She noticed him now that he was a young man, and after a year of college and almost nineteen, a sleek and muscular one at that. She began following more than just his performance in swim meets at the club. Observed giggling girls and more composed young women, some married as she was and some with children, both older and younger, follow him with their eyes secreted behind glossy magazines and then slide into the pool to cool off after their thoughts turned as humid as the summer day.
Watched him with his friends play volleyball and basketball on humid afternoons, lithe and muscled male bodies slick with perspiration engaged in ritual combat, before they too dove into the cool relief of the pool.
Last year she had caught a few of them celebrating graduation late one night by downing a case of beer next to the brook between their houses, and rather than tell their parents she merely confiscated the contraband, this being a first offense. He politely thanked her and promised never to get caught doing that again; never to get caught, mind you. She even watched him through the screen of her sun-porch as he and his prom date stole a kiss, graduating seniors both, he in perhaps his first tuxedo and she a lovely girl in a low cut, powder blue gown, both of whom exploded anxiously and still like teens from the rear of their white limousine for obligatory pictures.
Growing up he had mowed their lawn yearly and cleared their rain spouts when they clogged. Once in his senior year he even saved her from an errant mouse when her husband was in Taiwan on one of many business trips, all friendly gestures from a neighbor who employed gardeners and a day-maid and really didn’t need the lad’s assistance, but who understood how to maintain the social bonds of neighborhood, theirs being one of opulence built for the grandchildren of America’s nineteenth-century robber barons. But the ancestors of men who had made Ford and Chevrolet household words now drove Mercedes and Jaguars in what had become an exclusive, gated community.
As planned he had gone away to college and on a full swimming scholarship. And on his return, that summer at the club where he worked as a lifeguard and the entire neighborhood gathered, just two weeks after he finished his freshman year, she finally noticed her neighbor had, well, developed. Developed nicely. Sitting by the pool, she overheard fragments of a surprisingly frank conversation between three bikini-clad young women also home from college, sitting behind her on three colorful beach towels, their voices they mistakenly assumed lost in the din of the mid-afternoon crowd. They dressed to see and be seen in bright colors, in daring tops that afforded little coverage for their tanned breasts, and skimpy bottoms that barely contained their tight and perfectly curved derrieres in diminutive and insecure triangles, and not to dive and swim, for their bikinis were as insubstantial as they were revealing.
“I’m telling you, watch when he gets out of the pool. Theresa said,” and here the redhead with excessive eyeliner paused, either for effect or to make sure she wasn’t being overheard, “he’s like, lucky he can walk when he’s got a boner. He wouldn’t even, fit, so she used her hands ’cause they were in a hurry.”
“He didn’t fit?”
“Fit where” one giggled as she tapped her nails on her soda can, pushing the conversation in an even edgier direction.
“Duh. Anyway, that’s what she said.”
The girls giggled at the silly description of his inability to walk, and one pretended to be so amused that she spit out her soda at this tidbit of information.
“Well, Theresa would know” a leggy blond offered after a brief silence. “She could line up the guys in our class and name half of them just from the waist down. Knowing her she, like, got more than sticky hands. And I can’t believe he didn’t fit her somewhere; I mean, she practiced on everyone.”
Again they laughed at poor Theresa’s expense, a young woman whom they believed had her fill of the senior class in more ways than one.
“Where is she now, by the way” the third blond asked.
“Northwestern, pre-med.” A longer pause, “she must have sucked out some brain cells from some of them.”
“Oh Camille, that’s so gross.”
“Yea, like you never” the redhead said, and they all chuckled at their experience and maturity.
“Not that many” she responded and laughed. “And not one that ginormous, gaaak” she finished with a mock gagging sound.
“Anyway, if he dives in after his turn at the high-dive, watch when he gets out and he’s still wet. I’d love to see him again in that blue nut-sack he wore on a dare at Erin’s party. Mmmm, yummy. He, like, got embarrassed and changed into shorts in about five minutes. But you still can see it in those baggies he’s wearing now.”
“Cute butt too. Very easy on the eyes. He’s standing up” one finished with a sense of urgency, yet tried to remain cool as they rose and headed in his direction.
Now she wanted to see too, her 6’2″ eighteen year old neighbor with supple muscles layered over a lean swimmer’s frame. She didn’t remember ever thinking of him in that way until he was about to leave for college, but boys do become men, and men, she mused, have their uses. She strolled to the snack bar for a diet soda and slowly returned to her chair by way of a complete circuit of the lap pool where he was working that day, slowing to greet briefly other friends of leisure.
Joey, familiarly shortened from the solidly Catholic Joseph, was in the lifeguard’s chair across from her when the PA system announced the end of adult swim as kids of all ages prepared to dive into the pool in a pent-up frenzy of splashing. Constance watched him talk with his replacement, hanging on to the left side of the chair, and rather than climb down to the deck he dove into the deep blue-green water of the dive well and swam on his back across the pool to where she stood chatting with a neighbor.
Joey climbed the ladder from the pool as water cascaded from his limbs in sheets. He unselfconsciously shook his head like a dog, the water flying everywhere from his short, curling locks, light brunette with the ends bleaching in the sun. His skin was turning a fine shade of toast too she observed when her approving eyes descended to his blue swim shorts as he toweled white nose-coat from his face. Her heart might have skipped a beat at the outline of what the girls had been discussing, and her eyes in a flash returned to his face, a sudden tickling sensation palpable in the depths of her abdomen. He was endowed as one girl had described him, his wet suit briefly outlining a long, thick, rooted organ dangling with dead weight down a leg and aimed at his knee and with an impressive head it seemed. Thick and long, and this after climbing out of the shock of cool water as well she thought.
She coyly bit the inside front of her cheek as the buzz of the crowd around her disturbed her reverie.
“Hi Joey” she said after she swallowed to clear her throat.
“Hi Mrs. Mayfield. Hi Mrs. Taylor. What’s up” he queried sweetly as his green eyes almost imperceptibly surveyed both of the women’s bodies, but quickly returned to her face. Is he checking us out, she wondered, barely catching his eyes in the glare.
“I’m fine; isn’t it gorgeous today? I won’t keep you, but I did want to ask you, is this the only thing you do in the summer, or do you have time for other odd jobs?”
