Prince once sang: You better be happy that dress is still on/I heard the rip when you sat down. In Aida’s case, I saw her thong-parting pussy lips as soon as she spread her legs.
By then we had moved to the Café in the Crypt, in the basement of St Martin-in-the-Fields. Aida had “accidentally” (I was later to find out that it’d all been part of her plan) dropped her teaspoon and I, gentleman that I consider myself to be, wasted no time in bending down to get it. The view that greeted me was part of the foreplay we were already engaging in. This Ethiopian descendant had caramel-coloured, well-toned legs and in between them she had one of the most beautiful pussies I’d ever seen. Keen on fat lips, as I’d always been, I was really looking forward to sticking my tongue in her crack.
I came back up, handed her the teaspoon back, our eyes already locked in the kind of embrace we would later replicate in the back of my car.
“Where were we?” I asked, playfully.
“Well…” she answered elliptically, licking her lips.
Where we were was at Stage Number 2 of Crazy Night at a Classical Concert. As titles for erotic movies go, this one was probably a non-starter, but it fit the situation perfectly. Aida was a forty-something-year-old woman who had been dealt a bad hand by fate in terms of husband (ex) and lovers (most of them, narcissists). Also, she had not had sex for a long time, as she put it to me in a not too refined way later on.
“So, do you come here often?” The attractive woman seemed to be looking at me, but I had to do a double-take to check she wasn’t addressing someone on the other side of my seat. No, she wasn’t.
“Every now and then. They’ve got a good programme tonight. Bach. Sometimes they do Mozart’s Requiem. How about you?”
“I’ve come a couple of times. I love the music and the place, but the people… they seem a bit too uptight for my liking. Well, not everybody.”
She fixed me with a pair of light-green eyes, hungry and lustful. I confess that I am no oil painting but I work out every day, run regularly and cycle a lot. Plus, at 5’9’’, I’m neither tall, nor short. On a dating app, I would describe myself as a slim, athletic-looking guy. Add my smooth, black skin to the mainly-white surroundings at St Martin-in-the-Fields and you can see why Aida gravitated towards me. I was that exotic creature in a monochromatic audience.
Aida was wearing a short summer dress that showed off her curves. She was on the petite side, maybe 5’ or 5’1’’. Even before she told me she was a swimmer I had already guessed. The thin straps of her yellow dress revealed the beginning of a soft but still noticeably muscular back. On her feet she had a pair of light-brown flat sandals.
If there is a sight that brings out the erotically charged animal in me is that of a well-built woman wearing a short summer dress with flat sandals. Well-shaped legs and ankles are a massive turn-on. Add Aida’s cinnamon-tinted curls and a nice, familiar sensation took over my body. My cock was beginning to get hard. After exchanging names, I leant over to suggest that we go for a drink after the concert. Right at that moment the lights went out and I was caught mid-movement, my mouth open, Aida’s eyes on mine and her amber curls caressing the left side of my face. We both knew that we’d reached Stage Number 1.
Stage Number 2 caught us in the café. By then, we’d moved on from the casual, “accidental” brushes with each other in the auditorium to a more direct approach. After she showed me her pussy, I made no attempt to hide my erection. We decided that it was better to continue the night elsewhere.
She went up the circular staircase ahead of me, her ass moving rhythmically. Inside my trousers, my cock was bursting.
I’d parked my car in the usual place, Carlton House Terrace. In order to get to it, we had to go through Trafalgar Square. The sun had already come down. The whole place was swarming with tourists and revellers, out on a warm, summer, middle-of-July Friday evening. As we came close to Nelson’s statue, I grabbed Aida by her tiny waist and turned her around.
Our first kiss was deep and tongue-free. We let our lips dance around each other, parting and closing. By the time our tongues joined in, my right leg was in between Aida’s legs and even though I was wearing chinos, I could feel her moisture. We quickened our steps.
Once in the car, I started the engine, but only to open the windows up a bit. It was steaming hot in there. I switched the engine off and asked Aida (commander her, rather): “Take your knickers off.” She smiled, her eyes fixed on mine, and removed her tiny G-string. My dick was rock-hard. I was looking forward to having Aida’s mouth on it but for now I wanted to pay attention to that pussy.
Carlton House Terrace is that sort of street in central London where nothing much happens. Film crews sometimes cordon this road off to use as a base but most of the time the street is quiet and at night, pitch-dark. Aida and I moved to the back of my car. She leant back against both the door and the seat and hoisted up her legs revealing her fat-lipped pussy. I inserted the tip of my middle finger, whilst using my left thumb to rub her clit. The first moans that elicited from her led me on. In the same way our lips had created their own choreography in Trafalgar Square, now both my right middle finger and my left thumb came up with their own routine.
My middle finger was joined by my ring finger and together they curved inside Aida, moving back and forth, softly, hitting her spot. My thumb, meanwhile, worked her clit up and down, circling it softly too. At some point she grabbed my right hand and stuck it in and told me to go faster. I did and she began to grab one of her breasts. She came within seconds, a muffled scream. She bit her hand.
She told me to put my tongue inside her. I bent down, raised her legs higher and buried my tongue in her creamy pussy, soaking up her juices. Knowing that she had a sensitive clit, I pressed the underside of my tongue against her clit and began to move my head up and down. Aida didn’t last long. She grabbed my shaven head and rubbed her clit until she came a second time.
“I want your cock,” she said, “give me your fucking cock now, I need your fucking cock, I want to get fucked.” I undid my trousers, precum already glistening on the tip of my dick. Aida bent down and licked the tip and around it. I lay back and let her suck me. Knowing how turned on I was, I knew that I would not last long and would probably come in her mouth. She was that good. She licked the tip, the sides and then took my whole shaft, only to go back to the tip and the sides. I told her to stop.
I fished out a condom from my wallet, put it on and told her to ride me in the reverse cowgirl position. I was dying to see that ass. Aida climbed on my dick, burying only the tip and purring as she did so. She sank a bit deeper, until she went all the way down, touching her clit as she fucked me. She came within minutes. She arched her back, both her hands firmly on my thighs, pussy still grinding on my cock. I could feel my cock getting warmer and warmer, stiffer and stiffer, until I could take it no more. I cupped her small breasts in my hands, middle finger, forefinger and thumb of both hands playing with her nipples. I came, no muffled scream from me. I let out a satisfied sigh. I pulled her towards me as I pushed my cock forward. That hit her spot again and she had another less wild orgasm. We both shuddered.
We were sweaty. Her bronze curls covered my face. I could feel myself still hard. I asked her if she wanted to go to my place. She agreed. It was the beginning of a long night. I switched the engine on and this time music blared out of the car CD system. It was Prince singing Get Off: You better be happy that dress is still on/I heard the rip when you sat down
