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She was, to be point-blank, the sexiest woman alive. Over ten inches taller than I am, slim, with wild black hair almost to her waist. She moved sensuously, like a Chinese leopard. And even though Tekla was seven years older — I’m twenty-four — she always made my groin ache. I often wondered how her firm breasts, standing out like blunt missiles, could be natural on a woman that trim.

Moving into this exotic masseuse’s spare bedroom made for a more provocative landlady-tenant relationship than I could possibly have imagined. The agreement was that I be out of her house from ten to seven, so that she would be free to work her massage magic on her clients — on the very bed I slept in at night. Imagining all this consumed my office thoughts wholely: what her hands were doing while I keyboarded, what her hands would feel like on me, on my erection.

After the first week, I knew in my heart that it was a mistake to try to live there. I was so sexually excited and turned on by the overpowering sexual aura of this almond-colored goddess, I couldn’t concentrate. When I saw her sultry, slanted, almond eyes over cornflakes each morning, her filmy blue kimono with the obvious dark impressions of her thick, pointed nipples, I was on “simmer” for the day.

I looked forward to coming home every day and finding her dressed in an outfit even more revealing than the one she had tantalized me with the day before. The roll and sway of her taut legs and perky bottom under her long satin shirts or the way they glistened, so freshly depilated and oiled as she bent over in front of me, kept my mind off any television I had planned for late evenings.

It was easy to imagine kneeling before her and sucking and kissing her long toes when I watched her deep-red toenails glitter as she flexed her soft feet on the ottoman. Her every movement became a taunt and a reason for my cock to throb. I was constantly having painful erections.

By the end of the first month, I was almost exhausted from the constant state of arousal she kept me in. A few times I had to excuse myself from watching television or the VCR and go to the guest room to let the heat fade, fighting the urge to masturbate furiously while imagining it was her velvet pussy or her silken mouth sucking the juices of frustration from my hard-on. At night I had dreams of making love to her or just plain fucking her senseless.

That fateful Saturday night, I must have been starry-eyed with need when she glided into the den, rocking her hips in a come-fuck-me way. She looked straight into my eyes and whispered, “I bet you want a taste of my work, don’t you? Right on that bed. Well, you’ve been good. You deserve it.” My cock was already half hard and almost spilled on the spot. She was prepared to give me “a little rubdown” on the condition that I lie naked and waiting for her with my hands behind my head when she came to me. “Go now,” she said, dismissing me. “Wait for me like a good boy.”

Tekla came to me after an hour that seemed like an eternity. My hard-on raged between my legs, bobbing and throbbing with anticipation. I quickly assumed the hands-behind-the-head position as the door opened. I don’t remember what I expected her to be dressed in, but the opaque green kimono she wore revealed less than I’d hoped for. She neither looked at me nor spoke, not acknowledging my rigid offering to her sexuality, as she lit one candle on the nightstand and turned out the lights.

The house was totally silent, no appliances hummed and she made no sound moving on her bare feet. The only light in the whole house was the one candle, its warm light glinting once off her red toenails before they disappeared under the satin folds of her kimono. She sat facing me with her legs folded Hindu-style, her loose hair falling around her face.

Tekla straightened the front of her robe, which revealed only deep, soft cleavage between her enormous, swaying breasts. From a small bottle she poured a fragrant oil into her palms and rubbed it into her hands. I was sure she’d rub it onto my cock, but she reached for the closed front of her robe instead and massaged the slippery substance onto her nipples through the fabric.

I was amazed at how transparent the satin of her robe became as the oil soaked it; it adhered to her like a second skin, as if her breasts were made of naked silk. She smoothed the warm-smelling oil onto the robe from her neckline down across the swelling slopes of her gleaming breasts, down over her flat stomach to the wide V between her legs. As the oil penetrated her lower lips, I could smell another perfume in the heavy air as I watched her arouse herself. Tekla smoothed and pressed the glistening cloth into her hidden pussy lips, deep inside, with her index fingers, pulling the lips wide and stuffing more of the soaked fabric into herself. The cloth disappeared almost to the hem, slowly revealing her bare legs, from folded knees to shapely calves and hairless thighs.

As the minutes passed, she concentrated all her energies on her own satisfaction, pulling and pressing on the cloth stuffed between her legs as if it were a solid dildo, applying more oil to her engorged nipples and pinching them through the robe till she squeezed out droplets which ran down her arms to her elbows. She never reached inside the robe to touch her bare skin, preferring to satisfy herself through the silk barrier and beginning to rock and moan as she manipulated herself. I was completely ignored.

Rivulets of sweat were trickling down her face and running unabsorbed over the oil-soaked kimono by the time she arched up into her final paroxysm of orgasm. My loins were pounding with need. Drops of pre-come had dribbled down my erection.