“The more money I make this summer, the better I eat in the fall” he laughed as he tapped water from his right ear. “What do you need, Mrs. Mayfield?”
What do I need she thought as she definitely caught him checking her out again, but now just her, and with his same ‘aw shucks,’ boy next door charm, a quick glance at her boobs and back up to her eyes. His reaction to her, however small, was a rush that made her nipples harden as she surveyed his wiry muscles in his arms and chest. What an interesting contrast they would make, their limbs intertwined in a frenzy of excitement, she thought to herself.
She was forty four and childless, a lawyer who never had to practice law thanks to a well-chosen husband who made a mint on corporate tax law by the time they were thirty-five and then slid right into upper management after only ten years. Some people pick stocks; she picked a winner on her first try. So she worked out weekly with a personal trainer who kept her petite body in shape for James, to keep his eye from wandering to any one of a number of secretaries or colleagues she encountered at parties would gladly step over her cold body after they pulled the rock from her finger to become the second Mrs. James Mayfield.
Her two affairs well over a decade before were early in her marriage; now she didn’t cross the street unless it benefited her. She imagined that he probably had indulged too. But they had settled into a routine and a lifestyle. Neither had the energy nor the inclination to verify that the grass wasn’t greener elsewhere.
Or maybe he was screwing one of them now she sometimes thought on his long trips. But she was too plugged into his assets for him to cut her out with a divorce; she would never have to work no matter what either of them did or didn’t do. To ensure that his eye didn’t wander permanently though, she sated him and kept herself mildly amused with an armoire of lingerie, silk restraints, a toy or two for when he was away (though she considered herself a finger girl at heart), and a wicked imagination for all occasions—her best tool, all to highlight her trim body and keep James interested, as he was the primary recipient of her debauched inclinations.
Eventually they will be younger, she frankly told her best friend over a few glasses of wine one sunny afternoon, but she could suck the chrome off of the bumpers of their his-and-hers SL600s if she needed to, and did a lot more when the spirit moved her. She pulled all of her 105 pounds she figured, several pounds of which was a symmetrically perfect 33B boob-job from the best plastic surgeon in the city and a preemptory butt tuck to ward off the ravages of time before it struck her admittedly favorite asset. James had wanted her to move up to a C or a D, but she didn’t want them ‘hanging around her knees’ when she was seventy, so his dreams of tit-fucking perhaps he negotiated with a stacked secretary. Frankly, she could care less at this point in her life.
“I need a room painted. You up to it for 20 bucks an hour” she asked with an agreeable smile. “I’ll even throw in lunches and whatever else you need” she offered pleasantly, tingling in anticipation behind a cool façade, her manicured fingers laced and dangling at her crotch with soda in hand, ready to tear the material from her pussy and plunge into her delicate folds.
“When can I start” he responded with an exuberant smile. They agreed he would work around his swim training and hours at the pool. Tuesday he was free to paint all day, or so he thought.
He came in old jeans and a worn blue tee shirt, his pants almost in defiance of the weather, and worked up a sweat in the hot room without benefit of air conditioning in light of the project. He began by flaking off the chipped paint in the spare bedroom in the front of the house, a large room with original mahogany molding and a twelve foot tray ceiling. She spent the morning at the club and returned around noon to make sure that Gloria had prepared his lunch and, just as importantly, had left for the day. Moist beyond mere perspiration, she spent her morning in drowsy fantasy, imagining how her afternoon might unfold. Her dampness mingled with sweat and coconut scented oil between thighs she squeezed together in anticipation, accompanied by dips in the pool to cool her fever and hide the moist stain that recurrently formed in the crotch of her one-piece, calling to her nimble fingers for release.
She watched him through the doorway before she announced herself. His jeans were unbelted and hung crooked and low on lean hips without an inch of fat. His shirt was off and sweat had channeled around his muscles and down his back into the crack of his ass that almost peeked above the low-slung pants, the dampness from his exertions staining the material adjacent the seam. The denim she observed hugged a fine ass in the folds of his jeans as she imagined in action for the hundredth time that morning those hips and thighs wedged between her own delicate legs, held spread-eagle to give the lad access to enthusiastically penetrate her pink flower, pounding her ass into the mattress as she panted and moaned for more. He was covered with plaster dust from the walls of the seventy-year old Four Square house. Paint chips stuck to his shoulders and flecks dotted his hair and clung in tiny pieces to the bulging muscles of his arms and upper back. The room smelled of his exertion and the faintest hint of cologne. She dipped into the cups of her top and stroked her nipples to attention—sending a shiver the length of her frame–before she announced herself. She wore an unlined suit with material so form-fitting that it bore the subtle imprint of her nipples even when soft, but in this instance delineated her erect nipples so perfectly that she might as well have been topless.
“How are we doing” she asked, casually breezing into the room as if she had not been drinking in his body for a moment or two, her last thought dwelling on the imagined taste of his sweat as she licked her way up the insides of his thighs ahead of pushing her face into his balls on the way to engulfing the tip of his manhood with her full red lips. Her green one-piece had high-cut thighs and a plunging neckline with a gauzy wrap around her waist, and she was able to feel as she walked slick lubrication on her lips as her butt rotated in a slow, seductive, almost hypnotic syncopation.
“Great. Hungry too” he smiled as he turned and dropped his scraper, seeing her and his lunch in the same moment and exclaiming “wow,” leaving her unsure of whether he more approved of his lunch or her. Perhaps she could be his lunch she mused to herself. He left the room to wash his hands and quickly returned, ravenously diving into his food as they made small talk, both sitting on bent metal folding chairs she had brought virtually knee to knee in the center of the room.
He found her attractive he decided, her thick shoulder-length brunette hair, and olive tan, courtesy of genes passed from her Greek ancestors. She looked as good as most of the young women at the pool he realized as he appraised her next to him. He noticed also that her toes and nails were painted to match, and that she wore a toe-ring, an affectation of the young that made her feet feel sexy.
