Mrs. Pierce was a real piece of work. That’s all there was to it. She was the girls’ softball coach and the reason they had been the most winning team in county history, but that didn’t change the fact that she was a real bitch. All the girls hated Mrs. Pierce, partly because of her nasty temper but mostly because of her cutting, condescending remarks but each member of the team played their very best to avoid becoming the target of her ridicule.
The girls weren’t the only ones scared of Mrs. Pierce; us guys were afraid of her too. Nobody wanted to be dressed down by that little dynamo, and I do mean undressed. By the time she finished with you, you’d feel like you’d been stripped naked and your poor, frightened little willy, looking like it had been submerged in Arctic waters for months, would be on display for all to see. Nope, nobody wanted to cross Mrs. Pierce, and that’s why I was scared out of my wits after I left Coach’s office.
“Emerson,” he had yelled as we all started for the showers. “Come see me when you’re done.”
“Can’t you get someone else, Coach?” I had pleaded after he made my assignment known.
“Of course I can,” he retorted, fixing me with his steely glare. “But I’m sending you!”
“Right, Coach,” I backed down immediately.
“Saturday morning. Here’s the address.” He held out a wrinkled piece of paper torn from the corner of his coffee-stained pad. “Be there at nine sharp.”
I read the address scribbled on the scruffy piece of paper.
“Don’t let me down, Paul,” Coach added in a softer tone. “The school needs Mrs. Pierce in top form this season if both the teams are to win five years in a row. It’ll be pretty hard for anyone to match that record. “
“I won’t Coach,” I promised.
“Make sure you don’t,” his parting warning sounded ominous.
Before I reached the door, he said, “She’s not as bad as they make her out to be.”
I didn’t believe that for a second and Coach’s crooked smile wasn’t encouraging either. I opened the door and walked down the hall, my heart filled with dread.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
As I walked down the tree-lined avenue, I checked the numbers on each house. The leaves were already changing color despite the warmth imparted by the still intense sun. I was almost there, at Mrs. Pierce’s home. She injures herself, and I have to do chores for her? It wasn’t fair. I knew I couldn’t be forced to, but if I wanted to stay on the team, I had to do Coach’s bidding and keep quiet about it. There it was, 2709, a low, rambling rancher on a large lot with shrubs lining the curved walkway to the front door and flower gardens bordering the house itself. I walked up to the door, careful not to tread on the grass, vacillating between ringing the bell and knocking on the door. Which would be least disturbing? I pressed the doorbell and winced at the series of clanging chimes my tentative touch had set off. The door opened, and she was there, somehow managing to appear arrogant and aloof despite her small frame.
“Yes?” she inquired, one hand holding the partially open door.
“I’m Paul,” I said, pausing to await her recognition of who I was and why I was there, but her expression didn’t change.
“Uh… Coach sent me.”
“Oh yes, of course. I’ll meet you out back. There’s a gate around the side.” Mrs. Pierce waved her free hand and then abruptly closed the door.
I stared at the door for a few seconds, then shuffled around the side of the house, unlatched the gate, and walked into the back yard. There was a swimming pool filled with sparkling turquoise water in the center of a large yard rimmed with tall hedges and flower gardens, nicely set off by a large willow tree at the back with a picnic table set under the shade of its drooping branches. I stopped to survey the beauty of it all which the front of the property, although beautiful, hadn’t prepared me for. This place had to be the most delightful yard on the street, by far. Mrs. Pierce appeared through the French doors at the rear of the house and walked gingerly across the cement patio favoring her right heel. That was the only evidence of the injury that I had seen. She walked to the far side of the pool and stopped, ignoring me as she surveyed the flower gardens. I walked up behind her and quietly waited for her to acknowledge my presence.
“Do you think you can mow the lawn without scarring the edges or blowing grass on the flowers?” she asked.
“I’ll be careful,” I replied. The last thing I needed was for her to complain to Coach. “It’s a gorgeous yard,” I added, sucking up and trying to provide assurance that I meant it when I said I’d be careful.
“I won’t let my husband do it. He doesn’t understand the commitment required to achieve a lawn like this, how meticulous you have to be at every step, and the constant diligence, so… well, he doesn’t appreciate it. Nor, I suppose, do you, so if you can’t do it, just say so before you ruin it.”
Mrs. Pierce turned and fixed her gaze on me. It seemed now that she was the taller person. I looked down and shuffled my feet.
“I can do it.”
“All right, but remember, doing a job properly is better than getting it done quickly.”
“You’ll find everything you need in the shed,” she said, dismissively, waving her hand toward the back corner of the yard as she brushed by me. I turned to watch her go. I meant to fix her with an evil eye while she wasn’t looking, but that changed as she walked away. Even with a slight limp, her shapely legs were appealing. Mrs. Pierce may be a bitch, but she was a damn good looking one. Despite her age, her body wore the confidence of years and years of fine-tuned, proper physical exercise. The twin lines from the side of her nose to the corners of her mouth indicated her real age, but her body exuded youthful strength. The girls on the softball team said there wasn’t a single position Mrs. Pierce couldn’t play better than any girl in the league. I believed it is watching those tight shorts track back to the house and only tore my eyes away when I belatedly saw my reflection in the glass door.
It took me way longer than I thought to finish the lawn. I was petrified of accidentally lowering the mower unevenly over the edges along with the garden in order not to scar the grass. Thankfully, I was successful. As soon as I shut the mower off, Mrs. Pierce appeared. She strode purposely to the edge of the grass by the side of the house. As I gathered the electric cord, I watched her, admiring her legs, a crazy thing to do. God help me if she caught me scoping her body. The coach would understand, but he’d have my ass anyway.
Mrs. Pierce walked around the edge of the yard. I put the mower away and followed her for the last half of the yard about a dozen feet back. As she scrutinized the edge of the grass, I perused her taut legs and pleasingly tight yet supple butt. At the opposite end of the yard, and not before, Mrs. Pierce turned to me and smiled.
“You did a fine job. You should be pleased,” she said. “Come back after lunch, and we’ll see if you can handle gardening.”
I guess I wasn’t going to get a cold drink, let alone any lunch, or even a thank you. Oh, well. I was better off leaving than trying to eat in her domineering presence. I watched her walk to the house but looked away before she entered in case she turned around to impart further instructions. I felt ridiculous walking home because the front of my shorts kept swelling up. Come on, man, I chided myself. She’s over forty. I guess I was too scared to get an erection while I was in her yard looking at her PE-teacher butt. Thank God for that.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
After lunch, I walked directly into the back yard without announcing myself. Mrs. Pierce was lying on a cushioned lounge in the back yard, one of two set on the patio at the end of the pool nearest the house. The head end was raised about a foot or so allowing Mrs. Pierce to lay comfortably yet still read a magazine, or look at her garden. I walked up quietly and stood several feet away behind and to one side. I waited for her to notice I was there but soon realized she must be sleeping. About to cough to announce my presence, I stopped myself, afraid of her wrath if she didn’t want to be disturbed. I thought about creeping back and knocking on the gate but in the end, just stood there.
Mrs. Pierce was wearing a tank top and a pair of shorts that were neither tight nor loose around her legs. Her brown and bare midriff bristled with tiny reddish blonde hairs a little lighter than the color of her shoulder-length hair. She had never had children, at least, none that could conquer the strength of her abs. Her breasts sat proudly upon her chest, falling slightly to the sides but sweeping up to fill the tank top in a very pleasing manner. Her left arm was stretched up and bent back to allow her hand to rest behind her head, a posture which pushed the nipple on that side nicely into the tank top in spite of the bra whose dim outline I could discern underneath.
