Susan Richards slid open the door to her walk-in closet and went inside. She peered left and right. Beautiful garments in silk, satin, and lace filled it. They came from the world over, pieces from the Orient, from London, from Paris, from New York. What to wear? She decided on her lavender outfit, a silky, racy number with a demi-bra, a laced-neck corset, satin-accented crotchless panties, and a suspender belt. Of course, she had to grab a sexy pair of ultra sheer lavender stockings to go with her ensemble. Purchased for a single purpose, this outfit remained her favourite one.
Gloriously nude, she gripped her prizes in her arms and hustled out of the bedroom and into her study. She’d been waiting for this evening of pleasure all week.
Upon entering the room, she threw her clothing onto the white leather divan. She dropped onto it, relishing the feel of the buttery-soft hide on her pale, freckled skin. Her long blonde hair, once golden but now almost white, faded into the niveous leather. The cool material made her heated flesh tingle. Susan donned her finery, meticulously smoothing each piece over the lush curves of her mature body. The dancing flames in the fireplace illuminated the objects in the room. She now could afford to buy the beautiful things that interested her. She no longer concerned herself with money, now that she’d plenty of it. Tasteful oil paintings of nature scenes adorned the cream coloured walls. A few choice pieces of marble statuary stood in the corners of the room. Smaller porcelain figurines decorated various tabletops and the polished marble fireplace mantle. They shared it with the portrait of her two most precious treasures — Greg, her eldest son, and Trent, her baby, who had died fifteen years ago.
Susan poured herself a drink from the pinwheel cut crystal decanter that sat on the oak sideboard. She took a long pull of the well aged Ferreira Port from her goblet. The fiery liquor raced down her throat and warmed her stomach. How she loved the finer things in life. Herself especially. At 60, her breasts still held their attractive shape, with only a touch of sag beneath them. Rosy red nipples stood proudly on their creamy mounds. They peeked defiantly over the frilly upper edges of the demi-bra. As Susan moved, the lace ruffles on the bra tickled her nipples delightfully. Her clear lacquered fingers slid over her smooth belly, which displayed a slight hint of spread. Dancing kept her in great shape. She made sure she stepped out at least three times a week for marathon dance sessions. Being freed from the tyranny of work certainly made one’s life easier, she mused. She could pursue her other interests full-time.
Another sip of port put her in the right frame of mind. Her excitement mounted. Her bejewelled hands danced over the generous swells of her breasts and down her sides, continuing over her silk sheathed legs. Her sensitive skin burned, her pale skin growing red and heated. She became a mass of tingling nerve endings. She leaned back into the divan, the leather providing stark contrast to her purple lingerie. As she ground her ass into the seat, something poked at her. She reached around and picked up the source of the irritation, the stereo remote. Ah. Music is what she needed. From the ceiling mounted Bose speakers wafted mellow Big Band music. The orchestra played a sultry, laid-backed ditty. It didn’t fit her mood at all! She felt like something more upbeat, Merengue perhaps. Latin music always made her wet. She almost changed the radio station, but recognition halted her. She knew the track well. Stranger on the Shore. The corners of her mouth curled upwards in a wistful smile as she remembered the first time she’d heard that song. It had also played on the kitchen radio that evening she threw out the last dinner she’d ever made for her then-husband. That day, she’d thought her life over. Thank God she’d been mistaken. A decade had passed, and she still had many more years to go. Happy ones, she hoped.
Was she happy? She didn’t know for sure. She thought so. Her life had certainly improved over the years. Susan refilled her goblet from the decanter, and quaffed it down. She rolled the crystal goblet between her delicate, blue-veined hands as she thought about how things had transpired. Acker Bilk’s wonderful melody washed over her, his song taking her back to another time and place.
