Fleamarket Of Lust Rich Wife Visit

It had been at least a year since the first time I had sex with Sheila, a cigarette-smoking-polyester-pants-wearing Second-hand goods dealer at the outdoor Nimitz Road Flea Market. The thing is, I'm 20 and she's a lot older. A year ago, I might have cared what you thought about me, seducing an innocent old lady and all. Hilarious. Not only did I not seduce her, Shiela out and out played me like a fiddle, fucked me hard, used me like she wanted and just stopped when she was done. I don't know what you call it, but whatever it is it sure ain't seduction.

But the Flea Market had seduced me for sure. The Nimitz Road Flea Market in San Whogivesafuck had two hundred and fifty six separate booths specializing in every kind of collectable that came second-hand, third-hand and Glad-hand. I had first come to the Nimitz for comics books and back issues of Playboys: it being the 1980's porn was still hard to come by. But the vast array of wonderfully weird things and the wonderfully weird people who sold them is what kept me coming back.

On this hot Saturday afternoon I had come to the Nimitz not for my usual comics and porn, but for two lamps, twenty magazines from the 1960's, a desk humidor, a stuffed owl, fifteen small picture frames and about twelve other implements of destruction. Due to my known Flea Market experience, I had become the defacto guy for all Theater props in my town, and I had a list of stuff to get. What made it more fun is that I got to keep whatever money I didn't spend.

Suckers.

The market was busy as hell, and I spent hours going from booth to booth, walking away when it helped, bargaining when I could, flirting when it helped, yelling when I could. The dealers and staff all knew me, and a few had become dear friends, and some had become lovers. Dear friends,...lovers??...Jeeze, I sound like an old man. But I guess that's due to hanging out with all these mostly older folks, and the fact they are on the outskirts of society and propriety means they don't live like most folk or talk like them. I think that might be me now, too. And frankly, I'm totally cool with that.

Jenny and Frankie, the Denim Jean Queens were all smiles when I picked up a bolt of cheap muslin they happened to have on hand. They had the best prices on denim jeans, jean jackets and all jean-like apparel in the state. They were also great in the sack. Jenny was a slim, tanned 50-year old with a black 1960's hair-do that was retro as hell. Frankie was from New Orleans and had the kind of curves James Dean would happily wreck his car on. She kept her hair plastered down flat, in a style that was exotic, and only worked on her. The cool part was Jenny liked to suck cock, Frankie liked to fuck cock. We had hooked up, and in the process Jenny and Frankie had hooked up with each other astoundingly for the first time. (( Check out MackKnifely's "Flea Market of Lust: The Denim Queens Ch. 1 and 2 if you want to read about John fucking them ))

Despite our naked past, they tried to charge me too much for the muslin, and I bargained them back down with scandalous promises and White Boy guile. Clever Larry, the guy in charge of the concession stand, was the one who called my ability to win over folks White Boy guile.

Man, I love the Nimitz!

Two stalls down there was a customer having some trouble with Jackson Jones, the all-natural soap dealer. The customer was a brassy shoulder-length blonde in a tennis skirt and matching pastel top. It was clear from a glance she was not a Nimitz regular, though perhaps her pool boy was. She had a string of pearls, light make-up, and an elegant air about her, in a manner very few people at the Nimitz did. She was about my Mom's age, maybe older, but very well kept.

The first clear sentence I heard clearly was Jackson saying, "Lady, you got to be crazy!"

"I beg your pardon! Why is it crazy to wish to buy your products?" Her tone was thick with a lifetime of never challenged expectations.

Jackson saw me behind the woman, and caught my eye, desperate for escape. "Hey, John! Man, this woman wants to buy every bar of soap I got. Every single one."

The lady turned towards me with a disapproving eye that quickly melted to benign interest with a few blinks as soon as she saw me. I smiled and told Jackson, "Great. Get her a receipt and big ole' sack."

"Thank you young man!", the woman said with a flourish and a turn back to Jackson.

Jackson shook his head. "Unh unh. She wants every single one in a separate little bag with a separate little ribbon on it."

"Oh." Any hint of approval in my voice was gone.

She had turned back toward me and leveled an icy stare at me. " 'Oh.'? What do you mean by, 'Oh',?"