Mrs. Pierce’s right leg was bent so that the sole of her foot fit snugly under the calf of her left leg. Her parted thighs were covered in a sprinkling of fine hairs similar to that visible on her stomach but glinting more brightly in the sun. I stared long enough to notice that their distribution became more sparse as her legs approached their natural juncture. My eyes had just traveled up onto the swollen front of Mrs. Pierce’s shorts when she spoke without turning to look at me.
“It’s alright. I’m not sleeping.”
“Oh, I… uh…”
“Come around here where I can see you,” Mrs. Pierce gestured for me to walk in front of the lounge.
She regarded me with a faint smile for several long seconds, and I began to blush, realizing she must have been aware of my presence for some time and perhaps knew I had been looking at her. Thankfully, she looked away at the garden just as my cheeks began to glow.
“I think we should start down there in the corner, in case you mess up.”
Mrs. Pierce got up awkwardly and stood, favoring her heel more than she had in the morning. She limped toward the end of the yard, and I followed. When we got to the corner, she told me what to do. There was a bag of garden tools already there. She bent to retrieve the appropriate device and handed it to me, then started back toward her chair but stumbled after two steps. Quickly, I stepped forward and grabbed her, one hand clutching her flailing arm and the other circling around her waist to keep her from falling. Regaining her feet, she angrily flung my hands away.
“I’m fine,” she barked.
Mrs. Pierce took two more steps and fell to one knee. I waited, unmoving. She held one arm out.
“Help me up, please,” she said, tersely.
I took the offered hand and braced the other under her elbow, pulling her up.
“Perhaps, I do need a little help,” she said, her admission surprising the hell out of me.
We started walking, but she quickly stopped.
“Bring my chair over here. I’ll need to give you instructions.”
I brought the lounge, and Mrs. Pierce set herself down, carefully keeping her right heel elevated from the ground. I turned around and got to work. The afternoon whiled away with me working and Mrs. Pierce periodically giving instructions, but less and less often as time wore on. I was acutely conscious of her attention and tried my best to work around the flowers without disturbing a single petal.
About every half hour, Mrs. Pierce got up, and I moved her chair a few feet farther along so she could be close enough to see what I was doing. On the third move, she was napping. Still, on my knees, I took the time to look at her. Her knees were drawn up and held tightly together, blocking my view of her face and mine from her, which was good should she suddenly open her eyes. However, though her knees were held demurely together, her feet were spaced as widely as they could be while remaining on the lounge cushion, offering an unobstructed view of the back of Mrs. Pierce’s well-muscled thighs. Something in my shorts began to stir, and it wasn’t a mouse.
Mrs. Pierce had slid down in the lounge, forcing her shorts tightly against her legs and pelvis. I could see the outline of her panty legs under the shorts and the form of her mature pussy was pressing against the restraining material. The tip of my tongue slipped through my lips, and my cock grew an inch, shifting inside my shorts. I imagined myself hovering over her, looking down while those puffy panties — somehow, in my mind, the shorts had disappeared — strained upward to meet my bulging loins.
“That should be enough for today. You’ve done a fine job.”
Her voice shocked me back to reality. Mrs. Pierce was looking at me through her open legs, her knees having parted without my awareness. My face flushed red.
“I can do more if you want,” I protested.
“Nonsense. You’ve worked so hard your face is red.”
Mrs. Pierce struggled to get up, and I leaped to my feet to help her.
“Thank you, Paul.”
The sound of my name on her lips sent a shiver through me.
“Can you help me to the house?”
This time, Mrs. Pierce didn’t object when I slipped my arm around her waist. I paused at the sliding doors, but she indicated that I should help her right into the house. She guided me toward a sizeable stuffy chair in the living room near the front door. The place was elegantly furnished. Very tasteful, even to my uncultivated eyes. I knew my mom would like it and that meant it was perfect.
“Can you come again next week?” she asked.
“I can come over tomorrow if you like.” I hoped I didn’t sound too eager.
“No, my husband is home tomorrow,” she said as if that fact required no further explanation.
I was strangely disappointed having to wait a whole week to work for this so-called “bitch.”
“Well, I could come over Wednesday afternoon. My classes are over at noon, and I think Coach wouldn’t mind if I skipped practice.”
“That’s very thoughtful, but you shouldn’t skip practice.”
“Coach says I don’t need any more practice,” I said proudly.
Mrs. Pierce smiled.
“Well then, ok, Paul.”
This time my name had a throaty sound to it. All the way home, I replayed that sound over and over in my head. I had to adjust my shorts several times but in the end gave up, allowing my erection to bulge like a sausage down my right leg. Why did they think she was such a bitch? For that matter, why had I felt so? At school, she was this overly tough little woman running roughly shod over the girls. She looked fit in her perennial gym wear but not sexy, but in her backyard, she could be soft and yielding, feminine and sexy. I could hardly wait until Wednesday.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Wednesday couldn’t come soon enough. If it had been any longer, I would have worn my pecker off. Mrs. Pierce was waiting on the lounge which was situated right where I’d left off on Saturday. There was a jug of what looked like lemonade beside a glass with a lime in it on a small round glass-topped table. When I got closer, I noticed that there was an extra glass on the table, but it was empty.
Mrs. Pierce was wearing a halter top. One of her legs was stretched out, and the foot of the other was set beside its knee, holding its bent knee up against which a magazine was pressed.
“Good afternoon, Paul,” she said as I approached.
I acknowledged her greeting but quickly knelt to begin gardening when a further conversation wasn’t forthcoming. I shifted to the right after fifteen minutes and turned to look back at Mrs. Pierce, knowing I was directly in front of her and that, as on Saturday, I could probably look at her legs without being seen. I forgot that one leg was stretched out straight which meant the coveted display wouldn’t be available and Mrs. Pierce would be able to see me anyway.
Fortunately, Mrs. Pierce had lifted that leg too, and both knees were now together and would have offered an unprotected view of the back of her thighs if her feet weren’t placed demurely together in front of them. Disappointed, I returned to gardening. Five minutes later, I turned to sneak another look. Bingo!
Mrs. Pierce’s feet were now braced on the corners of the lounge, leaving the back of her thighs unprotected. My scrotum was wrapped in pleasant tingles as soon as I noticed that the shorts worn on Saturday had been replaced by a short skirt which wasn’t long enough to cover Mrs. Pierce’s panties with her legs lifted like that. They were pale blue and didn’t match the green dress that was supposed to cover them.
Recovering from my initial surprise, I moved my spade in the dirt to make it sound like I was still working but kept my eyes on those out-of-place panties. As I watched, Mrs. Pierce’s right hand appeared and lightly scratched across the bottom of her thigh. I stared at the flesh of her leg rippled back and forth in front of the scratching fingers and stiffened when her hand began stroking up her leg. At the underside of her knee, Mrs. Pierce’s fingers retraced their path down her leg, paused, and then repeated the long, caressing stroke.
I was mesmerized. Mrs. Pierce continued stroking the back of her thigh, and I completely forgot about moving the trowel around in the garden to make it sound like I was working. I almost managed to lift my offending eyes off her legs when her knees suddenly moved to one side… almost, but not entirely.
“Would you like a break?” Mrs. Pierce asked. Then, in response to my blank look, “For a drink?”
“Oh, yes,” I stammered, fixing my gaze on the pitcher.
“Pour yourself a glass, then,” she said, continuing to scratch the underside of her thigh. I crawled around to the other side of the table and poured myself a glass while I watched Mrs. Pierce who was looking at her magazine and paying no attention to me. I almost choked when I took the first gulp to quench my thirst. It was gin and tonic!
