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The Winsome Widow – Part 3

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Chapter 7 – Evelyn “Aleeeeeeeeex.” I looked around, startled from my contemplation of the idol by the voice, a female voice, whispering my name; soft, sweet and enticing. “Aleeeeeeeeex. Come to me.” Breathy and sexy, it seemed directionless; all I knew for sure was that it wasn’t any of the men around the table calling me; they couldn’t even hear it; they all remained absorbed in Johanssen’s narrative. He had closed out his Bridge night adventure with Evelyn and was now explaining how Adley had confided his wife’s love of erotic fiction and how their Bridge night had slowly morphed into Storytelling Night; where the men would take turns to tell an erotic story while Evelyn hid beneath the table, eavesdropping and voting on the quality of the stories with her hands and her lips.  “Use the idol, Aleeeeeeeeex. Come to me.” That disembodied voice should have been terrifying, but it felt calming, even soothing. I wanted to ask its owner where she was but clearly I was the only one who could hear her, and speaking up, especially in my own voice, would definitely NOT go unnoticed around the table. Following her instructions, I leaned over to touch the idol and felt that familiar erotic warmth once again flooding up my arm; I tipped my head back, nostrils flared, revelling in the ecstasy that buzzed through my body. I leaned harder against the table and with a weightless, roller-coaster lurch, it became insubstantial beneath me and I … slipped … that’s the only way I can think to describe it; I slipped INTO the table; it’s oaken surface penetrating the middle of my stomach, painless and bloodless. With the ghostly table now no longer responding to my touch, I threw out both hands to arrest my slide and they both passed through its surface as if through smoke; and with nothing to hold me up, I spilled forwards and fell to the floor with a sickening sense of vertigo as the table passed harmlessly through my head. “Hello Alex.” Disoriented and gasping with fright, I cast about with wild eyes so see a young woman with chestnut hair kneeling next to me in a long evening gown. Her full, ripe breasts; the slim curve of her waist; her tiny, round bottom perched on her heels; all were all lovingly outlined in sleek, clinging, black satin. With delicate features and glowing, flawless skin, she was every bit as beautiful as Johanssen had described. “Hello Evelyn,” I smiled, making the connection instantly and sounding far more casually accepting than I felt. I expected some kind of response from the men; if not to my dramatic fall through the table, then at least to the sound of my voice, my woman’s voice, from beneath the table. Staring into Evelyn’s luminous eyes, I listened to Johanssen’s deep, sonorous tones as he described yet another sexy tryst with the woman kneeling beside me. Were they so absorbed that they hadn’t noticed? The impossibility of the moment was breaking into my thoughts; my eyes saw a beautiful woman, surely no older than thirty-five and radiant with youth; but my ears listened to the story of her deeds; adventures of more than fifty years ago. “Who …?” I began, unsure what I was asking. Who was she? I didn’t need that one answered; I knew this was Evelyn; I could feel it. But how could she be so young, so beautiful? She understood my question with the same intuition that told me the truth of who she was, and by way of an answer, she passed a hand in front of her face; her image shimmered like a heat haze and for a moment I saw the features of an old woman, still beautiful in a stately, elegant way; but with deep lines down her cheeks and around her eyes, her glorious hair still long and vibrant but now silver rather than the glossy chestnut of her youth. The shimmering image stabilised and she was young again and full of radiant life. In the darkness beneath the table, the legs of those seated around us were all colourless shadows; but Evelyn was vibrant with soft, milky skin and red painted lips; she simply shone; not a luminous inner glow like a ghost in a movie, but as if from an external light source that didn’t exist. The table legs and the pattern in the carpet beneath her were shrouded in gloom, but Evelyn was just … simply … visible! Looking escort avcılar around at the unbroken circle of chairs and legs, some important piece of information was trying to assert itself on my consciousness, but it was like a word on the tip of your tongue that you just can’t remember. I cast about again, trying to orient myself; which seat was mine? Got it! There are NO EMPTY SEATS! Holy fuck, I’m a ghost! Am I dead? I turned back to Evelyn with a constricting feeling of panic building in my chest. “Where am I?” It was another stupid question, but as before, she understood my meaning as though telepathically and in answer, she reached out to touch the person behind my left shoulder. As she did, I felt a soft hand close around my own calf and gently squeeze the muscle there. I jerked my leg in fright, but the sensation persisted even though I could see that there was nothing touching me. Oh my God! That’s my chair! Those are my legs! The figure in the chair was me and Evelyn was stroking my real body; the ME beneath the table was just my consciousness, and studying my body more closely, I saw that I glowed with the same light as Evelyn. I felt my face; the fake beard and eyeglasses were gone; I was no longer dressed in a man’s suit and tie but in the pencil skirt and blouse I had worn to work earlier that day. And joy of joys; I was wearing a comfortable bra instead of that painful strapping