"Um, 'Oh', as in we don't do that kind of thing here, 'Oh.'"

"Preposterous! Any fine purveyor of toiletries would provide extra baggage!"

"What the hell did she call me?!" Jackson exclaimed.

"Ok! Hold On! Both of You!" I yelled before anything else could happen. The truth was this was just a case of a hot day and worn tempers. The lady, Mrs. Branson, was desperate for gifts for a Gala reception, and so had to have the soap wrapped, and wrapped well, by tonight. No other store was open this late on a Saturday; San Whogivesafuck was not New York City. Jackson sells his soap and nothing else. But I worked out a deal if she got the soap on masse, I could find everything else she needed. At first Mrs Branson was unsure, but went along with my plan after I flirted a little. White Boy Guile.

I was able to not just score her 120 bags, but hand-crafted sachets with beaded drawstrings from the Head shop stall--oh, Head Shop is a Vintage Weed Dispensary with no weed. Yeah, the 1980's were weird. Then with an extra 20 bucks and a little help from the concession guys, we got the soaps bagged up and looking pretty in no time. As me and Clever Larry loaded up the trunk and back seat of her Volvo with the soaps, Mrs Branson seemed genuinely grateful. Now I have to admit I had been ogling her hot body during our entire little shopping trip, and was going to miss watching her tits jiggle and her firm ass not jiggle under her pastel colored tennis outfit. She was a C-Cup, but barely, she was fit all over and moved like an athlete. I was barely able to keep my eyes up and off her body as she said good-bye.

"Thank you John, seriously, you've been a lifesaver." As I pulled my hand back I saw she had pressed some money into my fist. I was about to throw out a gentleman's line and give it right back, and then I saw it was a couple of hundred dollar bills.

"Um...you know, I'm going to keep this.", I said mostly to myself.

She looked puzzled. "Of course you are. You're worth it." She said the last part very seriously, her eyes sending the words at me like two ice blue darts. "Good-bye." She broke the reverie and climbed into her car and zoomed away. Clever Larry, who was still standing right behind me, was the first of us to speak.

"Dude, she almost wanted to fuck you."

"Yeah?"

"Yup. But she definitely respected you."

"Yeah?"

"Yup. Not sure which is better."

I slid one of the hundreds dollar bills into his shirt pocket.

"No shit? From her?" He looked up and into the horizon. "God damn, I'll take respect." We both laughed a bit and went back to the Stalls.

About four hours later the Nimitz was closing down, though some of the stalls were still doing business. On Saturdays folks kept selling way past sundown, and sometimes Silver String Bob would start playing his guitar, and Fred Pendergrast from the vinyl shop would always join in. I could hear them plunking away from the front entrance where I was thinking about knocking on Sheila's stall, being still horny from Mrs Reynolds' visit when a car sped into the parking lot, stopped with a screech and a cloud of dust. Then out from the backseat burst Mrs Reynolds.

She slammed the car door behind her, turned around and shot a clumsy middle finger at the direction of the driver's seat, and then turned away. The car sped off, with the driver never once making themselves known. I walked out through the entrance toward Mrs Reynolds, stunned to see my thoughts come to life before me. She saw me, and straightened her black evening dress out of habit more than necessity. She tried to force a smile, and then gave up.

"I am....so fucking pissed." She crisply uttered.

I was genuinely scared. "Was it... something I did?" I asked, taking a step backwards, my hands out in defense posture.

She blinked and shook her head, as if coming out of a trance. "What? Oh, oh no. You re only a transverse cause of all this. Tonight it was simply the last shitty straw on a shitty camel's shitty back." Each word that came from her mouth did so with a perfect diction that sliced the air between us. It was kind of hot. Wow, I just realized that perfect diction was a turn on! Cool.

"Um....then, Mrs Reynolds, why are you here?"

She did not blink this time, but looked straight at me, and her shoulders slumped in a benign surrender. "The driver was taking me home, we were going past the Nimitz, and....here was the last time today that I saw a friendly face."

"Mrs Reynolds, do you drink?"

"Yes John, yes I do."