***
Here I stand watching the tide go out
so all alone and blue just dreaming dreams of you …
***
The sporty BMW X5 pulled up beside the Desenfrenada Lujuria dance studio. Susan popped out of the driver’s side. She stared at the doors of the studio, as if her force of will could somehow allow her to see through them. She heard a door slam behind her. Turning quickly, she watched her friend Regina strut around the pearlescent beige SUV. Regina wore a tight white cocktail dress that barely went past her ass. The red shade of her lips and nails better suited a streetwalker than the president of a successful güvenilir bahis Internet company. She had tied her long blonde hair back into a single flowing ponytail. Her mercurial blue eyes pierced Susan’s own. Regina sashayed towards Susan, her monolithic-heeled cork platforms adding at least ten centimeters to her height. Even so, she still couldn’t look Susan in the eyes without tilting her head slightly upwards. Regina was petite, no two ways about it. Her perky breasts matched the rest of her pixyish frame. Small and compact, in that adolescent way men liked. She looked about half her age. Although 40, she couldn’t go to a club without having to extricate herself from hordes of horny teenagers, clamouring for a date. Sensuality exuded from her. No, Susan thought to herself, not that. Sluttishness. In anyone else, that trait would have turned Susan off. But how could she despise someone as good-natured as Reggie?
“Just don’t look at it, girl,” Regina said with a smile. Get your pack out of the hatch and get in there. You know who’s waiting.”
Indeed she did. Andrew, the hot young dance instructor. The reason for her second thoughts rested solely with him. The first time they danced together she’d become a different person. A person she didn’t particularly like. Susan felt uncomfortable with this stranger who inhabited her skin while she danced. Unconsciously, she took a step backwards. The driver side door stopped her retreat.
“I’m not so sure if I should,” Susan said.
“The hell with you.” Regina popped the hatch and retrieved the leather knapsack with Susan’s gear. “Here. Get thee gone, wench.” Susan looked mistrustfully at the toffee-coloured bag, as if the thing ticked.
“What’s in there won’t kill you,” Regina said. “But in those clothes, you’ll knock him dead. I got you packed for bear!” Regina laughed, her voice a high-pitched giggle.
“I can’t do this, Reggie. Let’s go.”
“Yes you can. This is your chance. Are you truly that eager to run away?” Regina shook her head disbelievingly. “It’s been almost eight years since your worthless husband dumped your ass. A gorgeous man pays some attention to you, and what do you do? Run scared. I won’t stand for that.”
“You know I don’t like to think about John.”
“Then don’t think about the asshole. Do something about him. Get in there. It’s not like you have to fuck this new guy. Well, not straight away, in any event.” Regina pointed to the door. “Just go inside, shake that sweet thing of yours, and have some fun. Besides,” Regina slapped Susan’s ass firmly, “you need some tone. You’re going to seed, my girl.”
Susan’s mouth dropped open, about to say something, but she clamped it shut instead. Her face compressed into a tight-mouthed grimace. Regina stared at her palm in amazement. “Holy shit! Feel the heat coming off of you!” Regina reached over and felt Susan’s breasts. She tweaked the nipples through the silk blouse. “I thought so. Hard as pebbles.” Regina laughed. “Maybe tonight’s the night after all!”
“Reggie,” Susan began.
“You best get in there and snag yourself that young man instead of going home and melting your favourite toys to twisted mounds of slag.”
“Reggie!” Susan face flushed red with embarrassment. “You shouldn’t speak that way. I don’t own that kind of thing.”
“No shit … Well, you should score yourself a couple of battery buddies. Spare your fingers the hardship. I know you gotta be doing something. There’s no way a woman can last eight years without having a little come now and again. Anyway, we’re burning daylight here.” Regina tapped Susan’s bag. “You got your gear. Get going. I’ll pick you up in four hours.”
“I really don’t want to do this.”
“Bullshit. Those hard nubbins and hot ass of yours tell me otherwise.” Regina leaned back on the car. “Deceive yourself if you want to, girlfriend, but don’t bother trying to lie to me. I know what I felt, and I know what I smell. You’re wet already, aren’t you? Don’t even bother answering. I’ll see you in four.” Regina opened the driver side door of the car and slipped inside. Susan looked at her forlornly, and then at the door of Desenfrenada Lujuria. Well, if one couldn’t retreat, one only could go forward. Squaring her shoulders, she marched up to the dance studio like a woman to her execution.
“That’s the spirit, girl. No prisoners!”
Susan almost died of embarrassment as she opened the door and stepped inside. If I live through this afternoon, Susan thought, Reggie wouldn’t.
