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In April last year, I was booked into the Old Bridge Hotel, Huntingdon. It was a business trip. Two days; three nights, visiting four companies in the north of Cambridgeshire. It was a nice country hotel, just off the A14 and the main street of the town, near the Godmanchester Bridge, with a U-shaped arrangement of rooms. Not a modern executive hotel but a historical place with two dozen nicely fitted rooms and a good room service. As I drove to the car park entrance, another car was coming from the opposite direction and I gave way so it turned in front of me. I parked alongside it and got out at the same moment as an attractive woman of about 30, shorter than I am and all muffled up in winter clothing. It was still cold, even for an English April. She had difficulty getting her big case out of the car and it fell onto the ground with a crunch. I helped her to straighten it and stand it on its wheels. It seemed as heavy as she must have been. She thanked me with a smile, lifted the handle, and wheeled it off in the direction of Reception.
My room was 112; first floor above ground, room 12. As soon as I opened the door and looked out of the window, I could see that I was in one corner of the U, with a view down the long wall of the other leg of the hotel. There were four more rooms down that leg, judging from the windows. And there my curiosity stopped. I closed the curtains. It had been a long drive and I soon fell asleep, until early the next morning.
The next evening, after a day talking, persuading, convincing and cajoling company directors to give orders to my business, I went straight to the bar in the hotel for a quick snack. Then up to 112 at about 7.45. As I opened the door, I was aware of light coming from inside the room and thought I’d left the bedside lamp switched on that morning. But no; as I looked round, it became clear that the light was coming through the window. The hotel cleaner had left my curtains open. I put down my laptop, and walked to the window to see what was so bright. The light was coming from the adjacent bedroom, just round the corner of the U, and on the same floor as mine. The curtains were wide open and I could see that two bedside lamps were lit. Nothing else was visible in the room so I gave it no more thought, turned back into my own room, switched on my own lamp and took of my coat. I went to the bathroom and had a quick shower, brushed my teeth and generally got relaxed, ready for an hour or so watching TV and reading my newspaper. All this time, my curtains were open and the light was still streaming in from the room opposite.
After a few minutes, I noticed from the corner of my eye, that the light coming through my window had changed. It seemed less bright, less intense, so I walked over to the window. In the other room, a woman was walking in front of one of the lamps, casting a shadow across to my room. In the glare of her lamp, I couldn’t see much but, as she moved to one side, I saw that she was dressed only in white underwear. And what underwear! I’ll be 54 next birthday, so I recognised her outfit as a long white bra, white zipped up girdle with suspenders, black seamed stockings and white shiny satiny panties. A younger man may have wondered what she was wearing but I can remember youngish women dressed like that more than 30 years ago, when I was still dating and not yet married. Not women of my own age, but certainly women in their late 20s or perhaps 30’s. They excited me back then, and she excited me now. I couldn’t see her face but she had a mass of dark hair, through which the lamp light shone like a halo.
As I watched her and she moved around, I realised she was the woman from the car park. She lifted a dark dress from a chair or a cupboard out of my view, and stepped into it. She reached round and pushed up the zipper from below her waist, and then reached over one shoulder and pulled it all the way to the nape of her neck. Then she stepped into a pair of high heels, which I couldn’t see either, but she stood taller and walked to the door. I didn’t see her leave her room but I judged her direction and the emptiness of my view. The lamps were still switched on.
Quickly, a plan came to my mind, a dashed to my own cupboard and put my clothes back on, and jumped into my shoes near the door. I grabbed my room-key and went out into the corridor. I was right: she’d walked past my door and was on her way to the lift as I emerged. She seemed taller, about 5ft 9in, and walking on mountainous heels, so she must have been 5ft 4 or 5in without them. She moved beautifully with little steps and her body swaying with each stride. I saw all that in a single glance as she walked away from me. She stopped and looked round and smiled. Her eyes twinkled and her lips parted to show a proper smile with her teeth parted slightly. For some reason, she looked delighted about something and I spoke.
“Good evening. You look very happy.”
“Hello again. I am,” she replied, “a big problem has just gone away from me.”
“Congratulations. It suits you to have your problems Muğla Escort solved. You look very well,” I was trying to be friendly without being obviously excited by her and my knowledge of her underwear.