I waved her in and we made our way behind the concessions stand to the back lot, where the Nimitz Staff's had a few trailers and an open fire pit. She explained that the soaps were for a charity gala, and she had stepped up to make up for some one else's screwup and she had managed a huge success with the attendees. But her fellow organizers didn't giver her a single thank you, and a couple of them actually insulted the bags. We had made it to the fire pit where Clever Larry was toodling away on his guitar as she was finishing her story, a story that her powerful voice had been sending on ahead.

"And suddenly I realized I had been putting up this behavior for ten years. And, I just couldn't. I just, couldn't. It's hard to explain."

"Like a cascade of empty days becoming a calendar of understanding.", said Clever Larry.

"Oh, yes. Yes, just like that. Is that from a poem?" asked Mrs Reynolds.

Clever Larry smiled. "Maybe. It could be Bukowski, it could be the Muppets." We all laughed.

We drank cheap bourbon from red cups and talked for a bit until Larry's girlfriend, High Hat Mary came to pick him up to go dancing. Then it was just me and Mrs Reynolds. As the silence between us started to get uncomfortable, I decided to speak up.

"So, do you need to..."

"Is there some place we can go.", she interrupted brusquely. "Some place private?"

"Uh... yes." I said Yes first without actually thinking about it, because, well, I had an erection, then I remembered I knew where Bathtub Betty hid the keys to her Linen and pillow Stall. "Yes! Yes I do." I said again, but like I meant it. I led her back to the stalls and into Bathtub Betty's place. As soon as Mrs Reynolds saw it was full of pillows and sheets, she laughed aloud.

"Good lord, and here I was thinking I was going to seduce you on top of a pile of used bicycle pumps."

"Well, I could arrange that if you give me a few....wait, what? Seduce me?"

She walked over to me, and put her arms on my shoulders and addressed me frankly, like a baseball coach telling a kid he didn't make the team. "Look John, this isn't really about you. I need to feel some things that I haven't felt in a while. And you are a safe place for that. That's all this is. So, yes, I'd like you to make love to me. Also, I'm not looking for a boyfriend. And no, I am not some rich bitch slut just catting about fornicating the help. Can you understand that?"

"One question, what does 'Catting' mean.?"

She saw I was kidding and swatted my shoulder as a small smile crept on her face.

"Look, I'm not sure how to lead.. this...", I said to her.

"Just... just, what would you do if I was one of your regular.. girls..?". It was the first time I had ever heard vulnerability in her voice, and it did not make her seem weak at all.

I was honest. "I would fall to my knees and bury my face in your pussy."

Dude, can you believe a year ago I was a virgin afraid to buy Playboys from an old women at garage sales?

Mrs Reynolds breathed in a sharp intake of air. "Ah. Well, I surmise that would be a good place to....oh! Oh my goodnesssss..." I didn't wait for her to finish, I stayed true to my word and kneeled like a flash in front of her, lifted her dress and gave her trimmed pussy mound a deep kiss. She was a little moist, and she smelled musky and powerful. My tongue began to probe her vagina, seeking her clitoris and coating everything it could with my saliva. My hands moved up and down her thighs and ass, reveling in the electric thrill of feeling her fit muscles flex and relax under my hands as she pushed herself harder and harder onto my face.

"Yess...yesss...do it....ummm..." Mrs Reynolds was all business, her hands in my hair, grasping me to her body. I was able to scoot her around and then pick her up and sit her on the edge of one of the pillow covered sales tables. As she sat back on the pillows and spread her legs I could get a better purchase of her clit, and I began a serious tongue lapping of her sweet spot. Her legs clamped around my head as she threw her head back with a silent shout. Somehow I kept it up and she began to buck against me as she came. Her legs loosened up, falling limp to the side as I stood up over her.

"Should I take off your dress?", I asked her, trying to sound like James Bond.

Without a pause she said, "No. Fuck me in it." Her tone was a little inscrutable, But I let it slide.

"Would I be a cad to ask to see your tits at least?"

A sly little grin creeped over her thickly painted lips. "I guess you've earned at least a peek." She pulled down the top of her dress with ease, like it had been crafted to do it, and revealed a tennis pro's body, muscular when she moved, supple when she was still. She was tanned everywhere except her bikini line, and the few freckles she had between her breasts only added to the hottness of her small chested but perfectly rounded tits. My pants fell to the floor in three seconds.