She loved men’s feet as well and how they looked in sandals; to her there was something erotic in large and powerful men’s feet, and his were attached to exceptionally muscled legs and fit into an old pair of Birkenstocks. One affair of hers from years before, a bisexual she met through volunteering with a local theater group, would use his oversized great toe to bring her to orgasm, actually slipping the tip of his foot into her wet warmth, and the toe next into her asshole, wiggling them to bring her to a gushing finale that trickled down his foot to his ankle. He finished by cumming between her toes, the warm spunk she played in and rubbed around with her fingers like high-priced moisturizer. One of the sexiest things she had ever done was to rub their fluids together, hers and his, as afterward they intertwined their toes. He then licked her feet clean so delicately and expertly that she came as he attended to the crevasses between her toes, her one hand rubbing her clit nearly raw as she watched him service her like a sex slave.
“My God, you look hot in those jeans” she said.
“Pardon” he said, imagining that he had been hit on by his gorgeous neighbor but trying to hide his boyish insecurity at such a possibility.
“The room is hot Joey; you should have worn shorts” she explained with a devilish smile and a raised eyebrow that acknowledged the possibility of a double entendre.
“Oh, yea, I should have. You’re right” he said as he voraciously inhaled lunch.
“Why don’t you take a break, go home and put on some shorts.”
“That’s a good idea Mrs. Mayfield; do you mind?”
“First of all, it’s Constance and Connie to, well, anyway; and second, would I have suggested it had I minded?”
“Right Mrs.” he said sheepishly, “. . . Con. . . , I mean, Constance.”
“Now you got it” she smiled warmly. “Bring your suit and you can shower off and try out my pool when you finish work.”
“Thanks. I’ll be quick” he said as they exited the room almost shoulder to shoulder, with her resisting the urge to deliver a playful tap on his ass as he left, slowing to get behind him and look him over again as he walked.
“I’m staying home today so I’ll be down there too, probably baked by the time you finish. It’s always good to have a lifeguard around. Maybe I’ll bring you a drink” she finished.
“Cool” he said as he trotted down the stairs and out the door.
She picked out her wardrobe while he was changing clothes, wondering whether she could let him finish work today before she moved in. Choosing her most revealing two piece she put her hair into a bun with two loose strands framing her face. She had paid a Monday visit to the spa for a wax, facial and anything else she could think of, so she was ready to be admired and feel comfortably sexy about herself spread wide in any position.
She pulled up on her hood to nudge her tiny clit and sent a jolt through her body; she stroked her moist inner lips, turned and parted her cheeks to look at her behind and admire her symmetrically circular backdoor, a tight crinkled sphincter centered in darker skin that greedily accepted her oiled toys and fingers and pulled her to many a screaming orgasm. She teased herself with her finger, a feather-light stroke up and down her crack before circling the sensitive skin around her anus. Shaking off the urge to cum just once before he returned, she turned her attention to her bikini.
Her suit was a simple cotton string bikini, nothing obscene about it save the color maybe, a blindingly bright tangerine, perfect for her skin tone. The triangles of her top were little more than slings to cradle her boobs and for all practical purposes failed to cover them anywhere but the very center, her soft nipples conspicuously delineated in the thin cotton panels and poking through like stiff little pencil erasers.
The bottom was equally revealing, the front so low that it proposed to the viewer either a lack of pubic hair or, in her case, a meticulously coiffed and foreshortened bush, with the back quite low and skirting the top of her butt; were one so inclined, one could slip a finger into the gap between her skin and the bikini’s waistline at the top of her crack. Needless to say, she never wore this one to the club, for it clung to her ass like a second skin and wrapped itself provocatively into the shallow depths of her crack, now enveloping her swollen lips in the front.
Through the kitchen window she watched him return in a lazy jog, long graceful legs in short, ragged jean shorts and still without a shirt. His legs looked especially supple as he had shaved them just recently for a swim meet, so they had a curious quality about them, the smoothness of a woman’s legs and the power of a man’s. In his hands he carried a pair of long swim trunks. If she played her cards right he wouldn’t need those today.
Before he arrived she imagined what was running through her young neighbor’s mind as he tried to concentrate on his work, over and over his hand reaching for his swollen manhood to massage the ache, a throbbing she would relive if only he would stop his bothersome labor. Boys are so controlled by their carnal urges she knew. Would he jack off before he returned; would he slip into his bathroom and relieve himself at his house as he changed, spitting into his hand, taking his big tool in his powerful hands and wringing it hard as he imagined himself fucking her?
Her fingers too strayed again and again to her mound and fleshy bud inside her bottoms as she modeled topless the tangerine suit. She brushed her erect nipples with the juices that seeped from between her diminutive lips and then blew them dry so as not to stain her top, the sensation of need soon becoming so strong that she had to force herself to cover her boobs and busy herself otherwise as she awaited his return, finally rubbing the clear essence right behind her ear lobes.
Had he masturbated? She had hoped not; she wanted every drop of him and every ounce of his energy. She finally decided to move things ahead a pace and, well, take the bull by his one very large horn. On his return she poured a glass of lemonade and climbed the stairs to the front room, her lips viscously gliding against each other as she walked. She had to fight the urge to drop her bottoms and jam her curled fingers into depths to scratch the itch she had been building all day. How long would this take, she wondered, as she silently eyed him through the doorway for what seemed like minutes. Before entering, she shamelessly added one last slutty touch by squatting slightly and tucking a thin fold of material into the moist slit of her pussy. Her nipples were already hard as rocks; no need to pinch them she realized with a smile. She gave him fifteen minutes to start work before she entered the room with a subdued “hello.”
“Something to cool you off” she questioned as she strolled into the room, the sweat and coconut oil making her skin glow while around her body hung an aroma that by now included the juices she had dabbed onto herself. Her fingers smelled of their excursions to dab at the clear, warm fluid that seeped from her; after tasting herself, rather than wash her hands, she hoped that some of her scent would mingle with the condensation on the glass of lemonade she brought to him, perhaps subconsciously arousing him as he raised glass to lips, or brought his lips to hers, as she could taste her pussy on her tongue as she advanced. He was seated and didn’t rise; he waited for her to bring the drink to him as it appeared that his state of excitement had grown somewhat, and on her reemergence was now again developing. Indeed, she couldn’t tell if he had worked since he returned to her house. Maybe he hadn’t relieved himself when he changed after all.
