In the apartments where I live, the turnover of residents is quite high. Just when I think I’ve got to recognise everyone and can chat with them all, someone leaves. Consequently, a new face is no cause for surprise, nor an unknown removals delivery van, nor a new set of boxes and packaging in the recycle area. I’ve been here over 5 years and am the old-timer.
Things changed when I saw a new resident in the crowded lift [elevator in USA] some weeks ago. She was a mature woman, I guessed around 35 and simply really attractive. I noticed she wore no rings and was dressed in a simple yet stylish business outfit, with knee-length fitted skirt, a fitted jacket, and moderate heels. My first thoughts were, “Good looking woman; not some kid trying to look older but also not mutton-dressed-up-as-lamb.” Her eyes were cast down or, at least, not making contact with anyone else. But then as the lift set off, she looked up into my eyes at the back of the crowd, just for a second, and the corners of her mouth began a smile. Then it was over. She looked away at the floor-indicator, at the notices at the camera.
To my surprise and pleasure, she got out at my floor and walked across the foyer in the same direction as myself.
I had to speak, didn’t I, “You’ve just moved in here?”
She replied and looked straight into my eyes with a smiling face, “Yes, just yesterday. I’m in 903.” I recalled to myself that 903 had been vacant for some months.
I told her, “Next door to me at 904, but round the corner. I’m David but call me Davy” and I held out my hand which she shook.
“Hello Davy, I’m Josephine but call me Jo. I may knock on your door for help and advice sometime. Is that OK?” Her smile was more than just a mouth shape; her eyes lit up also and she crinkled the bridge of her nose. She looked even more attractive.
We met in the lift again the next evening; it seemed we got home from work at the same time each day. We had a little gossip about the apartments, the management company and its services, and the availability of grocery and food in the area. I decided to get to know her a little better, so invited her round for a coffee or something stronger later in the evening.
“Thank you. That would be nice,” she responded, “about 8.30, is that OK for you? I’ve got some work to do first.” And so it was fixed.
A little after 8.30, Jo rang my doorbell and we spent an hour or so chatting over life and work, and drinking a glass of white wine with white grapes and little cubes of cheese.. “Much more sensible than coffee at this time of night,” she joked, “not sure about the cheese.” Her smile and humour was captivating. She was dressed in stretch-fit jogging-bottoms, a close-fitting sweater that showed off her breasts a little, and trainers.
It turned out she is a Tutor-Trainer at the City College Of Nursing, having spent 10 years as a nursing officer in more than one famous hospital. She’d specialised in accident and trauma surgical nursing. I judged that she probably knew a great deal about human anatomy and physiology. And I was sort-of right about her age: she would be 34 in a few more weeks. She told me that she played tennis and badminton as part of her keep-fit regime; at the college fitness centre.
I told her about myself: age 38, engineer; spent many years in the nuclear energy industry which now seemed to be winding down. For professional reasons, I spend some part of each year in Africa, Asia, South America.
It appeared that we were both single for one reason or another. In my case because of a number of failed relationships; in hers due to a divorce 2 years previously. We smiled at each other and had a quick cuddle at the end kartal escort of the short evening; no kiss; just a touching of heads. I thought, “Nice woman, clever too” and I resolved to spend a little more time with her if she would agree to it. Actually, I was aroused at the thought of her figure, her smile and her anatomical knowledge. That night, visions of her recurred in my dreams and when awake. She was beginning to take over parts of my erotic imagination.
The following evening was dark and wet, as November can be in Britain. I got home after dark and went straight to my bedroom, switched on the light and proceeded to undress. For all these months, apartment 903 had been dark and empty, and I had got out of the habits of privacy. I got down to my T-shirt and briefs before realising that the bedroom at number 903 was fully lit, and was immediately opposite to mine but maybe 20 feet apart. I saw a figure standing looking out, looking into my room, looking at me; watching me. Of course, it was Jo.
