The Reclusive Beauty

I knocked on the front door of the well-preserved Victorian home and waited. A few minutes early for my five o'clock appointment, I carried the tools of my trade: clipboard with notepaper, ampmeter, insulated screwdrivers, and a few other items. Mrs. Miller had called the day before, asking if I would give her a bid to add some lighting and receptacles to the second floor of her home.

I'd driven this street in Olympia many times and often wondered who lived here. Surrounded by newer post-modern homes and a few futuristic glass-and-metal monstrosities, the place seemed like the house that time forgot. Once while doing electrical work a block away, I inquired about it. My client could only say the woman who lived here was "reclusive" and people almost never saw her. She had her groceries delivered and never seemed to go outside. So I was braced to meet an eccentric, cat-hoarding lunatic. The door opened.

"Mister Dustarr?" asked a woman standing partially behind the opened door.

"Yes, ma'am," I replied.

"Please come in," she said

I stepped into the living room. As I removed my slip-on shoes and glanced around, I said, "This is a beautiful home."

The house was not the only thing well-preserved, I thought as we shook hands. She held her slim body erect. With short, stylish, strawberry-blond hair and a regal face, she may very well have been a model when she was younger. Full but not over-size breasts and an hourglass waist. The sparkling blue eyes, high cheekbones, and slightly upturned nose gave her the look of an aging movie star or heiress. The years showed on her face; I guessed her age at late-sixties or early seventies. It was obvious she took care of herself so she might have been even older.

"I love the cove ceilings and wainscoting," I continued. I would have preferred to comment on her firm ass but I knew that would not go over well. "Is this the original wallpaper?"

"It is, thank you," she replied. "May I get you some tea or coffee?"

"Tea, please," I said, feeling it appropriate that I accept even though I wasn't thirsty.

I followed her into the kitchen, admiring the rich variety of antiques and sneaking peeks at her curvaceous backside. She wore a cream-colored knee-length dress of a sheer material but it was lined so I could not see though it. The sleeves came almost to her elbows and revealed strong-looking forearms and lined hands. Her delicate fingers were tipped by perfectly manicured, peach-color nails. She wore white hose and pumps with three-inch heels. Who wears high heels around the house, I wondered. The dress clung to her curves in a most tantalizing manner. My dick started to swell and I had to force my attention elsewhere.

Sensing that she expected a certain decorum to the proceedings, I sat with her at the dining room table and chatted. She explained about the history of the house- built in 1894 by ancestors of a prominent local family -as well as anecdotes about the antique armoire, davenport, and dining set.

"Sounds like the furniture's had a more exciting life than I have," I offered.

Giving me a smile, she said, "Oh, I doubt that. I'm sure a young entrepreneur such as yourself has many stories to tell."

Was she flirting with me? I'm in my forties so being called "young" was a pleasant surprise. I smiled back at her and said, "Well, shall we take a look upstairs?"

"You may look wherever you like," she said.

Unconsciously my eyes flicked down to her breasts. I glanced away, hoping she hadn't noticed. Rising, I picked up my clipboard started sketching a floor plan of the house.

"Where is the electric panel?" I asked.

"This way," she said, and strolled back into the kitchen.

Many of these older homes have the panel in the kitchen, or even mounted to the outside of the house. She removed a gilt-framed oil painting of a tall ship in high seas, revealing a metal door. I opened the door and took more notes.

"This panel has been upgraded," I said, looking at the faded permit on the inside of the door. "Looks like 1976. A full 200 amp service. That's good."

"So you can do the improvements we discussed?" she asked, standing close behind me and peering over my shoulder.

I could smell her perfume, a vaguely floral scent, not overpowering like so many older women favored. My dick started growing again. I wanted to step back and "accidentally" brush against her but I didn't. She'd probably seen every advance and come-on ever invented, I thought.

"There's plenty of room in the panel," I said, turning to face her. "The issue now is how do we get the wires from here up to the second floor with the least amount of disturbance."

"What do you mean?"

Instead of answering I said, "Let's take a look upstairs," and I was careful to keep my gaze at a professional level.

"This way," she offered.

