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Writer’s Note: This is a story for adults over eighteen years of age about adults over eighteen years of age. While the story line is true the dialog has been compressed for the sake of time and space. Safe sex was not an issue in the sixties and early seventies, but should be a concern for everyone today.
One of my favorite lawn mowing customers was Faye. She was a widow, probably in her early fifties, based on the many stories she told me about her life prior to World War II. She was about five-foot-five, hundred and ten pound; she was a dynamo who swam laps daily in her pool, played tennis, and taught Latin dancing at the community center. She always had time to sit with me and talk while I ate her homemade cookies and drank milk. Once I turned eighteen, she weaned me off of milk and substituted sherry in its place as she told me stories about living abroad.
She loved to dress up in period styles of the thirties, forties, and fifties. On one visit I might find her dressed as a thirties flapper listening to jazz music and showing me how to dance the Charleston or the Black Bottom. Another visit I might find that she had just returned from her bridge club dressed like June Clever; I never knew what to expect.
She and her husband had traveled Europe extensively before the war and her home was a museum of those travels. She had bunches of photo albums she shared with me, but my favorite was one from Paris which was filled with photos of her as a young woman; a very pretty, sexy, young woman.
While Faye was an elegant lady with class, she had a bit of a naughty streak which she revealed as I grew older; she delighted in showing me risqué French photo cards of nude women through an antique viewfinder. She described going to the Follies’ Bergere where the dancers performed bare breasted and to Jazz clubs along the Left Bank where the music was loud, the lights were low, and libertine couples lingered in the shadows sometimes engaging various naughty acts.
“My husband loved to watch people, whether they were having coffee at a street side cafe or engaged in other activities in the dark, smoky cabarets; he was a correspondent and a writer who used his observation of people in his stories.”
Sometimes Faye would answer the door wearing a light housecoat as if she had just gotten home and I had interrupted her just as she was about to change. She would grasp the top of her house coat tightly as if trying to be modest, but once I was inside, the garment would often fall open briefly to expose a stocking encased thigh or a lace covered breast. She would smile and feint embarrassment, then recover quickly, but only after I had time to relish the treat.
“Oops, I must be more lady like, I hope I didn’t embarrass you,” she would say then mention something her late husband might have said, “My dear, late husband often said that a quick peek left the most lasting impression.”
I smiled and replied, “I certainly agree with him; I have many lasting impressions of you.”
“Will, don’t be naughty; I am a lady,” batting her eyes and showing a coy smile.
Faye was, also a touchy, feely person; she rubbed her hand over my shoulder or pat my thigh. She would brush against me, often with her breasts as she greeted me or sat beside me showing me her photo albums. More than a few times I saw her glance toward my crotch as she showed me the risqué photos or told me stories about their adventures. As most teenage boys do, I often slouched with my legs splayed when I sat and since I usually only wore my cut-off jeans; I had no doubt that she frequently got a good view of my equipment.
My fondest and most lasting memory of Faye happened one afternoon when I stopped by to collect for my lawn mowing that week. She answered the door wearing her usual light housecoat tightly clenched closed in her hands; as she showed me into the sunroom her housecoat caught on the corner of a small table and exposed her entire stocking encased leg all the way to her firm round, panty clad cheek. It was a beautiful sight; again, she recovered just as my heart skipped a couple of beats and my cock quickly pulsed in my cut-off shorts.
“You can sit here and look at the new Life magazine while I slip on my dress; it will only take me a moment.”
She went into the adjacent bedroom as I reached for the magazine. I noticed that she only partially closed the door behind her so I assumed that she was changing in a corner of the room not visible from the door; my assumption was wrong, she stood in direct view of the mostly open door. I watched her from the back as she slipped off her house coat and tossed it aside. For a moment, she just stood there with her hands on her hips looking into a free-standing, corner mirror. Her high heels gave a shapely definition to her black, seamed, stocking encased legs; a pair of full cut, red lace panties hugged her well rounded, firm bottom.
The suspenders of a black garter belt slipped beneath the leg bahis firmaları of her panties and extended to the tops of her stockings. She reached behind her back with both hands and unfastened her matching bra with her fingers and let it slide down her arms; I got a side view glance of her small, B-cup sized breasts as she turned to toss her bra to the side.