Before I could react in my startled state, she waved and began to draw the curtains to close. Dumbfounded and a bit shocked, I just stood there watching her lit room disappear. But it didn’t entirely disappear. Jo left the curtains open about the same as her shoulder width and I could still see part of her bed and the wall beyond. Nothing happened for a minute, say, but then Jo appeared again but now dressed only in her underwear. And what underwear! Very much to my liking: a tight-fitting full body open-bottom shaper or corselette, suspenders [garters in USA] and nylon stockings with broad welts on her thighs. No panties or knickers.
Without a single glace at the window, or at me, she kneeled on the edge of the bed facing away from me, and put her head down on the mattress. Her feet, legs, bottom, labia and vulva were visible to me, just 20 feet away, with the bottom edge of the corselette wrapping just a little under her thighs to hold the stocking-tops taut and straight.
I was transfixed. Couldn’t move. Just stared to see what would happen next. Jo seemed to be moving gently but I couldn’t see what she was doing to cause the movement. After a few minutes [I lost track of time] she suddenly arched her back, partly kneeled more up, and then flopped forward onto the bed. She lay still for a few more minutes, then kneeled off the bed, walked to the window, waved at me again and closed the curtains.
That night I hardly slept at all. Those visions and memories kept invading my thoughts and desires. What should I do? Call on her? Invite her round again? Write her a note? Saying what: apologise for watching, ask for more, tell her my desires? Anyway, what were my desires? I hadn’t got them worked out yet.
The next two days were busy and complicated for me and I got home after 11 pm. There was no light showing in 903, so no further excitement. But the third evening, I got a repeat performance from Jo and this time I was ready, just in case.
I dressed down to my T-shirt and tightest briefs and had a pair of binoculars ready to get a closer view of whatever it was that Jo was doing.
She saw me in my undies, waved and again almost closed the curtains, got undressed down to a slightly different outfit this time. Black corselette with clear signs of bones and steel zipper up the front from her groin to her breasts. This time, I could see that she was using a little vibrator on her clitoris and her labia, as she was kneeling away from me. Also, this time, the corselette was tighter and defined her bottom and thighs even more clearly. She was obviously panting as the orgasm grew in her, kaynarca escort and inside the tight corsetry. Once more, she arched her back and collapsed forward to recover for a few minutes. Then the little wave and the closed curtains.
I thought that would be the full extent of our “friendship” such as it was: her showing off and my watching. Well, it was interesting and exciting but hardly the basis for a friendship. I was left wondering how to take things forward or just to let it all fade away. After all, residents in this building leave quickly and this Jo might just disappear one day. I was happy to have had the two performances but left unsatisfied and a little disgruntled. I need not have felt that way.
The very following evening, as I opened my apartment door, I noticed a small piece of lined notepaper on the floor. It was from Jo and it read:
“This evening the door will be open for you. So will I.”
Of course, I got undressed and had a shower, and then dressed in clean black T-shirt and my black compression sports briefs. My erection was raging already as I switched on my bedroom light at the usual time and saw that her light was on, also. She appeared briefly at her window fully dressed, waved at me in a sort-of beckoning way and then closed her curtains completely. I threw on my dressing gown, grabbed my keys and went round the corner to 903. If I’d had a pack of condoms, I’d have grabbed them also, but it was ages since I had any sexual action: I simply didn’t keep a supply.
Sure enough, her door was not locked and the handle went down easily to admit me to her little hallway. I locked the door after entering. A little lamp was glowing on the telephone table, and I moved slowly towards her bedroom. I pushed the door and glanced round it to see what was happening. Jo was standing there, facing me as I entered, dressed in an even more restrictive outfit. A long black bra with a broad cuff waist, a high-line black zippered girdle under the bra, black shiny nylon stockings and equally shiny black [I judged to be Lycra] waist-high panties or knickers. She was totally contained and shaped in her underwear and I moved across to her; aware that my erection was straining at the tight fabric of my own briefs.
As we met, she put out her hand and touched my face, smiling and inviting.
“Welcome,” she said, “All yours if you want.”
Before I could take hold of her and clutch her to myself, she reached out further and cupped my testicles, clutching them through the firmness of my briefs.
She spoke again in a hoarse whisper, “I like a man who knows about tightness and control. You are nicely held and nice to hold.”
