The Date

Lynda was lounging by the pool as the kids played; there was volleyball, Frisbee, some were tanning and a couple had paired-off to play their own adventuresome games in the deeper water. She was not the only adult at the pool but none the less, she felt alone and out of place.

Summer time at the gated community pool was a time for youthful frivolity and a reminder that anyone over the age of thirty, was just a tired, old relic of another era. The young ones were confident and at ease with their bodies. Bikinis and muscle-shirts were the norm. Her own daughter wore barely enough to be legal as she splashed at the side of the pool. And her son was lounging with his crowd of equally well-built studs.

Lynda was a widow, now for almost seven years. At forty-two, she was comfortably well-off and secure financially. She had two great kids, college grads, both. Her large condo on the golf course had a separate suite and guest cottage that the kids used and her former husband's estate provided for her every whim. The only thing missing was her youth. And it ate away at her subconscious.

She was slim and attractive. Many older fellas in the community had flirted and try to tempt her with dinner, drinks and vacation trips. But she could never escape the feeling of being an outsider. Of never being a part of things.

Her husband had been her boss and twice her age when they met. His only real demand of her was to bear his children and not cause a commotion. She was young and naïve, and this seemed a good bargain.

To jump years ahead- - He was facing federal prison time when his heart attack hit. His lawyer advised Lynda that if she played it right, her inheritance would be millions, the condo, the Mercedes, and a life of leisure. The teenagers had trust-funds and paid-up tuition to top-notch universities. Lynda's portfolio, wardrobe and jewelry box were lavish. And there had never been a hint of scandal to her name. Or any true excitement, either.

But days like this always caused her to reflect. And a sad melancholy settled over her. She never once, regretted being a faithful wife, church-goer and excellent mom. She was no prude, but she saw that her son and daughter were having more fun today, than she had had in thirty years.

Lynda was an arm-piece and a P.T.A. Mom. She had travelled but never saw anything. She attended every "opening," but never got to know anyone. She sat on committees and donated without ever experiencing a thing.

She also took Pilates, Yoga and jogged every day. Only to build a figure that was appraised and ogled but never touched.

She sipped the last of her margarita and closed her book as the shadow of a man descended across her body. It was Bob Wolfe, as always, bringing her a refill and trying again to engage her in some casual banter.

"Remember when we were the ones laughing and flaunting our bodies," he laughed. Bob always laughed, always had a corny joke and always reminisced about his youthful exploits. He was still solidly-built at fifty. A divorcee and childless. His money apparently came from the same shady source as her husband's. He wore a lot of gold, Rolexes and suede. His bushy sideburns and greying ponytail hinted at his background. And he had a proclivity for "painted" women and one-night stands.

He had always been respectful and protective of Lynda, even long after her husband had died. Bob and Lynda had not grown-up together, and had not even met until about ten years ago. But Bob had been a close associate of her husband and no doubt, led an eventful and hedonistic lifestyle.

He settled his big frame into a lounge chair beside her and casually rested his legs on the edge of her recliner. Bob seemed always at ease with his body and in control of his environment. She envied that quality. He had broad shoulders and a large chest and full belly, tanned with a thick carpet of greying body-hair. He wore colorful Hawaiian shorts with gold bracelets and rings. His thick legs gave him a fireplug appearance. And though he smiled often, everyone treated him with deference.

Lynda had heard rumors, even from her husband, that Bob was not to be trifled with. But rumors abound in small communities and Bob did seem to like her, so she always made time for him. "You know Lynda, even with all this young snatch here, You're still the best look'n broad around. Older chicks have a style, you know. I still like those tight asses, don't get me wrong. But I think an older chick knows what she wants and can please a guy better."

Lynda had to smile, and even stifle a laugh. She knew there were compliments tucked into those tortured phrases and she missed the dialects of her old neighborhood.

Bob's big paw clamped down firmly but gently on her upper thigh. "Hey Lyn, why don't we leave the kiddie-pool, and I'll take you out on the town?"

Two minutes ago there would have been no chance of that. But a day or was it a decade of reflection, mixed with just the right amount of tequila, and she answered, "you're on Bob. Let me take a shower and change and you can pick me up at seven, okay?"