She said nothing upon seeing my dick, just smiled wider and leaned back.

"I am so glad I never fucked the pool boy..."

I slid the head of my cock slowly into her, and she sighed delightfully.

"Oh, that will do nicely..."

Her tanned body half-wrapped in the black dress stood starkly against the white pillows, and I drank in the sight of this elegant lady in pearls stretched out before me. As I slid my cock deeper and deeper into her she leaned even father back, closing her eyes and smiling even wider.

"Oh Jesus, that's...", I blurted. Her pussy was really tight! Her vagina seemed to be actually gripping my cock, and I was struggling not to cum!

"Everything alright?", she asked me in a tone that said she damn well knew everything was alright.

"Oh...ungh....yeah, it's just so....um...good..."

"Damn straight it is." She sounded a little drunk. "I take good care of myself. Damn good care of myself...yeessss..." She drawled off into silence and I got control of myself and started a good solid fuck of this tall cool woman in a black dress. Mrs Reynolds cooed and sighed with each stroke I gave her, but she never openly moaned or made a noise that would scare even a bird. My eyes were locked on her body as it undulated while we fucked. She started to match my rhythm, meeting it, and then I could feel she wanted more of it. Finally her lags wrapped around my waist and pulled me in as she took over all movements for both of us. She ground her body into me, using me, taking what she wanted. God, it was fucking sexy as hell! She tensed up hard, and with a few final silent thrusts came hard and well. Her vagina clenched-yes, it actually fucking clenched-on my dick! It it trembled and spasmed and then clenched again!

"Oh....fuck!" I half-yelled. "Shit...sorry..I didn't mean to yell...oh shit....ungh."

She replied as if nothing had happened. "It was more of a half-yell." She put her manicured hands on my stomach and gently pushed me back and out of her. My cock was still rock hard, and actually pulsing with pent up fuck-lust Mrs Reynolds gave out a little laugh.

"Oh my, and you still haven't orgasmed? Impressive. Well then..." Her voice dipped into a throaty purr as her ice blue eyes bored into me. Then she slowly slid to the floor, her eyes never leaving mine. Taking my cock in her hands she caressed my shaft slowly with her red fingernails and then kissed the tip with a smooch. Fuck! I was so close to cumming already, I didn't want to look like a dumb 19 year-old kid, like I couldn't handle it...

Then in a matter of fact voice she told me, "John, stop thinking. Just cum." And then she gave my shaft one long, slow lick until she got to the top and then she swallowed the head of my cock with a small lunge and attacked it with her tongue, swirling and flicking it. That was it. I gasped and bucked. Mrs Reynolds pulled out just in time as I shot my load over her shoulder and on pillows behind her. My knees buckled and I fell to floor, putting myself at eye level with a smirking Mrs Reynolds.

((Faithful readers, I'm sorry I didn't give you a big blowjob scene with Mrs Reynolds but that how these things happen sometime. Please forgive me and John, but when a Lady makes a request, you grant it. Sometime Real-life fiction can't comport to Classic Pornography standards.))

"Looks like you just bought yourself a few pillows.", Mrs Reynolds said with a smile.

I smiled back, breathing hard, still incapable of speech.

Mrs Reynolds stood up and fixed her dress and primped her hair a bit. Somehow, in ten seconds she made herself look like she had never left the Gala.

"So, uh, thanks?" I managed to squeak out.

"You are very welcome John."

"So, if you don't mind, what's your first name."

"Hm...no. I think Mrs Reynolds will do.". She was somehow able to say that without sounding like an asshole, and her meaning was clear.

"You can clean up?, she asked.

"Yeah, I got this."

"I'll go call for a car. Perhaps we shall see each other later."

"I'd like that."

She smiled and left the stall. I cleaned up, and took away the pillows I had ruined, leaving cash on the back counter. The Nimitz was fully closed now, even the staff had gone home. A couple of yellow lights still buzzed softly, which was the only other noise in the Flea Market besides the crunching of the gravel beneath my feet. It was an odd feeling, walking in such a lonely place after being so close to another body. I know that's not sexy, but it was a real feeling that I had, and I thought you should hear it. I can't explain why. Maybe you can. Thanks for reading.