“Thank you” he said, not looking her directly in the eye as he gulped the liquid like a man dehydrated, hoping the cold would distract him and deflate his erection. She moved about the room so he could feast on her some more, standing just in front of him eventually, her ass at the level of his face in his seated position, stretching, motioning and talking of how she wanted to redecorate, but it seemed as if she were speaking a foreign language for all the response he offered, her hips moving in a slow and lubricated dance about the room as her cheeks bounced tightly with each stab and gesture she made, her stomach flat and aching to be licked. “I’m going to head back down to the pool” she finished pointedly, “come on down when the spirit moves you. Rome wasn’t built in a day you know.”
His eyes locked on her body and seemed at first unable to rise above her navel to meet her eye. Barely able to control her delight she moved within a foot of him, inside of his personal zone and looking down into his eyes, a tad too close for conversation unless the parties were planning to touch intimately, given the proximity of his head to her crotch, so close that she could feel the heat of his body and his breath on her tummy.
She took his hand and slipped him a bottle of baby oil: “Gloria left an hour ago, would you be a sweetie?”
Turning without another word she bent forward over the ladder, her body assuming the position where one could comfortably take her from the rear, slightly on tiptoe, her legs parted, her back arched and her butt pushed out and upturned, each a tad more than necessary for a mere suntan oil application. Reaching behind her, she undid the clasp on her top while one hand kept it from falling from her boobs in the front, her one free hand soon balancing her on the ladder. He stood slowly and paused for a moment to adjust the bulge in his shorts as she pretended not to notice.
Her tan was unbroken from hours of nude sunbathing at her home pool; the thin tendrils of her top hung down her sides, graphically matching the wisps of hair that framed her face. She was growing increasingly wet and horny too, freely seeping through the cotton panel between her legs, and as he began, her hips enticingly began to sway ever so slightly from side to side.
Warm oil squirted liberally across her back before a strong hand tentatively massaged it from her shoulder blades to her lower back, stopping high up her spine and avoiding her sides leading to her breasts. No word passed between them as he did this; all he could do was think about her ass, pushed out to him like an offering. She straightened, reached a hand behind her, then another, and held together the back of her top. She turned to face him and to behold the throbbing monster pushing insistently against his denim shorts, one hand clumsily in front of him in a futile attempt to disguise the size and the uncontrollable pulsing that had overtaken it.
“Thank you Joey” she said, amused at the effect he had on him. She still had it, she thought. By now the snake trapped in his shorts had her near to drooling. The bottle of oil was still held at chest level in his other hand as he looked wide-eyed at her, pretty aware by now that he was either being seduced or mercilessly teased.
She let her top fall to the floor, her eyes never leaving his as he dropped his head to feast on her perfectly shaped breasts, deep red small nipples and areola, the skin of both crinkled and pulled tight with exhilaration on the tips of her firm round boobs. Grabbing his hand and the bottle of oil he held in it, she squeezed it hard, sending two warm streams of oil back and forth across her brown breasts like she was guiding his cock as he pissed on her. His hand was shaking perceptibly as she let go of the bottle and felt the oil running tantalizingly down over her globes.
“I sunbathe nude” she said rather nonchalantly, her eyes never leaving his, and his finding it hard to hold hers.
“Uh, sure” he said, obviously overcome.
“I’m sorry. I can put on a top for you if you want, Joey. But I usually oil myself; it’s so nice to have someone do it for you” she said with a teasing pout as she took his free hand, pulled it up and just short of her left breast, initially touching his erection with the back of her hand as she grabbed his hand and pulled it into contact with her, “and it feels so. . . much. . . better. . .” she finished by slowly hissing each word like an understated Mae West.
“Mrs. Mayfield,” he stuttered, torn by a bevy of emotions, “I’m sorry, it’ll take a while to get used to, I mean, no, I don’t mind at all, I’m just not used to it. They look great; I mean, you do too. You know what I mean”
“To boobs” she smiled, enjoying his display of discomfort, “Not used to boobs.”
“Well not really, but, I mean, I’ve held some, I mean, and lots of pictures on the internet” he continued to stutter incoherently, finally asking “Did you really want me to paint your room?”
She took the bottle from his other hand, slipped it into the loose waist of his shorts like she was holstering a pistol and lay his other hand on her other breast as she leaned back against the ladder, asking with a husky sigh as she pushed out her chest: “well this isn’t Connie’sBoobs.com, but you can figure it out from here, can’t you?”
His hands timidly began to spread the baby oil over her taut breasts, first avoiding her nipples and finally realizing that he could not. He gave in and touched them. She encouraged him with a throaty exhale, her eyes fluttering as she drank in the sensation, her chest heaving upward to increase the force behind his startled massage as nature took over and he finally began to fondle her boobs, first one thumb to a nipple and then his hands kneading them as he stared mesmerized at his neighbor.
“Mmm,” she growled as she dragged her nails over the muscles of his chest, focusing on one of his nipples, which she pinched lightly. She leaned into him for a kiss and softly bit his lower lip with her teeth, finally kissing him and enjoying his overheated, adolescent response to her overture.
“Slowly,” she smiled as she pulled back, “gently, use your tongue and lips. Rough is, hmmm, nice, later, maybe.”
They again kissed, this time softly, her in control with her hand behind his head on his neck, his hands now moving behind her to the small of her back as he pulled her slight frame into his and up onto her tiptoes, pushing his cock into her belly as they both exhaled throatily through their kiss, her hips grinding in a measured way into his as their embrace became fevered, their oily skin gliding chest on chest, flecks of dried paint pleasurably scratching them.
Grabbing the bottle of oil in a fit of inspiration she backed up a foot, pulled it from his shorts, inverted it, and pulling his waist band out an inch squirted the oil into the front of his pants, down over his briefs and tortured cock like she was squirting ketchup onto an unseen hotdog. As he closed his eyes in reaction she moved behind him and, pulling out the rear of his shorts, her fingers found the inside of his briefs as well this time and she again squirted oil into his shorts, this time straight down the crack of his bare ass. She smiled and moved back in front of him as she dropped the bottle to the floor, rivulets of oil now running down his legs.
Taking hold of the button on his shorts, she undid it, unzipped his fly and pulled his shorts down with both hands, three or four inches of his slick member jutting awkwardly out of and at an angle from his drenched underwear. She knelt and pulled his shorts down around his ankles, lifted his legs and pulled them off, one leg at a time. Unable to resist, she removed his Birkenstocks and bending prostrate with her ass in the air kissed the tops of his feet, each in turn. Staying submissively on her knees, she rose up and kissed the part of his cock still hidden in his underwear, inhaling the sweat of his crotch like it was a drug.