Mrs. Pierce continued stroking her leg and ignoring me. I drank more slowly and watched her hand and leg. She leaned forward onto her magazine as she stroked and her breast pushed around the outside of her thigh. It was then I noticed that there were no telltale signs of a bra under Mrs. Pierce’s halter. When she pulled back slightly on the upstroke, the nipple poked into the cotton halter top, registering its presence to my eager eyes.
“That feels so good,” Mrs. Pierce said, thankfully keeping her owns eyes on her leg. “Ever since my injury, I haven’t been able to exercise, and my muscles have tightened up. This seems to help.”
I nodded and gulped another mouthful of gin and tonic. It went down smoothly this time.
“Except my fingers aren’t strong enough to knead the muscles very well, especially on my calves.” I looked at Mrs. Pierce’s muscular calves. I couldn’t believe her fingers weren’t as stiff as her legs. When I looked back, Mrs. Pierce was looking right at me.
“Do you think you could help?”
“Help?” I said, lamely.
“Yes. Do you think you could massage my leg muscles?”
I looked at her legs, then at my hands, dusty with the dirt from the garden.
“Don’t worry about that. I’m not afraid of a little dirt like my husband.”
Mrs. Pierce lifted the back of the lounge up to and forward, then eased it back until it was flat. She turned onto her side and then onto her stomach, placing her head on crossed arms.
“When you finish your drink, you can rub my legs.”
“What about the garden?” I asked, stupidly.
“You can do that later. It would be better to do my legs before Mr. Pierce gets home.”
So with that, I quickly downed the rest of the drink and moved in front of the table, beside the lower part of the lounge and next to Mrs. Pierce’s legs. Tentatively, I placed my right hand on the back of her ankle.
“That’s it,” Mrs. Pierce said. “Start at the bottom.”
I rubbed the first six inches of leg above her foot.
“Massage it,” Mrs. Pierce said. “Make the muscle work.”
So I started massaging Mrs. Pierce’s leg, slowly working my way up until I was squeezing and releasing the muscles of her entire right calf. Mrs. Pierce rewarded my effort with encouraging sounds, and it was with confidence that I moved to her right leg without prompting and received similarly pleasing sounds as I worked on that leg too. Mrs. Pierce kept her eyes closed the whole time I worked on her legs, so I cast my eyes above her knees to admire the back of her taut thighs as I let my fingers automatically find the muscles of her calves.
When Mrs. Pierce had first turned around on the lounge, the little skirt had ridden up her legs, but her thighs were too close together for the pale blue panties to show. As I worked her lower legs I tried to push them apart and succeeded, but Mrs. Pierce’s knees stayed together, thwarting my plan. Slowly, I kneaded her legs less strenuously, allowing my fingers to stroke more than massage, similar to the way she had scratched her leg herself. My eyes and mind kept wandering under Mrs. Pierce’s skirt, and my strokes became more and more like light caresses. I was startled when she spoke.
“Go higher,” she whispered.
“Pardon me?” I replied, not sure what she meant, moving my hands to the upper part of her calves.
“Work the muscles above my knees,” Mrs. Pierce whispered.
I slid my hands onto the back of Mrs. Pierce’s knees and then above, onto her lower thighs. Mrs. Pierce sighed contentedly, and her knees relaxed, creating a gap between her legs. A narrow band of pale blue panties appeared through the hem of her skirt. I started massaging Mrs. Pierce’s thighs, near her knees, the way I had started near her ankles with her calves.
I took my time working my way higher, leery of making a mistake, of taking liberty beyond what was intended. Eventually, I tried to move her legs further apart, and this time they responded to my urges. A more enormous expanse of panty now greeted my eyes, encouraging me to deliver the best massage I could manage. My eyes roved over Mrs. Pierce’s entire body but especially on her red hair and the side of her freckled face which was contentedly serene. That is when I wasn’t staring lovingly at her smooth thighs and peeking under her skirt at her panties. After a long while, my fingers were kneading the most tender part of the inside of Mrs. Pierce’s thighs. They even ventured into what I would have thought would be a forbidden area under the hem of her skirt, near the blue panties, in my mind responding to the invitation implied by her yielding flesh.
Suddenly, Mrs. Pierce lifted up on her elbows and looked at me over her shoulders past her arched back. My hands when rigid, freezing on her thighs upon the entrance to her skirt.
“Oh my,” she said, looking at the back of her skirt. “It’s a good thing Mr. Pierce didn’t come home.”
I instinctively jerked my head toward the back of the house, and Mrs. Pierce laughed.
“Don’t panic. He’s not due home for a while yet. You did such a good job; I got a little carried away. I hope you don’t mind?” she purred.
I shook my head. Not in the least, I tried to say, but the words wouldn’t form in my throat.
“Maybe you should let me turn around now,” Mrs. Pierce smiled, looking at my hands still inserted between her thighs.
“Oh… of course,” I yanked my hands away from her legs as if they were burning.
Mrs. Pierce laughed and turned around on the lounge. She picked up the pitcher and topped up her glass and then mine. “Cheers,” she said, setting the pitcher down, then picking up her glass and holding it out to me. I picked up mine and clinked her glass. Mrs. Pierce sipped hers and looked at me. After I matched her drink, she said, “I trust you don’t have a loose tongue.”
“No. Of course not, Mrs. Pierce,” I assured her.
“Good. This is the kind of thing that could easily be misunderstood.”
I nodded my understanding and took a large gulp of gin. I needed it.
“We have an understanding, then?”
Mrs. Pierce smiled and sipped her drink. As she did, her right knee slid up higher on the lounge, and her pale blue panties appeared under the green skirt. This time, it was the front of the pale blue panties that showed. There was no way I couldn’t look right at them. No way. When I came to my senses, I looked up to find Mrs. Pierce looking at me, amused.
“Drink up,” she said.
She raised her glass to her lips in concert with me and took a small sip. Mrs. Pierce smiled, and I looked down between her legs, then up her thighs and under her skirt, latching onto those sexy blue panties. My eyes may have overstayed their welcome because Mrs. Pierce prodded me again.
“You better finish your drink, Paul,” she said, rolling my name around with a wonderful lilt. “Mr. Pierce wouldn’t like it if he found a minor drinking liquor in my back yard.”
I took a bigger drink, and Mrs. Pierce laughed softly, but she moved her left leg, exposing more blue panty. I drained my glass, all the while straining my eyes toward her skirt. Mrs. Pierce’s light laughter tinkled one last time as she got up. We walked back to the house, and just before we got there, Mr. Pierce appeared, poking his head through the glass doors.
“I’m home, dear,” he said, ignoring me. “I’ll be in my study until dinner.”
Mrs. Pierce acknowledged her husband, asked him to wait a moment and then, in his presence, turned to face me.
“Can you come again on Saturday?” she asked in an officious voice.
“Yes ma’am,” I responded in kind.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
By the next Saturday, my little monkey had been spanked numerous times. I wasn’t sure if Mrs. Pierce was giving me the come on or just having fun teasing me. The more I thought about it, the more I became convinced she was setting me up for a fall, waiting for me to do something inappropriate so she could get Coach to kick me off the team. Paranoia, what a beautiful thing. But that didn’t stop me from fucking Mrs. Pierce many times, in my dreams.
Mrs. Pierce was sitting in the same place in the yard on the lounge. A pitcher and a single glass stood on the small table. I stopped beside her, ready to massage her legs. She was wearing shorts and a simple white blouse instead of a halter top that would show her bare midriff and a skirt that would let me… well, you know. She was reading a magazine. Several more were piled beside the pitcher on the table.
“You’re early,” Mrs. Pierce admonished me. “Well, you can start gardening anyway.”
Disappointed by her demeanor, I picked up the trowel and began weeding around the flowers. I often turned to check out Mrs. Pierce’s legs, but her feet were always held demurely together, blocking any view of the backs of her thighs. Damn!