I walked with her towards the lift, and pressed the button. I simply wanted to be near her and watch her, imagining her corsetry, until she drove off or met someone else. We got into the lift, and I selected G. We were quiet since it was only one floor, but I smiled at her and thought about the bra holding her ribs and the high girdle stretched over her bottom and across her groin, and the shiny panties between her legs. As we got out, she turned towards the restaurant and I assumed she was on her way to meet someone for dinner. I walked with her and made light conversation.
“Wasn’t it a nice day, today. Are you here on business?”
She ignored my first question, as we all do in that situation.
“No, I’m here for pleasure,” she said, I thought provocatively. I had another mental picture of her suspenders and stocking tops.
The restaurant was half empty and a waiter came towards us.
“Table for two?”
I was on the point of saying “No” but she spoke up and asked me “Are you alone?”
I said I was and she said to the waiter, “Yes please. Is that alright?” She turned to me and I just nodded. I couldn’t believe this was happening. Soon I’d be sitting near a well-girdled woman, twenty years after such a thing stopped happening to me, and her legs would be under the same table as mine. My erection was raging and I half hoped she wouldn’t notice it and half that she would. I put one hand in a pocket to hide things a little.
We followed the waiter and took a table for four in a bay window with a radiator. He prepared it quickly for the two of us sitting opposite each other. I carried on with the small talk.
“Did you manage your case alright? It seems very heavy………” she interrupted me.
“………for a little person like me, is that what you’re thinking?”
“No, of course not,” I lied, “it would be heavy for anyone. Did you manage it?”
“Yes thanks. It’s a lot lighter now. I’ve been able to pass on lots of papers and things – that’s why a big problem’s been solved.”
“How’s that?” I raised my eyebrows and nodded my head a little. She reached across the table to a menu and I thought I saw a mark in the fabric of her dress, under one arm, where the long bone of the bra or perhaps the girdle was showing through. My erection was reinforced.
“I was delivering a mass of papers and books to someone. You know how heavy they are. Anyway, they’ve gone now.”
“So will you be leaving soon?” I asked, hoping the answer would be No. I wanted to be closer still and to hold her somehow. In my head I was saying, “Don’t go, don’t go.”
“No,” she replied as if reading my mind, “I’m looking for a few days relaxation and seeing the sights in Cambridge, if I can.”
“Do you know the city?”
I was think that perhaps I could show her a round and stay near her longer. I wanted to know exactly what her corsetry was like. What make was her girdle? How many hooks under the zipper? What flexible and what stretch panels did it have. How high did it come and how low under her bottom? Did it feel tight on her or was she wearing it just to hold up the stockings? So many thoughts passed through my head as I struggled to keeps some composure and stop my erection from bursting through my own zipper!
“No. I’ve not been here before. Do you know it?” she asked me. It was too good to be true. This nice young woman with her firm vintage underwear was talking her way into my company.
“Yes. Very well. Would you like a guide?” I was trying everything I could think of to stay near her and to get another glimpse of her corsetry.
“Are you free to do that for me?”
“Be a pleasure. I’m here as long as I wish. I’d be happy to show you around for a day or so. Yes?” but I was thinking, “And evenings and nights, please.” In fact, I didn’t want much; just to hold her and feel at her body and her underwear and let myself get excited again after so many years.
The menu arrived and we ordered drinks. White wine for her and red for me, and chilled water.
The meal went easily and we exchanged small talk. We discovered that we were both divorced; me for many years and she for eight months. I noticed at one point that she was looking at my key on the table and she asked, “My room’s 111; isn’t that a coincidence?”
She talked about her work as a publisher’s agent but I got the impression that her visit to Cambridge was nothing to do with her work. I decided to ask her directly.
“So did you come here on company business – with all those books and papers?”
“No,” she said, “I was giving my ex-husband back the rest of his books and years of paperwork. He works at the university, and our house was just crammed with his stuff. Tons of it. Anyway it’s gone and now I’m free of that and of him.”
I didn’t know what to Muğla Escort Bayan say and there was a short silence.
“I’m sorry,” she continued, “that’s my problem and it’s solved now. I shouldn’t burden you with it. Let’s have another drink.”