Shifting to his side, one hand on his cock, still trapped in his briefs, she slipped the other up and inside of them to grab a handful of his greased butt, her fingers deftly stroking up and down his ass as he began to breath heavily and his hips started to undulate and mimic haltingly the thrusting of sex.
Returning to his front, she stripped from him the sodden briefs, his cock heavily falling forward as the sweaty material resisted her attempts to slide gracefully from his legs, finally forcing her to kneel and pull them down to his ankles as they bunched and rolled, slapping against her face his remarkable manhood on the way back up to a standing position, his eyes drinking in the image of her rising from her knees in front of him while her hand luxuriated in his long, thick and glorious stiffness. She moved to his side and, one hand on his cock, one on his ass, deftly massaged him as she kissed one of his nipples and moved to face him. He groaned like a bull calf at the attention, his body not quite sure of whether to stiffen or melt into a puddle in her hands.
“Mrs.,” he started to say as she touched the head and stroked his glans with her thumb, finishing with a growling “ooooo” as she did this, his abundant precum having amassed in a line of clear ooze plentiful enough to drip, helping her thumb to glide over his entire head, the large purple bulb swollen and imprinted with the cotton weave of his briefs.
She no longer thought she had to move quickly for fear he might bolt from the unnatural situation. In her hand his long hard cock was straining and near to bursting, and he looked so sexy standing there and, in a way, so innocent, his legs a creamy tan and hard with muscles from years of competitive swimming, and his butt; she couldn’t wait to work on those globes and blow his inexperienced mind.
“It’s ok” she said as she continued to stroke her thumb through the viscous fluid that oozed even more plentifully from his little hole, taking the time to taste it on her finger before returning it to his cock. “And, Constance” she whispered in his ear, answering to his attempt again to call her Mrs. Mayfield, as she nibbled on the lobe before swirling her tongue around and sending gooseflesh to bloom all over his upper torso, “remember, call me Constance. And after you cum in my mouth you can call me Connie” she finished with a conspiratorial purr in his ear and a wiggle of her wet tongue as if she were tongue-fucking him. He shuddered at the frank vulgarity as she bit her lower lip and rubbed her oiled nipples back and forth through his soft chest hairs.
“You know you can touch them again” she said; “they won’t break” she continued as he stood frozen, apparently unable to summon the words to respond to her. Taking his hands in hers she again placed them on her breasts, one on each, whispering “be gentle at first. Later you can be rougher. Like your mouth. Ok sweetie?”
She could not imagine a more perfect body, especially from navel to knees. His stomach was like a ribbed washboard, hard and soft at the same time. She wanted him just to stand and pose for a bit so that she could lick him from his feet to his ears, pose like a model or a Greek god allowing his submissive slave the pleasure of cleansing and pleasuring his soiled body. Soft light brown curls trailed a path from his navel to his pubic hair, which was full and slightly darker than those that saw the light of day. Below his cock large balls hung low in sacks of darker skin that resembled aged leather. And then there was the main attraction, 8″ or more she thought—she wondered if he ever had measured it–and thick with a large head, long and slightly curved, with one or two prominent purple veins wrapping slightly around and running almost the full length.
She felt the blood pulsing through these veins, the involuntary muscle spasms from her touch. He looked so long and powerful in her petite hand; her fingers looked tiny wrapped around his shaft. He almost had enough cock for two men. I’m going to be sore after this she mused as her hands danced over his body and she contemplated her next move.
Gripping him at the base only covered several inches, still leaving a long, beautiful shaft. Two hands covered over half of him; three of her petite hands might still leave his head unwrapped at the top she daydreamed as she stroked, saving the large head, the big plug of warm meat for her throat. And Constance Mayfield loved to suck. At home alone sometimes she would masturbate with her fingers while she corked her mouth with a fleshy, lifelike dildo she had first dipped into her pussy, always wishing it were larger and that it could cum along with her and squirt down her throat at the same time.
Looking up and into his eyes she said as she played, turning away from him and backing into his cock, moving her hips back and forth as she wiggled her tangerine butt on his dripping meat and then turning full circle again to face him, taunting him mercilessly, her voice in a husky whisper “you have a beautiful cock Joey. How many girlfriends have you had? Intimate ones.”
He seemed to snap out of his reverie, his hands again resting inertly on her breasts like he had suddenly been given a quiz: “just two, both at college; one local but we went there together” he quickly responded, “But a couple of girls have used their hands on me before. They weren’t really girlfriends. They sort of picked me up at parties.”
So she wasn’t the first local girl to have the pleasure of this dance. “Tell me what you did with the serious ones” she said as she moved her hand to the tip and wrapped it just below the head, now stroking his full length to feel it. He moaned and closed his eyes, his fingers and eventually his hands finally moving to slide across her nipples in the slick oil as he drank in the sensation of her stroking, “how many fucked you” she finished, “how many sucked your cock. What did you do with them?”
“Just normal stuff” he said, returning to her question, like maybe he feared what abnormal activities his neighbor had in mind for the day, activities that he obviously was not running from.
“Well, I pretty much like normal stuff too.”
She paused for effect, one hand now tickling his large dangling sack, saying the words ‘lick’ and ‘balls’ with a hard edge to jolt him: “Did those girls ever lick your balls Joey?”
“That’s all I did with one, just once. She was kinda’ new at it, I think, so was I though. She said I was too big to put in her mouth. One did me with her mouth; she had a big mouth” he said matter-of-factly. “The other we did it for real. She was kinda’ noisy and had a big pu. . . you know. Shouldn’t I have a rubber on now” and here he paused, “Constance.”
“You can say pussy, Joey. Relax. I guess too she was noisy; you have a big, beautiful cock, Sweetie. I bet she screamed her full head off” she said, moving to whisper the words into his ear. “And there’s no need for that here honey. Would you like to feel your bare dick sucked” she said as her hand fluttered up and down his shaft, barely making contact with him, as he began to react by squirming and thrusting his hips in her direction, a moan escaping his lips.
