Her name was Carol Taylor. She was in her mid-sixties, and for at least five years now, since the age of thirteen, I had been lusting after her. She lived on the same street as my family, and I'd been doing chores for her for small payments for years now. It had started off as just a way of making a bit of extra money, to save for a games console - but now, with my teenage libido in full bloom, I had come to see her in a completely different light.
Her previously dark hair was now more than three-quarters grey, and slightly curly. She had a round, kindly face that always seemed to be forever smiling, with gentle crow's feet and laugh lines framed by small round glasses. She wasn't fat by any means, but she was certainly carrying some extra weight. With that said, she only had a slight pot belly - most of that weight was around her bottom, hips, and breasts.
Talking of those breasts, they were big and heavy, with large nipples that were occasionally erect. Even though she certainly didn't have a slim waist, her large breasts meant that her blouses were often a little too small around her bust. That meant her tits pushed out at the fabric, pushing the blouse slightly apart at the buttons. I'd often glance over just as her dress was gaping slightly, and I'd see a glimpse of her soft white breasts through the stretched material between the buttonholes. On several occasions I was worried she had spotted me looking. But if she had, she'd never said anything.
I could be a lot more blatant when it came to looking at her bottom. In fact I was doing so right now - she was doing the washing-up, and I was watching the cheeks of her ass jiggle slightly under the fabric of her trousers as she scrubbed the dishes. I filed the image away in my mind for jerking off later. She was humming softly to herself, then she half turned and addressed me.
"Have you eaten yet dear?"
As she spoke, my eyes idly continued to run over her curvy ass, and not for the first time I imagined what it would be like to bend her over her pine kitchen table, pull down her trousers and knickers, and just bury my cock into her. I knew what those knickers looked like, too - she wore French style knickers, lacy, the sort you couldn't really see through, but where you could still get a good sense for what was underneath. I knew because I'd looked through her ironing pile once. At the time, for the briefest of moments, I'd wondered if she'd miss just one pair... but then I'd come to my senses. She'd always been really kind to me, and stealing her knickers as a wanking aid felt like a real asshole move. So, I'd carefully placed them back into the pile. But at least it meant I could picture her better.
As I watched her ass, my penis responded, quickly stiffening in my pants. I imagined her gasping as she took my full length. I imagined reaching around and gripping her soft boobs, while she moaned as I fucked her from behind. It was certainly a nice image. But I dismissed it quickly from my mind.
"Oh no, I'm fine Mrs. Taylor, thank you."
She shook her head. "How many times have I told you dear? Call me Carol. I haven't been Mrs. Taylor for fifteen years now, since my husband died."
I smiled. She always asked me to call her Carol, and I always found it really hard. It was a running joke between us.
"Ok Mrs. Taylor."
She laughed, a tinkling sound that somehow just made her more attractive to me.
"Now, before I forget - don't come around on Thursday, because I won't be here."
I'd been doing some gardening work for her today. I often did it with my shirt off - which I secretly hoped that she quite liked. But if she did, again, she'd never said anything. I'd gotten about halfway through, and needed at least one more day.
"Ok. What are you doing?"
"Well, I'll have to go to my life modelling class."
"What's life modelling?" I asked.
She smiled. "Well. I go there, take a pose, and they draw me."
This was new. I imagined her standing in some sort of pose, in front of a load of students. It felt like it would be pretty boring for her.
"Why do you do that?"
She laughed. "They pay me, dear."
"How much do they pay you?"
She smiled. "Oh, a little bit more than twenty pounds an hour. It's a little extra to help with the household budget, and sometimes it pays for a nice treat."
I whistled. "Wow - twenty pounds a hour? That's pretty good for just standing around!"
She laughed. 'Well, yes. But then, you do get a little extra for the fact that you're standing around naked."
I was stunned. Gobsmacked.
'You're... you're naked?'
She smiled. "Oh yes. I have to admit I found it a bit daunting the first time, but once I'd actually stripped off, to be honest it just felt completely natural.'
I couldn't believe this. The thought of her standing naked in front of a load of art students... Something like twenty seconds went by, while I tried to compute this new information.
'Do the... do the men look at you?'
She smiled at me while she dried a plate. I stared at her breast as it swayed in time with the circular motion she was making. Then I looked back at her, and noticed she was looking directly at me. I looked away quickly, hoping she didn't see. She didn't seem to have noticed. She placed the plate into her cupboard.
'Well, yes, they have to dear, if they're going to draw me!" She smiled at me then warmly, her eyes twinkling. "But then, that's not what you mean, is it?"
Before I could answer - not that I knew what to say - she continued. "Most of them are very professional, but I have to admit a few of the students spend a little more time looking at certain parts of me.'
"Which parts?" I couldn't believe I'd said it out loud - but she responded as if I'd asked about the weather.
"Well, mainly my boobs. They've held up quite well, even at my age - and I've never met a man who didn't like big boobs." She glanced over at me, and then back down at the dish she was drying. "But I don't mind at all - I'm an old lady, and my body's just like anyone else's. If it gives them a little thrill to look at me, I certainly don't mind'.
She turned and stacked some more plates into the cupboard. Meanwhile, my jaw was still open, and my mind was swimming.
I had £50. From the gardening work I'd already done for her. I was saving it up for a games console...but... I wasn't sure if I could ask it. Wasn't sure how she would react. Would she get angry? Throw me out? There was a lot of downside.
But... what if she said yes?
"Er... Mrs Taylor? If I... paid you... would you model for me?"