She moved the lounge herself when I shifted further along the garden to stay behind me. I rechecked her legs, but the story was the same: a blocked view.
“I better see if Mr. Pierce needs anything. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Ah, so Mr. Pierce was home. I was both relieved to know the likely reason for her calm behavior and severely disappointed by her husband’s presence. I surely wouldn’t be doing any leg massaging now until next Wednesday.
I was so busy with my negative thoughts I didn’t realize Mrs. Pierce had returned until she sat behind me again through my ears had registered the patio door closing. Since she hadn’t remarked on the current location of her husband, I assumed, with regret, that he was still in the house. A few minutes later, another chair shift along the garden toward the house shrank the viewing angle from the patio doors sufficiently that Mr. Pierce would have to step outside to see us and even then his view would be blocked by the back of the lounge chair. I shoveled a little dirt and then turned to look at Mrs. Pierce.
Mrs. Pierce had changed skirts! She was not wearing a black, knee-length pleated skirt that, while covering her knees on top of her thighs, was open across the bottom. It was loose, and the rear hem drooped low enough that I could see her lacy black panties without straining my neck. I put my hand on the ground behind my hip and rested on it while I gazed at Mrs. Pierce’s delicious thighs, easily seen through her widely spaced lower legs. When she leaned her knees to one side to look at me, I brazenly didn’t turn away to pretend I was gardening.
“Would you like a drink, Paul?” she asked.
“There’s only one glass,” I said.
“You can use mine while you take a break,” she replied, picking up her gin and tonic and holding it out to me. I took the drink and brought it to my lips. “Just don’t let Mr. Pierce see you. He wouldn’t appreciate me giving alcohol to a minor.”
Mrs. Pierce swung her knees back into place. He’d like it even less if he caught me staring at your panties, I thought. I tipped my head back for a long, slow drink, my eyes remaining between Mrs. Pierce’s thighs. As the cold mix trickled down my throat, Mrs. Pierce’s knees parted, and a gap appeared between her legs. Caught staring at her panty-covered pussy, I corrected myself.
I took my time with the drink, and Mrs. Pierce didn’t make a single comment or motion to hurry me. The only sound in the backyard was the swish Mrs. Pierce made as she flipped the pages in her magazine. I couldn’t see the tiny hairs on her thighs under the shade of her skirt, but there was enough light to notice the puffy rise of her pussy and the faint presence of a vertical groove running through the lower front of her panties. Her hole is in there, I thought — her cunt. I stifled a groan and twisted my hips to ease the pressure on my burgeoning cock. I swigged the rest of the gin and stretched my hand around Mrs. Pierce’s knees to give her the glass.
“Would you like some more?” she asked.
“No thanks,” I croaked. I was afraid if I kept looking up her skirt I’d pull my cock out and start wanking it in front of her.
Mrs. Pierce put the glass down and returned to her magazine. Flip… flip.
I didn’t start gardening again. I meant to, but instead, I put my hand behind her foot and let it hover in the air near her ankle. I pulled my arm toward me until my fingers curled around the back of Mrs. Pierce’s foot. She tensed but said nothing. I moved my hand up and down and few inches, slowly, my fingers pinching lightly on either side of her Achilles tendon. I was so nervous I could hardly breathe. Mrs. Pierce remained silent, and still. I moved my hand higher, slipping up until the muscle of her calf filled my palm.
“Mr. Pierce is still home,” she spoke quietly without a hint of any other sanction in her voice. I kept rubbing the back of her calf but didn’t reply. A minute later, Mrs. Pierce repeated her comment. When I ignored her again, she said, “Did you hear me, Paul?”
“Yes,” I replied quietly, letting my hand slip up her entire calf muscle and into the hollow behind her knee. She allowed me several more full strokes before she queried me again.
“He can’t see even if he comes out,” I said. “Not unless he comes all the way here.”
“That’s not the point,” Mrs. Pierce replied, her voice beginning to assume its officious tone.
“Does this help your injury?” I asked. Before she could say anything, I added, “Doesn’t it make you feel better?”
“Why should you be in pain just because he’s home. He could help, but he doesn’t.”
Mrs. Pierce didn’t reply. I continued stroking the back of her leg, waiting for a tensing muscle that would signal her decision to get up and leave. Five strokes, ten, fifteen. The muscles in Mrs. Pierce’s calf seemed to relax rather than tense up. Twenty strokes. Cautiously, I raised my left hand and brought it up under her knee. Telling myself not to do it, I ignored myself and moved my hand higher to connect with the underside of Mrs. Pierce’s thigh and let my fingers curl around the bottom of her thigh muscles. I squeezed and pushed my hand higher, or slightly downward, but further up her thigh.
The resigned but satisfied sigh was music to my ears. Within minutes, I was stroking the full length of Mrs. Pierce’s leg. I twisted her lower leg to pry her thighs wider, increasing the yawning gap of her puffy lace panties. I was using the thumb of my left hand to rub the bottom of her leg now, the fingers stretching up onto the inner side of that thigh. My fingertips were reaching to within less than an inch from the edge of Mrs. Pierce’s panties. Perhaps getting a little carried away, I leaned way over and ducked my head under her skirt.
“I’m going now,” Mr. Pierce’s voice crashed into my reverie. I hadn’t even heard the patio door open.
Mrs. Pierce’s left hand slipped under her legs and grabbed my hair, holding my head in place.
“Do you want me to get you anything before I go?” Mr. Pierce yelled.
“No thanks, dear,” Mrs. Pierce yelled back, her voice unsteady, unlike the firm grip she maintained on my hair.
“Has your young man left, then?” her husband asked.
He couldn’t see me sitting on the grass in front of the lounge, hidden by the upright back of the chair and the long skirt stretched across her bent knees covering my head and shoulders. At that moment I made the most ridiculously dangerous move of my short life. I let my left hand fall to the apex of Mrs. Pierce’s legs and, turning it over, let the back of my hand graze across the front of her panties.
Mrs. Pierce went rigid. Her legs started to close to clamp my hand in place but then widened as the skirt began to sink between her knees, stretching it back to its previous taut state covering my upper body. I twisted my wrist, rubbing my knuckles back and forth across those puffy lace panties.
“Yes,” Mrs. Pierce coughed, then more firmly, “Yes. He’s gone.”
If Mr. Pierce approached now, all hell would break loose.
“How’s he working out?”
“Quite well,” Mrs. Pierce replied.
I applied firmer pressure and was sure that the knuckle of my most extended finger briefly penetrated the intriguing groove I had spied when I first looked under Mrs. Pierce’s skirt.
“Say what?” Mr. Pierce inquired.
“I said, yes, he’s working out quite well.”
I turned my hand around and cupped Mrs. Pierce’s pussy, stretching my thumb over the bottom of her panties and into the base of her ass. Mrs. Pierce’s grip tightened so hard I thought it would yank all my hair out.
“That’s good. I’m off, then.”
Mrs. Pierce’s stomach muscles tensed and I imagined her nodding her head and waving her free hand to say farewell to her husband. The patio door snapped shut, and Mrs. Pierce’s grip loosened on my head. I let go of her ankle and pushed my hand under her butt as I stretched further onto the lounge, bringing my face near her musky panties. I grasped the rear waistband of the lace panties and pulled. As soon as they cleared her butt, I pulled them up to her knees with my left hand along her right leg and pushed them up the left with my right. My face landed squarely on a moist pussy already pushing up to meet me.
“Ohhhh, God!” Mrs. Pierce cried, yanking my head onto her throbbing clit.
I grabbed Mrs. Pierce’s thighs and slid my hands up to the underside of her knees, then used them as handholds to grip her legs and shove them up and back onto her chest while she steered my face around on her vibrating pussy.