“I’ll take that as a yes” she smiled as she went down onto the dirty floor, her knees resting in the plaster and paint chips like a whore in a crack house blowing some stranger for a dime bag. The thought excited her. They smelled like a man’s balls smell after he has exercised, an odor that both repulsed and excited her. James, when he was younger, would work out at the gym, only to come home and make her kneel to ‘lick his sweaty balls’ before she sucked his dick. She developed a taste for such subservience and gravitated eventually to wrist restraints and slight humiliation—very occasionally more in the shower, more to her liking than James’–that she and James would trade off doing to each other. But this one was too young to do that with she mused.
“I’m a mess right now; you don’t have to do that if you don’t want” he said chivalrously.
“Oh but I do want to” she whispered throatily before she popped his balls into her mouth one at a time, her nose buried in the flesh at the base of his cock that rested on her forehead in that position, one hand between his legs dragging her nails down his cheeks to grab a hand full of skin and muscle. He groaned and his hips flexed almost involuntarily as she licked the salty sweat from his sack and reveled in the weight of his dick as it rested on her head.
“Just watch me for a second” she said, her eyes heavy-lidded, “just watch me.”
She backed away and stayed on her knees, oiling her breasts some more as she began to play with them, her arms and her armpits, closing and opening her eyes as she became more aroused and her breathing hastened, her eyes becoming heavier lidded as he looked at her in astonishment, his hand absentmindedly wandering to the base of his dick as he leaned against the ladder and watched her masturbate for him and he began to respond in kind.
She let her hair down and leaned back, her ass resting on her heels, loosening and removing her bottoms. His eyes grew wide as he watched in astonishment, like a virgin watching a porn movie for the first time. With one hand she traced a trail in the oil, between her boobs and soon through her navel and down to her clit, where she closed her eyes and her breathing became rapid as her fingers dredged through the lips of her pussy. She brought her hand to her mouth and cleaned her fingers like a cat, now dropping her hand again to service her needs and stroke her wet lips, her head starting to roll on her shoulders like a stripper off of the pole and about to give the audience a look at her orgasm, one hand behind her and tickling the crack of her ass.
She reluctantly pulled her hands from both and stood to kiss him and gauge his reaction. Her performance had the desired effect as he pulled her into him and kissed her hard, his hands now groping for her ass cheeks, kneading and squeezing, firmly cupping her buttocks and his fingers buried in the crack of her ass, desire stripping away his shyness as he sought to plunge his fingers into her holes. She loved the feel of his big fingers knocking on her little back door and anxiously awaited giving him free reign of her body.
She backed away and again knelt and lay on the dirty wood floor, this time on all fours facing away from him, her legs together, and wiggled back and forth her ass, clenching and unclenching her cheeks all the while, her little asshole and pussy nestled within her dark crevasse. Finally she again lay flat, her boobs pressed into the floor and her legs stretched wide, giving him a look at her pussy as she elevated her legs, grabbed her ankles, and extended her legs wider, pulling her cheeks into two tight globes of smooth rounded flesh. Her hand reached under her and between her legs, curled up over her pussy and found her ass. She stroked the sensitive entry, paused, and, with a high pitched sigh giving way to girlish heaving sounds, slipped a finger into the tight little gap, the finger moving in and out of her little tailpipe up to the middle knuckle.
Back on her knees she replaced her bottoms, moved to face him, pulled him down off of the ladder onto the floor and pushed him on his back and straddled his chest, her pussy hovering over his mouth. She pulled her bottoms into her crack from front to rear and lowered herself onto his face and mouth, circling her hips and lightly brushing his lips and nose, her swollen mound peeking out both sides of the crotch of her bottoms. She put her fingers into her mouth and sucked them, then into his to share her taste: her pussy and other tastes new to him as the room filled with their mingled scents.
Now nearing a frenzy, he reached up to pull off her bottoms and she took his hands and stopped him, briefly lowering her pussy full on his mouth for a kiss, which he instinctively delivered as he nipped at her bare lips on either sides of the material. “How’s my pussy taste lover” she asked with a smile.
He didn’t respond but started to pull at her bottoms with his teeth to try to free her tangy fissure from its confines.
“You naughty boy” she laughed as she smacked him on the top of the head.
“Come on stud” she said to Joey, now nearly out of his mind with lust. She dismounted his face and stood, pulling him into a standing position. She kissed and licked the sweat from his chest, arms and back and explored every little muscle and crevasse of his upper torso as his head rolled almost listlessly and drank in her ministrations while she reveled in the body she was toying with, ignoring the paint and the dirt as she savored him like an animal. They could have moved to her bed by now, but she was having too much fun where she was, in the dirt and the paint chips and their mingled bouquet. She was in heaven, investigating everywhere for sensitive spots and making mental notes, first with her fingers and eventually with her lips and tongue.
She got behind him and pushed him over the ladder and bent forward, going down on one knee and kissed her way up the backs of his legs to his knees, tasting his inner thighs on her way up to his balls and ass. His crack was covered with light brown hairs, more around the back of his balls with drops of sweat hanging from them, and his cheeks were strongly muscled. She wished she could eat lunch on his lovely ass, or eat his ass for lunch, she wasn’t sure which, as it seemed oddly virginal to her. She lifted his right leg so that his knee rested on one of the steps of the ladder. She would have had him hold his cheeks apart for her, but thought better of it. One thing at a time she decided.
Pushing him further forward she had what she considered a lovely view of his ass and dangling balls from the rear, wishing she could take a picture now and save it for lonely nights in the future, his stones glistening with perspiration. Not wasting time, she gave him a playful stinging smack before her lips sought his balls, their musty taste magnified in the heat and the humidity, finally resting her face in the crack of his ass while one hand went between his legs to flutter up and down his cock.
He nearly bellowed at the sensations, and she smiled at the effect she was having, nibbling with her teeth at the insides of his cheeks before pulling back and licking in concentric circles around his shiny pink asshole before she French kissed it and played with his balls, her tongue teasing the most tender and private place on his body, gliding in and out of his earthy slit like an indecisive and wiggling little fish. She mused that she might be setting the bar quite high for future girlfriends as his hips began to quiver and his cheeks clench in anticipation of an orgasm.
What happened next happened fast. She lost track of how long she had been teasing him, forgot how much of a hair trigger young men had when it came to their first orgasm of love play. In retrospect, she marveled that he lasted as long as he did before his first orgasm with her.
