Mrs Scott

When I was 15, I used to mow the Scott's lawn. He was a retired cop, in his seventies and she was a housewife, maybe in her mid-forties. Their daughter was grown and gone. Mr. Scott had had two heart attacks and was physically feeble, although his mind was sharp. He would invite me to eat lunch with him. I'd enjoy a sandwich and his cop stories, along with the view of Mrs. Scott.

She was not a raving beauty, but she was intriguing. Perhaps five foot eight or so. Not thin, but certainly not heavy by any means. She had a pleasant face and a crisp New England manner about her. She kept her brown hair wrapped up in a twist. I think I didn't really ever take a good look at her until I had been working for them a couple of summers. It was strange to feel myself assessing her body like I did the girls my own age at school. Few of them interested me. And the prettiest girls wouldn't be caught dead talking to me. I just wasn't in their league. But as I looked at Mrs. Scott as she turned and walked around the kitchen seeing to our lunch, I noted her nice legs in those tight slacks. Not a girl's behind or legs, a woman's, with a little meat on the bones. Maybe she wasn't as toned and tight, but she was full and round, soft and sensuous. She often wore pullover sweaters of thin wool or cotton. And I had to exercise my well-practiced skill at stealing a gaze at a nice set of tits and not getting caught. Mrs. Scott's tits were full, but not huge, a nice handful. And she always wore a noticeable brassiere, one of those heavy white ones with wife straps and lacey front. Not tawdry, but functional. And it held her twin handfuls high and tight on her chest. Overall, although I had thought of her as no more than a suburban past-her-prime housefrau for a long time, now that I looked at Mrs. Scott, I found her attractive, sexy, an object for fantasy.

At the end of that summer, I moved away. I don't even think I said good-bye to the Scotts. Why would I? They were the old couple next-door. Folks I had earned a few bucks from. And I was off to bigger and better.

Fast-forward through high school and college and I find myself knocking around my old hometown while my resumes make the rounds and I hope for a career. I was taking some time to relax and my mom suggested I go over and see Mrs. Scott. Mr. Scott had died and she was carrying on alone, still in the old house next-door to where we used to live. I drove over, thinking more about what I was going to do afterward than about what I was going to say or how my chat with Mrs. Scott would go.

I knocked on the door and she opened it almost immediately. And we were face to face. You know that funny reaction you get when you see someone you haven't seen in years? At first you recognize exactly who it is and you react, for a split-second, like you just saw them yesterday. Then your brain takes over and tells you it can't be that person because they haven't been around and then double-clutches when it realizes what your eyes are telling it. It makes you shake your head and adjust the focus of your eyes. Well, we both did that. And then she smiled warmly, opened the screen door that separated us and gave me a very maternal hug.

As we sat on the screened-in back porch, the memory of those long-ago summer days toiling away for money for movies, a camera, baseball cards. We talked about Mr. Scott. She was well over his death, but wistful at the memory. She talked about how much older he was than she, how limited their relationship had been. Their daughter kept them together. And they did love each other. His age and illness had robbed him of any sex drive when their daughter was still young. Mrs. Scott had been without it for most of her adult life. It occurred to me that we were talking about some pretty personal stuff. And she must have seen it in my face. She changed the subject to me and my life.

She seemed interested in how things had gone for me at school and what my plans were. She asked about my love life. I took it as a joke, but when she heard I wasn't seeing anyone she seemed concerned. I guess she felt the need for others to have what she never really did, physical love. She asked me about my last girlfriend. It was casual conversation until she asked if I'd had sex with her. I tried not to act shocked, but I know I reacted visibly, but quickly told her that I had. I sensed that this was a real opportunity.

I took a chance and turned the tables. If she hadn't had sex in so long, what did she do about her desire, I asked.

"I masturbate almost every day in the shower, with a handspray."

My eyes drank in the sight of her as she said those words. All these years later, she must have been in her early sixties, she had barely changed. Her face had deeper lines, a few of them. But she was still pretty to look at. And she still wore those tight sweaters and slacks. And her body hadn't changed at all, and the memories were as clear as ever suddenly. I had jerked off dozens of times to the thought of Mrs. Scott when I was younger. I had a thing for tits and hers were the biggest, nearest ones in my world. I was just a typical, horny teenager.