Always cool, Bob was floored. He already had a second line prepared. His cool façade dropped for a moment, then he recovered nicely. "Yeah, yeah. Shower and change," he replied. Knowing that he would need to sober-up and place a few calls. "Good doll, I'll pick you up. I want you looking sharp. Alotta cleavage, you know, the guys will be impressed. I'm gonna really show you off, tonight. Seven it is. Have a pitcher of martinis chilling, I like vodka."

As if she were no longer a part of the conversation, Bob rose from his chair, slipped into his sandals and downed his drink. He reached down to kiss her cheek and was abruptly gone. Lynda was so startled she had to puzzle, whether or not Bob actually cupped her breast as he kissed her.

"How many of these damn drinks did I have?" She mused to herself. His mannerisms and expressions were rough around the edges, but it promised to be a fun night and she had not been on a date in ages. "Why not, what do I have to lose?"

She all but skipped home, and as soon as she was on carpet, she grabbed a bottle of Russian Vodka. One with tonic for her, and the rest on ice. She slipped into the shower and immediately planned her evening attire. Lynda playfully squeezed her melon-sized tits and lifted them gently. "What do I have that will show these off and will knock his socks off?" She wondered for a moment, why she would primp for Bob. But attributed it to alcohol and giddiness. "Why not dress-up abit, and wow his friends? It might be nice to have guys fawn over me. Besides, what's the harm?" She shampooed her long golden locks and took extra time sudsing her lithe frame. "It's been too long since I teased a man."

She stepped infront of her full-length mirror and took a long appraising look at herself. "The tits are still an "eight," no sag," she felt conservatively. "I could lose a pound or two around the middle, but if that's what he notices with the dress I chose, then he's not as macho as he thinks."

She spun around for a back view and was pleased by what she saw and then ran her fingers through her bushy pubic mound. "Maybe I should just trim this alittle, it's getting abit wooly? Wait. What am I thinking?! He's never going to see my pussy. Lynda you idiot, you better stop drinking, now!"

The clock struck seven and Lynda was ready to vamp. Her long blonde hair lay seductively on her bare shoulders. She wore a black, sleeveless dress that hugged all of her delicious curves. It was slit up the left side revealing a firmly-muscled thigh in four-inch heels. She cinched it with a teal blue sash at her middle that accentuated her trim waist, and highlighted her bright, blue eyes. She debated wearing a push-up foundation but decided that her boobs were fine just as they were. She did though, sprinkle a dash of glitter over the tops of her globes, and admired it as a nod to her youth.

At twenty after seven, she poured herself a martini and nervously raked her fingers through her lovely locks.

Her next drink came at seven-thirty, and her hair was starting to look tussled. She was running scenarios in her mind. Had Bob forgotten? Had he found a "younger piece?" Maybe he was getting a last-second blowjob from some bimbo, because he knew Lynda would never put-out? She unconsciously rolled-up her dress a few inches and tugged down the top to show more cleavage. Her nipples were barely covered by the slinky material. She was reaching for the pitcher as the doorbell rang and she rushed to the door. Bob looked like a movie gangster. A sharkskin suit with his hair slicked back, and pinkie-ring.

He wrapped his meaty paw around her and easily pulled her towards him. He nuzzled her neck and patted her ass. "You look good enough to eat." They both laughed, but for different reasons. He scarfed a martini and took a long, analytical look at Lynda. He nonchalantly squeezed her breasts and said, "hell of a rack. You're gonna knock 'em dead tonight." He rubbed his hand along her bare thigh, stopping just short of her pubic triangle. "Good, I hate stockings. We're going to have a great night."

Lynda was non-plussed. She had just been graded and evaluated like livestock, and yet, felt a tingle in her loins and got a kick over meeting Bob's standards. This sensation was oddly erotic and her body warmed to it. Bob's big, rough hand was again clamped on her back-side. He led her outside to where a gleaming, black, stretch-limo was parked. As she slid into the seat, a much younger lady was fumbling with her skirt and reapplying her makeup. "Who is this?" Linda asked sternly.

"She's nobody, she came with the car," was his brusque reply. There was an exchange of cash and the girl was quickly ushered out the other door. The limo was moving and Lynda was easily distracted by more of Bob's flattery and alcohol. "Wow Lynda, you've kept yourself locked-up for too long." She nodded her head in agreement as the thought hit her. "With this body and those looks, you should be front and center. Tonight I'm going to show you the ropes."