I motioned to the waiter and said to her, “If I can help in any way, I will. And we’ll start by looking around Cambridge tomorrow.”
“Thank you” and the meal finished with our drinks. I walked her to the lift and round to her room.
“How do you know this is my room?” she asked.
“Just guessed from when you came past my room,” I lied again.
She gave me a wide smile, said “Good night,” and went inside. I went to my room. I dashed to the window without switching on the light, and stood there to see if I should get another view of her. Sure enough, she came to the window side of the bed, reached round and unzipped the dress in two stages, and dropped it to her feet, tossing it to a chair to one side. She revealed the full extent of her underwear, yet again. I was in a trance watching her. She was only eighteen or twenty feet away from me, still in her high heels.
I decided to do a boyish thing and took off all my clothes until I was standing in my own dark window totally naked, watching her. Although I’m a man in his fifties, I’m not in bad shape, not overweight and I used to keep fit regularly until a couple of years ago.
I was flushed and my erection stuck out like an extra limb. I’m not very straight in the erection department: I curve upwards and slightly to the left. It’s never been a functional problem, if you know what I mean, but I’ve always been aware and of it. There I was a few yards from this young woman taking off her stockings. I thought I was going to climax on the spot and shoot my juice all over the window.
Then something happened that changed the evening, the day, the year and my life for all I know. For some reason, the security lights in the quadrangle at the back of the hotel suddenly all sprang to brilliant brightness. Because of the position of my window, one of the lights shone directly in at me and dazzled me. I put my hand up to my eyes but remained where I was standing: I was so startled. Then, just as suddenly, the glaring lights went out and I was left blinded. I backed away from the window and tried to accustom my eyes to the relative darkness of the room. The curtains were still open but I was more concerned about getting my vision back, for a moment or two anyway. When I returned to the window, her curtains were closed.
My erection was subsiding by this time and I thought about putting some clothes on. My room phone rang and a memorable voice said, “Were you watching me?”
I took in a deep breath.
“I was, and I was very excited by what I saw. I’m sorry if I’ve offended you.”
“You silly man,” she giggled down the phone, “come round here but please put some clothes on first. I don’t want you getting arrested on the way. OK?” and she giggled again.
I grabbed some clothes but didn’t bother with shoes or socks, and my room key, and did as she said, and she opened her room door to let me in. She was dressed in a long satin gown, tied at her waist with a broad bow. As I entered, I noticed that she was still wearing her stockings and the high heels .
“That’s naughty you know; watching a girl when she’s undressing.” She sounded cross but her eyes were smiling.
“I’m sorry but it’s many years since I saw such attractive underwear on an attractive woman. I was so excited.” That was no lie and it seemed best to be honest.
“I noticed,” and she giggled again. I smiled broadly.
“I think you look wonderful,” I said looking straight into her eyes, “I wish I’d met you years ago.”
She turned her back and walked a short distance, turned round and undid the bow on her dressing gown.
“Do you know how old I am?” she toyed with me.
“No idea. You’re young and beautiful and you wear exciting underclothes; that’s all I know.”
“I’m 34. And do you know how old this girdle is?” she undid the front of the gown, held it open, and showed me the girdle and the rest of her outfit. “I bought it from a store closure and it’s new, but it’s 34 years old as well. Aren’t you surprised that a woman like me will wear such old clothes?” She smoothed her palm down her front from the bra cups to the bottom of the girdle on her groin.
“I am surprised but you look so good, I’m not bothered with ages or history. You’re just amazing; too good to be true for me, really”
“Would you like to hold me?” This was getting easier and very much to my liking. “Or is it that you want to hold the girdle?” This woman obviously knew about men; or at least men like me.
“You’re lovely and I’d be very happy to hold you.” I smiled at her, “With the underwear, you’re irresistible. Holding you dressed like this would be a dream come true.”
She dropped the gown onto the bed and took one step towards me. I went to her and took her waist in my hands and slowly Escort Muğla pulled her to me until her head rested on my shoulder and I could feel her breasts on my ribs, through my shirt. At first, she placed her arms up my chest and held onto my shoulders, and then slipped them round me and held me in a proper embrace.
