Ruths Next Steps

A sequel to Ruth and the Boy Next Door

*

A few months ago I seduced an Asian teenager who lives round the corner to me. For several glorious weeks my 53-year old life was brightened up by my first extra-marital affair, with a sweet, attractive, energetic young lad who had never been with a woman before. He often left me exhausted, but my hungry pussy just couldn't get enough of his long, slim cock.

The trouble was, Salman had gone off to university, miles away. I'd seen him once since he started at Birmingham, and he's promised to visit me whenever he comes home to South Wales, but I was missing my regular servicing. My husband's never been that interested in sex throughout 29-year marriage, but I find the older I get, the randier I'm feeling.

Once Salman had gone I had no idea how to find another regular lover. You can't just walk into a pub or stand on a street corner making eyes at blokes -- at least I can't. I even thought of going on the game! Honestly, at my age, after only ever sleeping with four blokes, I actually started thinking of becoming a prostitute. That started because I spend a lot of my spare time looking at websites that show naked men. They all seem to have pricks like sky rockets, and even if most of them do seem to be on gay sites they're still nice to look at. Some of them are on escort sites, and of course there are women on those sites as well. I was surprised by how many of them were around my age or older. I looked at what they were charging, and did a few quick calculations. Even if they only got four or five bookings a week, they'd still be earning as much as I did as a school secretary. I really thought about it, but I didn't reckon I was brave enough, and I was terrified of the neighbours seeing strange men turning up at my house and word getting round.

I'd also been looking at sites that featured naked grannies. I was amazed how many there are, and I really thought I looked better than most of them. My breasts are full and, although I'm plump, I haven't got great rolls of fat or stretch marks. I started then to wonder how much these old women got just for taking their clothes off for the camera. The way I'd first attracted Salman was by flashing my boobs at him out of my bedroom window, and I'd found my exhibitionism quite titillating. Maybe even if I couldn't get a regular shag, I could make a bit of pocket money posing for mucky pictures and get a cheap thrill out of it.

I had no idea how to get started, so I just looked at the listings for photographers in the Cardiff Yellow Pages. There was one on Fanny Street (a name that always makes me smile) called Crwys Studios, which said glamour photography was a speciality of theirs. I phoned and left a message that I wanted some 'sensual photos' done of myself, on the basis that if I'd misinterpreted the ad they wouldn't call me back anyway. The next day when I got home from work there was a message on my phone from a man called Gwyn, asking me to call in the next day, Saturday.

I decided I might as well try and make myself look glamorous, so I waited until my old man had gone out, then changed into a silky blouse, my only short skirt, which ends just above my knees, and a pair of high heels which, if I'm honest, I have trouble walking in. Then I splashed on a bit of my expensive scent that I only wear on special occasions and tottered down to the bus stop and made my way to Cardiff. The streets were fairly quiet because Wales were playing the New Zealand All Blacks at rugby, and all the men were either in the Millennium Stadium -- in fact that's where my Don was -- or indoors to watch it on TV. At first I didn't see the photography place, then I noticed a small door which led up a flight of stairs to an office above a pub. My knees were knocking as I climbed those stairs, but I told myself I wasn't committed to anything, I was just making an enquiry, that was all.

I knocked on a door with a glass panel and entered. A young man, in his mid-20s, stood up from behind the desk and smiled at me, holding out his hand to shake mine. "Hallo, Mrs Jones is it? Sit down; now, what can I do for you?" I said I was there to see the photographer, and he said, "Yeah, that's me, Gwyn. Now, you said it was some sensual shots you wanted. Was it this sort of thing you meant?" He pointed towards the wall, where several pictures hung showing semi-naked pretty young girls in arty poses.

I was a bit thrown by all this. I had expected someone older for a start. And I was slightly surprised by his matter-of-face attitude to a quite ordinary lady old enough to be his mother walking in apparently wanting glamour pictures. But there were a couple of certificates on the wall with his name on, showing his qualifications, so I nervously replied. "Er, yes, sort of like that, only...er..."

Just as I was starting to squirm with embarrassment, Gwyn's smile spread and he said, "Or do you mean a bit more like this?" With that he fished a few photos out of his desk and handed them across to me.

They were of middle-aged women, all naked, pouting and thrusting their boobs at the camera, one or two in the sort of position a gynaecologist might expect them to adopt. Feeling my face burning I nodded and mumbled that, yes, that was what I had in mind.

