In which Zelda bursts forth into full womanhood

She brought the warm Highveld sun into the apartment with her, lighting up my day with her laughing eyes and heart-stopping smile. Zelda was back from Pretoria and the universe was a better place for that!

I was pulled into the mother-daughter huddle of cooing and giggling welcome-homes, trills of endearment and cries of “missed you, love you”. You would have thought the fair Zelda had returned from perhaps a six-month Antarctic expedition, rather than a two-day visit to Pretoria, 45 minutes up the motorway.

I was as bad as they were because I had truly missed this beautiful, vivacious and extremely sexy young woman. I know I have been rabbiting on about fine mature wines and all that snobbish rubbish, but I had been craving a bit of firm-fleshed and eager inexperience, and here it was, ready to be uncorked and enjoyed like a young, tangy Riesling. All I had to do was figure out a way to clear the decks for action, and that would entail whisking her from under the eagle eye of mother Ruth, who had told me in no uncertain terms that she would not tolerate me taking liberties with her precious chick.

There had not really been much opportunity to address this problem, what with my brains being screwed to mush by a bevy of hardworking and seemingly insatiable mature ladies. Perhaps Zelda would have some ideas if she really was as keen as she said that I have the honour of being first through the portal.

“I’m so randy,” she whispered as Ruth bustled off to the kitchen. “Just go along with what I say to my mum, okay?”

I nodded enthusiastically. She had obviously been giving this some thought and I like that in a girl. “I’ve done a checklist: wedding tackle in good order? Check; lust and desire? Check; eager young virgin available? Check; KY jelly? Check. Seems all is in order except for a venue,” I whispered back.





“That’s why you must just nod when I speak to mum. My friend Anne, who lives with her mum and dad, has offered us their place as her folks have gone to Cape Town for a week. Anne will phone, inviting me around to dinner with her family. I’ll say we have someone staying with us and would her parents mind if he came along? Not a problem, she will say. Mum will ask if her parents will be there. Of course, she will say, and off we go.”

And so it came to pass. Zelda’s untruths tripped effortlessly off the moist, wet tongue framed by luscious red lips and Ruth got no whiff of a rodent, as we posh people say. I think she was secretly quite happy that she could have some quiet time on her own and give her hot box a rest. We had certainly been whooping it up. Putting quite a lot of mileage on the clock, so to speak.

“Fine, I’ll wash my hair and paint my toenails. Don’t be too late and, Gordon, look after my little girl,” she said, fixing me with a stare that let me know in no uncertain terms that I was expected to play the gentleman. I promised I would – remember the adage that a standing prick has no conscience? – and we were on our way.

In the car, Zelda pulled me close, probing my mouth softly with her tongue. As we surfaced she said: ”I have missed you so much. I couldn’t wait for the hours to pass in Pretoria, knowing how bored you would be with old mum. Not that she’s so old, but you know what I mean.”

“Well, she was very good to me and she’s really very attractive. Just as well you didn’t stay away longer, you never know what could have happened in my randy state.”

She giggled: “You wouldn’t have got anywhere with her. She would have been horrified if you had made a pass. She’s not interested in sex. I’ve never known her to have a man friend, she’s quite sort of virginal, if you know what I mean.”

Well, well, how little she knew her mother. Virginal! What a joke. I had a vision of my cock stuck to the hilt up Ruth’s sweet arse as she lapped Sue’s pussy and moaned in ecstasy. Well, I couldn’t imagine, and didn’t want to, my own mother having sex. As far as I was concerned, if it wasn’t an immaculate conception then it was a matter of her gritting her teeth and thinking of England during the single act of sexual intercourse that had spawned me.

But I digress. As we drove to her friend’s house Zelda snuggled up to me, her fingers stroking my now-tumescent cock over my pants. In turn, I had my hand high up her thigh, plucking the suspenders of her stockings like a lute and stroking her firm, creamy flesh. Higher my hand strayed and she parted her legs further to allow me to pet her dear little pussy over her lace-trimmed knickers, moistness at my fingertips.

She sighed, her breath quickening, and said: “I’m on fire, love, I just want you to fuck me, fulfil me as a woman. I will be your slut, your slave, whatever you want of me.” Sounded good to me. She moaned as my finger slipped under the French knickers, touching her little button and sliding into her hot, wet orifice, and she shuddered to my touch.

“Make me come, with your finger, I’m nearly there,” she breathed, holding my hand to her as she started to buck and crush it between her legs. With a loud cry she reached her climax. “That was wonderful. Quick, but wonderful.”

By this time we were outside her friend’s house, which was just as well, as my mind, for some reason, had not been on the rules of the road. Straightening our clothes, we walked up the driveway, rang the bell and were met by another vision of loveliness, this time a brunette version packaged similarly to the one I was with.

“This is my bestest friend Anne,” Zelda said, rather ungrammatically, “we went through junior and high school together and are taking the same courses at Wits University. But I’m cross with her because she managed to get parted from her virginity last month.”

