Denise Always Gets What She Wants

Denise stood in the kitchen, her withered fingers wrapped around a Benson & Hedges cigarette, slowly bringing it to her dry, cracked lips and inhaling the thick, heavy smoke into her chest. Holding her breath for a moment, she let the smoke dance around the alveolar sacs in her lungs, before gently exhaling a cascade of grey air onto her Primark woolen sweater-dress.

She knew her husband, Keith, would be home soon. And so she had positioned herself in the kitchen, pretending to be busy fixing tea, when really she was waiting for him to come home from work so that she might begin to seduce him. For even though Denise turned 60 just last month, the fire in her loins burnt with an intensity of a woman half her age.

Denise had long had a high sexual appetite. Indeed, it was not uncommon for her to be vacuuming the shag carpet in the living room whilst keeping half an eye on Cash In The Attic one minute, only to be suddenly overcome with lust and find herself panting on the sofa with her fingers buried deep within her puss the next, her body writhing and contorting to the fantasies of being ploughed by David Dickinson.

Just then, she heard a key turn in the door.

She could just make out the silhouette of Keith's bulbous little body through the frosted glass panes of the door frame. She could not yet see all the little details; his balding hairline, his always-stained clothing, the flabby jowls underneath his protracted chin. She yearned to drink them in and, underneath her sweater dress, she felt her wanton vagina twinge in anticipation.

Keith walked through the door in an unceremonious fashion, dumping his bag of tools on the floor and kicking off his sweaty workman boots to reveal his threadbare socks. He hung his hi-vis jacket on a clothes peg in the hallway especially reserved for him, and proceeded to trudge into the living room.

"I'm making Cottage Pie" called Denise from the kitchen, to which Keith responded with a grunt of general acknowledgement.

Denise knew better than to interrupt Keith when he'd just come home from work. He needed time to settle. In fact, she rather relished this part of the evening - the chase. The mere thought of having to use her womanly charms to seduce her man sent a shiver up her spine. As she took the Cottage Pie out of the oven to cool, her mind wandered to Keith ramming her up the arse and spanking her for being such a tease.

As Keith sat, almost motionless, in a leather recliner at the far corner of the room, Denise made her move. Strutting in with a roll in her mature hips, the skirt on her sweater dress hiked up to reveal slightly too much leg, she seductively bent over in front of Keith to present him with a steaming bowl of homemade Cottage's Pie, which he duly took from her without so much as glancing in her direction.

Undeterred, Denise stood at the back of the room waiting for him to finish. Whilst a part of her felt wounded that her advances were so easily spurned, another side of her was galvanised by how easily her affections had been cast aside. She would have to work harder than she'd originally anticipated, and nothing makes a working class woman wetter than having to work hard.

As her husband finished his tea, he dangled the bowl out with his right arm, a cue for her to come and collect it. Some would attribute the lack of verbal communication as a sign of a failing marriage; the unmistakable mark of two people with nothing left to say to each other. But Denise felt differently - she believed it showed just how strong their bond was. There was a telepathy between them. Words were surplus.

Denise brought his bowl back into the kitchen and began stacking the dishwasher, carefully planning her next move. Oh how she wished she too was being stacked; except instead of washing up liquid cascading off the ceramic plates it would instead be her skin being lathered with waves of hot, creamy cum. She imagined rubbing her man's jism into her swollen breasts with a scouring pad, cleaning her body with his fluids like she'd cleaned her own domestic appliances a thousand times.

Her lust was overpowering her thoughts, making even simple tasks like cleaning dishes fraught with obstacles. Denise could take it no longer. She marched into the living room, stood valiantly before her husband, and slowly sank to her knees.

Keith remained motionless. He recognised Denise's internal torture for exactly what it was, and he cherised the power that he had over her. Years of their marriage had taught him the best way to control his wife, and that was with a strong, unnerving silence. She could always figure out how to get what she wanted in the end. He admired that about the wily old whore.

Wasting no time, Denise's hands began making their way to his belt buckle. Once unfastened, she loosened his jeans, pulled down his tatty, frayed boxers, and released his magnificent cock. At 5 inches long, Keith's shaft didn't look like much, but he was an expert in using it. A master craftsman can make the most exquisite art with even worn tools, and Keith's tool was more than sufficient to mould multiple orgasms from her swollen clay.

She gripped his penis firmly in her hands, those withered old fingers resting on his shaft like twiglets surrounding a cocktail sausage. Eagerly she brought his cock to her mouth, as though she could not wait to drink his salty nectar. Denise was a proficient cock-sucker, having had over four decades of experience under her belt. Her gag reflex had long since been dulled. Her throat was now a long, slick corridor.

On occasion, her smoker's cough would get the better of her and she would cough and sputter on a dick. But men never seemed to mind, they always thought they were choking her with their appendage. Her neck too, had seen better days, occasionally clicking as she bobbed up and down. She had learned to use this to her advantage in her senior years - using the sound as a metronome to keep a near-perfect rhythm.

Keith came after just a couple of minutes, powerless to hold back against the cock-sucking juggernaut knelt before him. Denise was careful to catch every last drop of his load into her mouth, gobbling up balls of cum like a Hungry Hungry Hippo. She enjoyed the taste and what it represented, but also she knew first hand how hard it was to get semen out of the shag carpeting.

Denise swallowed her load and stood up, hoping to get a vain form of praise from her husband for a job well done. He looked up at her and said "Any more of that Cottage Pie left?"