Janice 9

Foreword: This story might have been posted in several categories but it's the mature age of the principal character which is central to the narrative. The story includes strong sexual acts. The events and all the characters are fictitious. I hope you enjoy it. Feedback, both anonymous and emailed, is most welcome.

*****

Janice waved off her daughter and grandchildren from the front porch. It had been so lovely to have the little ones for the first week of the school holidays – but it was so nice to see them go, too. She loved her grandchildren to bits – and was more than happy to give her daughter and son-in-law a week to themselves – but it had been a frustrating week for Janice herself, with no opportunity to take the edge off her sexual hunger.

In fact she'd been fantasising about this moment all day and after closing and locking the door, she went straight to her bedroom. From a chest of drawers she retrieved a black velvet bag containing her favourite toys. She threw the bag on the king-size bed and gazed at herself for a moment in the mirror above the drawers. Now that she was finally able to pleasure herself, she took a moment to savour the anticipation. She slipped her hands under her loose sweatshirt and rubbed the smooth skin of her tummy, then pulled the top up under her armpits to expose her bra-clad breasts. She looked at the peaks of her rapidly hardening nipples and then roughly pulled up the bra cups, too, to let her full double-D breasts spill out. Janice knew she was still an attractive woman – she was often told she looked ten years younger than her actual age. She'd been blessed with a body that resisted obesity and she wasn't much heavier now than when she married. Except in the area of her breasts, which had filled out over the years to their current bountiful size. Just looking at her own naked tits made her juices begin to flow. Slowly, deliberately, she cupped her breasts and lifted them – squeezing and caressing - then used her thumbs and forefingers to roll and pinch the nipples. She gave voice to her pleasure – moaning loudly, letting the sound drift through the big empty house.

Janice usually masturbated every day, at least once but sometimes two or three times depending on her level of arousal. Her favourite time was in the morning, on first waking, when she could slip off her cotton nightdress and kick off the covers to stretch in naked luxury – spreading her legs wide and letting her hands roam across her body. She liked to take it slowly, drawing out the pleasure and thereby intensifying her orgasm.

Now, in mid-afternoon, she felt vaguely naughty at the prospect of pleasuring herself when she'd normally be doing other, more mundane things. And that only added to her excitement. With a last look in the mirror she pulled her top and bra off over her head and quickly shed her jeans and panties. She placed her bag of toys on the nightstand and whipped off the covers, leaving the bed as naked and shameless as she was. As an afterthought she went into the ensuite bathroom and returned with a large towel that she spread in the centre of the bed. Then, lying on the towel with her bag of tricks at hand, she spread her legs and began the ritual of massaging, caressing and pinching which she knew would bring her quickly to a state of pre-orgasmic arousal.

She loved to linger in that state, feeling the excitement spreading through her body, close on the heels of her fingertips as they trailed over her skin; tantalising her neck, her breasts, armpits, tummy and thighs. Digging in her heels, she lifted her hips from the bed and used her hands to grip and spread the cheeks of her bottom, delighting in the delicious feel of cooler air on her sensitive pucker. And then, finally, she let her fingers excite the swollen folds of her cunt. Once roused to that plateau of pleasure she opened the black velvet bag and drew out several items. A small bottle of massage oil yielded an aromatic lubrication that she spread around her vulva and clit, letting some dribble down to the cleft of her bottom. Then she withdrew two of her favourite toys: a seven-inch vibrating dildo, shaped like a cock – and a small, smooth, vibrating butt plug. She turned them both on and used the dildo to excite her pussy lips and clit before sliding it slowly inside herself. She began a rhythmic fucking with the buzzing cock, quickly raising her excitement to a new and intense level, making her moan and gasp with pleasurable lust. Then, when she felt the deep vibrations of a gathering orgasm, she pulled her knees up and reached down to ease the small butt plug into her tight rosebud. As always, this added the wild electric stimulus that drove her to an intense orgasm – a climax that made her body convulse and her cunt spasm – a peak of pleasure that forced a wild, moaning cry of "Patrick!!" from her constricted throat.