I put the magazine down on the table and decided that the reason the bedroom door was mostly open was that she wanted me to see her; just as I knew the accidental exposure of her stocking encased thigh or partially covered breast was meant for my benefit. I moved to the door opening, leaned against the door frame, and completely took in the beautiful sight before me; the angle of her mirror also gave me a full view of her front. Her rose pink nipples were pointed extensions of her small cone shaped breasts. She didn’t seem to notice me as she lifted one foot to a nearby stool; she bent over and carefully stretched her arms down her long, shapely leg until her hands were around her ankle. She proceeded to smooth her stocking upward as she moved her hands slowly up her leg; I studied every curve and movement she made. Once her hands were on her thigh, she readjusted the clasps of her garter on the top of her stocking then set her foot down and turned slightly to make sure her seam was perfectly straight in the mirror.
Much to my delight, she repeated the same process on her other leg. I was certain she knew about my presence; maybe she was performing for me, or maybe she was teasing me. Either way, my staff was bent double in its effort to stand up straight; I slipped my hand into my cut-offs to make a quick adjustment for comfort. Once she confirmed that both seams were straight she picked up a brush and brushed her curly, shoulder length, strawberry blonde hair; the rose, pink nipples of her small, but still firm, breasts seemed to dance as her arms moved the brush through her hair. She slipped on a navy blue, fitted dress that buttoned up the front, but she only buttoned it from her breasts down to the top of her stockings; she checked her image in the mirror then turned around.
“Will! You surprised me; I didn’t know you were watching me,” she said with all the proper voice inflections and body movements to show her surprise.
“I’m sorry, it was such a beautiful sight I could not resist watching.”
She gave a coy smile and replied, “Well, you must be desperate if you have to watch an old woman in her private moments.”
“No, I’m neither desperate nor did I see an old woman; I only saw an amazing display of beauty. Are you telling me you didn’t want me to watch you?”
Faye patted my cheek, “Of course not. You are so sweet! A bit naughty, but sweet. My late husband would have approved of you.”
I opened my arms and she moved into them; her body was warm and soft against me. We looked into each other’s eyes for a moment as if we were reading each other’s thoughts; our lips met. I pulled her body tight against me as my hands moved over the curves of her back, waist and hips; our tongues explored each other’s lips and mouths.
She pressed her pelvis against my swollen cock, “I can tell you enjoyed watching me change.”
“Of course, I did; did you enjoy me watching you?”
She smiled and batted her eyes, “See for yourself.”
I moved my hand downward to the last button on her dress; she opened her legs slightly and my hand slipped between her incredibility smooth thighs. She smiled as my fingers gently touched the crotch of her very damp panties and felt the heat from her cunt.
“Yes, I think you enjoyed my watching you too,” I said as I slowly moved my hand from between her legs and held it close to my face to enjoy her sweet aroma.
She laughed then took my hand, held it close to her face and kissed it, then smiled. She led me back to the sun room; my eyes watched the beautiful shape of her firm, round bottom in the fitted, navy blue dress as she poured the dark, red Sherry into glasses, but the image of that firm round bottom in her red lace panties was forever burned in my memory.
She moved across the room and stood just inches in front of me as I sat on the sofa; her left thigh was exposed to the top of her stocking by the unbuttoned portion of her dress. Before I reached up to take my glass of sherry from her hand I leaned forward and kissed her bare thigh just above her stocking then kissed her red, lace covered, pubic mound.
She smiled, “Humm, you are a naughty boy!”
“I’ve heard that ladies like naughty boys,” I said as I reached for the glass of sherry.
Again, with a smile, “Yes, we do like naughty boys, but we still must be ladies.”
She giggled then took her seat beside me and crossed her legs; she smiled as my eyes admired the swells of her small breasts visible from her low cut dress. I was anxious to kiss more of her, to taste her, but I wanted to play it cool; I had no doubt that she would let me know kaçak iddaa when she was ready. I was learning that anticipation was an important element in courting a mature lady. She eventually taught me that sometimes ladies like to be the predator and sometimes the prey.