After spinning him around, she carefully placed her lips around the head of his dick, delighted that she had to stretch wide to accommodate his circumference and protect him from her teeth. “Cum for me baby” she panted before she slid him into her warmth as far as she could; “drain those beautiful balls in my mouth. Don’t be shy. I want you to cum in my mouth, sweetie. Down Connie’s throat, sweetie.”
His dick too tasted musty and warm, and with her one hand she softly tickled the length of his shaft; with the other she gently tugged at his balls, her middle finger reaching up to tickle his sticky ass hole. Her tongue swirled around and over his bulbous purple head, poked and flicked his little piss hole and continued to swirl as she felt the first twitching of his cock as he loaded up to ejaculate. Within seconds he began to ooze more profusely and moan in concert with the movement of her tongue as she lapped at the clear fluid. She gripped him more softly, barely touching him with her hand as she worked to slide a third of him down her throat and then all the way out, beginning to make a swallowing motion as she intended to try to deep throat what she could of him, her mouth stretched wide as she did for her dentist under different circumstances she thought fleetingly and almost smiled. She synchronized her head with the natural motion of his hips; he pushed forward and so did she. But her throat muscles contracted as she sucked him with more force, her eyes closed in a sort of rapture as she waited for him to open up in her, anticipating the gush from his large slab of meat.
“If you keep . . .” he started to say, and then his eyes shut and his face twisted up familiarly as he roared over and over as his voice climbed in volume and pitch “oh my god, oh my god, OH MY GOD, OH FUCK, OH FUCK.”
He pulled back too far and entirely out of her mouth so fast that she couldn’t stop him, his first spurted stream of cum painting her face and lips.
She quickly recovered to capture in her mouth a forced stream that surged against the back of her throat, but not thick like cum from her husband. Instead a runny and voluminous load squirted from the depths of his balls, runny like he was pissing into her mouth. That thought excited her, too. She fought back the urge to choke as he nearly overwhelmed her gag reflex with the volume and his sheer size, coughing once and literally sending his cum into her sinuses from the back of her throat. She swirled his head with her tongue and vacuumed him with her mouth as he continued to leak what felt like a cup of cum. It ran down her tongue to the back of her throat, his hips jerking violently as his butt cheeks clenched, his hands reaching for and finding her head, grabbing two fists full of hair and roughly pulling himself deeper into her throat as he continued to groan from the sensations, eventually losing control and slamming himself repeatedly against the back of her throat.
She loved being forced onto a cock, but he did not know that. It was the ultimate expression of a man’s animal desire to shove his manhood into her mouth as far as it would fit, to claw at the back of her head, his fingers clutching at her hair, and not just tell her to suck it, but force her deeper on it and give her no choice, fucking her throat like it was just a pussy with a tongue. After all, if you are on your knees in the first place she figured, you basically ask for what you get. But James and most of her past partners were not so generously hung as Joey; that thing was a lethal weapon she decided, which both thrilled her and gave her pause to reflect.
She too had forgotten how much fluid young men produce. Constance gagged again as he filled the cavity in the back of her throat with his runny seed, hardly with any taste, the sweat on his glistening rod having had more of a flavor than his spunk, her eyes still half closed to enjoy fully the moment as she drained him and felt his muscle pumping cum the length of him. She smiled to herself as she finished him off, now allowing only his big head inside her mouth, stroking feather-light his length with a hand that seemed so little on him, to milk his last drops into a puddle below her tongue and a pool in the back of her throat as his jizz finally began to drip from her face in a long strand from her chin and onto her tits and the dusty floor.
She pulled off of him and stood. With a flourish she placed her lips on his and kissed him, just a peck, and breathed out through her nose to give him a sense of what she held. She let a considerable amount run from her mouth in two streams, drop from her chin and fall over her tits as he watched wide eyed as the cum ran in two rivulets through the dirt on her chest, and then she swallowed most of the rest in a gulp while looking him square in the eye, her lips an inch from his as she ran her creamy tongue over her lips; his seed she massaged into her boobs and especially her nipples, still hard and unfulfilled ans smeared now with plaster dust. Though on the cusp of nineteen and generously endowed, how young he seemed to her.
“You taste good everywhere” she said with a low, sultry whisper before she again kissed him, her nails digging hungrily into the flesh of his ass cheeks, signaling that her needs had yet to be met as she wrapped a leg around one of his and ground her wet muff on his thigh.
He kissed her hesitantly at first, like he was unsure of whether he wanted to kiss a woman who had just sucked his sweaty dick, and licked out his asshole like a junkie whore who would do anything for that next fix, but even at nineteen he had an ingrained sense of blowjob etiquette and pushed his lips into hers, creamy and slick with cum, the smell of which hung thick on her breath.
She continued to stroke his wet member, undoing her bottoms, and letting them fall to the floor as she kicked them away to give him complete access to her body. She lay back on the floor, her knees in the air and together, and wiggled her toes playfully. He knelt in front of her and, his hands on her knees, pushed apart her legs at her knees and then up and back, spreading and angling her so that her inner lips showed and her tight asshole even gapped with a dark center.
He said nothing as he looked at her laying there, a line of bubbly froth dotting her slit like a string of pearls. With one hand turned upside-down he slid two fingers into her pussy, sopping wet and running with juices. He was tempted to kneel and service her but he was uncomfortable with his oral abilities, and especially so in light of her obvious expertise. But there was one thing that he was sure of, that his dick was long and thick and that this woman wanted it mightily. So rather than kiss her, he merely shuffled forward on his knees and, taking his cock in one hand, slipped the head into Constance Mayfield’s hungry gash.
To her it felt like her insides opened up like an umbrella, stretched in places that had never been stretched, as if explorers had finally discovered her tunnel and had exploded dynamite within her to clear out long built up debris. She lost control of herself at that point, soon quivering and clawing at herself in an unseemly way as she surrendered control of herself to the lad’s schlong. Three holes, two hands and a pair of boobs were his for the taking.
She made a gurgling, feral sort of sound, followed by a panted moan—a first moan that strung together with a hundred other ones didn’t stop until he eventually pulled out of her many minutes later after he had fucked her silly and cum again. She felt the grains of dirt on him as he slid further and further into her, then eventually in and out, a feeling like fucking on a blanket at the beach with sand invading the space where only tender tissues were meant to glide effortlessly. Dirty crumbs pushed deep into her pussy and ground against the sides and slammed into the rear wall. She felt filthy and whorish and she loved it.