This other teenage goddess gave a quick, throaty chuckle and said: “Big deal. He fucked me, if you can call it that and ran for the door. It was furtive and embarrassing. He had no clue what he was doing, he hurt me, shot all over my tummy 30 seconds later, grabbed his pants and disappeared into the night, never to be seen again. Hardly the starry-eyed introduction I had imagined for my first time!”

This was an awful lot of personal information from someone I was meeting for the first time and all I could do was mutter my sympathy as she ushered us into her parents’ home. No shortage of money around here, it seemed, judging by the plush furniture and décor. I could happily get used to living in such palatial surroundings. Fat chance on a young reporter’s salary. You certainly don’t get into journalism to earn the big bucks!

“Well,” said Anne. “let me show you to your boudoir and I will leave you to it. There’s a nice queen-sized bed in the main guest room.”

Before she closed the door on us she and Zelda embraced, murmuring to each other. Probably some last-minute instructions about not getting blood on the sheets and steeling herself for the pain that would herald her entrance into womanhood.

Zelda closed the door and turned to me, a naughty smile on her lips and her eyes shining with anticipation – or so I hoped. “Alone at last with no mum to worry about. Just the three of us, you, me and my maidenhead – and soon to become just the two of us. Make love to me, sweetheart, I want to remember this night forever as one of my life’s happiest experiences.”

Damn! She was really piling on the pressure. Good old “wham-bam” Gordon forced into the role of honourable and considerate lover. Well, I resolved to use every move in my limited repertoire to ensure that my darling Zelda would have a far happier experience than the unfortunate Anne. If she wanted romance, then by fuck she would get romance!

I took her in my arms in the centre of the room, peppering soft kisses all over her face. She smelt as fragrant as a bouquet of roses and as her breasts pressed against me and her thighs met mine I slowly undid the zipper of her dress and peeled it off.

She stood in a cloud of white nylon and lace, her alabaster bosom swelling over the low-cut full slip. I stroked her back and her bottom, feeling the tight buttocks clench to my touch. I pulled down the straps of the slip, revealing the transparent, gossamer cups of her well-stocked bra, dark nipples starkly visible through the wispy material.

“I must be the luckiest man in the world to be making love to you. I hope I can make this very special,” and in truth I was now on a personal crusade to preserve her starry-eyed romantic ideals.

“We’re both lucky, then. I feel like I am bursting with love for you,” she said as I pulled a breast out of its cup to lick and nibble it as it hardened against my tongue. Slowly I moved her to the bed, gently laying her down, and loomed over her, nuzzling under the skirt of the petticoat until I could smell the wonderful clean fragrance of her juices.

She pulled the petticoat up so she could stroke my hair as I nuzzled her over her virginal white panties. Her underwear certainly suited the occasion --“French knickers, especially bought for this night!”

I gently pulled the elastic aside, feasting my eyes on her well-trimmed blonde bush, and began lapping her pungent, moist vagina, savouring her sweet taste. I didn’t think there would be much call for the KY jelly, not with all these aromatic juices.

She sighed with pleasure as I gently removed her knickers, raising her bottom to assist me. She was now naked from the waist down other than her white suspender belt and sheer stockings, which would stay on for the duration if I had any say in the matter.


“I just want you to relax and let the orgasms happen. Don’t worry about me, this is your night,” I whispered in her ear as I kissed her mouth and allowed her to lick her juices off my lips. Then it was back to the coalface, so to speak.

Leaving a trail of feather-light kisses down her breasts and stomach, I arrived back at the port of entry, stroking her thighs lightly with my fingers while I focused on her clitoris, licking and teasing.

There was no let-up from my tongue and lips and she was soon shuddering to a climax, followed soon after by another. She writhed and moaned and whispered endearments, then shuddered again and gasped and cried out with pleasure.

“I’m having one continuous orgasm, I’m going to die, please don’t let me die before you love me properly!”

A half an hour of this, my face dripping with her juices and my head feeling like it had been crushed by a vice, was enough, I judged. I had reduced her to a basic quivering orgasmic entity capable of identifying nothing but waves of hedonistic pleasure.

I made my next move. Tongue withdrawn from her dripping orifice, I moved up her body to plunge my tongue into her mouth, fucking it cruelly, our hot saliva mixing in a swirl. “Love me now, my darling,” she breathed into my ear, and I pulled away to position my cock, which was twitching with anticipation.

I rubbed my penis up and down over her clit and gently dipped the head into the honey pot. Impatient, she thrust her pelvis against me as a sign to get on with it and I moved cautiously deeper, stopping when I met resistance. “Now, my darling, I’m not frightened.”

All very well for her to say that. I was terrified I would botch the job but it was now or never. One firm thrust and I was inside her. She yelped just once, then hugged me reassuringly (I thought I was the one who was supposed to be reassuring her!) and we slipped into a swift, steady rhythm of lovemaking.