Lynda admitted to herself that she had led a sheltered life. She had even repressed her fantasy life. This guy, a limo, a pitcher of martinis and a slinky dress was hitting her like a whirlwind.

They drank a toast and shared a laugh about what the night may hold for them, then exchanged a sloppy tongue kiss. Bob's hand reached for her tits and squeezed them firmly, taking time to knead them like dough balls. Lynda was taken by surprise but adjusted instantly. She placed her hand on top of his but did not brush it away. She let it linger there and absorbed the rough feeling of excitement it generated. Bob was pleased with her response and more so, when she slowly glided his hand down her belly and between her legs. She tugged her undies aside as Bob's fingers wriggled into her pussy. She started to moan and squirm.

Bob kissed her neck and lips. He mumbled some soft words in her ear mixed with some crude sexual terms that only served to heighten her arousal. She was losing herself in the torrent building in her vagina. It wasn't much longer until the pressure came to the boiling point. She spread her legs, inviting him in, and if there had been any doubt, she now disposed of it.

"Bob, do it please. It's been so long. Please make me cum." A few rapid flicks of his fingers and she was in heaven. The dam burst and her orgasmic scream filled the big car. Her heels flew off and her undies were soaked with her juices. Bob's fingers, now three-wide, drove deep inside her sodden snatch, exploring every inch of her and sending her into ecstasy. Lynda bucked and rocked as another wave began to mount. She didn't protest at all as he gripped the front of her dress and yanked it down to her waist. He slobbered over her tits and chewed on her nipples. She thrashed all over the leather seats . Her body grew limp as her multiple orgasms finally subsided. She felt a sudden, strong pressure on the back of her neck. His big hand wrapped a hunk of her beautiful, long hair and pushed her towards his crotch.

She was torn, but felt compelled to return the pleasure he had provided and soon came face-to-face(so to speak,) with his erect cock. It was short and thick like the rest of him, with a large, purplish head. Shiny with either pre-cum or sweat, it appeared to glisten in her grip. She hoped to ease into this with slow licks or soft kisses, but the force on her neck obliged her to open wide and let it enter, fully. It didn't take much on her part before she knew what was coming. And cum it did. Lynda had no intention of swallowing Bob Wolfe's discharge. But he had no intention of letting her decide.

Lynda gagged and choked as his hot load exploded in her mouth. She swallowed, as much to catch her breath, as to clear her throat. A few milky drops oozed from her lips and his big cock, with it's obscene, bulbous head , traced a sticky line from her chin to her chest. It took a moment for her to recover her composure. Her dress was bunched at her waist and semen was drying on her tits and neck. Her lipstick was smeared and her hair a rat's nest. At some point, Bob had relieved her of her panties and used them to wipe his limp cock and stuffed them in his pocket like a souvenir. She reached in her purse for a tissue and a brush to apply a hasty makeover.

Bob eased back in his seat and tapped the dark window-divider to signal the chauffer. He then stole a quick glance at Lynda as she fumbled to rearrange her outfit. "Hurry-up and dress, we'll be pulling in soon."

She was a bit stunned and vaguely insulted. But the door suddenly opened and Bob was on the sidewalk motioning for her to follow. A doorman rushed to present him with a cigar, and release a velvet rope.

These surroundings were strange to her, so she traipsed along beside her escort as Bob was led through a dimly lit hallway and into a dark, smoky lounge. They were seated at a corner booth illuminated only by candle light. A waiter instantly appeared with a champagne bucket and martini pitcher. A waitress followed with a plate of oysters, and she slithered onto Bob's lap while lighting his cigar. Lynda watched slack-jawed as Bob slipped a hand under her frilly bottoms and cupped her ass. She then pulled her skimpy top down and allowed Bob to suck hungrily on her tits.

Lynda could see now that this was Bob's "move," and this joint had to be his idea of seductive. She suppressed a laugh and marveled that he didn't push the girl to her knees and have sex with her right at the table. What could Lynda say, she had fallen for this cheap foreplay, already. And he was basically harmless, right?

The lights impossibly seemed to dim some more, and two men, very much like Bob, joined their small table. The strangers greeted Bob knowingly, and leered lasciviously at Lynda as they crowded in next to her. Each one had some lewd comment or critique to offer about her and Bob only laughed as the men drank toasts to her eyes, her lips and her boobs. They were never introduced to her but her name was clearly mentioned as they conversed in an exotic foreign tongue. In low whispers, they exchanged glances and remarks, while measuring and grading her with their various hand gestures.

