AUTHOR NOTE: The following is a story about sex between an older woman and a 21-year-old man. It has forceful, dominant sex, which leads to romantic, consensual sex, but if the thought of a 70-year-old woman, pretty but with the body of an older woman, does not appeal to you, don't read it and complain you didn't like it! Plenty of other stuff out there to tickle your fancy. Thanks.
*****
Patsy was keeping a close eye on the group of young college students in the corner, who'd arrived a couple hours earlier and were racking up a pretty good bar tab. She'd seen groups like it before, and welcomed them. This group was celebrating the birthday of Ryan, as she'd heard his name called, a somewhat shy, good-looking kid who wasn't drinking as heavily as his buds. It was his 21st birthday, and after carding each of them, Patsy let them have their time.
Patsy had been around a long time, running her joint, aptly named "Patsy's Place," a local gin mill in a college town, for more than 30 years. She was a hot number back in her day, with her athletic body and thick curly mop of blonde hair, and could still pass for less than the 70 years old she was.
"Mercy," she said to herself, swabbing the bar down around closing, as the rowdy group, the last customers of the night, readied to leave. "Can't recall ever being that young."
Patsy was a single gal, outliving her husband who died 10 years ago, the two of them starting this place. Bill wasn't much of a husband or a lover, taking up with young girls in the bar as a way of them drinking for nothing. Patsy grumbled about it less and less as she got used to it, having a few selective dalliances of her own from time to time, and was pretty damned thankful when the miserable old bastard did kick off, leaving the joint all hers. It never made a ton of money, but was a solid business in the small town, favored by locals and college students, a dark, beer-smelling kind of place with cheap drinks and old music on the jukebox.
She didn't date much since Bill died, taking up with men here and there, mostly younger ones who found the grizzled old lady sexy and appealing. Truth be told, she much preferred them; their lasting power and eagerness to please made it worth the while. And she was a fine-looking woman still, fit and trim, that mop of curly blonde hair gone silvery white, adding another sexy layer of maturity that many a young fellow found to their liking.
And this night, watching the good-looking young men having a good time, got her more than a little horny, particularly as they'd eyeball her when she'd bring drinks over in her tight white t-shirt with the logo "You're Not Just Another Pretty Face at Patsy's Place," a big picture of a smiling Patsy stretched over her big tits and down below, her saggy and wrinkled but still very shapely tanned legs on display in the short jean skirt she wore, long and solid with mid-calf brown cowgirl boots hugging her lower legs.
As the night wore on and the boys got drunker, they flirted openly with her, she laughing it off, even comments like "How's about you sit on THIS not another pretty face, Patsy!" But not Ryan. The shy boy would just get red in the face and look away when such comments were bandied about. And then he'd scope her pretty good himself; she'd notice his stares in the big mirror above the bar as she walked back to it.
Patsy had been around enough to know when she was about to get screwed, and as the group got up to go - after Ryan had darted off to the bathroom - she knew the con was on. The businesswoman in her would stop them, forcing them to collect the $250 among them that they'd racked up, and send them on their way.
But the horny woman in her felt otherwise. She did stop them on their way out, and one of them burped indelicately and slurred, "Oh, baby, Ryan's got it, birthday boy is pissing out the night back there, but we gave it all to him, he'll settle up."
Giggling like schoolboys with a secret, they shuffled out of the bar, Patsy knowing the scam and waving goodbye. Ryan came out a minute later as she stood by the front door, locking up. She smiled at him as he approached nervously, his big brown eyes wide and looking around.
"Uh...where...where'd they go?" he asked.
"Oh, they took off, honey," Patsy said, putting an arm around the boy's slender shoulders and guiding him to the bar, where she sat him down and she stepped around behind it. "They said you'd be settling up."
Ryan's eyes went wider as he swirled in the chair to look at the locked door.
"They...they WHAT?" he cried out. "Those...those...those..."
"Assholes?" Patsy laughed. "You can say it honey, it don't offend me none."
He turned to look at her as she stood, hands spread on the bar, her t-shirt damp with sweat, outlining the saggy tits beneath, hanging free of a bra she never wore. She smiled.
"Well, sugar, just me and you," she said. "Now dig into those tight little pants of yours and come up with $250 - minus the tip - or baby, we gonna have a little problem."
Her smile disappeared, much as she wanted to laugh at the boy's nervous reaction. Her plan, conceived on the fly, was working like a charm.
"But I...they...I mean...those ass...those assholes..they didn't..." he stammered, slowly standing.
"Sit down, boy," she said with mock sternness, pointing to the seat, the boy obeying and sheepishly returning his butt to the stool. "I wasn't born yesterday, kid, I know the scam, but figured you guys were different. Guess I was wrong. Now..."
She leaned her elbows on the bar, her t-shirt front drooping open, Ryan's gaze drawn to the thick pads of upper chest flesh wrinkled and damp with sweat, creasing toward those big white titties below.
"What are we gonna do about this?" she asked in a husky low growl.
She let it sink in as she watched the boy's mental wheels turning. She knew he wouldn't run, he wasn't the type. He seemed a good kid, willing to do the right thing. His right thing. Hers was a little bit different, she thought to herself. Her puckered mouth and ruby-painted lips wrinkled into a smile.