***
Susan lay back on her leather divan. Her cherry red nipples throbbed like tiny cocks. She pinched them mercilessly in her iron grip as she writhed. She splayed her legs, and dug her heels into the leather cushions. Her rosy cunny lips glistened with love dew. Her hooded tyrant reared upwards, controlling her actions. Inner vaginal muscles clenched in spasmodic frenzy, whipped up by the maelstrom of desire that enveloped her. She felt a frantic urgency to get off. güvenilir bahis siteleri The heated pulse of her arousal clouded her mind, and controlled her actions. She found the delirium quite delicious. She stuck a finger into her wine goblet before dipping it into her honeypot. Thus lubricated, she raked it across her clitoris. One hand assailed her gash while the other worked at her breasts maniacally. She rode the storm-tossed sea of passion, churned up both by her actions in the present and from her thoughts of the past.
***
I watched your ship as it sailed out to sea
Taking all of my dreams and taking all of me …
***
Susan worked in her kitchen, preparing supper for her husband John. She glanced at the clock on the front of the stove. Minutes to six. Almost time. She bent down and peered into the oven. The roast beef broiled away happily. The homey kitchen, filled with the comforting smells of cooking, felt like an old friend. She’d prepared his favourite tonight. Of course, his favourite always consisted of meat and potatoes of some sort. That was John, hard working and down to earth. She loved him for it. She reduced the heat of the oven and of the burner both. Almost ready. Ten or fifteen minutes more, perhaps. She just had to keep everything warm for him. She set fresh rolls to heat up in the toaster oven. Now that she’d seen to John’s needs, she could look after her own.
Susan raised the volume on her kitchen radio. The music sounded tinny coming from the small, cheap speaker. However, the music would serve her immediate purpose. She needed to take her mind off of what she wanted to do. Tentatively, she hitched her apron and skirt up at the front.
She closed her eyes tightly, preferring to remain in the red speckled darkness behind her eyelids as she pulled aside the crotch of her plain white panties and forced two fingers into herself. Still dry inside. Her other hand crept over the mound of her breasts and rubbed them ever so gently. She shattered. Her breath deepened as her arousal grew. The telltale wetness seeped from her, warming her entire crotch. That delightfully uncomfortable feeling of two fingers wiggling inside her cleft excited her. She dared to open her eyes and look at her breasts. Even through the floral print apron, she could see her long nipples hardening. She squeezed one, then the other, as she fingered herself. Her two fingers dove in out of her honeypot, bringing her off. She stuffed a third finger inside. The Tempest broke inside of her. Scaling the lofty plateaus of ecstasy never came easy for her. She only did it from necessity.
John would be home soon. And when he got there, he’d expect to have sex before dinner, just like he’d had practically every night since they’d married over 30 years ago. Somewhere along the line, the activity has become more of a chore and less of a pleasure. They had gone from long, pleasant screws in the afternoon to the quickie sex he took from her before supper. He rarely even spent the time to see that she became aroused. Now, he’d just throw her down onto the bed, flip her over, and ram himself inside of her. As she got older, she needed more time to warm up for sex. If she worked herself up first, things hurt a whole lot less.
Susan mauled her breasts and slid her slender fingers into the gap between her nether-lips. Her nectar flowed as thick as the gravy bubbling merrily on the stove top. She licked her moisture off of her sauce coated fingers. Sweeter than any gravy, certainly! If only John would care to try. No sense hoping for that. He refused to do anything as unmasculine as pleasuring her orally. She’d tried to convince him many times in the past. He’d always refused. ‘Cunts are for cocks, nothing more.’ A classic John saying. Blunt, and to the point, just like the man.
And, like the man, so very wrong.
Susan continued to slam in and out of her own box. The lewdness of the entire situation excited her incredibly. She unintentionally leaned back against the hot stove. The warmth of the oven permeated her broad backside, but paled compared to the heat from her own furnace. She could bear it. She glanced at the stove clock. 6:15 PM. Almost time. She regretfully pulled her fingers out of her vagina and quickly adjusted her skirt. She couldn’t let her seasoning go to waste, however. She carefully cleaned her juices off of her hands with her tongue. She loved the taste of herself.
The front door opened. Susan had just finished washing up for dinner. “I’m home, Suze,” John called out. “Come on upstairs.”
Where else? Susan quickly did a final check on supper before following her man up the spiral staircase.