The men, one on either side of her were not shy in groping her boobs and running their hands along her bare thighs. They encouraged her to drink with them and she smiled as they complimented her shape in some extremely crude ways. She teetered between insult and embarrassment, but fueled by vodka, and innocently enjoying even this boorish attention she managed to tolerate their behavior. One big, heavy hand grabbed a firm hold of her left breast. She was just ready to shriek when she noticed Bob reach into his pocket.

Thinking that he was about to defend her honor and fearing that he might draw a gun, she gasped audibly. All eyes were drawn to her for a second. Then they turned back to Bob when her expression changed. In Bob's hand, was her damp, sticky panties that he had pocketed in the limo. He kissed them loudly, and passed them around to his cretin friends. Like high-schoolers, they alternately sniffed them and rubbed their crotch with them, and they ended-up on the head of the jerk to her right. More toasts were pledged and the groping intensified. She struggled to fight-off the two sets of man-hooks ripping at her dress and playing with all of her body parts. She felt two strong hands on her shoulders and was relieved to see that Bob had finally come to her rescue.

However, her shining knight only motioned to one of his compatriots to douse the candle. In the instant darkness and chaos, she heard the unmistakable sound of a zipper and felt a large hand under her jaw, simultaneously jerking her around on her chair. Two hands came from behind her, yanked her dress to her hips, and gripped her tits like a vise. He rolled her nipples between his fingers and pulled on her tits as if he might walk away with them.

Meanwhile two other hands spread her legs apart with the strength of pile-drivers and rudely began to massage her bare pussy. Two fingers worked their way into her pussy while two more pushed in to her tight, little anus.

She could not move her head in any direction due to the hand grasping her jaw. Now the only thing in her line of sight was Bob's thick cock. He forced her mouth open and plunged his sturdy rod deep into her throat. Fearing that he might break her jaw if she resisted, she resigned herself to repeat her performance from the car. For the second time in two hours, she had Bob's monster prick driving in and out of her mouth. This time though, the vodka had slowed him down and she would need to work at this blowjob to get it over.

She had the added pleasure of two other drunk creeps pulling at her and arguing over who goes next. Bob pounded her mouth with his thick cock. The alcohol slowed his ejaculate but never dampened his rigidity.

Lynda was drooling saliva down her chin and his slippery cock was hurting her jaw muscles when he suddenly pulled hard on her golden mane and drove hard against the back of her throat. She had no choice but to swallow his creamy seed. His cock grew limp as he withdrew and he seemed to gently brush her cheek with the back of his hand. She smiled for a brief second but then saw that he was merely giving a fist-bump to his buddy and presenting her to him. Bob relit his cigar and refilled his drink as he made his way back to his seat.

Lynda had time only to sip a little champagne, to wash away the taste of semen that was becoming all too familiar. The hands in her pussy and ass were withdrawn with a plop and another zipper was undone. The man behind her, still nameless, bent her forward as he shoved his fully engorged prick into her sopping hole. Her face fell into the lap of anonymous guy #2. His long cock pushed against her clenched lips. She hesitated for a moment, sizing-up her options, when a sharp slap on her ass jarred her back to her reality. #1 was snaking his big dick into her pussy, doggy-style. Unknown #2 positioned her pink lips directly over his long veiny rod, and planted his hand on the back of her head. A position she was becoming very familiar with. The cock in her already soaked, vagina, was pushing her face onto the other cock. The one thrusting into her mouth was pushing her back onto the huge pecker plowing away at her snatch. The three of them acted like a well-oiled sex machine.

The image of it must have been sexy for Bob, because he had one of the sleazy little cocktail girls on her knees, sucking and slurping in unison with Lynda.

The man she was fellating began to groan loudly and pull her long, blonde tresses. She could tell it would be only a matter of seconds before she got another blast of semen. As the mysterious guy behind her, tugged on her tits and slammed into her pussy, she felt her mouth swelling-up with the salty explosion. He continued to pump and she continued to swallow but somehow more cum spurted on her face and chest. He stroked his cock until it shot a couple more gooey strands of cum in her hair and then he sat back, exhausted.