Still businesslike, as if it was the sort of thing people said to me every day, Gwyn said, "Right then, let's get your blouse open and have a look." I stared at him in shock, and he laughed. "Look Mrs Jones, I assume you want these pictures to try and make some extra cash, yes? Well, there's quite a market for sexy GILFs -- that's 'grannies I'd like to fuck' -- and as long as you sign a model release form I can probably get us both a decent payout, if you're up to it. But I can't tell that with you fully dressed, now can I?" There was an awful reasonableness about what he'd said, and so, as if I was in a dream, I slipped off my coat and began unbuttoning my blouse in this complete stranger's office. The bloody door wasn't even locked! Gwyn didn't watch me, just turned to a small table behind his desk and started fiddling with a camera.

When I'd unclipped my bra I cleared my throat and he turned back to look at me. Then he came round the desk and sat on it, his arms folded as he gazed down at me critically. He leaned forward and cupped his hands under my boobs, making me catch my breath in surprise. I think the situation must have got to me, as my nips popped up like jack-in-the-boxes. He squeezed my tits gently, and muttered, "Mm, nice, good and firm." The he said, "Okay, let's see what you've got down below." I just stared at him in disbelief. He smiled, but in an impatient sort of way, and said, "Look, if I'm going to photograph you I'm going to see it anyway, aren't I. Some ladies of your age, well, to put it politely they tend to lose a bit of muscle tone down there, and that can be a problem in photos."

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Then, feeling humiliated, I stood and slipped down my briefs. Gwyn motioned with his hand and I lifted my skirt up to my waist and sat down again, staring hard in to space as he squatted down and examined my pussy at close quarters. He stood up, nodding with satisfaction. "Yeah, it's a nice one. You might want to trim it a bit; a lot of guys like a hairy snatch, but they like to see you lips poking through too." I was now desperate to get the whole experience over, and asked him if he wanted me to take off the rest of my clothes now. He shook his head. "No, to be honest I'm quite keen to get downstairs and watch the match. It starts in a minute." At that moment there was a muted roar from the pub below, presumably as the teams took the field. Gwyn picked up a desk diary and said, "Look, I'll book you in for next Saturday, same time, okay? It'll take a couple of hours."

I couldn't get out of there quickly enough. Doing up my bra and blouse, I scooped up my knickers and stuffed them in my handbag then clattered down the stairs to the street. Feeling a little faint I walked to the bus station and got my service back to my home in Penarth. I let my head fall back and closed my eyes, reflecting on the undignified experience I'd just gone through. Was I really going to go through with it the following Saturday? I doubted it.

When I opened my eyes a couple of minutes later, I noticed the feller sitting opposite me on the bus, a black bloke about 30, had scrunched down into his seat, and was staring intently at my legs. I glanced down at my knees, wide apart -- and remembered with horror that I wasn't wearing any pants. In that short skirt I was showing him everything! I snapped my legs shut and felt my face flushing, and the bloke hurriedly looked away, pretending he hadn't been ogling my twat.

The thing was though, as I thought about him looking up my skirt, I started to get the strangest feeling. My tummy began to knot like it does when Salman touches me, and I was aware my nipples were getting stiff again. I was shocked at myself, but at the same time fascinated by what was happening to my body. I could still feel the warmth of Gwyn's hands cupped under my boobs. Slowly, not even realising I was doing it at first, I let my knees part again. The guy's eyes were drawn back to me like a magnet. I could feel a blush rising up from my belly into my chest, a sure sign that I was becoming aroused. I glanced around. The bus was half empty, and nobody could see what was happening. Still watching my admirer, I casually sank down in my seat. My skirt rode up under me, giving him an even better view of my pussy. I sat like that for the next few minutes, as he stared fixedly between my legs and rubbed his hand across the front of his jeans occasionally: it looked like he was erecting a circus tent in there.

At my stop I got off the bus, into the Autumn early evening gloom, and almost collapsed in a fit of astonished giggles at the way that, in the course of a few months, I'd gone from being a bored everyday housewife to some ravenous sex slut who got her jollies from flashing her bits at men. I started walking home; then I heard a sound behind me and, glancing over my shoulder, I saw that at the last moment the black guy had leapt off the bus and was following me! I was no longer giggling -- suddenly I began to feel scared. Increasing my walking pace, I told myself not to be daft: he just happened to be walking in the same general direction as me, that wasn't the same as following me. I turned a corner though and, sure enough, a few seconds later so did he.

