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I had met her the first day I visited my future workplace, a small private English school in a non-descript town in southern Vietnam. While I was being shown around by the headmaster on a sunny Sunday afternoon, we also popped in a small room that had only a few kids in it. A young woman was holding a book in front of her, going over some material with the students. The director explained that that she was actually one of the receptionists but would sometimes help out and cover homework with students since her English was pretty good.
The young lady was just over 5 foot tall and perhaps 24. She had shiny, shoulder-length black hair and was wearing a red-and-blue checked shirt with dark blue jeans. I had only seen her from the side, but her high cheek bones were marvelous, as were her butt cheeks. Surprisingly, she was barefoot while she was in the classroom, and so I saw that her skin had that slightly yellow tinge that is typical for many Asian women. We didn’t stay in the door of that small room for long, but I thought to myself as we were moving on to another classroom that I would definitely accept the job offer. I was seriously smitten and would try to win her heart.
I was in my mid-forties then but quickly got a sense that courting her was not going to be easy—not because she did not like me but because of the age difference. Fifteen years, I was explained, was the maximum, and with younger women like her, it was considerably less. For all young Vietnamese, the perfect age to get married is around 26 or 28, with the wife being slightly younger than her husband. For a while, I kept my feelings to myself anyway, partially because I was meeting marriageable women left and right during the first months of my tenure. But I often went to work excited, with that sheepishness of a teenager who is experiencing love and desire for the first time.
After about six weeks, I asked her to have lunch together, which she declined, saying that she had to cook lunch for her parents at home, but going for coffee did not seem to work either. Once, however, when our boss was complaining about our young Vietnamese staff to me, I defended Nguyet as competent, which prompted my boss to say, “You sound like you love her.” When I confirmed that I, indeed, had a huge crush on her, our boss went back to the school and told all the staff. From that moment on, she blushed whenever we saw each other. People tried to bring us closer, but it was always slightly awkward when we were sitting together since everyone was watching. In the end, she accepted a job at a big real-estate company and left us, after she relayed to me that she was flattered but, alas, not going to marry me.
A few times I saw her after that at various celebrations, perhaps twice per year. At all these events, she looked ravishing. Her mother tailored all her clothes, but she was also getting more intriguing as she was getting older. Her high cheekbones became more pronounced, as did her gullwing-shaped mouth. She had become more lady-like over the years and often wore her hair high up on the back of her head now. She also sported glasses more often, which did not take away from her beauty at all. Her slim figure had stayed the same over the years: small breasts, a butt just big enough you knew it was a woman’s, and a pair of graceful legs. She was shy yet strong and confident and had been by far the most intelligent member of staff that we have ever had at our school.
Since the time she had left our company, we had talked online once in a while. I was always the one who initiated it, but once we were engaged in a good conversation, we usually continued for a while. The last time I had actually seen her was at one of my co-workers’ wedding. A few days later, she told me how cute my son had looked in his traditional red shirt with big yellow dragons. After I had told her, however, that I thought she had just looked absolutely stunning in her pink dress, she ended the conversation abruptly and I did not hear from her for more than eight months. She did not even respond to my wishes for the New Year or her birthday, which was unusual.
Needless to say, I was thrilled to hear from her one spring morning. Out of the blue, she asked me if I wanted to meet for coffee. Going out with her was slightly tricky in this small town: first, I had got married, but I also imagined that she did not necessarily want to be seen enjoying coffee with me either. So, I suggested an older but not much-frequented café near her house. That place was huge but had seen better times. The good thing about it was that there weren’t too many customers (if any) and that it was tucked away in an alley, so chances were slim that anyone who knew us would go past or see us even if they did.
I arrived before her and picked a table on the very right about 20 yards in. From there, you could see the whole place, but we would be pretty much off anyone’s radar. And, anyway, we used to work together, so we could easily pass this off as a spontaneous coworkers’ reunion. She arrived just before noon after her kartal escort lunch. In the parking lot, she took off her long wrap-around skirt that Vietnamese women wear on sunny days, draped it on her scooter and started walking towards the table. She was wearing a simple white blouse with thin red stripes and one of her black knee-length skirts, just the way I liked it when we still worked together.