He pushed into her again and again and began to stroke in and out more confidently, soon setting a measured pace that resulted in Constance succumbing to her first orgasm inside of a minute, her screams echoing in the bare room and no doubt throughout the entire house as she was impaled on his massive pink club and rode it shrieking and pinching her tits with her hands, her nails digging into her soft flesh.
So large was he and so small was she that the flared, soft edges of his head pulled in and out on the loose skin of her pussy. When he shoved forward the outer edges of her pussy disappeared into her, and when he pulled out bright pink skin was pulled into the light of day, skin rolling at the edges of her lips to the aggressive strokes of this young man’s fat piston.
When she next came she grasped frantically at her boobs, twisting her nipples in a violent frenzy as if she meant to tear them from her body and slapping them as her bottom bounced and gyrated on the filthy floor, grinding into the debris scraped from her walls, her tailbone rubbing a raw sore on a crack between the floor boards where the wood was raised. He could feel her pussy clench at his member as the waves of her orgasm broke over her body again and again and her chest flushed red between her boobs and just below her neck, a string of drool running down her cheek from her parted lips.
It was a long orgasm he decided, as if he had any experience with women let alone this premium pussy that had chosen him today—or perhaps it was a string of many orgasms, one following the other—until she dropped from the noisy crescendo and returned to the measured whimpering that indicated to him that she was still being stimulated by the mere presence of him buried inside of her. She was unable to recover any measure of control or decorum at the hands of this young man.
More than half of him fit her snug little pouch, and to see how she would react, while still buried in her, he took his cock in hand, the bottom half that did not fit into her, and began to try to move it circularly and up and down as if he were trying to stir her pussy, despite that there was no room for such motion.
With that she began to keen and pine for her next orgasm and begged him to ‘fuck her little cunt’, which gave him an idea of how to proceed, especially considering that she was more experienced than he and probably game to all manner of things that girls his age wouldn’t have a clue about, which is what motivated him to lean to his side to grab the paint scraper he had been using, with a torpedo-shaped, blunt-tipped handle.
He pulled out of her and flipped her onto her side like a rag doll. She enjoyed the feeling of helplessness in his hands. He took one her ankles in his hand and pulled her leg into the air so she was spread wide, her slit puffy and gapping from his previous activities, and pushed her leg back into a fold where her knee almost touched her boob. He nudged his head into her and watched the expression on her face as he fed more and more of his cock into the tight little hole, his slow motion assault gaining speed as he stroked in and out of her piston-like, her moans and whimpers matching the motions of his hips as he marveled at the tiny little asshole that just begged to be plugged at the very least and her pussy making a slurping sound as he slammed into her over and over again.
The paint scraper was old and filthy. Chunks of old paint and plaster still clung to the shiny silver head, and the base, wooden with a worn gold metal tip, rubbed away like the finish on the wood, had seen better days. He stretched for the bottle of suntan oil laying almost out of his reach and generously squirted it onto the handle and her asshole, then spit on both for good measure. As a final concession to her pleasure he slathered it in the juices running from her with each outstroke of his cock. Her eyes were half-closed as was her mouth, and her face had an incredibly wanton look he decided. If only he had two cocks he thought briefly; it seemed that this woman would appreciate such an assault.
He watched her asshole distend as he posted in and out, her wrinkled little gap glistening with her juices and moving to the rhythm of his hips. Quite unceremoniously and in one stroke he slid the four inch handle into her ass and to the hilt, spinning it on the way in, her eyes first opening wide in disbelief at the unexpected intrusion while the pitch of her voice raised an octave. Her moaning now sounded much like pleading or whining, but for what he didn’t know and really didn’t care as he was hitting a stride he was unaware he could hit, like coming into the home stretch of a swim meet and sensing the finish and the side of the pool and victory at hand, the muscles of his lower torso now girded and tense to slam into the frail little tissues of his marvelously game neighbor.
He felt his orgasm coming and slowed, pulling out as he turned her on her face and raised her onto her knees, her asshole just below and in front of him with the paint scraper still oddly protruding from it and now in his way as its sharp edge poked him in the groin. He removed it and dropped it onto the floor, sliding it forward and away from him.
A thought crossed his mind, but her asshole was far too small for him he deduced, even after being stretched by the paint scraper, so he decided to forgo breaching her ass with his cock, at least for now. Again into her pussy and even deeper he plunged as he started to pummel her harder and harder, her squeals of pleasure soon indistinguishable from resigned complaints at the force with which his oversized cock was slicing into her tender insides, her upper torso crumpled on the floor, her face on its side and cheek in the dirt, a line of drool running from her mouth onto the floor as he grabbed her hips like a steering wheel and began to drive her, alternately pulling her into him and slapping her ass cheeks with his hands as her face rubbed back and forth across the dirty floor.
Had this been the nineteenth century, they might have written that she swooned, her hands feebly reaching for and curiously grabbing onto the paint scraper for support, then moving it to her mouth to suck like a pacifier as her eyes rolled up into her head. Seeing her suck on something that he had just pulled out of her ass was all he could take, and he began to cum and swear, slamming into her over and over as she resigned herself to being pounded and began to cum as well, him in deep guttural moans and her in a curious mix of both pleasure and pain as she got what she wanted: Joey’s cock slamming into her pussy like there was no tomorrow. As he drained into her he marveled at the winking little asshole below him that pulsed with the waves of her orgasm as if it had a life of its own.
After he finished he let go of her hips with one last slap to the ass and she crumpled to the floor; only then did the paint scraper drop from her mouth. She shinnied forward between his legs and pulled down on his cock to put it into her mouth, a look of sublime resignation crossing her face as she tasted his sweat and cum and the equally familiar taste of her pussy. He took himself in hand and slid his hand the length of his cock, milking the last of his cum onto her tongue in a final glutinous blob.
The girls at the pool were right about him, but they would never appreciate him as she did she decided. This room could take all summer to paint she mused with a contended smile as he knelt in front of her, his dick lolling in her warm wet mouth, still not soft even after all of the exertions, as she lay curled and content between his thighs.