I was starting to panic at that point. He was a big bloke -- well over six feet, and muscular with it; and he was gaining on me. I was beginning to pant with the effort of walking so fast, but he was effortlessly loping towards me. As he drew level with me I squeezed my eyes shut and prepared to scream; then I heard a deep voice say, "How much?"

I was so surprised I stopped and stared at him. "What?"

He repeated, "How much you charge?" He had some kind of African accent. I realised that he must have thought I was a hooker, advertising my wares to him on the bus. As if to reinforce his question, he unzipped his fly, and the longest, thickest prick I'd ever seen popped out, stiff and ready for action.

Feeling faint again, I said, "Er, fifty?"

He looked at me suspiciously, and I instantly realised it sounded too cheap. But he pulled out his wallet, counted out some notes, and thrust them at me. I honestly didn't know what to do at that moment. I'd thought the guy was going to rape me -- now he was offering me fifty quid to let him fuck me! He waved the notes at me, and said, "Where we go?"

Still feeling light-headed, I looked around me and saw the local graveyard a few yards away. I didn't want this man to know where I lived. I thought I couldn't back down at that point: he was a really big bloke, and obviously expecting to get his end away. Weakly taking the money, I gestured to the gate of the cemetery, and said "In here." As I walked numbly towards it, I reminded myself that only that morning I had been bemoaning my lack of sex, and I told myself that maybe a nice screw would get rid of all the nervous energy I'd built up. Suddenly resolved to what was about to happen, I reached out and wrapped my fingers around his big, muscular cock, and led him down a side path.

After a few seconds we came to a broad, flat grave at about my knee level. My partner said, "This will do", and gently pushed me into a sitting position on the stone, pulled my skirt up around my bum and parted my knees. I'd never had sex in the open air before; the stone was cold against my skin, and I could feel a light breeze on my thighs. I gasped as he leant in and kissed my snatch. For a moment I thought he was going to give me oral sex, but then he stood up and pushed his jeans down around his ankles. That huge black cock reared up before me, twitching.

I swallowed nervously, then wrapped my arms around him as he lay on top of me. A moment later I almost screamed as he pushed his monster cock inside me. Fuck, he was strong. He set up a slow steady rhythm, grunting as he humped me, his huge scrotum slapping against me with each stroke. My cunt had never felt so stretched, and I lifted my knees and held them wide apart to try and give his dick more room. At first I could feel the cold gravestone scratching my bum as my lover literally pushed me across it with every thrust, but I soon forgot my discomfort as I felt the old familiar fire starting in my tummy and racing up into my boobs and down to my pussy. As my orgasm built I began to whimper, then, when the tsunami of ecstasy washed over me, I wailed like a wild animal, racing my hands up and down the man's back.

My client -- after all, that's what he was -- hadn't finished, and continued to pound at me for another minute or so until he spurted into me with a huge roar. He pulled straight out of me and I saw he was wearing a condom, which he must have been carrying with him. He removed it and tossed it into the darkness, then pulled up his jeans and helped me to my feet. He kissed me on the cheek, gave me a brief hug, then turned and walked away without a word. I stumbled dazedly home, getting there a few minutes before my husband. That night I lay awake in bed, my pussy still aching from the hammering it had received, and reflected on the amazing way my life had changed. Three months earlier I had been an ordinary dull middle-aged wife, mother and, in the last few years, grandmother. Since then, I'd started an affair with a virgin a third my age, I'd had sex with two blokes of different race to me, I'd turned my first trick, had my first outdoor fuck, and I'd arranged a naked photo shoot! I couldn't help wondering what the bloody hell was happening to me.

All of the following week I thought about the photo session, wondering whether I was really going to go through with it. I also thought about what had happened in the cemetery. I had wondered if I was capable of working as a prostitute; and now I had done so. All it had meant was that I had had a god, solid fuck, and I was fifty pounds better off. I was honest enough to admit to myself, too, that part of my arousal had come from the fact that I was screwing a man I'd never met before, would probably never meet again, and knew absolutely nothing about. After all, I had discovered after years of deprivation that I really enjoyed sex, and escorts, as they now call themselves, get lots of it.

