I feel his hot breath on my neck and the sound of his labored breathing in my ear. You might ask why, at my age, I am laying here on my back, butt hole naked with a man almost half of my 72 years between my legs, having his way with me.
The apartment - my apartment - is one of two above a bar. Mine is not the front apartment that overlooks the busy street, but the rear apartment, the single kitchen window overlooking a vast parking lot. The window in the front room looks out onto a 5' by 5' alcove, open only to the sky 30 feet above. The apartment seems dreary and dark. I have lived here for 46 years.
Here in the dark, oppressive bedroom, I lay passive surrounded by an assortment of bedding. Until a few minutes ago it was arranged neatly and I was snug underneath it. Henry had joined me while I was still sleeping. Horny, he had fondled me to consciousness. I had moaned my displeasure and spoke my desire to be left alone, promising to service him later, but he had not listened. Usually, twice a week he didn't listen. I had ceased long ago trying to stop him from stripping me of my warm bedding, my virtue and my panties.
I made not even a modest attempt to prevent him from mounting me as he sluggishly crawls atop me. I elevate my knees only slightly and place my hands lightly on his shoulders. He tries to support himself on his elbows but he is sloppy at it and my ample tits are compressed against his hairy chest. His body is covered with hair, but I do not find it repugnant - he is mine after all.
As usual, he pokes at my pussy until I place him. My petite pussy accommodates his well, as it did his smallish father. Without feeling aroused, I barely know he is inside me. He pops out twice until he becomes fully erect. My posture does not help.
Up until six years ago he had had a wife, but she had tired of the monetary issues that plagued him, his sloppy attempt to sexually please her and his constant complaining of his nonexistent health issues. I tire of his poking and acquire his cock, place it to me and he enters me.
He had worked alongside his father as a jeweler in our pawn shop only a few doors down from the bar. My regionally renown husband had taught Henry well to cut diamonds, mounting them in one of kind pieces of beauty. The business had prospered until his father passed away eight years ago. Now the windows are filled with dust and the well-to-do customers that frequented our shop do so less and less.. Our son, usually dressed in brown dress slacks and white shirt, stands in front of the store pining away his hours remembering days past.
He is grunting now, shoving into me with well defined thrusts. I have pulled my knees back, snugging them against his hips, giving his cock better access, but I remain passive, pondering once more that night, six years ago, he had come to my apartment drunk. Knowing better than to let him in in such a state, he had refused to leave and I relented. He immediately began to complain, following me about, about his wife's discontentment and her refusal to lay with him. He
complained about the stress of expecting and wanting more out of life, about how it had all gone to shit when his father had died.
In truth, it had all gone to shit when the authorities had caught him dealing in stolen diamonds. He had turned snitch which had kept him from doing hard time but his reputation was shattered along with the business. He was continuously looking over his shoulder.
He never accepted blame for anything. He didn't that night! For, afterward, after subduing me, after fucking me, he voiced it was not his fault I had not been more forceful in fighting off his advances, had not argued successfully against his accusation of me being one of the women against him, that I owed him. My reminding him that I was his mother was brushed aside because, he had rationalized, I had a sterile pussy between my legs.
I had fought! Oh, how I had fought! And, I had reasoned! I was still mostly dressed but breathless and panty-less, when I sought sanctuary in the bathroom, I was lifted onto the bathroom counter. My legs pried apart and lifted he had taken hold of his cock and penetrated me, telling me, blaming me for his worry and built up stress, how bad he need some pussy and, and again, how I owed him. He had fucked me - there is no other word for it - like a crazed animal, pumping into me with a frantic rhythm and coming in just over a minute.
As I cried, my left hand trying to stifle my sobbing, his cock had deflated out of me, more so than him pulling it out. Looking down, I saw it so. That, and a single thread of ejaculate from the head of his cock to my soiled vagina. I deemed my elevated breathing was from my struggles.
His stress released, he was instantly remorseful in a fit of frustration at his weakness and actions. I sucked it up and I did what all mothers do! I consoled him, telling him all was okay, that I loved him and would always be there for him. You see! my lost virtue was never going to return. But there was something deeper, deeper in my loins that had surfaced - even at my age of, then, 66. I hugged him tightly, then, we kissed on the lips.