John Richards sprawled on the king size mattress. Reddish brown hair covered his nakedness. He held his thick cock with his right hand and pillowed his head on his left arm. Susan knelt between his splayed legs, bare assed, noisily sucking his tool. She knew he always liked to begin this way. From the first days iddaa siteleri of her marriage he had craved head. Even more than intercourse, sometimes. When he penetrated her face, she felt that he needed her. She’d developed a great technique over the years. Her fingers had an instinct all their own. They knew where to press and how much pressure to apply. They went from massaging his balls, to stroking his shaft with gentle, even pressure, to grasping the base of his prick hard as she took him deep within her. Her tongue flicked across the base of his glans while her sharp teeth nibbled at the crown of his cock. She would suck in the mushroom shaped head, inhaling hard, then push straight down, forcing the thick, rigid tool down her velvety throat. She could do this without choking, without gagging from the pressure. Her tongue slithered out, brushing against his hairy balls as he lay lodged deep within her throat. That always drove him crazy. Then she slid backwards, moving right to the tip of his prick, before tracing her stiffened tongue over the large vein that ran along the underside of his cock. The hand that had been cupping his hairy balls would then slide upwards toward the tip of his cock, following the path her mouth had just made. Up-and-down, in and out, over and over again.
Susan rested her hands on the insides of his thighs as she blew him. She felt those corded muscles contract and relax as he took his pleasure from her. In knowing that she pleased him, she felt pleasure. Honey continued to drip from her steaming pot. Her nipples strained, demanding attention. She’d just ended her upward stroke, about to kiss the tip of his cock when he roughly pushed her away. Here it came. Time to do the deed.
John tossed a pillow down, and positioned Susan over it. The creamy globes of her ass beckoned to him. As white as the cliffs of Dover, and almost as wide. She moved her hands to cover her ass, but he snagged them in his beefy hand and pinioned them to her back in his tightfisted grip. He put a hand on her right hip and pulled her straight up until she spread open, like a lily in full bloom. He applied firm pressure, forcing her face down into the mattress. Susan clenched her teeth together, and waited. She didn’t have to wait long. The first stroke into her slid her forward at least fifteen centimeters. Her eyes teared up as her cunny stretched. Thank God she’d worked herself up earlier. A shriek started in her chest, but she clamped down on it. John pulled out and slammed into her a second time. This time she could not restrain herself. Her mouth flew open but no sound came out, only a pitiful wail only dogs could hear. The fingers of her restrained hands mauled empty air as he rode her. A short, but very rough ride. He jack-hammered into her tight sheath, unconcerned whether she received pleasure or not. He had a destination to arrive at, and he intended to get there as quickly as possible, heedless of the condition of his mount. Only his need concerned him. In his desire, his thrusts felt almost cruel.
As John screwed his wife, her mind ran to the food and the oven. John was taking longer than usual. He hated eating dried out meat. If this went on for much longer, his dinner would be spoiled. Her hips bucked against him. Her ass ground in tight, circular motions in an attempt to get him off faster. Once he went off, he’d quickly lose interest in her. At least, she hoped so.
John gasped as Susan bucked her jiggly ass against him. He released her hands and grabbed both of her hips. That’s when he began to really ream her pussy in earnest. Her freshly released hands grabbed the coverlet as her husband pummeled her with his cock. She bore the brunt of his lust stoically. Her petrified nipples ached. She needed him to pay some attention to them. Her breasts craved sucking. Of course, he ignored her needs. She knew he saw women just as boxes waiting to accept a man’s seed. In and out, in and out, over and over again. John continued to ply his shaft within her. Suddenly, her ordeal ended. She felt his thighs stiffen up, and his grip on her waist tighten. His lunges became erratic. He held her ass against his groin tightly as he continued to make short, abortive thrusts into her.
“Finish me,” he commanded.
Susan pulled herself off of him, then gingerly licked him clean. This is how they ended their lovemaking sessions every evening. As his member shrunk between the welcoming warmth of her lips, she felt close to her husband. He trusted her with something delicate. Something precious. When he buried himself in the loving sheath of her willing mouth, she felt connected with him. Her swallowing his seed always gave him intense pleasure. This, in turn, pleased her immensely.
John’s cock went completely flaccid. She ceased her ministrations, and went to the bathroom to fetch him a warm face cloth. He grabbed the face cloth without thanks, then wiped himself off. He tugged on his clothes, while Susan rearranged her skirt and apron. She’d not undressed. She knew from bitter experience that it wasn’t worth the effort. Her dress and apron fell back into place. “Dinner will be done by now,” she said. “Let’s go and eat.” She reached down to retrieve her castoff white panties from the ground.