We walked past the mahogany dining room set, past enough antiques to open her own store, to a narrow staircase in the corner. She ascended the stairs, not trudging or clomping like so many elderly folks do, but gliding effortlessly. She almost seemed to float, and if I hadn't heard and felt the vibration of her footsteps I might have thought she was a ghost. From behind I would have sworn her narrow waist and firm butt belonged to a woman of thirty. Maybe it was the pumps and the clingy dress, but Mrs. Miller sure looked like she'd taken care of herself.

I took the opportunity to quickly rearrange my dick, now straining uncomfortably in my underwear. As I neared the top of the stairs I glanced up and saw a large, ornate mirror. She had reached the landing and paused to wait for me. Had she seen me fussing with my cock? But she just continued down the hall.

I've been around many attractive women but I felt flustered and self-conscious by this quiet older lady. Sexual energy radiated off her like sunlight. It had an almost physical force, like a desert wind. I took a breath to re-focus my attention on the job.

She showed me around the second floor, pointing out the lack of electrical outlets and overhead lights. We chatted about where new outlets might go, what style of lights she wanted, and so on. Eventually we stopped at an elaborately carved antique divan in one of the bedrooms. She moved aside some throw pillows and we both sat. Her left thigh brushed my right. I continued sketching.

"Okay, you've got a few options," I said.

"Oh?"

Her nearness made my cock spring to life again but I tried to ignore it. Still drawing, I said, "You should probably re-wire the entire house, but that would be quite expensive and involve a lot of intrusions."

"Intrusions?"

"See, the hardest part will be running the wires. I have to cut multiple openings in the walls and ceiling to fish the wires into position. On a newer home I can just repair the drywall over the openings, re-texture, and paint. You'd never know I was there. But you have vintage wallpaper and wood paneling I'm sure you don't want to disturb. There's no way hide the repairs."

She shook her head. "That won't do."

I said, "I agree. Your existing circuits, while not grounded, are still pretty safe. I'd leave them alone if I were you."

"And the other choice?" she prompted.

Flipping to another blank sheet, I drew a side view of her house. "I can get a couple of circuits to the upstairs with minimal fuss."

Suddenly distracted, I paused. I smelled a faint, musky scent that wasn't there a few minutes ago. What that her? Like a wisp of wood smoke it drifted to me, a tantalizing smell that brought to mind a much younger woman wearing far less clothing. But maybe I was wrong. I went back to my drawing.

The top floor was basically a triangle with the sides and top cut off. The walls came up about four feet, then ran at a forty-five degree angle before turning horizontally to form the ceiling. I drew in the location of the panel and explained how I could route the wiring through an inside wall, up into the triangular side attics, and then to each location.

"If I bring the wires this way I can do almost everything in these side attics here and here," I said, my hand flashing over the paper as I sketched.

"That's much better," she said, and then added, "You have very skilled hands, Mister Dustarr."

Before I could think, I said, "You should see the rest of me."

"Oh?"

"My elbows are second to none," I said with a grin.

She gave a high, fluttery laugh like delighted princess. Indeed, she struck me as someone who might have been royalty earlier in life. Her quiet reserve and proper bearing combined with her barely restrained sexuality to make her quite appealing. The twenty- or possibly thirty-year age difference seemed to dissolve.

I took a moment to study her face. She looked vaguely familiar but I couldn't place where I might have seen her. While she did have a fine web of lines around her eyes and lips, she seemed full of life. The high cheekbones and thick-lidded eyes again reminded me of an aging movie star. Her reddish-blond hair, obviously colored, still looked appropriate, not like some old ladies who favor the most outlandish purple that science could create. She caught me looking at her and I glanced back at my sketch.

"If I do it this way," I said, tapping my pen on the paper, "I can put four receptacles in each room, plus an overhead light in these three places, and only have to make three intrusions."

"That sounds much better," she said, "but where would these intrusions be?"

I pointed to the side-view drawing again. "I can get the wires into these side attics, but to reach the ceiling I have to cut holes in these angled parts, here, here, and here."

"I suppose that would be acceptable."

"It's lathe-and-plaster, not wallpaper or paneling, so the repairs will be almost invisible," I said. "Some homeowners like to do the repairs themselves, or I can take care of your holes for you."

I froze, realizing what I'd just said.

I really hadn't meant it come out that way. She must have sensed my innocence, or maybe it was the look of terror on my face, but when I glanced at her she gave me a sultry smile. Long-lashed eyes drooped half closed as she appraised me.

