The intercity train station was bustling with passengers, as well as trains, as folks prepared to head off in all directions.
"While there's still time", were the words that Seymour could not get out of his mind. "What did she mean by those words?" he kept asking himself as he reached for inside jacket pocket to read the letter for the umpteenth time.
The letter was hand written on the finest quality watermarked paper, and the embossed envelope had a slight fragrance to it. After reading the letter yet again, Seymour neatly placed it back in his breast pocket, while the rhythm of the train made him his close his eyes and let his mind wander to yesteryear, and Miss Ackleton.
The years seem to fly by, but the fond memories were etched on Seymour's mind like a stone inscription. The night he had walked past her bedroom, to fetch a drink from the kitchen, to find her door slightly ajar; her arms sprawled upwards, displaying the heavy growth of her armpits, the unshaven legs clasped around fathers thighs as he dug deep into her. Her eyes met Seymour's for a split second, just long enough for them to acknowledge each other, as Seymour made his way down to the kitchen.
Then there were the naturist holidays: Miss Ackleton confidently exhibiting her large hairy cunt, together with her natural 34b breasts and a beautiful white body that had never seen a razor or waxing. Her nipples were always pert, like cigar butts, dark brown with the gorged surrounding rings, which matched her elegant short hair and dazzling eyes.
Seymour's sleepy mind went back to the times when Miss Ackleton would leave her bra and knickers in the laundry basket. Seymour would sniff the gusset of the satin silk panties, which gave off a warm aroma of delicious cunt. He would hold then against his face, allowing the tingling sensations to shoot throughout his whole body, before trying them on himself. On several occasions, Seymour had been so overwhelmed that he accidentally soiled the panties and the silky smooth stockings. Seymour's heart had paced fast, but to his amazement, Miss Ackleton didn't say anything; in fact, she had started leaving more and more of her luscious under garments in the laundry basket. The distinct aroma of a woman's cum was over powering, but Seymour didn't recognize the sweet scent, until later.
Seymour was only sixteen, when he sadly, lost his mother, to a tragic illness. His father, Hamilton, decided to appoint miss Ackleton to look after the house, Seymour, and Alison, since he worked very long hours in London, and only visited the country house on occasional weekends; the visits became less and less, until eventually Hamilton would just phone to check on his son and daughter. Hamilton preferred the company of his new girlfriend in London, and they both viewed Seymour and Alison as a hindrance.
Seymour and Alison were happy enough to spend the time with miss Ackleton; her warmth and affection was a far cry from the cold stiff upper lip of Hamilton. She had introduced Seymour and Alison to naturism, I.e. being comfortable with their bodies, in full nudity, especially amongst others, at the retreat. Hamilton didn't really care what she was doing, just as long as they kept out of his way. Miss Ackleton, Seymour and Alison were happy enough, just as long as father was looking after them financially.
Since Seymour and Alison were now over 16, Hamilton considered them to be old enough to make their own decisions; just as soon as they would graduate from university, Hamilton's coast would be clear, for him to start his new life.
Seymour was shaken awake, as the train jolted into the station; he quickly composed himself, as he hailed a cab; showing the driver, the address on the letter.
Miss Ackleton and Seymour engaged in a warm embrace, as she welcomed him, into her new home. Seymour's eyes scanned the flat quickly, while she took his coat.
"I can't believe it's been so long," they both said in unison, as they admired each otherholding hands,gently.
She beckoned Seymour over to the couch, as she fetched coffee. There was pleasant banter, giggling, and plenty of catching up, as they sipped their coffee. She was reminiscing about the past events, but Seymour couldn't take his mind off previous circumstances.
She looked so adorable, with her hair the same as before, her thick growth showing through her light stockings, her satin blouse, her silk cardigan which complemented her tweed skirt.
She kept patting Seymour's hand throughout their conversation, which only served to break him into further sweating.
"These things are normal, honey," she began as she cleared her throat, and began talking about the naturist holidays, the laundry basket, and her half open door at night.
Seymour coughed nervously, as he fingered his shirt collar.
"Do you still wear them?" she enquired looking deep into his eyes, and holding both of his hands very lovingly.
"Yes," said Seymour in a croaky voice, as beads of sweat had now broken through.
Miss Ackleton loosened his collar slightly as she kissed him on the lips, very lovingly. Seymour reciprocated the gesture hungrily, as his hand found her soft breast, the nipple pert, as he let out a sigh of relief.
"Would you like to try these on?" she enquired eagerly, as she handed him a bag of clothes from the ladies designer top brand.
Seymour's eyes lit up, as She held up lacey knickers, tights, a garter, and suspenders. That was not all, he further found a beautiful tweed skirt, satin blouse, and pearl jewellery.
Miss Ackleton smiled radiantly, as she helped Seymour out of his suit. Seymour was totally oblivious with regards to time, his surroundings, as he expedioustly made his way into the attire.
"That's my girl," smiled miss Ackleton as they began their deep French kiss.
She pinned him down from the arms, as she slobbered over his chest.
Seymour was lost for words as he groaned with bliss. He squirmed, ever so slightly, as he felt her middle finger beginning to massage his prostate. He vaguely opened one eye from the hypnotic state, to see her hairy leg straddling his, with just as much hair as his own.
"It's okay sweetie, mummy's got you, mummy's got you", she kept whispering, as her finger indulged in the milking process. The circular movements sent goosebumps, from head to toe, as she found his G-spot. Her soft sensuous tits pressing against him, as if to reassure him of her presence.
"Do you still love mummy, sweetie?" she kept asking, in her mumsy accent.
Seymour wanted to speak, but the intensity of her milking the prostate sent him into oblivion and lost all ability to talk, other than to consent by subdued gestures. Seymour's prick was bursting with anticipation as he felt himself getting close to the edge. Having sensed this, miss Ackleton strategically placed her unshaven armpit over his face; the dense growth combined with the musky odour of slight womanly sweat, sent Seymour reeling, as the ropes of his spunk slithered onto the shiny stockings, through the Lacey knickers.
"Uh, uh, uh," was all he could muster, as miss Ackleton kissed his neck gently, stroking his hair back, and allowing her warmth breath to diffuse into his ear.
"You're such a beautiful girl," she kept saying in her gentle caressing manner, as she milked the last few drops from his prostate.
"Mummy's going to buy you a lovely frock tomorrow, some dolls to play with, and then we' ll cook together; wouldn't that be nice," she whispered, while stroking his cock lovingly.
"I am a girl, I am a girl, I'm your girl, Miss Ackleton," Seymour sang out, as he relished in his new found confidence.
He turned around to face her, taking in the thick dark body hair, contrasting against her beautiful Lilly white complexion.
She welcomed him, with open legs as he rode her, sucking her milk hungrily, as if he hadn't eaten for days. The nipples pert, very long and erect. He smothered his face in her armpits as they rocked together; her completely naked, with an abundance of body hair, him in his silk stockings, knickers, garter, suspenders, and pearl jewellery.
"Good girl, good girl," she kept encouraging him, as their two bodies became one soul....
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