Of course, I had already fantasized hundreds of times about spending the night (or at least an afternoon) together. One of my favorite reveries had always been that we were sent together to the next big city for a two-day ESL conference or something, so that we had the chance to enjoy an evening and the night in anonymity. We would rent separate rooms at the same hotel but, of course, end up in one of the two rooms together for the whole night (and, possibly, another quick romp after breakfast the next morning). Now she was here, at the coffee shop, and I had no idea where (and how far) this would go. I only knew where I wanted it to go—and my mouth was already dry.
Anyway, she said ‘hi’ and sat down. We ordered some drinks and started talking. Since we had not seen each other for a long time, we caught up about what was new. As this was our first time out alone, we also talked about her family and her time at college. We actually did not know much about each other. Even now, at 29, she was still living with her parents, as is customary in Vietnam. Her little brother was a student in the capital; he only came home for the Tet holiday in February and in summers. Her mom worked at home, while her dad, who was only one year older than me, had an office job somewhere in town.
As the conversation continued, I could not help looking at her more closely: her face, her small bosom, and, of course, her legs. They were a trifle hairy (which didn’t bother me) but perfectly shaped. Her skirt was resting above her knees, which she held closely together. Her chin was nestled in her right palm and I thought she was looking at me in a slightly challenging way. After about half an hour, I turned my chair by 45 degrees and stretched my legs out so that she could put her feet up on the crossbar down on the side of my chair, about eight inches above the ground. Hesitatingly, she took the hint, moved her chair slightly closer, and slipped out of her shoes. As her legs were now within reach, I began caressing her calves, which were perfectly round and soft yet firm.
She did not flinch but with a mocking smile said: “You mustn’t do that. You are married.”
“I know that. I also know that, technically, we were not supposed to be there in the first place. But I simply can’t help it. I’ve longed to touch your legs for ages. You know that,” I said with a smile.
I could already feel an erection coming, but I did not yet want to draw her attention to it, as inexperienced as she was. As it seemed impossible, though, to continue talking about mundane matters at this point, I asked, with my heart beating fast:
“Show me your thighs, at least a little more above your knees!”
She laughed. “I couldn’t do that here.”
“Well, then, let’s go somewhere else then!” I replied but, this was only met with a chuckle. “There isn’t anyone here who could see it,” I quickly yet clumsily tried to keep the momentum.
To my surprise, however, she seemed to be seriously thinking about the options we had. As far as I knew, she never had a boyfriend and was still a virgin, so what she was doing was already pretty bold, while this whole situation must have been new and strange to her. Perhaps now, at 29, she was determined to flirt a little and break the agonizing cycle of waiting for Mr. Right to show up? I surely hoped so, and the sheer fact that she had initiated an hour or two together at a coffee house was promising. Now, she put her feet down, let her knees fall apart and moved her skirt up with one hand, but only right in the middle, between her legs. She looked at me as if she wanted to say ‘And?!’ As my heart was beating faster, I only said: “Yes, but use both hands! As it is, I can’t see much.” She hesitated for a second or two, but then exposed the larger part of her thighs.
Her thighs were as beautiful as I had imagined them. Almost white, firm, soft yet muscular at the same time, and squeezed a little from by the chair below (although I had the impression that she propped up her feet a tad so that her thighs would not appear big). As the waitress was approaching to refill our iced tea, however, I motioned Nguyet to cover herself. Now that the server was here, I asked for the check and the girl sauntered away into the lazy tropical midday sun. Since she would not be back for another minute or two, I asked Nguyet to pull her skirt back again, possibly a little further than before. She blushed, shook her head, smiled, but relented eventually. She opened her legs and quickly (and only briefly) even lifted up her skirt and let me see her legs in full, all the way up to her panties.