We stood there for a few minutes, letting the heat develop between us and I could feel the bones and the seams of her long bra under my hands, and the even firmer tightness caused by the girdle nearer to her skin. She was encased from collar bones to mid thighs and she felt wonderful to me.
I glanced down and saw that the bra was very sturdy, with broad straps, a long row of hooks down the back and a three-inch cuff at her waist. The cups were full in design, right up above her breasts, and she filled them magnificently. They were firm in their pressure against me. She’d taken off the shiny panties, I realised.
As I held her, I was conscious of my erection pressing forward into her abdomen. She squirmed and I thought she was trying to get away from the evidence of my excitement, but I was wrong. She positioned herself carefully and then squeezed me towards her with her arms around my back. We both moved at the same moment towards the bed and she reached down to unfasten my belt. As we got to the bed, I quickly unzipped my trousers and let them fall, and with a flick of my arms and shoulders threw off the shirt. In just my black briefs, I laid her down slowly into the bed and she shuffled over a short way, so as not to be on the edge.
This was my first full-length look at her corsetry. Her stockings were held to the girdle by wide suspenders, each with a shiny metal clip and button. The girdle itself extended over her pubic area and onto her thighs by three inches or more. It was made in numerous panels with bones and seams between them. The front was embroidered in a heavy stitching pattern and a layer of lace covered her from her bra line to the bottom edge. The lace made the girdle look gentle and soft, but as soon as I put my hand flat on her stomach I could tell it was rigid and unyielding. Her abdomen could not possible bulge out of the perfect straight line of her girdle. At the sides, it contained two narrow panels of white satin and two more of brilliant white elastic or maybe Lycra. Over her left hip, a long zip ran to the top with a tassel of white silk through the puller, which I could see through the fabric of the bra. I couldn’t see the back of the girdle as she lay there, but I knew that I’d get to know it very soon.
The bra was an item of machinery. It was constructed in panels, like the girdle, but all were stretch fabric, with bones between them. Its firmness lay in its bones, the long row of hooks at the back and the stout cuff at the waist. She could breathe, because she was beginning to pant now, but the bra wouldn’t move on her because of its shape and fit. Her breasts stood up in the bra cups, pointing to the ceiling, and my hand roamed up from her stomach to caress first one bra cup and then the other.
I put one knee on the bed and leant down to kiss her. Her arms, which had been down at her sides until then, came up to me and pulled me gently towards her face. We kissed gently but long. Not deep in each other’s mouths, but playing with our lips and tongue-tips; a sort of teasing. I ran my hand slowly and gently down her body from her throat, over her breasts, down the straight flatness of her taut abdomen and under the bottom edge of the girdle. She parted her legs a little and I slid my middle finger between her labia. She was wet.
She made a little murmur and then spoke softly into my ear, “Please don’t keep me waiting.”
I knew what she meant and stood up to take off my briefs. Her eyes were closed and I laid my hands on her breasts again, on the bra. Then I moved myself to lie next to her and kissed her neck and breasts, through the bra, whilst moving my hand down to her labia again. She opened her legs a little more and I moved my head down to kiss the tops of her legs, between the stockings and the girdle. I moved my kisses toward her labia and couldn’t reach in with my lips: the girdle came too far down her groin and over her mounds. She realised it and lifted both her knees, and I slid down between her legs, almost falling off the bottom of the bed. I held on to her girdled waist and put my face between her legs. She was warm and smelled fresh with just a hint of woman; from her moist labia I supposed. My tongue moved to her lips and immediately to her clitoris. She moaned again and I started to move my tongue rhythmically over her sweet spot. She began moving her body in time with my tongue, and as she speeded up, so did I. Then I knew she was going to come and pressed my tongue just a little firmer into her clitoris and my face into the fullness of her labia and her pubic hair. She began breathing deeply and blowing out, and murmuring, until she came a massive orgasm. She brought her knees together and I thought she would crush my head but she simply pressed either side of my ears, and I felt her quivering. She subsided slowly and murmured again, nothing like words, just sounds of pleasure and relaxation. She put her hands down to my head, relaxed her thighs, and gently pulled on me to come up the bed.
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