This is the seventh installment of
Mrs. Hart's Ache
Chapter III, Interlude IV, Liz
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Author's note: see the Index of Terms for the definition of any word with which you are not familiar.
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This is a simple tale of retribution, wherein the young hero teaches the mother of his newest girlfriend a few manners while enjoying a few adventures – sexual and otherwise – along the way.
James Mark Masterson.
Just your typical teenager. Smart… sexy… sophisticated… and always horny. With the time and bank to do pretty much what he wants to do.
And to do who he wants to do.
Here we meet one of our hero's old acquaintances, now a new lover, Elizabeth Barrows – Liz (et al).
James is hired to install and setup a computer in her office, but Liz has some additional tasks in mind for the young man.
As a widow, she's got a certain itch that is overdue for scratching…
…and, wouldn't you know, James has just the right tool to relieve the poor woman's suffering.
Happy reading.
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III The Ladies in My Life
Interlude IV: Liz (et al)
"
…Repainted the family room. Did Liz….
"
Next, there's Liz. She's new. Rather, that we're fucking is new. I've known her for over a year.
Liz – Mrs Elizabeth Barrows – is a 45-year-old widow who owns and runs a small, high-end art gallery in the city. She has two daughters, Zoe, 18 and Siobhan, 22. Zoe is a classmate of mine. That's how Liz and I first met.
More about those two later.
Liz appears to be more high-30's than mid-40's, with long, wavy black hair and gorgeous brown eyes behind heavy glasses. She's a bit on the plump side at about 5'6" and 155 or so. She has an hourglass shape, with a generous set of tits (38D) with fat, reddish-brown nipples and an ass that fits her frame.
Rubens would have loved her. Great ass!
Knowing nada about computers, Liz was looking for help with system at the gallery. A mutual friend gave her my name along with a couple of others. Since she knew me, she chose me.
Looking back on it, there may have been an ulterior motive in her choice. Could be.
I set it up, then taught her how to use it over a couple of weeks. One afternoon I showed up as usual and went to work in her office. Unbeknowst to me, she'd promptly put up the "Closed" sign, locked the front door, turned out the showroom lights and shed her clothes.
I was sitting sideways to the door, concentrating on loading software when I caught movement out of the corner of my eye.
When I'm concentrating on something – anything – I stay focused. A bomb could go off next door and I wouldn't lose focus. I finished the input with the click of the mouse, then caught a whiff of perfume. Expensive perfume.
Justifiable rape perfume.
My nose followed the scent, pulling my eyes to the door. Some bomb! Or is it bombshell?!
Anyway…
By the time she's reached the office, she'd left a trail of clothes behind. Her blazer, scarf, skirt and half-slip lay on the floor in clumps. All Liz wore into the office was her blouse and lingerie, a matching set made of semi-sheer black silk, satin and lace.
She told me later that she had purchased the lingerie solely for my viewing pleasure: a strapless bra that barely contained her tits, a lightly boned waist cincher with garters, string bikini panties with bows tied on her hips, stockings and 4" heels.
Liz posed for me in the doorway, her blouse open, the collar falling off her bare shoulders, with her wavy raven hair framing her face, cascading down her back. Her black-framed glasses were perched on the end of her nose. She licked her lips slowly.
All in all, a blatant invitation for nasty sex.
Time out.
Red lipstick. Killer! I knew it was gonna be good! Makes my dick hard just thinking about it.
Time in.
There stood Liz in all her glory, posing for me. She had a glint in her eye that said,
'I'm gonna eat you alive tonight young man'
, but there was also the flash of something that meant
'God, don't let me be making a fool of myself here – if he turns me down, I'll be so embarrassed I'll kill myself'
.
She was putting on a brave front, but she'd also shown me her cards as well as her assets.
Some cards. Great assets. But I knew that I was gonna win this one.
Time out.
You may have noticed. I like to be in charge.
Time in.
Time out.
Sometimes I really am a shit. I'm also pretty good at keeping a poker face. I learned that early. Mom taught me. She could figure out that I was up to something just by my expression.
To keep some distance between my butt and the switch mom used back then – back before I gained some weight and height on her which made her take up with that broom handle we talked about earlier – I learned to keep things off my face. Thanks mom! Your lesson continues to serve me well.
Time in.
I know that I kept a straight face. Liz started to get uneasy. It was in her eyes. But before she could flee, I motioned her to me with a crooked finger. Her eyes showed her relief, as well as a rush of adrenaline.
I would've bet she was wet when she posed at the door. There's no question she was wet when she came through it. 'Twas in her eyes y'see.
I could almost
see
her clit getting moist and puffy. Those panties were stretched tight over the her sex. There was a darker spot centered where her pussylips were most plump.
Liz tried to stay in character as the sultry older woman intent on seducing a young man, but she more scurried than sauntered to my side. She was giving herself away: she wasn't at all as cool and collected as she would have me believe. No way.
I tried to be cool myself. But watching her, I could only grin. Which did reassure her, so it's all good.