to hide the swell of my breasts. I watched as Evelyn stroked higher on the motionless form at the table and I shivered as the soft sensation of her touch crept invisibly past my knee and under my skirt. I had only ever been mildly curious about the idea of intimacy with another woman, but my heightened arousal combined with the sublime beauty of the woman stroking her way slowly up my thigh washed away any reluctance I might have felt. She paused and looked into my eyes questioningly; as if asking whether I wanted this. My tongue darted out to lick my dry lips and with a breathless nod I parted my legs and bid her to continue. The ghostly eroticism was captivating; I was watching Evelyn touch the form in the chair (I couldn’t yet think of that person as me); but to feel her every touch on my own thighs whilst crouched beside her left me dizzy with passion and mounting desire. I held my breath as she moved her thumb to the junction between seated Alex’s thighs, and then gasped with mingled disbelief and passion as her ghostly fingers passed straight through the trousers and panties to touch the wet entrance of her (my?) womanhood. I couldn’t see what Evelyn was doing with her hand, but I could feel the effects as she stroked the tip of her thumb slowly through my steaming slit, avoiding direct contact with my clitoris for the moment as she teased apart my soft inner folds with her thumb tip. Entranced by the vision of Evelyn’s fingers disappearing into the crotch of my real-self’s trousers, I moved towards her; partly for a better look at that impossible sight, and partly just to be closer; like the idol on the table, Evelyn was radiating a magnetic eroticism that made you want to reach out and touch her. I was slowly coming to terms with my dual nature. Being curious, I reached to touch real-Alex’s knee only to watch agog as my ghostly hand passed straight through her real flesh without touching. “Concentrate,” Evelyn whispered in my ear, taking my hand in hers. “You can do it, but you need to focus on what you want to touch.” She interlocked fingers with me and placed our joined palms over the top of real-Alex’s pants leg, stroking softly so that I could feel that ghostly touch beneath my skirt, even though it was only Evelyn’s hand I could feel and not my own. “Focus on your hand, Alex,” she breathed in my ear; then she softly brushed her lips against mine, both of us gasping lightly at the moment of contact. Like a fluorescent light flickering on, I felt the suit trousers beneath my hand gain substance while a new sensation materialised on my knee down at floor level. To say it felt surreal is a huge understatement; the only remotely comparable experience is when your touch yourself with a hand that has gone to sleep from a lack of blood flow. When escort bahcesehir that happens, you can see the contact but only feel half of it; but in this case I expected to feel half of the contact but instead I felt all of it. My mind was still reeling but now I felt the connection with the seated woman; she really was me! I was surprised at the feelings that my own foreign touch aroused; it was so intimate, mystical … it was SO FUCKING EROTIC! I felt Evelyn toying at my entrance again with her free hand and untwined our fingers, moving up that seated girl’s thigh to meet her, only to be thwarted by the trousers that Evelyn’s hand was able to magically pass through. Our cheeks were almost touching. “Show me,” I breathed, knowing she would understand without an explanation. Placing her free hand over mine once again, she drew it back down the seated woman’s thigh and then with her fingers slightly ahead of mine, she slid slowly forwards again, her fingertips disappearing beneath the fabric as I felt the delicious skin-on-skin touch slide up my kneeling leg towards my pussy. “Let yourself go….” she whispered in my ear, and then as she took the lobe between her lips in a soft kiss, I felt my own hand melt through the trouser leg to glide along my real self’s smooth thigh. The sensation was beyond any earthly experience, certainly beyond masturbation, to have another body so utterly at your mercy, but to have your every touch reflected back at you; the erotic possibilities were beyond my power to resist. “Why do dogs lick their privates?” The old joke goes. “Because they CAN! Har, har har!” It was years after I first heard that one as a child that I finally understood it, but now I saw the deeper truth; we masturbate with our hands because that’s all we CAN use. Another image entered my mind; a pornographic picture I saw on the internet of a gymnast; a contortionist, I suppose, naked and balanced on her hands with her body curled over her head so that she could pleasure herself with her tongue. I remember looking at that photo jealously, wondering what it would feel like to lick myself and to come on my own face. Evelyn sensed my need and backed away, allowing me to move forwards and kneel between that seated woman’s open legs, my hands on her thighs stroking the fluttering muscles up towards her sex. Disconcerted by the sight of my eerily lit, ghostly hands passing through the fabric of her trousers, I closed my eyes and going by feel alone the mental vision was complete; I imagined this as a threesome, with me pleasuring the seated Alex while a third person lay between my open legs copying my actions stroke for stroke. Beyond foreplay now, I made my hand into a gun and slid first one and then two fingers into the tight embrace of my pussy, stretching my opening with a delicious ripple of parting muscles as I drove all the way in to the webbing between my fingers. The feeling was electric; as much as I love to use my fingers