“Eat me, you cocky little bastard,” she cried, bucking her hips against my face.
I dropped my left hand beneath my chin and probed under my tongue, finding her hole and pushing the tips of two fingers into its wet, pulpy mass. Mrs. Pierce released my head and replaced my hand behind her knee. I let my left hand fall to her stomach and stretched its thumb down to rub her clit while my tongue got busy lapping between her hairy lips. My fingers were now busy pushing in and out, finger fucking her hole, almost as much as her churning hips were fucking my face. I had meant just to get her hot enough to fuck but she was so horny and held my head so firmly I kept eating her pussy. She deserved a treat, and I decided to give her one. I pulled out of her pussy and surrounded her clit with my mouth and sucked it for twenty seconds or so, then pushed my rigid tongue as far into her cunt as I could and moved my head up and down, tongue-fucking this hot woman everyone mistakenly called a bitch. Thank you, Coach. Thank you, for this crappy assignment. I smiled inwardly. The intensity of the morning’s teasing was taking effect. Mrs. Pierce was moaning always now, broken only by verbal encouragements.
“Yeah, Paul. That’s it… like that… oh yeah, yeah.”
I stuck my tongue deep and shook my head, rubbing my thumb rapidly across her swollen clit. I vibrated my head so quickly it started to hurt.
“Oh yeah… God yeah… eat it… eat it… Gooooddd, ohhhhhhhh, God, oh God, oh God!”
Mrs. Pierce’s legs fell on either side of my head, and she shoved my face off her pussy. She was twisting from side to side, enjoying the rapture of her orgasm. I stood up and watched as a series of emotional expressions flitted across her face, expressing the variety of sensations a woman can experience while in the throes of such bliss. Eventually, her closed eyes tightened one final time and then relaxed. I pushed my shorts down and released my aching cock.
Mrs. Pierce stopped twisting about. She was making a barely audible whimpering sound. I straddled the lounge and picked up her legs by the ankles, pushing them back until her knees were against her chest. Once more, I gripped her legs under the knees and lined my cock up with her wet pussy. Her panties were still stretched across her knees. Mrs. Pierce opened her eyes when my tip nudged her nether lips. She didn’t speak, and her eyes gave neither permission nor denial. I pushed the purple helmet of my cock between her lips, found her hole, and shoved my entire length inside her until my root collided with her rubbery lips. I gave an extra shove and was rewarded with a satisfying grunt from Mrs. Pierce.
Mrs. Pierce watched me calmly as I fucked her. I started with long, slow strokes fully in and out, always pausing to give her an extra shove, driving her ass firmly into the lounge. My strokes became more frequent as our fucking increased in speed but the length didn’t change. I kept banging Mrs. Pierce with full-length strokes, harder and harder. The only sound was our ragged breathing and the occasional moan or grunt, from both of us, until the loud slap of merging thighs began filling the backyard.
It was a dangerous sound that could have carried beyond the hedges surrounding Mrs. Pierce’s yard, but she didn’t try to abate it herself or signal me to slow down. On the contrary, she cranked her hips up even harder to meet my thrusts. SLAP, SLAP, SLAP. I was pounding on her now. I had her legs pushed back so far her butt was twisted almost straight up. My legs ached from stretching over the lounge but I would have gladly fucked her until they fell off, it felt so good.
Never before had I felt a pussy like this. Sure, I hadn’t had many but the few women, well girls, that I had been with didn’t fuck like this. Mrs. Pierce was my first real woman. Just the expressions on her face as looked at me, holding my eyes steadily with hers, made me want to give it to her but no matter how hard I lunged into her, I knew I couldn’t beat her. I knew I couldn’t make her beg me to stop.
Suddenly, my hips took control, and I started to jack-hammer Mrs. Pierce. I tried to slow down, but I couldn’t control myself, and that’s when Mrs. Pierce smiled. A smile that turned into a quiet laugh as she tilted her head back, squeezing my cock tight, pulling my cum from deep inside me to hose her innards, laughing triumphantly.
She rubbed the back of my neck and tousled my hair for several minutes after I collapsed on top of her. When she finally extricated herself, she pulled her panties up and smoothed her skirt down her legs.
“Bring my drink upstairs before you go,” she said.
As I watched Mrs. Pierce walk to the house, I realized hadn’t even taken the time to undo her blouse. I hadn’t seen her tits and the way she carried herself away from me, I felt I never would.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
I knocked tentatively on the bedroom door.
“Come in. You don’t need to knock for God’s sake.”
I pushed the door open and carried the glass and pitcher of gin and tonic into Mrs. Pierce’s room. She was standing in front of her dresser, fixing her make-up. She pointed to the bedside table on the far side of the bed from her. I put the glass down and refilled the glass.
“Would you like a drink before you go?” she asked.
“Well, then drink.”
I lifted the glass to my lips and tipped it up enough for a small trickle to stream into my mouth. Mrs. Pierce’s hands reached to the side of her hip, and the pleated skirt slipped down her legs. Her hands were already unbuttoning the blouse when the glass pulled away from my lips. Mrs. Pierce smiled.
“Drink all of it,” she said.
I drank the gin while Mrs. Pierce unbuttoned the rest of her blouse and shucked it off. She was wearing a lacy, black bra that covered her nipples but allowed the skin of her breasts to show through. The matching panties had magically disappeared. Her pussy looked well-exercised from our recent exertions. The bra came off, and Mrs. Pierce’s tits bounced free, a little low slung but not too much. They were a nice size for such an athletic woman and jutted off her chest, angled slightly to the side with nipples that stabbed upwards.
“You forgot to look at these in your haste. Do they meet your approval?” she smiled.
I nodded intensely.
“Well, then,” she laughed. “Drink up.”
Mrs. Pierce crawled onto the bed and lay prone on her back. She curled her left arm under her head and fluffed her red hair onto the pillow with her right. She seemed amused.
“Well, I know you can fuck. Let’s see if you know how to make love.”
The rapidity with which I shed my clothes intensified the amused expression on Mrs. Pierce’s face. As she watched me, she opened her legs and beckoned me with a cock-stiffening come-on look but when I climbed onto the bed her legs clothes, and she turned on her side to face me.
“Slow down, baby,” she said in a throaty voice.
When I tried to pull her toward me, she resisted, pushing on my chest. I lowered my face and tried to lift her tit to my mouth, but she swept me my hand away and pulled back. I looked at her, perplexed, but she only smiled back at me. I tried to capture her nipple in my mouth but was again pushed away. She appeared quite amused now, but I was getting frustrated. When she pouted her lips in an exaggerated fashion, I got the idea. Of course, she wanted to make love, and that meant kissing. Well, I could do that for a few minutes.
I kissed her and kept kissing her for what seemed an eternity. I tried to fondle her breasts but was denied. When I tried to palm her pussy, my hand was pushed away. Grasping her leg behind the knee and lifting it over my hip so I could rub my cock on her pussy was a no-no too. Resigned, I stopped trying and continued kissing her.
Later, much later, Mrs. Pierce grasped a handful of my hair and pulled my head away from her face. She whispered, “Kiss me everywhere.”
Finally! I trailed kisses down her cheek to her neck, then quickly made a beeline for her tits. Shit! She pushed my face away again.
“Not there. Not yet,” she whispered hoarsely. “Kiss me everywhere but there and here,” she grabbed my hand and briefly covered her pussy with it, then flung it away. “I’ll let you know when I want you there.”
