When a perfect opportunity presents itself, it can be hard to know if taking advantage of a lady in distress will be worth the risks involved. I consider myself lucky this time, but I had plenty of reason to worry.
Renovation of classic old homes is my business, and I was called by the wealthy Willoughby family to replace a chandelier in their large dining room. The Willoughbys are a respected old family in our town and occupy one of the fine old homes in the historical district. Mr. Willoughby is retired after a successful career, and his wife is one of the pillars of volunteer work in town. She is a member of the Women's Club, the Garden Club, the country club, and I've seen her a few times on television during fund raisers for good causes.
And, she's a looker. Mr. Willoughby must be in his later sixties, and I guess that Mrs. Willoughby is about ten years younger. He has a sagging frame and round belly and balding pate. She plays tennis, attends yoga classes, and has kept her figure. She is a handsome woman, tall and slim with a high waist and long legs. Her dress is impeccable, very stylish and smart, modest but flattering.
Mrs. Willoughby met me at their front door and showed me into the dining room. An old light fixture hung at the center, and she wanted it replaced by a vintage item she had found. The new fixture was large with arms extending out in a circular pattern. Between the arms were a series of chains decorated with prisms. It would be a rather simple task, but it would require making a mess of the room and access to the attic above.
I removed the old fixture, exposed the wiring, then went into the attic to install a strong mount for the new heavier chandelier. This required removing a section of ceiling, wood, and plaster. The new fixture was secured in place, but the ceiling and attic floor needed to be patched.
This is where my day became far more interesting.
I was in the attic and heard Mrs. Willoughby call out, "Sir, how it is going?"
I replied, "Fine. I'll need most of the afternoon to finish."
Then I heard her on the steps to the attic. She appeared to be dressed for an event, and wore a mid-length full skirt and an attractive blouse that modestly did not show any of her chest. Her breasts were not a prominent feature of her figure anyway. Her trim figure, long legs and attractive face were her strongest assets.
"May I see what you're doing?" she asked.
"Sure," I said, "Please come in."
I couldn't help enjoying watching Mrs. Willoughby. She is the type of mature woman who I like to fuck. Women my own age are not as interesting or exotic as those who have aged in a certain way and who maintain their allure. You'd be surprised how many older wives like to flirt and enjoy a younger man's attention. Some flirt, but won't fuck. Some allow a kiss, but won't fuck. Some let me touch them, but won't fuck. Some, bless them, love to fuck.
What would Mrs. Willoughby allow, I wondered as she stepped into the attic. She gave no signs of being a fuckable mature wife, but that did not stop me from dreaming.
She glanced around, "How long will it take?" she asked,
My eyes traveled up and down her handsome figure and pretty face, "With luck, another hour," I said. "Oh," I added, "the attic floor near the new fixture isn't quite secure, so watch out where you step."
She nodded, then she looked around at boxes stored in the attic, "Oh my, I don't know what I'll do with all this stuff," and we began to chat about old family photos and collections. Her mood was wistful and she seemed comfortable telling me about her family history.
She took out a photo album and showed me a photograph of an ancestor. "She's beautiful," I said, "You look a lot like her."
Mrs. Willoughby lowered her eyes and said, "You're kind to say that," as she touched my shoulder. I got the impression that my work might lead to more than installing a fixture. Perhaps I would install my cock in her pussy later today.
Just then, she walked over a weak spot that I had not yet repaired. The floor of the attic creaked, then it gave way. Mrs. Willoughby screamed as she fell through a hole. I leapt to help her, but it all happened too fast. Luckily, she only fell partway. I tried to lift her up, but I didn't want to risk injuring her.
"Something's holding me up," she said. "My foot is on something that feels secure."
"Hang on!" I yelled. "Can you steady yourself while I run downstairs and see if you can safely stand on whatever it is?"