on myself, it’s all but impossible to get the angle necessary for a deep penetration without uncomfortably twisting your wrist. But this? I stroked effortlessly in and out of my soaking hole, building up a rhythm and fucking myself harder and faster as my confidence grew. Adding a third finger I pushed hard, roughly stretching my cunt wider, teasing the hard nub of my clitoris with the tip of my thumb as each stroke bottomed out on my engorged, swollen pussy lips. The feeling of that ghostly hand between my crouching legs, mercilessly stretching my poor pussy open beneath the sheer nylon of my panties, was bringing me closer and closer to a climax as it pounded into my wanton sex. I didn’t want to finish until I had felt everything this experience had to offer, so with an animal cry of passion, I pulled my dripping fingers from my slit and immediately dove back in with my tongue, tasting my naked essence at its source for the first time. That heady, womanly taste in my mouth and the wild, exploring ghost tongue in my pussy brought me to the brink of climax. Teetering at the edge- ah, ah, ah, like a sneeze that just won’t come, I strained forwards with my tongue, trying to go deeper and feeling a brief pang of guilt for lovers beylikdüzü escort past whom I had silently condemned for similar shortcomings. “Free yourself, Aleeeeeeeeex,” Evelyn’s voice came from beneath me, between my legs where the ghost of my loving tongue had my pussy lips splayed wide open beneath my panties. “Don’t be constrained by your physical body.” And then with an explosion of pleasure I felt her suck my clitoris between her lips, teasing it with her tongue, the sensation overlayed the tongue-fucking I was giving to myself and delivered a magical doubling of the ecstasy in my sex as I quivered madly on the brink of release. As before, where Evelyn’s erotic kiss had given me the power to control my astral state, with her lips on my love button I strained forward again and my tongue simply … GREW! Oh, good lord, it felt like a giraffe tongue; long and thick and prehensile, driving into my core, probing and searching every corner of my womanhood, stretching and licking and filling me up with its thick heat until I was sure I would burst. And then I did. With Evelyn between my legs compressing my clit and my pussy straining to contain my throbbing, licking, magical tongue; my orgasm finally erupted with an explosive release that pounded out from my pussy and set my nerve endings ringing with the shock wave. For a moment I felt a flood spilling down my chin, but by the time I had reeled in my tongue my face was dry, despite the fact that I could still taste the sweet essence of my sex.Chapter 8 – The Winsome Widow “You need to listen to this,” Evelyn whispered. We knelt together and listened; Johanssen was still telling a story and even though I hadn’t been concentrating, I still understood where he was up to; perhaps the seated Alex who just got the tongue-fucking of her life had been listening on my behalf. He was re-telling David Adley’s tale of the stone idol; he and Evelyn had honeymooned in South America and sought out a local mystic; a witch woman, the locals claimed, who was said to dispense aphrodisiacs. Just married and still discovering the joys of sex, the couple were enchanted by the idea and sought out the old woman, keen to try any concoction that might allow them to fuck all night. As Johanssen told the story, Evelyn took my hand and I saw it all with the perfect clarity of her recollection.~~~ Upon crossing her palm with the requisite silver, the crone produced a leaden box containing the stone idol and allowed David to hold it, instructing him to cradle her in his palm and stroke her hair with his thumb. Just to be near it, Evelyn felt its power and reached out to touch it with her husband. “Noooooo!” croaked the witch woman. “This magic is for men; not for the likes of us.” Grasping Evelyn’s wrist in her claw, she moved the young bride away from the idol while David continued to absorb its erotic energy. “The goddess, she turns the man into a stallion.” The witch closed her gnarled fist and brandished her bony forearm, just in case there was any doubt as to which feature of a stallion bore the most relevance to her metaphor. “But the woman,” she hissed, her ancient eyes twinkling with dark knowledge “she become a …” and then she paused, looking for the right word. “I do not know the English; she become EQUITADOR; it is cowboy, but not the same …she become the master of the horses. She control them.”~~~ “That first night,” Evelyn said, her eyes moist with fond recollection, “oh, the things we did, Alex. It was wonderful and frightening and by morning neither of us could bear to face the future with that experience forever in our past.” She took my hand in both of hers, as if pleading with me to understand. “David went back to the woman; God knows what he paid but he returned with the idol, and that’s how we … that’s how I come to have it now.” My head was still spinning with questions; but it was also spinning with unsated lust; the release from my astral-orgasm was only transitory and in a moment I was insatiably horny again. No wonder the men came home from The Widow every month with their cocks bursting from their pants; even if they experience one of those ghostly orgasms, they’re still horny and ready to go all over again; it’s only the real sex away from the idol that gives them any lasting release. I tried putting together what I had learned: Fact number one: like the “me” beneath the table, the Evelyn I could see was not the real one; she was an astral projection.

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