This was much more than I ever had maltepe escort bayan seriously expected, and all I could say was “This makes me hot.” The server was coming back with the bill, which I settled, but immediately the question arose: What now?! I asked where we could go to be alone (a hotel?) and, almost like she had done that before, she said: “No, not a hotel, but we could go to my house. My mom’s visiting relatives in Saigon, and my dad is on a business trip until the end of the week. But we have to be fast to get inside before the neighbors see us.”
We agreed that she would go first and text me when no one was in sight. After all, though, it was a rather sultry early afternoon and pretty much everyone was asleep right now. I waited about 150 yards from her house, browsing my phone. From the corner of my eye, I could actually see her getting in her house. After a minute, she texted me that the coast was clear, but I should drive right inside her house—as is customary at night—so that she could lock the door behind me, and my motorcycle could not be seen from outside. Those last few meters went without a hitch, and all of a sudden, I found myself inside her home for the very first time.
It was very quiet. There was a slight breeze coming through the opening above the front door going to an open window somewhere in the back of the house. I could only hear the caged bird chirping that the neighbors had outside. As I was standing there, Nguyet excused herself and disappeared quickly. I had reached for her, trying to kiss her, but she had eloped with a smile. Now, she was probably peeing and one side of me was hoping she would return with no panties under her skirt. But, then, on the other hand, I wanted to watch her taking them off or even do it myself. Anyway, she returned, saying that she had put the kettle on. In a few minutes, we would sit down right here in the living room to continue our foreplay.
Since there were some moments to bridge, I reached for her waist and pulled her towards me. She bent away a little but not enough that I couldn’t kiss her. First, I pressed my nose into her hair, then I held her face between my hands, so that I could finally admire her from up close and unencumbered. I kissed her forehead, and now our eyes were tracing each other. How beautiful she was! I pressed my mouth against hers until she opened her lips. Letting my hands off her face, they were now traveling down further, while we were still kissing. Finally, after so many years I touched her breasts, which were really small. Pretty much all I could feel was her bra, but that didn’t change my longing for her. While my left hand was still holding on to her chest, I let my other hand move down her back and then I caressed and squeezed her butt. Out of breath, she eventually excused herself to take care of the tea.
When she came back with the tray, she had pinned her hair up at the back of her head. I had some trepidations as to where we would sit best and how we would proceed from here. I didn’t want to ruin everything by being rash, so I suggested we sit the way we had at the café: “I want to see your legs and those burgundy panties while we’re drinking tea,” I told her. “Together with your black skirt, that’s a beautiful combination.” She smiled as if she had taken her panties off already and told me to sit on a chair that she had just turned by 90 degrees. We would sit along the table, facing each other, with my left elbow on the table.
After a sip of tea, I had a hunch that we would eventually end up going much further than kissing or looking at legs and panties. But I really did not want to rush things. After all, this was all new to her and we were having a good time. In some ways, it felt like the afternoon had just started and we would go through the same motions again as we had at the coffee shop. We started talking once more, but this time about English soccer, some more about her time at college, and her love for Korean and Japanese culture and music. I asked her if she had had someone courting her at university, but she just said “No, not really.” Not sure if she was going to elaborate, she turned a little, reached for the tea pot and refilled the cups.
I decided it was time to get back to the most beautiful moment at the café. There was a small stool within reach that I put half between us and half next to me, while I moved a few inches away from the table. Now, she could put her feet up onto the stool, which was half under the table, while I could caress her legs again (or, at least, one of them). After another sip of tea, I told her to sit like at the cafe and pull her skirt up again: “There isn’t anyone who could see you,” I added.
She didn’t exactly pull her skirt up but, instead, she let it fall between her legs as she put her feet up. Her whole left thigh was exposed now right next to me. She was still wearing panties, as far as I could tell. Her feet were up right next to me, while her legs were at a 45-degree angle with her knees pointing upward in front of me, to my escort pendik left. She looked super cute with her slightly mischievous grin, which complimented her intelligent face wonderfully. I started touching her left leg; at first very gently, just using my fingertips, before I let my hand travel up and down her gorgeous thigh. My erection was coming back, and I started to feel seriously horny.
