"Oh, just delightful," she happily smiled as we shook hands. "Just let me take a moment and get ready."
Like an angelic lift from the chair, her rounded form of a mature tight ass puckered firm underneath the curve of her dress. It rode the lines of her body, flowing from top to bottom. Her pear-like hips were made for the embracing leg lock of a man around her, while an inquisitive fellow would fall head first into the valley of her healthy chest -- and so on, and so forth went this stacked and built woman scampering out of the room like a dainty petal of a rose floating in the wind.
Meanwhile, the echo of an old man's voice flat-lined my vivid imaginations to a near standstill, and I turned acting somewhat interested in what he had to say.
He bantered on with his own whip of a sad story. The poor chap needed sex like an addict to rehab, but even with the encouragement of medical science to drug his way to a longer and stronger hard on, his limp dick status was definitely not up to par with the rest of his perverted mind. So, the unusual request of gigolo suitors came knocking in order to suit the whims of a pristine, but according to him, a very horny woman.
I again looked over him over as he puffed hard and strong on his cigarette. With a deep voice, he rolled me into a chat. "So, what do you have planned?"
I paused, tilting my head with a casually confident cock, and gauged the hardball question carefully without leading him to believe I was out to smother his good graces. With war-pieced lines cracking from his dark eyes, his face wore grit like a chiseled mediator, unmoved and unemotional; if it weren't for his so-called friendly disposition, I wouldn't be here propositioning his beautiful wife for sex.
Yes, indecency jacked morality, and here I sat about to play crook to his swinging caper: The 'adult' ad, the phone call, the excitement of his wife wanting it so -- yes, my dick lurched at the idea of sinking myself into the wet channels of his passionately starved wife.
I leaned in ever so slowly till the smell of his breath nearly stabbed the ducts of my guarded poker eyes. "Oh, do you think, sir, you have something in mind she might like to do?"
The stone in his face dusted away to a curling smile from his chapped lips, and he leaned back, crossing his arms in the process. With a deep gutted breath, he smoked a large drag off his cigarette, the yellowish red tint of burning tobacco glowing like the reflection for his sudden enthusiasm. And I knew the game was on.
"Let me see where she is." As he headed out the room, he turned to me, pointing. "You, just have, fun, ok?" The trail of smoke faded out into the shadows of the darken hallway as I simply nodded accepting his suddenly submission position.
Soon she emerged from the dark, prancing in on light feet, and once again gracefully fleeting me with her charming presence. The way she dressed for the evening exploited the very idea of conservatively sexy, if ever there was such a description: hair up in a bun and jeans wrapping her ass and hips; the form of her body's curves moved softly up her back to the top of a turtleneck sweater like the comfortable feel of a knowing friend.
She took my hand in hers, but like a gentleman, I kissed her simply on the cheek; the move caught her off guard, but only slightly. Gathering herself she breathed deeply and this time grabbed both my hands; it seemed when her deep eyes dipped into mine, she was wickedly exploring how to better exploit my youth. "Oh, how sweet," she piped, "But next time, not so nice, ok? Shall we be off?"
Then I remembered how he mouthed her various sexual exploits to me concerning her viciously wicked cycle of rapidly good fucks -- and ironically he did so with almost a venom tongue. Maybe, he vented to get off on it, his own limp dick wiggling mightily into a horny high within his Depends diaper. Maybe. But as I observed her flaunting ass in front of me, my voyeuristic tendencies couldn't help have my own dick throb by feeling the demeanor fronting Mrs. Cleaver screamed sex in the figure of Pam Anderson bubbling just below the thick threads.
And I didn't have to walk too far to find it all out.
I barely heard the metallic locks of her door shift into position before she bolted up with a hard thrust. The place was out in the middle of nowhere close and she took advantage of the country standard. With a loud thud, she pinned me up against the side wall of her porch just where the moonlight crested into it; her breath dog heavy with long pants.