So I did what she said. I kissed and sucked and nibbled Mrs. Pierce’s entire body: shoulders, neck, arms, underarms, sides, legs, feet, toes, and yes, even her ass. In fact, eventually, I also tried to beat her at her own game. At first, whenever I came near her tits or pussy, I kept approaching until her body signaled me away, but now I refrained from getting as close as she had allowed me to before. It pleased me to detect a faint disappointment in the soft murmurs emitted in response to my caresses, and I felt a transfer of power, from one being denied to one deciding when to give. I began to enjoy this ‘love-making’ thing.
I loved the way Mrs. Pierce’s body reacted to my touch. The way she shuddered when my tongue trailed alongside her pussy but not on it, indicating the sheer need underlying her anticipation brought rings of teasing tingles up and down my cock, culminating in a shower of needle-pricking delight that covered my entire helmet. My own anticipation was almost overwhelming, and I nearly came when I finally decided that enough was enough and rolled Mrs. Pierce onto her back.
She raised her legs and opened them wide as I nestled between them, cocking her hips up to ease my entry, but I paused to suck her nipple into my mouth at the exact instant that I slipped inside her. I didn’t ram my cock home like it, and her pussy urged me to do. Instead, I slid my shaft inside Mrs. Pierce’s love tunnel as slowly as I could, even pulling up when she tried to impale her slippery cunt on my cock. I let her nipple slide from my lips and brought my mouth to her ear, chuckling in triumph at her need, now even higher than mine if only marginally so.
“Make love to me, Paul,” she gasped.
“I will,” I groaned in response.
We moved slowly, constantly straining, writhing together, striving to keep as much skin contact as possible. Mrs. Pierce had lowered her legs soon after my entry, and we were now aligned, my feet on hers, my legs pressing her thighs, our torsos twisting together and my arms wrapped around her shoulders, holding her head, kissing her feverishly.
I loved the feel of her, inside and out, loved her intensity, her sounds, her smell. I just loved and tried with every motion and sound to convey my feeling. When it came, it was the most extended orgasm I ever experienced. It sounds funny, but it lasted well beyond the point where my cock stop spurting inside her womb, even after it had no more to also seep inside her. When it was finally over, I rolled off her onto my back. We both sighed loudly, gasping for the breath we so desperately needed, more from the intensity of our acts than the exertion of it all.
“Wow,” I gasped.
“Wow,” she echoed my sentiment.
Mrs. Pierce rolled on top of me and kissed me quickly on the mouth.
“Which did you like better, the lounge or the bed. Tell me the truth.”
“Um… the lounge.”
She shrieked like a girl. “Oh, you brat,” she cried, pummeling my the chest.
We stayed in bed for almost an hour after getting a shower. Though I started to get hard watching her dress, I didn’t try to start anything because anything that day would have been anticlimactic. We kissed tenderly before exiting the bedroom, and Mrs. Pierce walked me to the patio door, her arm around my waist and mine around her shoulder, where we kissed and made plans to meet again.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Mrs. Pierce’s injury healed by Christmas in time for her to take charge of spring training and both teams won again. The coach was ecstatic with the ‘exceptional service’ Mrs. Pierce told him I had provided. I was in his good books.
The following fall I moved to attend college where I maintained a small, crappy apartment that I stayed in when my mother came to visit me. The rest of the year, I lived with Mrs. Pierce who had followed me to take a new job after she left her husband, as we had planned that summer. The second year, I didn’t bother with the apartment, and by the next summer, Mrs. Pierce and I married, secretly, without my parents knowing. We moved to the opposite coast after I finished college. I didn’t mind signing a prenuptial agreement. After all, I had nothing. Mrs. Pierce evidently had a fair amount of money from an inheritance. She didn’t need to work. We were quite happy and lived to be together.
Sex was mostly making love, but on special occasions, Mrs. Pierce allowed me anything I wanted. On my birthday, she let me take her mouth and even tied her own hands behind her back to prevent them from interfering with my control of her face. I wished I could do her like that more often, but it was all the more enjoyable knowing the act was particular. She even adopted a haughty expression, knowing it would please me, even more, to splash my spend all over it. As long as pain and debasement weren’t involved, Mrs. Pierce was game, for that day, New Year’s Day, and one day a year that always came to me as a complete surprise.
The rest of the year, we made love the way Mrs. Pierce wanted to. Oh yeah, and that was a real quirk of hers too. I had to call her Mrs. Pierce. I never used or even knew her first name. On those special days, when I fucked her hard, squatting over her haunches and literally plunging my cock into her cunt, she would laugh at me, crying, “Don’t you just love fucking Mrs. Pierce?”
Yes, I did. Indeed, I did.
There was one thing Mrs. Pierce would just not do. Anal sex. It was four years before I even tried. It was an emphatic NO! Not then, not ever. I didn’t broach the subject again.
Our sex had perhaps peeked by the sixth year, but it was still pretty good, at least from my perspective. I was twenty-five years old, and she had to be about forty-five, though I never knew her exact age. That’s why it came as a complete surprise to me when I arrived home to find Mrs. Pierce waiting for me in the front hallway with the door open, coat on, purse slung over her shoulder.
“I’m leaving, Paul. I wanted to tell you in person, rather than in a note, how wonderful it’s been and that, in my own way, I’ll always love you… but now our time is over.”
With that, she stepped close to me and stretched up to kiss me quickly on my stunning lips, then slipped around me and walked briskly out the door and down the cement stairs to the taxi I hadn’t noticed waiting outside with the motor running. I guess her bags were already in the trunk because she wasn’t carrying any luggage with her, nor did she come back for any. She was in the car by the time I ran down the stairs, and it whisked away before I could reach it to pull the door open. I never saw her again. Everything was handled through a lawyer. She had left me a small sum to get through the year even if I quit my job.
To say I was bewildered would be an enormous understatement. I mean, wouldn’t you be? I moped around feeling sorry for myself for almost a year, running through all the stages of catastrophic loss. I searched my mind for every memory, every scrap of sensation, the way she moved, laughed and smelled. I dredged my cortex for missed indications of what was to come but could find no such previews. For hours each day, I brooded, sitting in the over-stuffed chair in front of the fireplace or languishing in bed, eyes closed, dreaming, trying to recapture the fading sense of her skin which was always so amazingly soft and warm. The memory of her standing in front of the tall, old-fashioned bedroom window, the morning light streaming past her nude body, one hand combing out her red hair, turning toward with a seductive smile and saying, ‘Let’s stay home and make love all day?’ Funny, but now that I thought about it, with all that intense focus on making love, Mrs. Pierce never told me she loved me, not even once, despite the thousands of times she heard it from me.
I was in the midst of deep depression one miserable fall day when I answered a persistent knock at the door. Whoever it was ignored my repeated calls to ‘go away.’ A man in a uniform stood on the doorstep holding an envelope. It wasn’t a summons or anything ominous; it was too square-like for that. It looked more like an invitation, and it was, an invitation to a funeral for one of Mrs. Pierce’s friends. After the man returned to the black limo waiting at the curb, I shut the door and threw it into the fireplace but changed my mind and barely managed to retrieve it before it burst into flames.
Would she be there? The funeral was for the only close friend of hers that I knew of, the only one that had known her before we moved here, and who had evidently known her before she came to teach at my school. I had to go.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
The funeral was very formal, kind of like large funerals I had seen in movies. Mr. Pearson was evidently a wealthy man. Mrs. Pierce wasn’t there, and I didn’t recognize anyone else. I tagged along to the gathering held afterward at his home mostly out of curiosity. I would have liked to talk to his widow to see if she knew Mrs. Pierce, but I knew it wasn’t appropriate. I was surprised by Mrs. Pearson. I had only seen Mr. Pearson once a few years before, and he had been about fifty then. Mrs. Pearson appeared to be about thirty-five at most. Even in her lengthy, black funeral dress, it was apparent she had a lovely figure, enough of one anyway to cause a reaction in me for which I immediately berated myself. When she lifted her veil briefly after the ceremony, I was struck by her beauty, a younger, brunette version of Mrs. Pierce.