I became aware that Mrs. Scott had stopped talking. I was staring at her chest. I looked up and she was watching me, smiling. When I started to panic, her smile widened and I noticed she was staring at the tent my cock was making in my loose-fitting pants.

"It's been a very long time since I saw a hard-on. That's what I think about when I use the handshower." She reached out and placed her hand over the head of my cock, through boxers and the cotton pant leg. She squeezed carefully, like she didn't want to be too rough. She gazed at what her hand was holding and, without looking up, took one of my hands and put it on her breast. My cock twitched and Mrs. Scott stroked her hand up and back along the outline of my rock-hard cock. My hand encompassed the breast, bound as it was under her utilitarian bra. I ran my thumb across where her nipple would be under the lace and nylon.

I kissed her on the lips. She warmed to the taste of a man. Her lips parted and she kissed as if she had been dreaming of it for twenty years. We were both getting very warm. She breathed deeply and stood. Her hand pulled away from my cock and she took my hand that had just released her breast and led me to her bedroom.

She sat me on the edge of her bed and began to take her clothes off. She stripped that sweater over her head. And, just like in the movies, she reached up with both hands and removed a hairpin and tumbled down cascades of shoulder-length brown hair, interlaced with some gray. She put a hand on my shoulder as she pulled the slacks down. And she stood before me in her bra and panties. Not Victoria's Secret stuff either, but nothing could have been sexier to me right then. I pulled my shirt off and unbuckled my belt and unzipped my pants as I sat there watching her. I stood up and let the pants fall. I stepped out of them and I was right up against her. I looked down into her eyes. As much as she wanted this, she needed it more. I sat back down, my cock creating a wet spot against my boxers. I wanted to take this in at eye level. Mrs. Scott reached behind herself and unhooked that big bra. She shrugged slightly and it dropped away from her breasts. I followed the bra as it slid from her arms, then looked up at her, standing there. The breasts I had dreamed about so often, so long ago were perfect orbs of white, with almost no sag, standing out from her chest. Each fulsome breast was tipped with a coral-pink nipple, small and stiff as my cock. Each nipple stood out from taut wrinkled aureole barely much wider than the nipples themselves. I reached out and caressed the breast nearest me. Its warmth and fullness was remarkable. I pulled my hand away as she pushed her panties down and stood before me nude. Her pubic triangle was covered with tawny little curls, interspersed with gray. She looked incredible. I wanted to fuck her so bad. For so many reasons, in so many ways, I needed it. She needed it. But it wasn't lost on me that this was something special. And I owed it to this wonderful lady to make this memorable.

I stood again and pulled my boxers down and stepped out of them. Now we were both naked. Her hand closed around my cock. She stroked it up and down gently.

"What do you like your women to do?" she asked.

I wondered what she meant. She was serious. Maybe she wanted to know what was expected of her. Or maybe she wanted to know if I was into kink. Or maybe she was asking what sex act I wanted her to do for me right then. And her hand's pressure on my shaft wasn't helping me think any clearer.

"I like my women to enjoy themselves. If they get off really hard, I like that. Nothing turns me on like a woman who has let go of her self-control. I like my women to be real, use real words, to ask for what they want, no matter what it is, even if they think I might say no. I like my women to do anything I ask, as long as they really, really want to. So, we have to be open and honest and say and do just what we want. OK? That's what I want.

"Would you like to feel me sucking your cock?" she asked.

"Suck it, Mrs. Scott. Suck it all and neatness doesn't count."

She knelt between my knees and I leaned back on some pillows. I had a perfect view. She held my cock in her left hand and stroked it as she tilted her head a bit and engulfed my cockhead in her mouth. She released her grip on my cock and reached under to cup my heavy balls. Her mouth now controlled everything. She twisted and pumped her mouth and her head, using her lips and tongue all together. She was savoring every sensation so much. And I felt it. Her touch was electric. Her mouth was so warm, hot even. And wet. She had taken to heart my words about neatness not being important. Almost as soon as she had begun sucking, her warm, slick saliva had begun to drip and drool down her chin and cheeks and neck. Some of the strands hung down like liquid icicles, swaying with her movements. The thick strands sometimes dripped down onto her fine white breasts. I couldn't resist reaching down to cup a perfect orb and rub the thick wet spit into the tit. I felt her nipple like cut stone burn into my palm. I wanted to devour those sweet tits, but I wanted her to suck my cock more.