*

At 58, Janice had been a widow for two years. She had nursed her husband for eight years before that as early-onset dementia slowly consumed his brain and then his body. He had been just 51 when he was diagnosed with the degenerative disease. They were both shocked at the diagnosis but, at that early stage of the symptoms, they remained hopeful. It wasn't long, though, before the rapid progression of the disease turned their lives upside down. For the first three years they had charted the decline of his health at home – but the last five years of his life he'd been living a virtual zombie existence in the full-time care of a private hospice. Janice spent ten hours there each day, tending to his needs and helping the staff to care for him. During the final two years he lost any recollection of their life together, then any recognition of Janice and his children and, finally, was incapable even of acknowledging her presence each day. Yet she carried on, patiently and lovingly performing the small personal tasks that kept him clean and comfortable – tasks that would once have humiliated him.

During those long, painful years Janice's own life had been put completely on hold. She took early retirement from her job as a teacher and filled her days between her house and the hospice – busy days, filled with all the relatively meaningless activities that kept her own home functioning and her husband in what small level comfort he could enjoy.

But it was at night that she had trouble filling the yawning void of her life. She missed his company terribly. They had been a very affectionate couple – and although their sex life had been unadventurous - even mundane, she sometimes thought - they had been very happy together. Now, as she lay in bed each night with sleep eluding her, she wished she had taken more advantage of their time together – especially the sexual side of their marriage. To fill those long hours of loneliness, and to escape the mournful monotony of her life, she began bingeing on television dramas, finding relief and interest in some of the excellent series emerging from HBO and other pay-per-view platforms. Gradually, she found herself drawn more and more to those programs with strong erotic content: series like Game of Thrones, True Blood and Vikings and – oh wow - Outlander! She found herself becoming more and more aroused by the sex scenes – and even began skipping back to replay them over and over. It was then that she gave in to the needs of her body and began masturbating – something she had never done during her marriage and very infrequently before. And as she became more adept at pleasuring herself – with her eyes locked on the sensual screen content – she came to rely on it more and more as a welcome release from the tension and sadness of her days. She didn't question this pleasure, assuming it was a product of the endorphins that sex was supposed to release. She knew only that the frequent sex play made her happier and more able to cope with stress of her day-to-day activities.

In the final months of her husband's life she looked forward eagerly to her nightly comforts, guiltily hurrying home from the hospice to search for new programs that might fuel her fantasies. But it was some time before she took the next logical step of seeking out online pornography. Her laptop, though relatively ancient, was still up to the task of finding and displaying the pictures, gifs and videos that she found more and more fascinating the deeper she searched. She was at first stunned, then intrigued, then ultimately excited by what she found. She was particularly aroused by the samples of amateur sex – the clips of people who videoed their private sex acts. It was a revelation to learn that seemingly normal people revelled in the same kinds of extreme sex that she saw on the largely unbelievable and overproduced professional porn.

In time she found the scenes that aroused her most were those involving women like herself: middle-aged, and even older women, whose bodies – like hers – were still responsive to abandoned sexual stimulation. She found herself masturbating to repeated orgasms as she watched these women being licked, fingered and fucked – offering up their mouths, their vaginas, even their anuses!! – to men – to groups of men – to other women!! At first Janice could barely believe what she was seeing but was then forced – not least by her own excitement – to accept that these sexual practices were not necessarily weird or perverted, but were relatively "normal". It made her feel better - less guilty - about her own growing obsession. And, importantly, she knew that it was all in the realm of fantasy for her – that she could never act out in real life what she was seeing on the screen.

But then came Patrick.

*

Though her husband's death was hardly a shock, for a few months it left Janice in a state of emotional paralysis. Her well-meaning friends urged her to look forward, not back, to think of herself and her future rather than the past. But when her life for the previous decade had revolved almost exclusively around her ailing husband the future just looked empty.

