg bent at the hip, he could see her pussy open and ready as he entered and fucked her. That erotic image of the frame of his body entered her mind, watching and feeling all of him.

He was 66, she was 44, but she felt like she was much younger being taken by a fully grown man. It was so deliciously taboo. The little girl asleep in her flannel pyjamas, being teased into sex by a dominant daddy, a dirty old fucker who is now having his way. Her facial expression changed to reflect her thoughts, and he picked up on it immediately.

He brushed her hair as you would a little girl, gently stroking her hair away from her face, and in stark contrast, as his thrusts got deeper and rougher. I am going to fuck you till I cum, he exclaimed. With that, he held her hips with one hand and caressed her face with the other, clearly aroused by the taboo scenario and fucked her in full flow until he exploded.

They cuddled again, in the afterglow. Him naked, but she pulled down her flannelette shirt, returning to almost the same position they were in at the start. The debriefing conversation confirmed that they had both entered the same taboo space and how wonderful an experience it was, marvelling at the alignment of their kinks.

A quick glance at the time, reality set in, as it was time to get going. And then what next? Will it be years before the next opportunity? Then suddenly, he did something she had been waiting for him to do since his arrival two days ago. He kissed her. It was soft, brief, and gentle on the lips. Despite the subtlety, that kiss had intention...

A slow burn, she told herself, let it be a slow burn.