Then she moved one step towards me and we clasped each other’s bodies in an erotic embrace. I could feel her breasts, held in the firm bra, pressing into my chest; and the bones and suspender of her corsetry pressing onto my torso and my thighs. And the firm smoothness of her figure under my hands and in my arms as I explored her waist, her hips, her bottom and her thighs as far as I could reach. She felt wonderful and I was almost in pain from my tightly confined erection.
Jo gently pulled me to the bed, and said softly, “Take these off for me, if you can,?” and she giggled, indicating the Lycra knickers. She was right: it was a struggle against their tightness. But I persevered, as you can imagine.
Then she turned round and kneeled on the edge, opened her legs as far as her underwear would permit and then spread her labia with the fingers on her right hand. She made no sound except the one word, “Please.”
I stepped forward, dropped kozyatağı escort my own tight briefs with some difficulty towards my knees, and was surprised [no, not really] to find that she was wet and inviting as I pressed my erection into her opening. With that same right hand, she reached further back and took gentle hold of my scrotum; pulling me towards her to make sure I was fully enclosed inside her. She was wet and warm, and tight and also pulsating slightly. I realised that she was holding the little vibrator against her clitoris as I moved back and forth in her.
I held onto her waist, tightened as it was inside the boned girdle and the cuff-waisted long bra. My fingers could feel the tightness of the fabric, the hard straightness of the steel boning, and the slight stretching as we both moved. Her waist was certainly indented by the corsetry, and I let my hands roam around her figure as my own excitement grew towards climax.
Without warning, Jo began to moan, almost a pain-sound; which immediately became a mewing sound, like a little kitten, rising in pitch. Until, with a great exhalation of breath, she cried out; not just a word but a set of sounds including Yes, and Aagh and Ohh and finally “More.” I kept on shagging her and stopped her from falling forward in the way I’d witnessed earlier. I held her back to me by my clasping her waist, until my own orgasm began to become irresistible. I didn’t give a single thought about shooting my load into this lovely woman; was she ovulating, was she healthy, was she willing to take my semen? I didn’t care: I just let it shoot and shoot again and some more. Until I was empty and she was full; and my juices were running out of her, around my erection stiff as it still was.
Then I let her subside slowly into her front, on the mattress, and lay down beside her with my feet sticking over the side edge of the bed; having shuffled out of my own briefs. Her vagina pulsed my juices out, and her thighs were drenched in a few seconds. The back edge of her corsetry was soaked, and her stocking-tops.
I lay my arm over her figure and pulled myself close to her ear, “That was wonderful. You are amazing. Thank you.”
Despite her dazed and recovering state, she spoke clearly in a soft voice, “No. Don’t thank me. I wondered about you from the first moment I saw you in the lift; and now I need you. Will you make love to me all the time? I’ll do anything you want. Just give me these feelings and these pleasures. Let me be a proper woman with you. I really mean anything.”
Over the next few hours, we made love again through the night. Plain bonking on top of her; she sitting up on my erection; the “two-spoons” position; she lying full length backward on me with my erection just managing to enter her despite the bottom edge of the girdle. At one time, about 3am, I sat on the toilet and she sat on my erection, facing me and she emptied her bladder all over my groin and thighs. After that, the underwear had to come off: it was all ready for the laundry.
That was 8 weeks ago and now we spend every free hour together; in the nights and at weekends. Her collection of firm underwear has become a staple of our sexuality and has reminded me of my earliest days discovering girls’ underpinnings. None so exciting or provocative as these; not in the early 1990s. Now I’m a convert to corset and girdle fetishism. My Jo has shown me more about sex and pleasure in the past 2 months than I’ve found in all my almost-40 years.
I’m not sure that we’re in love. We certainly lust after each other and I would do anything to please and help her. Not only in bed but around the flat and in her career and in her social connections. There has been no talk of marriage or even meeting our wider families. We enjoy being together and feel a commitment to each other; partly maybe mostly because of the pleasure we’ve found together. Love, lust, pleasure, helpfulness; who cares about definitions. It is all just so much fun and satisfaction. That’s good enough for me and for Jo, I think.