Eventually, though, she had to take stock of her herself and her life and begin the slow process of rebuilding. One immediate problem was money. The long years of private medical care had put a big hole in their retirement savings. Janice still had enough to live on but not enough to indulge in any luxuries. She considered taking in a boarder. The house was certainly big enough. She and her husband had bought the 1940s bungalow decades before and had spent many happy years restoring the house and raising their family. It could easily accommodate a boarder if they didn't mind sharing the bathroom – but she quickly rejected the idea, not wanting to be burdened with someone she might ultimately dislike.

Then one of her friends suggested the scheme under which the local university sponsored short-term accommodation for overseas students, usually six months at a time. The rent was guaranteed, the potential boarders were closely vetted and the six-month terms meant she would not be burdened indefinitely if it didn't work out. Janice realised this could be an ideal solution, so immediately applied. The process was complex: Janice had to undergo background checks and an inspection of her home by the university administrators – but she was eventually found to be suitable. In the final interview she was asked if she would mind having an African male student stay with her. Apparently, the university found it harder to place black males, which slightly shocked the very liberal-minded Janice, and she readily agreed.

And so it was that several weeks later she found a shy, 19-year-old Kenyan student standing on her doorstep. She already knew his name was Patrick, that he came from a remote rural part of Kenya, that his parents were both professionals and that his English was good. She welcomed him in and got to know him a bit over a cup of tea before giving him a tour of the house and leaving him to unpack in his bedroom. Janice was quite taken with this lovely young man. He was quite handsome, tall - well over six feet - but was lean and muscular. His timid smile shone out of an ebony face much darker than any Janice had seen before. Part of the deal was that Janice provided breakfast and dinner for her young boarder so they gradually got to know each other over their shared meals. Patrick was studying medicine and professed a wish to return to Kenya to help alleviate the chronic diseases that plagued his country. On gentle probing from Janice he admitted he had a fiancé back in Kenya – a girl chosen for him by his parents – and whom he would marry on his return. He somewhat reluctantly produced a photograph of his wife-to-be, standing beside him at the airport. She was clearly a beautiful young woman, and Janice could see from the loving smile they were sharing that the arranged marriage would be no hardship for either of them. Looking at the flesh and blood Patrick sitting opposite her, Janice found herself envying the young Kenyan woman. She felt a small erotic thrill as she thought about their wedding night and what this gorgeous, athletic young man could do for his bride. She realised she was becoming quite infatuated with her young boarder. Quite apart from his sexy physical form, Patrick was absolutely no trouble to have around. He was scrupulously clean and tidy and never made any noise. But he remained painfully shy, spent most of his time studying in his room and Janice only really interacted with him at mealtimes.

The one downside for Janice was that she felt more restricted in her erotic play. She would hate for him to hear her in the throes of orgasm so restricted her masturbation sessions to the three days a week that he attended lectures at the university.

And so it was a slightly frustrated Janice who, one evening some six weeks after Patrick's arrival, was passing by the bathroom and heard what sounded like a painful grunt over the noise of the running shower. She paused at the door, listening closely, and soon realised it was sounds of pleasure she was hearing. The grunts were mingled with gasps and deep moans and Janice felt certain the young Adonis was pleasuring himself under the shower. The knowledge sent an immediate erotic rush through Janice's own body. She stepped closer to the door, the better to share Patrick's excitement, and her hands crept to her breasts to squeeze them through the fabric of her blouse and bra. Then a devious thought occurred to her. All the doors in her wartime period house had their handles at shoulder height – and all had sizeable keyholes.