"Suck it all the way down." I said without thinking. I wondered how she would react.

"I've never tried to deep throat a cock. Is that the ultimate?" she asked, her fist, well lubed by her spit and my copious pre-cum pumping the length of my penis with smooth twisting strokes.

"It is unlike any other feeling. And I love the way it looks to see a bitch sucking at my pubes, my root buried down her throat. I love to think it might gag her, but she wants it so bad, she does it anyway. And I love it when I look 'em in the eye while they have it all the way down their gullet." I laughed. Where was this tough-guy bullshit coming from?

"I want you to fuck my throat if I can get you down." With that she pulled her hair back over her shoulders and dove down on my cock, twisting and screwing it deeper and deeper. The sounds of her slurping and gasping and snorting trying to figure out how to breathe and swallow and still suck my cock down her throat, were incredible. Soon she had gotten into a rhythm of pushing down on my cock with her mouth, breathing in through her nose and kind of swallowing. Then she'd repeat that. She easily downed all but the last inch. She twisted around so I could look her in the eye. She closed her eyes for a second and breathed in. Then she opened her eyes and gave me a look I will never forget. Then she opened her lips and reached out with them, sharply shoving my cockhead an inch deeper into her throat. Her reaction was immediate. A strong guttural growl was forced out of her by the thrust and she gagged convulsively. Spit flew from around where her mouth had sealed around my cock. She started to pull back to relieve the choking as a deep gurgle of reflexive gagging shook her. Her eyes seemed to glaze over and she sucked in suddenly and swallowed. I felt her mouth and throat massage my entire cock. She moaned. Tears escaped the corners of her eyes. She pumped up and down the full length of my cock from tip to base. Her spit and drool dripped down to my ass. As her hand cupped and massaged my balls, her fingers worked the dripping viscous syrup into my asshole with a finger tip. I could so easily relax and blow my cumwad down her throat, I thought. But she wanted me to fuck her throat.

I pushed her back as I stood, but she never released my cock from her mouth. I positioned myself with one foot up on the bed and the other on the floor. I braced her against the bed, kneeling and facing me; I wanted to fuck her throat hard.

She gulped at my cock, but I took her head in my hands, softly at first, but then quite roughly and positioned her so I could just pump my hips and fuck her face without worrying. I gave her a second and then I started fucking her mouth furiously. You could hear the air being forced into her throat as I pistoned my shaft in and out. Her cheeks would bulge and her throat would open. The muscles in her neck were straining to hold her throat open. I thrust deeply in, all the way. Mrs. Scott slapped my ass and grabbed it, raking her nails into my flesh. She shoved a finger deep up my ass. And that triggered the flood. I have never felt the cum explode from deep in my balls like that. It coursed up and out. I knew from experience that this was the thick, white ropes of spunk that can shoot three or four feet. But it was all being pumped down my old neighbor's throat. I didn't give a thought to how she would deal with a monster cum load down the throat on her first deepthroating. I heard her gulping and gagging and slurping and licking. When she finally pulled away, as my cock's spasms were dying, she had a mouthful of cum and her lips and face were covered with our love slime. Spit, cum, pre-cum. She looked me in the eye and swallowed deliberately. She tasted the cumwad I had just blown. And she slowly licked up all the spit and cum and drool that had dripped all over her face and neck and tits. She licked my cock and balls and asshole clean. She gave extra attention to my shitter and noted that my cock twitched and started to show signs of life when her tonguetip dipped inside.

"Lay back, Mrs. Scott. I want to take you somewhere special." She lay back on the pillows, her legs draped across my shoulders as I knelt beside the bed. I had total access to her pussy and ass. And a super view of those tits, the soft white underside, so smooth and warm. Mrs. Scott was twisting and pulling on her nipples. I wanted to blow her head off her shoulder with so many mind-bending orgasms. So many years she had been without. So many times I had jerked off thinking of fucking her tits or cumming on her face.

