Irene O'Reilly was working up a good sweat on her daily five-mile run through town. The 61-year-old white-haired beauty loved her runs, particularly on Saturday when she could take her time and not worry about rushing to work as a school principal.
She was tall, five-eight, willowy at an athletic 130 pounds, all arms and legs pumping swiftly as she ran the streets of her small town, that silvery hair pulled back into a ponytail tucked under a ball cap, tight school t-shirt on her sexy torso, her sagging but sexy boobs held up in sports bra beneath, a pair of mid-thigh green running shorts on, which showed off her remarkably muscular legs for a woman her age, tanned and sinewy, flexing as she ran.
She raced down her street at the end of her run, stretching on the front walk before going into the house, where the widow woman lived alone. She looked at her watch: 9 a.m. In an hour, her pretty young assistant, Jamie, was due to come by with some papers that needed her attention. Just enough time, she thought to herself.
Saturday was her laundry day, a day she looked forward to all week. She went to her laundry room, piled in clothes to the washing machine, and stripped off her sweaty, stinky clothes, peeling off the top and bra, feeling the coolness of the air-conditioned house on her boobs, creamy white and smooth, tanned flesh beneath and above. She stuffed it all into the wash and stood naked now in the tiny laundry room, hitting the switch -- and waiting.
Her machine wasn't terribly new, she couldn't really afford one and didn't want to. When the older machine hit spin, it would vibrate something terrible -- and wonderful. She waited, patiently for the laundry to cycle through, fingering her sopping wet gray-haired bush, lifting one tit then the other to her mouth, tilting her head down, to suckle the thick, wrinkled brown nipples.
"Oh God, it's been so long," she hissed to herself, digging two fingers into her hairy pussy, imbedding them to the palm in her soaked hole. "So long..."
She meant not only since the last laundry day but since the last time she'd had any sexual contact at all. Her husband died five years ago, the only man she'd ever had sex with, and though she'd dated occasionally, nothing ever led to sex, try as she might. Her paramours were all older than she, it seemed, none of them interested in sex with the still hot-blooded principal. She tried other avenues, going out to meet men, younger men, but nothing panned out and besides, she was too shy to initiate anything.
So every Saturday for some time now, since that one morning she leaned on the corner of the madly vibrating machine to get something off a shelf and felt the jolt of surging sexual power connect with her pussy, she'd made this a ritual: Wake up, run, get naked and use her throbbing appliance for her pleasure.
At first she felt perverse, as if it were the most horrible thing a woman of her age and stature in the community could do. And then because of that, it felt wonderful, as if picking forbidden fruit and eating it while no one else was watching.
The spin cycle came. She walked to the corner of the machine at hip level, and fit her warm, wet cunt to the smooth, shiny white corner of it, feeling the first incredible surge of its never disappointing vibration overcome her. She came quickly and she came hard, her entire body shaking with the effort, as she madly hunched her hips forward, cupping her saggy, wonderfully wrinkled ass cheeks as she did, watching it in a floor-length mirror nearby she'd leaned against the wall strictly for that purpose.
Her ass was superb, small, muscular even for her age, well shaped, and creased by the wrinkles and sexy folds of woman 61 years old, but she liked the look, the feel, the smell. As she came over and over, thighs quivering as she pushed into her sex machine with rapidly mounting fervor, she slipped a finger into her tight asshole, plunging it in and out, and as the spin cycle spun to a stop, pulled the finger out to lick it clean.
She quickly returned the machine to spin, resuming her position, sucking that nasty finger like a small cock. She never felt so deliciously naughty.
And neither did Jamie. The 22-year-old assistant stood in the doorway watching her boss, her incredibly sexy, lean and strong boss, humping the machine like a woman possessed. She'd misread her appointment schedule and had arrived at Mrs. O'Reilly's house a half-hour early, knocking, calling out, getting no response.
Now she knew why. She'd come in the unlocked door, heard the machine down the hall, walked to it and peered in, getting the shock of her life. And the most unmistakable surge of sexual energy ever, as she watched the older woman's incredibly sexy ass, a marvelous patchwork of wrinkles and folds, hunching around the finger plunging within.
She watched as her boss finally stopped cumming, licking the finger and hitting spin again, returning her hungry cunt to the mechanized task. And she watched as their eyes locked in the mirror as Jamie stood transfixed in the doorway.
"JAMIE!" Irene gasped, spinning around, leaning back on the vibrating machine, her tits jiggling madly, thighs quaking. "I...I...!"
Jamie was Mrs. O'Reilly's underling, always acquiescing to her boss's demands. She could be tough, and often was, demanding much from the people she worked for. She had a reputation as a no-nonsense type, and was hard on her employees, including young Jamie, whom she viewed as marginally capable, judging her more harshly than the others owing to her youth and inexperience.
Now she stood, clearly in the dominant position, watching with satisfaction her boss tremble and desperately try to cover herself up. Irene looked away from Jamie's glare, then noticed something she had in her hand, besides the sheaf of papers she'd brought along.
Her cell phone.
"Well now, isn't this interesting," snarled Jamie, a skinny, pretty short-haired brunette in tight jeans and t-shirt as she walked slowly toward the cowering principal, lifting the cell phone up for her to stare at. "Now what should I do with the photos I just took of our school leader fucking her washing machine! Should I show them to our superintendent?"
Irene could only shake her head, eyes begging for another option, mouth open in shock and shame.