Overcoming a pang of guilt and holding her breath, Janice stooped slightly and pressed her eye to the keyhole. The clear-glass door of the shower cubicle was directly opposite and she wasn't disappointed in the view. Despite the water on the glass and the steamy atmosphere, Janice could clearly see a profile view of her lithe young boarder. He was leaning back against the side wall of the shower, with his contorted face turned up and one fist energetically pumping his glistening black cock while his other hand cupped and rolled his balls. Janice had to cover her mouth not to make a sound as her own excitement rocketed. The sight of this beautiful, athletic, young African pumping his cock had an electric effect on Janice and her free hand pressed into the junction of her thighs, where her swollen pussy lips demanded her attention. Janice focussed all of her attention on the pumping fist and the iron-hard cock it was stroking. It wasn't an especially large cock – not like the ones she habitually saw online – but it was beautifully arched with a classically shaped head, and it gleamed under the water and soap, accentuating the swollen veins that wreathed its length. As she watched, Patrick's jerking grew faster and his moans more difficult to stifle and soon she saw his hips thrust forward and a jet of thick white cum shoot from the engorged head to splatter the opposite wall of the shower cubicle – then another – and another. Janice couldn't believe the force and volume of the young man's ejaculation. He continued to pump for several moments till he had drained his balls and slumped breathless against the shower wall. Janice took one last look at his softening cock then stepped quietly away from the bathroom door and hurried to her own room. Once there she climbed onto her bed and, kneeling, she hastily pushed down her jeans and panties and plunged her fingers into her already heated and streaming gash, quickly bringing herself to a gasping climax with images of Patrick's pearly spunk shooting through her mind.

*

And it was an image that stayed with Janice in the days and weeks that followed. Her infatuation with Patrick quickly became an obsession. She couldn't wait for him to come home each evening and found ways to spend more time in his company. She loved watching him as he moved about the house and was impatient of the time he spent closeted in his room. As the spring semester grew warmer he took to wearing just shorts and loose singlets, which revealed so much more of his smooth, dark skin and sleek muscles. He had joined a faculty soccer team and Janice especially looked forward to those evenings when he came home from training or a game, when she could see – and smell - the sweat that glistening on his body. And inevitably, his shower times became a secret delight for Janice. She took every opportunity to watch him shower – and masturbate (he rarely did one without the other) - through the keyhole of the bathroom door. Janice knew it was an invasion of his privacy – even ethically wrong in her position as his landlady - but having done it once, she reasoned the sin was already committed and wouldn't be exacerbated by repetition. And as she watched she grew bolder in her own pleasuring, slipping her hands under her clothing to feel the same excitement he was feeling and, sometimes, reaching a stifled climax at the same time as Patrick.

Overall, Janice felt her infatuation was harmless. Patrick would never know about her voyeurism and he certainly wouldn't be sexually interested in a middle aged woman – so there was no reason to deny herself the pleasure of her fantasies. She used the warmer weather, too, as an excuse to dress more provocatively in Patrick's presence – and was gratified when he began to notice. In the mornings particularly she would dress in just a loose satin gown over her underwear. She became aware of his closer scrutiny but gave no sign of her awareness. One morning she decided to leave her bra off and couldn't miss the furtive looks that Patrick cast at her breasts as they swayed under the tight satin wrap. Her nipples grew harder, leaving nothing to the young man's imagination. This became an invariable part of their breakfasts. She grew bolder and would allow her tits to brush his shoulder as she served him or cleared his plate. And when he left for the university, Janice went straight to her bed to strip off the robe and give her straining breasts and dripping pussy the attention she wished she could get from Patrick.

In her more rational moments, Janice felt sure the sexual tension between them was actually all on her side. She couldn't credit that her beautiful young boarder was even aware of her feelings – much less share them. But then, one Saturday evening about half way through his stay, that proposition was put to a dramatic and conclusive test.

Janice had left the house for a dinner date with one of her friends, telling Patrick she would be back late in the evening. The restaurant was a short walk from the house but when she arrived she received a text from her friend telling of a crippling migraine and apologising for her no-show. Janice didn't care to dine alone so she cancelled the booking and walked home. She entered by the unlocked back door and became aware of a curious stillness in the house. Instinct made her cautious and she slipped off her shoes to walk softly through to the living room. The sight that greeted her took her breath away.