“Tell me more about the dark, smoky, jazz clubs along the Left Bank.”
“Ha, ha, I guess since you are older now it is okay for me to tell you, but you must keep it between us; I wouldn’t want the neighborhood ladies to know that I can be a hussy at times.”
“You really have to be there to get the feel of Paris at night; it is truly a city for lovers. My husband and I loved the cabarets that had dancers who performed partially nude skits with erotic, sexual themes; even the music had a primal sound. I was often sexually aroused just listening to the music and watching couples writhe to the beat. Some clubs had dark shadowy grottoes where patrons could take advantage of the low light to satisfy a lustful desire, or to watch others satisfy their desires. You might see a woman bent over a chair with her dress pushed up while several men took their turn with her charms or you might see a woman on her knees servicing a gentleman lustfully.”
I chuckled, “You amaze me by how you can describe such an erotic story without using a single vulgar word.”
“That’s my husband’s influence; personally, I love talking dirty, but I didn’t want to scare you.”
“Ha, ha, you won’t scare me, you can talk as dirty as you like; I love hearing a lady talk dirty to me.”
Then I asked, “Did you and your husband ever satisfy your lust in such a club?”
She paused then added, “I probably shouldn’t be telling you things like this, but since you promised it will be our secret, I’ll tell you.”
“Once when my husband and I ventured into one of the dark areas of a club to watch a couple pawing each other; they surprised us by pulling us into the shadows and assaulting us. My husband tried to stop the woman from opening his pants, but she smacked his hand then reached in his pants and took out his engorged cock. She began to perform fellatio on my husband with me standing beside him. Her male partner grabbed me and mauled my breasts with his large, rough hands; I was frightened as to what he might do to me. My dear husband quickly gave into woman’s oral talents and began to thrust himself into her mouth while holding her head in his hands; since he was so well endowed, he caused her to gag several times.”
“The man exposed his frightfully, rigid cock to me, I just knew I was going to be violated; my husband was so distracted by the woman I wasn’t sure he would come to my aide. The man pulled up my dress in the back and began rubbing his throbbing cock against the bare skin of my flanks as if he was trying to mount me; I was sure he was going to rip off my panties when he pulled them below my bottom. My husband let out a loud groan and filled the woman’s mouth until his semen dribbled down her chin.”
Faye chuckled and ran her tongue over her lips as she fondly remembered the event. Her thighs were squeezed together and she pumped her top leg excitedly as she told me the story.
“My husband recovered in time to watch the aroused man shoot his semen all over my bare bottom; some even dripped into my panties, some ran down my thigh and into the top of my stockings, then he wiped himself off on my dress. I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or disappointed that I was not violated. I did learn that fear is very arousing; I was dripping wet afterwards.”
She chuckled, “My husband was delighted to clean up the mess as the man and woman stood by and watched.”
“We never regretted our experiences there; it was Paris and we wanted to experience it in its entirety. We experimented with our bi-sexual side also and often shared lovers; I enjoyed watching him service other men and other women; of course, he liked watching me with other men and women too. We sometimes enjoyed multiple partners; I was once serviced by two men at the same time while my husband serviced the one on top of me. That was quite an experience; one I wouldn’t mind enjoying again.”
Faye stopped pumping her leg and leaned over to kiss me; my hand went to her small breasts and taunt nipples. She moaned softly when I rolled them between my thumb and forefinger. I unbuttoned the few remaining buttons and opened her dress.
She sat up and slipped out of her dress, “I learned from my dear, late husband that if I relieved him of his load before going out for an evening, he would last much longer. Are you like that too?”
“Yes, I sometimes masturbate before going out if I know it will be a late night.”
“Ha, ha, I love to see a man with his hand wrapped around his cock ready for action. My husband often did that for me; I would be sitting in my chair reading or doing needlepoint and he would walk-in naked with his hand wrapped around his cock. I knew I was in for a treat.”