If there's one thing in this world I know how to do, it's eat pussy. I love to do it and I love to see the reaction I get. It makes me feel like such a stud to have a woman at my mercy. I can make her scream or I can prolong the agony, drag it out. I love that. Mrs. Scott had creamy smooth white thighs. They felt like silk against my face. I approached her pussy low and let her feel my warm breath on it. I brushed her pubic hair with my lips. I nuzzled against the warm tangle of hair and then opened my lips and rubbed against her pussy. The lips seemed to part on their own. I pushed my tongue out to taste the wetness and feel the warmth directly. Mrs. Scott moaned and arched her back. If this was sending her over the edge, what I had in mind might kill her, I thought. I kissed and sucked at her out lips and vulva. I love to just rub my face in it. Then I push up and engulfed her mound in my opened mouth. I could hold her lips open with my lips and use my tongue to explore from her clit to her opening and lower. But I wanted to suckle her lips themselves. I took each between my lips in turn and sucked gently. I even gnawed very, very lightly on them. But what got her off was sucking both lips in my mouth at once and running my tongue between them up to her clit. I did this a few times and she exploded. Her stomach contracted so tightly. Her body curled up as she clenched her eyes tightly and seemed to shake bodily in spasms. For my part I kept my mouth over her mound and my tongue still between her cuntlips. I let her orgasm die down. I noticed that my face was soaked and my chin was dripping. And I tasted something different. My mouth was full, not just of my saliva and some pussy juice. There was a significant amount of a slightly bitter salty liquid. Mrs. Scott had come in my mouth. I swallowed her load. How exciting! I had always dreamed of a squirter. I'd even rented videos of women who ejaculated a clear fluid. I wasn't sure it was for real. But Mrs. Scott was.

I very gently moved lower, away from her clit. I knew she would be hypersensitive and I didn't want to stop eating pussy yet.

I shoved my tongue deliberately into her cunthole. She wriggled and moaned again. I drove my tongue as deeply into her cunt as I could. I thrust it in and out and tried to simulate a proper fucking rhythm and variation of depth and angle. But my tongue was tiring and I didn't want to open her up too much yet. I moved up slowly toward her clit. I pushed back her lips with my lips and began to flick and encircle her clit. I used every trick I knew to stimulate the little love nub. I sucked it like a nipple. I used indirect pressure. I teased and massaged. Finally, I sucked the area around her clit into my mouth gently and became to use my tonguetip across her clit tip. That did it. Mrs. Scott erupted in another orgasm. Her hands clawed at my head, holding it in place so she could grind her pussy on my face. Then she started slapping my head. She was still cumming and she was almost out of her mind. I pulled off her cunt and she screamed and tensed and her cunt squirted a fountain of droplets of her cum all over my face. I licked it up and lapped my tongue from her cunthole up to her clit. She reached down and slapped my wet face again and again. She was almost in hysterics cumming. It didn't hurt but she was slapping me pretty hard. I was so turned on. This old lady was a wild bitch in heat.

I pushed her back on the bed and climbed up between her legs. I cupped her asscheeks in my hands and squeezed them. Her hand guided my cock to the entrance of her sopping wet cunt. She was licking her spew from my face and kissing me as I shoved in. She was tight. Very tight. Her pussy was tight and wet and hot and it seemed alive. So many women think they have control of their pussy muscles. But mostly it's nothing I could ever feel. But Mrs. Scott could make her pussy ripple and massage my cock. I've never felt anything like it. I wanted to pump her good and long and really make her feel totally fucked. I had cum a little while ago, so I knew I would have pretty good control for a while.

Once she got used to taking a pumping on her back, I pulled out and rolled her over. I let her legs hang off the bed and I sort of leaned behind her and fucked her from behind against the mattress. I was giving it to her deep. I wanted to hurt her with my cock. I was slamming her. I pulled out and slapped her ass hard. I really laid into her, leaving red handprints and even a welt. I roughly lifted up her hips so she was kneeling on the edge of the mattress, her ass in the air and her shoulders on the bed. I stood behind her and fucked her doggie. Her tight cunt and the view I had was such a nice combination. She was looking back at me as I fucked her. I pulled almost out so I could see her cuntjuice gleaming on my shaft.

Her puckered asshole was right there. I really wanted to fuck it. I was out of my mind. I pulled myself together. I knew I could rip into her ass if I wanted, but I was supposed to be giving this old gal something she needed, not indulging my dominant side, even if she was obviously into it.