I was standing at the edge of one of the large rooms in the house, mansion really, near the doorway when Mrs. Pearson entered from the far end. She greeted several people as she passed through the room, exchanging a few solemn words with each. As she approached, I backed into the hallway so as not to impede her exit. She walked past me with her head down, then turned after a few steps just as she was about to go up the stairs.
“It’s Paul, isn’t it?” she said through the veil.
“Why, yes,” I stammered, surprised that she knew me.
“Thank you for coming. I didn’t know you knew Peter… Mr. Pearson,” she added in response to my confused expression. “Actually, I’m surprised Carol introduced you.”
“I only met him briefly, by accident. I don’t think we were meant to be introduced,” I said.
Mrs. Pearson nodded, then turned to continue up the stairs.
“Did you say, Carol?” I asked.
Mrs. Pearson turned back to me. “Yes. You were living together, weren’t you?”
“Of course,” I said. “Forgive me. I thought you meant someone else.”
Mrs. Pearson regarded me carefully, one hand on the banister. It was impossible to imagine what she thought since her face was still hidden by the black veil.
“Would you join me for a few minutes? Upstairs?”
She turned and ascended the stairs without waiting for my answer. I followed, admonishing myself again as my eyes found her shapely bottom which simply couldn’t be ignored as it swished from side to side, its contours revealing themselves with each step. Well, now I would have the opportunity to ask about Mrs. Pierce’s whereabouts. Or Carol, if that really was her first name. Almost seven years we lived together, and I didn’t even know her name until today. Mrs. Pearson led me into a large room that turned out to be her bedroom which was surprising, given its size. She walked to a large dresser and removed her veil and headdress, then shook her head, freeing a thick, luxuriant mass of chocolate brown hair until it spilled evenly over her shoulders. She was stunning.
“So, you didn’t really know my husband, then, even though you lived with his sister for seven years?”
His sister! Mr. Pearson was Mrs. Pierce’s sister? I was speechless.
Mrs. Pearson chuckled. “I see you didn’t know she had a brother. Their penchant for secrecy was a tad overboard.”
“I didn’t even know her name was Carol,” I mumbled, distracted, still struggling to get my mind around what I’d just heard.
“What did you call her?” Mrs. Pearson asked, pulling her long dress up to her knee and leaning over to one side to remove a high heel. Her hair tumbled into the air as her face leaned to the side, making her beauty even more apparent.
“I called her Mrs. Pierce,” I said.
“Mrs. Pierce,” Mrs. Pearson laughed out loud, leaning the other way to remove the other shoe. She stepped toward me. “You’re serious?”
“Yes,” I shrugged. “For seven years, I called her Mrs. Pierce. I never knew her first name until you said it downstairs.”
“Incredible,” she said. “I hate to tell you, but her real name is Miss Pearson. She never married.”
“No, that can’t be. She was married to Mr. Pierce and then to me.”
“Did you see the Marriage Certificate?”
“No. We were married in a private, civil ceremony in our home.”
“Paul, you were never married, believe me, and she never married this Mr. Pierce either.”
I scrutinized her face, looking for doubt, but I knew she was telling me the truth. This was unbelievable.
“But how do you know my name? If you didn’t even know I had met your husband. Please forgive me for asking on this day, but how did you know my name?”
“I’ve heard her say it many times.”
“So you knew her well? She came here often?”
“Almost never. I only met her two or three times, accidentally, like you met Peter.”
“Then how did you hear her speak my name so many times.”
Mrs. Pearson nodded to the door behind me. “Lock the door, and I’ll show you.”
I locked the door and turned back to get my answers. I was angry, though I knew I had no reason to be mad at her. Mrs. Pearson was standing in front of an overstuffed couch, pointing a remote at a large screen mounted on the wall.
“Tell me, Mrs. Pearson. Why have you heard my name so often?” I said in a loud, demanding voice, unable to keep my frustration and anger hidden.
“Shhhh,” she whispered. “Just wait, and I’ll show you. And my name is Karen, not Mrs. Pearson.”
The screen sprang to life, mid-movie as if it had been paused and was waiting to be started again where it had been left, or at the start of a favorite segment. Mrs. Pierce was kneeling with her hands tied behind her back, her bare bottom resting on her heels. A man was holding the top of her head with one hand and feeding his cock into her mouth with the other. He was thrusting his meat into her face, pulling her head forward with a handful of hair. After a minute he withdrew, allowing her to gulp for air, saliva dripping from her chin. Mrs. Pierce looked up at the man dominating her.
“Happy Birthday, Paul.”
Mrs. Pearson… Karen… turned and smiled at me. Behind her, on the screen, I was thrusting my cock vigorously in and out of Mrs. Pierce’s mouth.
“We have hours and hours of this, mostly boring, romantic love-making, but I love these scenes and the ones with the real hard fucking. I’ve been an admirer of yours for years, Paul.”
For not the first time that day, my mouth dropped open. I looked blankly at Karen, then at the scene unfolding behind her. Karen’s hands reached up behind her head, and I knew she was undoing the clasp at the back of her neck, that her hands, now lowering, were unzipping her funeral dress.
“Can you imagine what it would be like if every day was like that, Paul?”
I was still too stunned to react.
“Can you imagine dominating your woman like that, every day of the year?”
Karen reached down to grasp the sides of her long, black dress and pulled it up until the hem was by her knees. She turned and knelt on the overstuffed couch, then leaned forward until her head fell over its rounded top. Her hands, still grasping the sides of her dress, pulled it up to her hips, exposing a small triangular pair of panties covering a luscious ass, deliciously emphasized by the dark stockings that ended six inches below it.
“My husband is dead,” she whispered. “I need a strong man to look after me, Paul.”
She looked back at the screen where I was still pumping Mrs. Pierce’s face with full strokes of my stiff cock.
“Do you think you can be strong like that, Paul. Can you be a man, all the time?”
I started shredding my clothes. Not shedding… shredding. I was desperate to get them off, to throw away the years of restraint, the careful, controlled lovemaking that Mrs. Pierce had forced upon me, made me believe I wanted. I needed to get rid of her, in one wild, senseless, abandoned fuck. Mrs. Pearson… Karen was laughing, goading me, begging me to split her with my pole.
I knelt behind her, my suit coat off, the shirt in shreds, my pants bunched on my knees, around my feet, one of which was still wearing its shoe. My hands found her panties and ripped them off to loud squeals of delight. I grasped her hair in my left hand and tugged her head up as I leaned over her back while my right hand guided my cock, nosing it through her cheeks in search of her slit.
“Shut up,” I hissed.
“Make me,” she husked.
I shoved into her, roughly, all the way, lifting her up on the back of the couch. Immediately, I started slamming into her, huffing loudly, grasping her shoulders and banging her soft cheeks as hard as I could. We didn’t speak anymore, we were both fucking our hearts out, shedding the past and finding our future. She was so fucking sexy, so earthy and heathen. This was real love, no control and no hurt, just passion. I thrust harder, and harder, and harder.
“Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah.”
I pulled Karen’s hair up and grasped it in both hands. I loved the way she looked, eyes closed, mouth open, her whole body jolting with every thrust. I wanted this woman so much, I needed her to be mine.
Shit! I was coming already. It felt like molten lava shooting up my shaft, bursting from the head of my cock, filling her. I could feel it, several squirts later, squeezing through the tight grip her lips held around my post. I was kissing her, whispering inanely, “I love you, I love you,” to this woman I’d only just met.