"I would prefer you take care my holes, young man," she said, putting a hand on my knee.

In spite of her upper-crust manner, it was one of the most blatant come-ons I'd ever heard.

I had only a second to decide what to do. Should I apologize? That might offend her, make her think I didn't find her attractive. Should I go for it? What if I've totally misinterpreted her meaning? Then I would really be stepping in it. I looked into her smoldering blue eyes. They held a world of promise, an invitation only a fool could miss. So I did what I'd wanted to do since the moment I first saw her.

I kissed her.

Not rushed, but slow and deliberate, giving her every chance to pull away. Cupping her cheek with my left hand, I leaned in and pulled her to me. She fell toward as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I slipped my right arm around her narrow waist. As our lips played together, my cock swelled. I tried to ignore it.

Neither of us spoke. The passion of her kiss absorbed me and all other thoughts fell away. I sensed her need by the way she pressed against me. For an old lady her lips felt remarkably soft. We kissed some more and my hand began to stray.

I closed my eyes and took in her aroma. She definitely smelled different now. The reserved, floral smell had changed into something more earthy, more primitive. Scent is a powerful tool for stirring up old memories. Thoughts of my first girlfriend popped into my mind: the two of us making out in the front seat of my Mazda, kissing and stroking, the desperation to do more almost painful. Farm-girl pretty, Sherry spread her legs for me and her essence filled the car. Partially her dripping pussy and partially pure animal lust, the smell had driven me wild. Suddenly it seemed like only yesterday.

I stroked Mrs Miller's knee and she responded by sucking on my tongue. Her hand rubbed my pecs, fingers snaking between my shirt buttons to stroke my hairy chest. I kissed her harder. Right hand on her neck now, I pulled her to me while caressing her smooth thigh with my other hand. The increasing ardor of her kisses told me I was on the right path. Her leg felt soft and supple, evidence of regular exercise and body lotion. My hand crept upward.

Knees spreading wider in invitation, I kept going, well under her dress now. Mid thigh...upper thigh...almost there. My fingers made the transition from leg to crotch and I expected to feel cotton or silk.

Instead I felt pubic hair.

No panties, I realized.

The thought of this distinguished lady greeting me bare-pussy thrilled me. Had she planned this, I wondered. Maybe she seduced all the service techs and salesmen who came by, but I didn't think so. I had sensed a connection, a genuine attraction that was powerfully erotic. To be accepted by this regal woman, who no doubt had her choice of men even at her age, made me feel like I'd passed some sort of test.

I was in charge now, or at least I believed she wanted me to be. My fingers drifted through the short-cropped pubes and caressed her pussy lips. Spreading her legs a bit more, she suckled my tongue with more vigor, pulling my life into her mouth. I ran a finger over her clitoris and stroked her wet slit. Gently I slipped it inside her, like a boy exploring a girl for the first time. I only gave her half its length, sensing that anything more would be too much, at least for now. Pushing slowly into her moistness, I let the underside of my finger glide over her clit.

She kept her arms around me, pulling me closer and moaning softly into my mouth. I felt like I was on fire. Merely kissing and fingering this woman had me close to cumming. We carried on for a few more minutes. Her lips and tongue seduced my mouth while I explored the warmth of her most private place.

She became hotter and wetter, her clit expanding along with her passion. Slipping the full length of my finger into her, I slid it in and out, faster now, but still restrained. I felt her desire like a psychic bond. No words were exchanged but I knew what she wanted.

Almost unconsciously I found myself sinking to the floor, kneeling between her legs. Her Patrician face beamed, suggested she was pleased with my new location. I pushed the hem of her dress higher. She lifted her ass off the divan and hoisted the fabric up until it bunched around her narrow waist.

Her magnificence spread before me. Lingerie-model legs of a woman half her age, encased in silken white thigh-highs, led up to a pussy that must have stunned men for decades. The lips were like angel wings framing her slit, nestled between two petite mounds. Reddish-brown pubic hair graced her curves, trimmed into a neat triangle, with tapering stripes of hair flowing down the soft contours of her labia. Moisture glistened at her opening like the promise of treasure for anyone lucky enough to enter.