By this time I was having to think mundane thoughts such as what we would eventually have for dinner to delay the explosion of semen into her sweet tunnel. We thrust against each other in a frenzy of sexual lust and desire till she cried: “Come with me!” and we jerked and gasped as she clamped me so tight my eyes watered.

The thrusts slowed to a halt and we lay there, glued to one another with sweat, hearts pounding. She continued to hold me tight, mouthing endearments. When our pulse rates had slowed she held my face tenderly in her hands and said: “Thank you my darling. It was a hundred times better than I had dared hope, you kind, gentle, strong, wonderful lover!

Of course, she had no yardstick to judge my performance, but I puffed out my chest nevertheless, thinking modestly that I had done a pretty good job, even though some of those compliments were a tad exaggerated.

I smiled down at her, still with her bra pulled down to her waist where it met the bunched up slip that I had never got around to removing. “Let’s get cleaned up and have drink with Anne before we go home. And make sure there is not a hair out of place or your mum will start giving me the third degree.”

“Not so fast, Sir Knight, I will have my wicked way with you!”

“Not much chance of that for a while, Missy Piggy. Batteries must recharge and we haven’t the time.”

“Oh, I don’t want any more sex, not right now, anyway, but I want to taste our mingled juices. I want to remember how we taste for the rest of my life,” and with that she kissed her way down my stomach and lovingly licked my balls and penis, peeling back the foreskin and engulfing my shrunken dick with her mouth. Spent as I was, it was a wondrous token of her appreciation.

Anne was waiting for us in the lounge and she and Zelda hugged and kissed. Looking like the cat who had just got the cream, which was almost true. Zelda thanked her for her role in Operation Hymen and we soon left for home, leaving Anne with a wistful look on her face.

AFTERWORDS:

And that’s where we leave Zelda and Ruth and the Saga of the Accommodating Ladies. I visited them now and then and we had some great times, me still having to juggle things so that the one wouldn’t know I was having the odd dalliance with the other.

Soon after, though, I went to work in Scotland and when I returned to South Africa a few years later, Ruth had remarried very happily -- which made me very happy, she deserved a good life -- and Zelda, still the beautiful Zelda, had matured into a lovely matron with two young children and a rugged-looking husband.

The only time I saw her on my return I broached the subject of a tumble for old times sake. She got all skinny-lipped and told me she would never dream of being unfaithful to her husband. How could I possibly proposition her like that. I should be ashamed of myself. So much for wanting to remember how we tasted for the rest of her life!

And that, as they say in the classics, was that.

To my eternal regret I never saw Ruth’s friend Sue after that, but her Aunt Hor used her company plane to visit me in Bloemfontein a few times before I went overseas. The old girl and I had some very uplifting experiences, especially when she elected to include her nubile PA in the proceedings. Perhaps I will write about them some time.

I would have liked a crack at the almost-virgin Anne but never had the opportunity -- or the courage to risk Zelda’s wrath.

I apologise to the many hundreds of people who pestered me to get the old finger out and bring the story to a stunning climax (okay, the five of you who mildly enquired about when the tale would reach some sort of conclusion).

Finally, I would like to thank the people who took the trouble to provide feedback. Just about everybody had nice things to say but a few comments stood out.

Ken wrote: You wrote, "Trust me, I'm a journalist." Excuse me? That would make you about one step more trustworthy than a used car salesman. LOL. – Ken

(Thanks, Ken, we are usually regarded as less trustworthy than used-car and snake-oil salesmen)

Mel wrote: A great story. Lot's of erotic content mixed with some smile material. Humour is a winner anytime. You have written an easily read happy (non-tragic, non-serious) near-believable story to stimulate the imagination. Let me join your other two readers in congratulations. Thanks, Mel

DL wrote: Keep writing! Part of the fun for me is to know there were people who did have the fun I always dreamed of!!

Lynfield wrote: How wonderful it must be to have a partner who shares your taste in erotica. I hope that you do enjoy doing Zelda, but you could stay with the mature ladies for chapters and chapters as far as I am concerned. There is an old saying about widows, that applies equally well to mature ladies: they never tell, they never swell, and they are as grateful as hell.

Grogers wrote: Thanks for writing this. The South African idioms and your gentle language make this more a story of its time than many that I have read. I began dating in those days before pantyhose, when young girls often did not wear stockings, especially in the summer when their legs were tanned and the weather was warm. How very sweet they were. I knew some when they first started shaving their legs all the way up their thighs -- regularly, and in the winter too!

(Ah, yes, sweet memories!)

But my favourite was from JHR, who wrote: I must say, I've read a fair amount of erotic fiction and most of it has been, at best, so awful it tore the fabric of space-time. Yours was definitely not the most sexual story I've read, but it was definitely the best. A perfect blend of sex, plot and wit. At times, reading it, I felt almost as if this were an X-rated version of Jeeves and you a somewhat more adept version of Bertie Wooster. Anyways, I quite enjoyed the story and wanted to let you know.