Minutes passed. Tekla’s robe clung to her like green silk skin. It was parted to her navel in the front. I could see every wrinkle and nubbin of the crinkled nipples, on her magnificent swelling breasts, which rose and fell as she breathed. When she reached for my cock, even though she didn’t touch me, I could feel it in every fiber of my body. My passion was higher than I’d ever imagined, and I almost came as her blood-red talons raked the air around me. All I could feel was the heat of her hands scant millimeters away from my supersensitive cock-flesh, masturbating the air around me but never touching me. My hips arched involuntarily, and I looked up to see her knowing smile.

I almost jumped when her fingernail pricked my sphincter. Tapping slowly at first, then more firmly, she touched me there, making me writhe and gasp. She tapped a little higher, moving in delicate patterns my mind was fascinated to follow. I couldn’t tell when she moved higher, but in a while my balls were being covered by little stinging prickles all the way to the shaft of my manhood. The candle burned lower and began to flicker before she touched my aching erection. I was so sensitive that I could detect the pattern of her fingerprints on my skin.

I gasped in sexual agony once again as Tekla pulled a little of the fabric away from one bountiful breast, revealing a bit more of the soft, golden flesh I wanted to touch but wasn’t allowed to. Her thumb, glistening with oil, moved up the length of my cock too slowly, and she peeled back the fabric a bit more from her other breast, letting it sway an inch closer to my eyes. She stroked with thumb and forefinger up the length of me, but not back down, and paused to reveal another expanse of her slippery golden breasts. And so it went for long, agonizing minutes, touching, teasing, revealing, teasing, till at last the candle went out and we were in almost perfect darkness.

I heard a rustle of satin in the darkness. A powerful scent of musk overwhelmed my senses for a moment. My eyes were adjusting to the dark as the saturated satin covered my face and wet my skin with her orgasmic juices. I saw only a glimpse of her naked silhouette before being enfolded in darkness. It was more than I could stand when Tekla finally gripped my shaft firmly and shook it like a stick from side to side. The feel of the oiled satin against the raw meat at the tip of my shaft and the strength of her grip on my cock caused a gush of hot juices from deep inside me.

Even as the fruits of my passion jetted from my cock, I reached out and pulled her to me, pressing her hot lips to mine, crushing her luscious body against me. I finished coming as she slid from my grasp and out of the room. And I was permanently stamped with the memory of her flesh moving on my flesh.

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Naked Silk

She was, to be point-blank, the sexiest woman alive. Over ten inches taller than I am, slim, with wild black hair almost to her waist. She moved sensuously, like a Chinese leopard. And even though Tekla was seven years older — I’m twenty-four — she always made my groin ache. I often wondered how her firm breasts, standing out like blunt missiles, could be natural on a woman that trim.

Moving into this exotic masseuse’s spare bedroom made for a more provocative landlady-tenant relationship than I could possibly have imagined. The agreement was that I be out of her house from ten to seven, so that she would be free to work her massage magic on her clients — on the very bed I slept in at night. Imagining all this consumed my office thoughts wholely: what her hands were doing while I keyboarded, what her hands would feel like on me, on my erection.

After the first week, I knew in my heart that it was a mistake to try to live there. I was so sexually excited and turned on by the overpowering sexual aura of this almond-colored goddess, I couldn’t concentrate. When I saw her sultry, slanted, almond eyes over cornflakes each morning, her filmy blue kimono with the obvious dark impressions of her thick, pointed nipples, I was on “simmer” for the day.

I looked forward to coming home every day and finding her dressed in an outfit even more revealing than the one she had tantalized me with the day before. The roll and sway of her taut legs and perky bottom under her long satin shirts or the way they glistened, so freshly depilated and oiled as she bent over in front of me, kept my mind off any television I had planned for late evenings.

It was easy to imagine kneeling before her and sucking and kissing her long toes when I watched her deep-red toenails glitter as she flexed her soft feet on the ottoman. Her every movement became a taunt and a reason for my cock to throb. I was constantly having painful erections.

By the end of the first month, I was almost exhausted from the constant state of arousal she kept me in. A few times I had to excuse myself from watching television or the VCR and go to the guest room to let the heat fade, fighting the urge to masturbate furiously while imagining it was her velvet pussy or her silken mouth sucking the juices of frustration from my hard-on. At night I had dreams of making love to her or just plain fucking her senseless.

That fateful Saturday night, I must have been starry-eyed with need when she glided into the den, rocking her hips in a come-fuck-me way. She looked straight into my eyes and whispered, “I bet you want a taste of my work, don’t you? Right on that bed. Well, you’ve been good. You deserve it.” My cock was already half hard and almost spilled on the spot. She was prepared to give me “a little rubdown” on the condition that I lie naked and waiting for her with my hands behind my head when she came to me. “Go now,” she said, dismissing me. “Wait for me like a good boy.”