You might think we would have been embarrassed after that, a little sheepish, that we would both pull on our clothes without looking at each other again, but we didn’t. I flopped onto the couch, and Karen got up, straightened her dress and calmly walked, the back of the dress still open, to the bathroom. She appeared a few moments later carrying a large comforter which she spread over me. She stooped to pick up her shredded panties and tossed them onto a chair, then casually slipped the dress off her shoulders and shimmied it down over her hips. She watched me watch her remove her lacy black bra which seemed far too sexy to be mated with the conservative dress now lying at her feet. Her breasts sprang free, bouncing with youthful enthusiasm despite her ten years or so on me and I wished I had thought to grab them. I remembered, strangely, how I had forgotten to sample Mrs. Pierce’s tits the first time I had fucked her too. Now nude except for the black stockings, Karen picked up the remote and slipped under the comforter.
She pointed the remote at the screen and said, “Let’s start at the beginning. We’ve got lots of discs to go through.”
Before the first minute had passed, I had those gorgeous tits in my hands, both of them, with nipples poking through the circles formed by thumbs and forefingers leaving just a tiny bit to be licked and sucked.
“I bet you can’t make it fifteen minutes without fucking me again,” she whispered.
She was right.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
I didn’t even return to my apartment. Karen had some people bring my personal effects over, and everything else was disposed of. Karen hired me as one of her staff, but she explained it was only for pocket money and to legally establish that I would never have a claim on her estate since I was considered an employee and not living with her. It was an uncomfortable reminder of Mrs. Pierce — I still don’t think of her as Carol — but one that was quickly erased by a very satisfying bout in bed.
Karen was everything she promised to be. Every day she was mine to have in whatever way I wished. For example, in the afternoon that I signed the paper recognizing myself as an employee, Karen said she felt tired and wanted to rest for a while. After a couple of hours, I went upstairs to see if she was still sleeping. She was in bed alright but curled up into a ball. Her knees were held tight to her chest by a belt wrapped around her back and thighs just under her knees. Her feet were similarly held fast to her bottom with a soft kimono belt looped at each end around the balls of her feet and stretching around her back to make her toes point outward. Karen’s arms were wrapped around her knees, and another looped kimono belt secured her wrists. Someone had obviously assisted her in getting into this awkward position, but she was entirely alone now, and very naked.
“Where have you been?” she panted. “I’ve been waiting for hours.”
It didn’t take me long to get rid of my clothes and crawl up on the bed. I maneuvered the little Karen-ball in front of my cock and plunged it inside her already wet pussy. As I leaned over her, pumping her needy body, I could smell her odor on her fingers and realized she’d been able to reach herself while she was waiting for me. The thought of her fingering herself while wantonly imagining my reaction when I found her made me go almost berserk. I fucked her so hard I kept rolling over onto my side and slipping out of her pussy, so I released the ties holding her feet to her thighs. Holding her feet up, I steered her back onto my cock and began pumping her vigorously again.
She was like Mrs. Pierce in a way. She loved to either look intensely in my eyes while she got fucked or she closed them tight and flung her head back, abandoned to the sensations percolating from her womb. She really liked getting fucked. At least, she made all the appropriate sounds and motions one would expect from a woman that loved a good-sized cock in her. I believed it. I don’t think anyone could act that horny.
The next day, she had several interior design consultants in presenting some concepts for remodeling the west wing of her home. She politely excused us to consider their suggestions privately for a few moments and led me into the opposite side of the house. As soon as we were on that side, she bent over a side table and reach back to pull her dress up. Within seconds, I had picked her panties down and filled her from behind. We were a ways away from the consultants, but they may have wondered what the faint rattling was all about as I lunged into my lover’s backside and bounced the table off the wall.
I’m sure the staff also either heard or stumbled upon us when we spontaneously had sex in the house or on the grounds but discretely made themselves scarce. I gradually realized that I could have Karen any way I wanted, any time I wanted to, but I also had to perform whenever she felt the need, which was often. It was quite a change from doing Mrs. Pierce where I had to pay my dues and satisfy her first through a long bout of tender love-making before seeking my own gratification. Fucking Karen was much better but very exhausting.
After three years, I was almost tired of it. In fact, I was getting bored with constant, spontaneous and raucous sex after two years and only retained my interest after I discovered that Karen would let me fuck her in the ass, something I had never done before. I was a little gun-shy to try after the vehement denial of my attempt to get inside Mrs. Pierce’s butt, which perhaps explains why I didn’t work for so long with such a willing woman available to do my sexual bidding.
Anyway, one day I came home to find Karen on her knees on our bed. Her feet were tied to the corner posts, and though her hands were free, a light lead attached to a collar around her neck was tied somewhere behind the headboard. Karen’s head was lying sideways on a pillow, and she watched me enter the room. My reaction was clearly amusing to her since her smile grew as my face changed from surprise to confusion to comprehension and finally raging desire when I saw how greasy her buttocks were and then discovered the ring protruding from her asshole. A butt plug.
“Be gentle,” she said, speaking so hoarsely I could hardly understand those two simple words. “Take my ass cherry, baby,” she whispered, wiggling her butt.
I slipped my finger through the ring and tugged.
“Ooooohhhh… slowly, baby, slowly,” she cried.
I relaxed and then tugged again.
I twisted the plug around and pulled, then eased, then pulled again. I played around like that for several minutes, but eventually, it came out with a loud, wet plop. I held it up and looked at it, surprised by how full the inside part was, then looked down at the gaping, dark hole it had left in Karen’s ass. Why that made me incredibly horny in a mere instant, I don’t know, but it did. I grunted and got up on my feet, crouched over her ass, and steered my cock into this new, virgin territory for us both.
Holding her cheeks apart with my hands, I sank deep inside her. I loved the way she groaned. It was a completely different kind of sound, and I tried varying my strokes in many ways to pull that same sound from her lips as I fucked her ass. As with every other time we fucked, Karen seemed to absolutely love it. Together with the novelty and Karen’s primitive noises, I came very quickly.
Karen wanted it in the ass again that night and the next morning. It became her favorite way to fuck, and there was rarely a week that we didn’t do it at least three times that way. I hate to say it, but it became boring for me.
And that’s what ended our relationship. Karen was all about fucking and nothing else. One day, I only left. I didn’t have the courage to face Karen the way Mrs. Pierce had waited to see me. I didn’t trust myself not to stay, or rather, I didn’t underestimate Karen’s ability to keep me.
Now, I’m seeking a relationship somewhere between Mrs. Pierce and Karen. It isn’t easy. These women have spoiled me too much to accept anyone ordinary. I yearn for the intense, writhing love-making that I experienced with Mrs. Pierce but also need the wild, abandoned fucking that Karen taught me to love so much. I also find young women, women my own age, tedious. They act so confident and with it but they aren’t sophisticated or in control at all. I guess it shows in me because the older woman seems to know at a glance that I’m interested in them. I never lack for sex because these women don’t play games, they just get on with it. The only problem is finding one that is willing to change her life for me, and to be sure that that woman is the right one, the perfect woman.
I haven’t found her yet after two years of trying, but Lynn is close to filling the bill. At least, I think she is. I pulled her head up off my cock.
“Lynn, you’ve got to learn to keep your teeth back.”
She nodded and pushed her face forward, enveloping the slippery helmet, eager to show me that she knew how to do it. Her lips slid down my shaft, pausing part way, and then proceeded after a short swallow, the way I’d taught her. I grabbed her hair and held her head firmly on my cock, then leaned forward and slipped a crooked finger into her butt, pleased by the muffled grunt she emitted around my root.
“Are you sure your husband never fucks you here? I think it’s ready for me already.”