She removed her dress kaçak bahis from under her and motioned for me to stand up. I stood and lifted my shirt off while she unfastened my shorts and pushed them to my ankles. I stepped out of my shorts and kicked them to the side and wrapped my hand around my engorged cock. Faye smiled at my pose then reached and cupped my cod sack in one hand. She continued to admire my pose for a minute then reached for my engorged cock with the other hand.
She leaned back, “Move closer and straddle me.”
I moved onto the sofa on my knees and straddled her hips. She guided the head of my cock to her nipples and smeared the large drop of semen that appeared at the tip on her right nipple then licked the tip with the flat of her tongue as if she was licking an ice cream cone. She looked up at me to see my reaction. For several minutes, I watched as my engorged cock lay against her cheek while she gently sucked each of my nuts into her warm, wet mouth. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes as an incredible sensation overcame me. With my hands on my hips, her warm, wet lips enveloped the head of my cock as her hands moved softly over my torso.
In minutes her head was bobbing up and down my turgid cock; I made no effort to delay the inevitable. Faye wanted my load of hot creamy liquid and I wanted her to have it. I imagined having her bent over a table in a dark, smoky cabaret in Paris while I thrust my cock into her hot juicy cunt as others stood and watched. A storm rumbled through my cods and through my shaft as spurt after spurt of hot liquid splashed into her mouth. Her cheeks dimpled as she sucked the last drops from my shaft. I took her face in my hands and kissed her mouth; she pushed some of the still hot, salty liquid in my mouth with her tongue. We took turns sharing the salty cream until it was completely gone.
I settled back on the sofa beside her; my cock wilted somewhat and oozed a little more semen on my thigh. Faye wiped it up with her finger, licked some of it off then offered it to me.
“Most straight men will not even get close to their own semen; I’m glad we could share yours,” she commented.
“I like the taste of my own; I have even tasted others when it was served from the right vessel. It would be hard for me to resist any treat that came directly from your delicious mouth or cunt.”
“Have you ever had a bi experience?” She asked
“No, I have never had an interest in other men. I have shared a woman with another man, much like you, and that brought me in close contact with him, but it was the woman who held all my attention.”
“Oh my, you will have to tell me all about that sometime.”
“I had my first bi-sexual experience in Paris with a beautiful, dark=haired, cabaret dancer. I had admired her from our front row table during her performance and later she caught me in the hallway as I was going to the toilettes; she pushed me against the wall and kissed me passionately. I half-heartedly struggled to get free, but she was strong and I was curious.”
Faye, once again, crossed her legs and began pumping her foot has she described the erotic event of long ago.
“She took my hand and shoved it up her skirt. When she began kissing my breasts, I slipped my hand into her panties; I had never touched another woman there before, but when I felt how hot and wet she was, I went crazy. I sunk two of my fingers in her and began pumping them furiously. She immediately pushed my legs apart with her knee and went for my crotch with her hand.”
“She didn’t just use a few fingers; she used all four fingers and impaled me up to her knuckles; her thumb then attacked my clitoris.”
Her French pronunciation of clitoris sounded much sexier than the English pronunciation and watching her lips form the French sounds caused my cock to pulse.
“I almost climbed the wall when an orgasm surged through my body; it was amazing. The beautiful dancer pulled me to a nearby table where a couple was sitting; she leaned back on the table, opened her legs, and pulled my face into her crotch by my hair. Her aroma was intoxicating; I was quickly swept away by her delicious, juicy taste and the beauty of her cunt. I knew what I loved when men went down on me so I just used the techniques they had used on me.”
“The couple sitting at the table groped her breasts while I licked and sucked all the places I enjoyed being licked and sucked; it worked and she was soon grunting like a pig, “oh oui, oh oui.” When it was over, she pushed me aside, adjusted her clothes, and walked away to get ready for her next performance; she didn’t say a word to me. I was left with her juices covering my face. The couple sitting at the table just stared at me in amazement. I grabbed the woman by the hair and kissed her mouth then walked back to join my husband.”
Faye was visibly aroused; her face and chest were flushed and her breathing labored as she pumped her foot faster. She sat her glass of sherry down and seemed to slip into a semi-conscious state. It was obvious that Faye was getting off from the movement of her foot and thighs. She laid her head on my shoulder and squeezed my hand as she moaned and sighed.
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