I ran my hands over the tops of her stockings and she spread even further, scooting her ass forward so her crotch rested right at the edge of the cushion. Leaning in, I kissed the length of her inner thigh, stopping just short of her pussy. My hands glided up and down her silk-clad legs. She moaned, so softly I could barely hear it. Moving to the other thigh, I again kissed slowly upward. The silk felt glossy against my lips. The change in texture as I transitioned from slick fabric to smooth skin was electric.

At last I pressed my lips against her supple labia. Gently I stroked it with my tongue, first one side and then the other. Her succulence drifted to me, an enticing mix of her juice with a hint of perfume or body powder. Kissing on either side of her lips, I wanted to tease her a bit, make her yearn for release before I finally, slowly, brought her there. I felt her stroke my hair and heard her moan again.

Sliding my tongue between her labia and pussy lips, I licked up and down, staying in the warm folds and barely brushing her clitoris. A minute or two of this and I could sense her impatience. I sucked at her lips, first one and then the other. Her hand pulled at the back of my head. Feeling I'd tormented her long enough, I gave her clit a single lick. Softly, with lots of saliva, I traced a path from her moist hole and through the fleshy hills that covered her most sensitive part.

"Ah," she gasped, her fingers now tangled in my hair.

Slowly, I reversed course and made my way back to her hole. Hardening my tongue, I probed her slick opening. I slid inside and thrust full length into her wetness. My mouth open wide, I fucked her with my tongue, slowly at first, and then faster. My cock strained against my pants and I could feel a slippery patch of pre-cum on my underwear.

She gasped again and tugged my hair. I felt she wanted me back on her clit so I again turned my attention to her engorged bump. With a bit more pressure I slathered her clit up and down, up and down.

"Oh yes," she whispered. "Just like that."

I happily obliged, working her throbbing clitoris for several minutes. Not too much pressure, just a gentle lapping, slow and steady. Her moans grew more intense though not much louder. It seemed there was a decorum to be observed even while being pleasured by a total stranger. Her spicy scent grew stronger and I felt her liquid running down my chin.

I truly love bringing a woman to climax with my mouth. Who gets more satisfaction from this is debatable. I've had more than a few women howl like banshees under my oral attention. One girlfriend loved to wake me up by straddling my face, using my mouth to bring herself off before I was even fully awake. "Breakfast in bed" is what she called it. What a wonderful way to start the day.

I decided to take Mrs. Miller to the next level. Clamping my mouth over the upper half of her pussy and leaving her hole just outside my lips, I applied gentle suction. This pulls blood to the surface of the skin and stimulates the nerve endings, sort of like a woman sucking on my cock. The combination of suction and moderately firm licking sure got her attention.

"Oh yes," she said, holding my head firmly between her legs. "That is...mmmmm...exquisite."

"Exquisite" was just what I was going for. I kept this up for another couple of minutes, enjoying the moist suppleness of her pussy as well as the contented groans getting higher in pitch and closer together.

"Mmmmm," she said, pulling my hair. "Yes...ooooooh..."

I sensed she might be getting close so I increased the suction and went a bit faster and harder with the licks. My arms looped around her slender legs, my hands caressing her inner thighs. I could feel her legs starting to tense up. I wanted to give her that extra push that would bring her right to the edge. Bringing one hand up between her legs, I slipped a single finger into her moist hole.

"Oh, yes," she groaned. "Keep...ah...going..."

The finger gave her something to clamp onto, which she did with vigor. Her vaginal muscles clamped and released, squeezing me in a firm, moist grip.

She started moving her hips up and down, moaning and holding my head between her legs. I increased the suction and speed of my licks just a bit more, thrusting my finger in and out of her dripping hole at a moderate pace. Her pussy squeezed and released and I sped up my thrusts to match her rhythm. I felt the slightly ribbed contours of her slippery tunnel. She was very tight.

"Oh yes, oh yes," she moaned, grinding her crotch into my mouth, "Just...ah...like...ah...that..."

Her legs grew even more tense as she held my face against her pussy.

This is where the most exquisite pleasure resided, at the very precipice of climax. I could back off a bit and pull her away, teasing her for as long as I wanted. Or I could maintain my steady movements, let her fling herself from the cliff, my lips and tongue and finger giving her that final push and riding all the way down with her.