Tekla came to me after an hour that seemed like an eternity. My hard-on raged between my legs, bobbing and throbbing with anticipation. I quickly assumed the hands-behind-the-head position as the door opened. I don’t remember what I expected her to be dressed in, but the opaque green kimono she wore revealed less than I’d hoped for. She neither looked at me nor spoke, not acknowledging my rigid offering to her sexuality, as she lit one candle on the nightstand and turned out the lights.

The house was totally silent, no appliances hummed and she made no sound moving on her bare feet. The only light in the whole house was the one candle, its warm light glinting once off her red toenails before they disappeared under the satin folds of her kimono. She sat facing me with her legs folded Hindu-style, her loose hair falling around her face.

Tekla straightened the front of her robe, which revealed only deep, soft cleavage between her enormous, swaying breasts. From a small bottle she poured a fragrant oil into her palms and rubbed it into her hands. I was sure she’d rub it onto my cock, but she reached for the closed front of her robe instead and massaged the slippery substance onto her nipples through the fabric.

I was amazed at how transparent the satin of her robe became as the oil soaked it; it adhered to her like a second skin, as if her breasts were made of naked silk. She smoothed the warm-smelling oil onto the robe from her neckline down across the swelling slopes of her gleaming breasts, down over her flat stomach to the wide V between her legs. As the oil penetrated her lower lips, I could smell another perfume in the heavy air as I watched her arouse herself. Tekla smoothed and pressed the glistening cloth into her hidden pussy lips, deep inside, with her index fingers, pulling the lips wide and stuffing more of the soaked fabric into herself. The cloth disappeared almost to the hem, slowly revealing her bare legs, from folded knees to shapely calves and hairless thighs.

As the minutes passed, she concentrated all her energies on her own satisfaction, pulling and pressing on the cloth stuffed between her legs as if it were a solid dildo, applying more oil to her engorged nipples and pinching them through the robe till she squeezed out droplets which ran down her arms to her elbows. She never reached inside the robe to touch her bare skin, preferring to satisfy herself through the silk barrier and beginning to rock and moan as she manipulated herself. I was completely ignored.

Rivulets of sweat were trickling down her face and running unabsorbed over the oil-soaked kimono by the time she arched up into her final paroxysm of orgasm. My loins were pounding with need. Drops of pre-come had dribbled down my erection.

Minutes passed. Tekla’s robe clung to her like green silk skin. It was parted to her navel in the front. I could see every wrinkle and nubbin of the crinkled nipples, on her magnificent swelling breasts, which rose and fell as she breathed. When she reached for my cock, even though she didn’t touch me, I could feel it in every fiber of my body. My passion was higher than I’d ever imagined, and I almost came as her blood-red talons raked the air around me. All I could feel was the heat of her hands scant millimeters away from my supersensitive cock-flesh, masturbating the air around me but never touching me. My hips arched involuntarily, and I looked up to see her knowing smile.

I almost jumped when her fingernail pricked my sphincter. Tapping slowly at first, then more firmly, she touched me there, making me writhe and gasp. She tapped a little higher, moving in delicate patterns my mind was fascinated to follow. I couldn’t tell when she moved higher, but in a while my balls were being covered by little stinging prickles all the way to the shaft of my manhood. The candle burned lower and began to flicker before she touched my aching erection. I was so sensitive that I could detect the pattern of her fingerprints on my skin.

I gasped in sexual agony once again as Tekla pulled a little of the fabric away from one bountiful breast, revealing a bit more of the soft, golden flesh I wanted to touch but wasn’t allowed to. Her thumb, glistening with oil, moved up the length of my cock too slowly, and she peeled back the fabric a bit more from her other breast, letting it sway an inch closer to my eyes. She stroked with thumb and forefinger up the length of me, but not back down, and paused to reveal another expanse of her slippery golden breasts. And so it went for long, agonizing minutes, touching, teasing, revealing, teasing, till at last the candle went out and we were in almost perfect darkness.

I heard a rustle of satin in the darkness. A powerful scent of musk overwhelmed my senses for a moment. My eyes were adjusting to the dark as the saturated satin covered my face and wet my skin with her orgasmic juices. I saw only a glimpse of her naked silhouette before being enfolded in darkness. It was more than I could stand when Tekla finally gripped my shaft firmly and shook it like a stick from side to side. The feel of the oiled satin against the raw meat at the tip of my shaft and the strength of her grip on my cock caused a gush of hot juices from deep inside me.

Even as the fruits of my passion jetted from my cock, I reached out and pulled her to me, pressing her hot lips to mine, crushing her luscious body against me. I finished coming as she slid from my grasp and out of the room. And I was permanently stamped with the memory of her flesh moving on my flesh.

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