I had found a website called Adultwork, where escorts from all over the world can advertise themselves. When I idly searched on Cardiff I was surprised to find over 70 listings. I thought again about whether I could sell myself to any man who paid the price. After the graveyard I really thought I could, but I still couldn't risk them coming to my house, and I didn't want to be one of those woman who walk around the streets and do it in the back of a car.

The following Saturday came and, almost as if I was in a trance, I trimmed my pubic hair, dressed in loose clothes that wouldn't leave marks on my skin, applied my nicest make-up, and caught the bus into town. I nearly turned back at the door of the photography studio, but as I was dithering Gwyn opened the door and invited me in. He took me through to a large room with big lights pointing towards a bed, and casually said, "Okay, strip off and Mandy'll see to you."

I wondered who Mandy was, but when I was in the nude, hands protectively stretched across my tits and my pubes, a blonde girl in a white coat emerged from behind a screen and led me round it. There was a small make-up table there, complete with a mirror with lights all round it. The first thing she did was to wipe off all my carefully applied make-up and start again. I had to admit, though, when she finished I did look better -- almost glamorous. I was so impressed I forgot I was stark naked as she led me back round to the bed and sat me down. Gwyn came back in, looked at me carefully and murmured "Wow, nice job Mandy."

I had started to feel some relief that I wasn't going to be alone with Gwyn, but then he told Mandy she could go, and there were just the two of us. He switched on the big lights, almost blinding me, picked up a camera with a huge lens on it, and told me to act naturally!

For the first few minutes I was terrified, but I gradually relaxed and actually started to enjoy myself. It was clear that Gwyn fancied himself, but I could see that he had a point! He was 27 years old, about six feet tall with a trim, lightly muscled body, and had a mane of long dark blond hair and a chiselled jaw that gave him a sort of Tarzan look. All the while he filmed me he talked to me, at first just directing me. "That's it, hold them up, put your thumbs under the nipples, nice, now open your legs a bit wider..." But gradually his words became more sexual, and under the hot arc lights I began to feel quite turned on. "Yeah baby, you've got really sexy tits you know. Gorgeous pussy, I'd love to get a taste of that, hold it open for me. Now let's see your sweet little bum."

He was also getting nearer and nearer, his pictures becoming more and more intimate. Eventually his lens was inches from my pussy as I held my labia back with my thumbs, and I could feel my body heating up at the thought of people looking at those photos. Before I realised it was happening, Gwyn put the camera down and I sighed as two of his fingers entered my pussy. Casually, he said, "You're nice and wet Ruth, but we really want it glistening for the camera." That wasn't difficult: I could feel my lips swelling around his fingers and within a couple of minutes I was writhing as he probed me, moaning as bolts of electricity shot through my body. I was sure I was about to climax when the bastard stopped, swung off the bed and picked up his bloody camera again. He immediately started snapping away at my pussy, muttering "beautiful".

After a few moments he straightened up and with a grin said, "Did you like that then? Do you want a nice hard fuck Ruthie?" Even as he spoke he started to strip off his clothes, and I sat up on my elbows and widened my legs in anticipation. He had a nice long cock, with a sandy bush above it. He lay on top of me and thrust his tongue into my mouth, squeezing my boobs. Then, to my surprise, he arranged me on my knees and moved behind me. As he pushed into me he muttered "This is what I like, a nice hard shag from behind." By that time I didn't care how he did it as long as he gave me a good fucking. I spread my knees wide and pushed back at him, meeting every thrust of his.

I came quite quickly, but kept humping back at Gwyn, groaning with the pleasure of my release. He gripped my hip with one hand and pulled me back hard onto him; then I felt his other hand reach round me, and he pressed his thumb onto my clit and pushed a finger inside the top of my crack as he fucked the bottom of it. A white light exploded in my brain and I immediately had a second crashing orgasm, so powerful it left me hoarse from screaming, weak and shaking. I slumped into the bed and let him finish screwing me. When he pulled out of me he took a moment to gather his breath, then arranged me on my back and picked up his camera again. At that point I was too drained to object, and just watched blearily as he photographed me full length then took a few close ups of my satisfied twat. As he filmed he told me, "Blokes like a good picture of a nice jizzed-up slit."