While I was looking mostly at her face still, I was naturally keen to get another glance of her panties. At the café I had already seen the contours of her bush in her underwear, but now I wondered if there would be a little pubic hair be sticking out, perhaps. And was her pussy wet yet? Because of her hairy legs, I assumed she must have quite some bush. I reached further and further down her thighs without changing the way I was sitting. I was able to get fairly far, almost all the way. My hand moved on to the inside of her right leg and then back to the underside of her left. Her inner thighs were as smooth as baby cheeks. Looking at her face, I could tell she was enjoying it, so I refrained from asking. One side of me wanted to know what she was thinking, but everything was so hot yet lovely, relaxed, and joyful that any needless talk might just ruin the moment.
“I wanna see your breasts,” I heard myself say all of a sudden.
“There isn’t much to see,” she quipped.
I insisted that I loved small titties and assured her she should not be worried. Finally seeing her breasts would be the most wonderful thing right then, particularly since I could not make up my mind if she had small or big nipples, pink or brown.
“Well, what’s your guess?” she was buying time.
“Medium-sized and pink,” I replied.
I stopped moving my hands along her thighs to see if I had guessed correctly. Nguyet wasn’t sure how to proceed, though. She didn’t seem ready to take her shirt off and sit there just in a bra, so she lifted up her shirt and her little bra simultaneously. And, lo and behold, her nipples were medium-sized (somewhat bigger than a quarter, perhaps) but darker than I had envisioned. Her breasts were indeed just small little pads but, of course, I could not resist reaching for them immediately.
She let me feel her bosom and seemed to be enjoying it, although it was difficult to tell with her shirt now covering her face up to her nose. At this point, I wasn’t afraid anymore that what was going on could be ruined. To propose anal intercourse right at this moment would have been a mood killer, but other than that nothing could stop us. I just needed to go with the proverbial flow, which brought me back to the lower half of her body. As she was removing her bra now—which was a nice gesture—she was also moving her legs and opening them. She had stopped watching herself consciously. I saw her simple burgundy-red panties again, which weren’t very tight but looked superb in combination with her stunning light legs and her black skirt. There was no hair sticking out, but the best part was that through her panties her pussy looked like a small banana. It was protruding somewhat, perhaps since she was already aroused. And there were already two dark spots of pussy juice on her knickers, one small and one a little bigger.
I couldn’t help it any longer and got my dick out. It was pretty erect, pointing at her. She blushed, laughed, and hid her face behind her hands for a split-second. “You have to wait with that until we go upstairs,” she said.
“I didn’t know we were going upstairs. But, anyway,” I told her, “I couldn’t take it any longer. It was getting painful. You know how long I’ve been waiting for us to be alone.”
She put her chin on her right fist, looking at my dick. She seemed to be thinking what she would do with it. To jumpstart the process, I stroked it gently and pulled the foreskin back so that the purple head was getting some fresh air.
“Stroke it like that,” I suggested. She reached for my dick and touched it. She held it between her slim fingers, felt it throb and twitch and then looked at me and whispered: “This is my first time to see and touch a penis.”
That was dainty and endearing, and seeing her elegant hands explore my cock was sexy as hell. While there were, again, so many other things to ask I only said “Take it in your hands and do what I just did. It feels good. Or take it in your mouth. That’s even better.”
She ignored that last bit and moved closer, so that she could easily reach my dick with both hands. She took her legs off the stool and stretched them out on the floor to the left and right of my chair. Now she was using both hands to stroke my dick slowly. After telling her to use some spit, she seemed pretty focused and it was fun to watch. I kept looking at her stunningly beautiful face and legs, and when I let my eyes rest on her chest, I could also see her nipples under her shirt, now that the bra was gone. This all made me ecstatic, but I started to worry about coming right there in the living room. That was certainly one option but then, at my age, it would take quite a while to be able to come again. But this was too good to be stopped. “Take off your panties, for Christ’s sake!” I moaned. I could feel that I would be cumming soon. I had been determined to load her pussy but now I just gave in, relishing the moment.
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