Chapter 4
Frances Thompson was a forty-five year old widow whose husband had died six years earlier. Her large tits, loose and jiggly beneath her house dress, were still pretty firm, she knew, but she cupped and squeezed them testingly, anyway. Beneath her upstairs window, Lars strained against the old mower, the hard muscles of his sweet-streaked back bunching and rippling smoothly. She felt her cunt loosen and grow wet, and was amazed at herself.
I'm old enough to be his mother! she thought. Her palms were sweaty and she rubbed them against her thinly clad hips. I've got to control myself, she muttered silently. Lars was so tall and handsome, she was sure he was getting a lot of sex from girls his own age. What would he want with an old woman like herself?
She moaned softly as he turned. She saw the bulge of his prick-meat in his jeans. God, if it's - that big now, what must it be like hard! she thought. Her mind filled with visions of fat, erect cocks. It had been so long she'd been fucked, she could hardly remember the man's face. He'd been a salesman, passing through town three years ago, and he'd been potbellied and balding, but Frances had been so horny that she hadn't cared.
What was it the boys used to say? Oh, yeah. They were going to "pork" some girl, that was it. She hadn't heard the expression in years, but that was what she needed. A lot of hard cock-pork filling her snug, wet cunt-hole.
But could she bring herself to come on to him? Would be think she was too old? She'd die if he laughed at her. She smoothed her hands over her tits and belly and rubbed the shaggy tangle of her thick cunt through the house dress.
"Oh, God! I've got to try!" she groaned.
With a courage born of desperation, she made her decision. She felt lewd and guilty, but her raging lust could not be denied. If it was the last thing she did on this earth, she'd get Lars' adolescent cock into her fuck-starved cunt.
It seemed to take Lars hours to finish her lawn, and Frances had to use every ounce of willpower she possessed to keep her fingers away from her itchy, throbbing cunt-lips. Then she heard him dragging the mower into her garage. A few minutes later, he knocked on her back door.
Composing herself as best she could, Frances swung open the door and smiled at him. "Finished already?" she heard herself ask stupidly.
"Yeah," Lars answered, rubbing the back of his forearm across his sweaty forehead. "Jeez, it sure is hot today!"
The older woman stood back. "Come on in, Lars," she said. "It's a little cooler, inside." And before he could move, she took hold of his arm and led him inside. She closed the door behind him, brushing his chest with one thrusting tit as she did so.
"It's a shame you have to take work like this, Lars," she said sympathetically, walking him over to the couch.
"Hey, I'm glad to get it," he answered.
"These days, you can't afford to be picky, ya know?"
"Still, you work awfully hard for your money. I wish I could afford to pay you more. It doesn't seem fair . . . "
"No, no. I'm satisfied," he protested, trying to avoid staring at her big tits as they billowed from the top of her house dress. The first few buttons were undone. Probably due to the heat, he supposed, but he couldn't help wondering if she were wearing anything underneath that somewhat shapeless dress.
He wiped his head again. "Jeez, I'm sweating like a pig," he said. "Bet I stink," he said, half joking.
"Oh, hell," Frances laughed. "Honest sweat's nothing to be ashamed of. Most women like a man who smells like a man, anyway. At least, women from my generation do."
"Maybe," Lars said doubtfully. "But I'll feel a lot better after a nice, cool shower."
"Oh, how thoughtless of me!" Frances exclaimed. "Why don't you run upstairs and use my shower?"
"Oh, I couldn't," Lars protested.
"Nonsense! You don't want to walk all the way through town like that. I won't take no for an answer. You go up and have a nice cool shower, and when you're done, I'll have a cold beer ready for you."
The beer cinched it. Lars grinned and stood up. "You've got a deal, Mrs. Thompson!" he said enthusiastically.
"Let me show you the way," Frances said, feeling her face start to heat up.
Lars followed her up the steep stairway, admiring the shapeliness of her trim calves. Her dress was short, and when he thought she wasn't looking, he bent his head and looked under it. Wow! Nice white thighs, not too heavy. He wished he could see more, find out if she were wearing panties. The way her round ass wiggled under the material, he didn't think so. The thought of her walking around with a bare cunt made his cock twitch.
It was part of Frances' plan to give him some shots of her body before he got in the shower, so when they reached the second floor and she led him to the bathroom, she pretended to see a bobby pin on the floor. Fingering the dress at her hips, she managed to lift it high before bending for the imaginary pin. She kept her knees straight, as if she were trying to touch her toes, and felt the hem of the dress slide over her ass.
Lars choked and froze, his bulging eyes locked on the plump, split halves of her bare ass. The woman's tiny, hair-ringed asshole winked at him above the pink, hanging flaps of her thickly haired cunt for the briefest of seconds. Then she stood and the dress fell into place.
Lars' face felt bright red, but she didn't seem to notice. He knew his cock was swelling. Shit, who could have guessed that Mrs. Thompson had an ass like that! Suddenly, he was looking at her with new eyes. She was mature, but she wasn't over the hill by a long shot. She was pretty good-looking, as a matter of fact. There were a few wrinkles around the edges of her eyes, and maybe a few gray hairs here and there, but only a few.
Fuck! No gray hairs on her cunt, he could vouch for that!
"Here's your towel, Lars," Frances said, placing it on a rack. Lars watched her big tits bounce and jiggle as she threw him a fresh bar of soap.
After she left, Lars stripped and turned on the shower. His hard prick stood out stiffly and he rubbed it a few times before stepping under the spray. There was no curtain or door for the shower stall, so when he heard Mrs. Thompson call his name and then step into the bathroom, all he could do was keep his back to her.
"Oh, I thought you were finished," Frances said, her voice hoarse with excitement. She stared at his lean, hard asscheeks. What a body he had. She hadn't been with a man with a good body for nearly twenty years. Her husband had gone to pot years ago.
"Mrs. Thompson!" Lars gasped.
"Don't mind me," she said, sitting on the toilet. "Finish your shower."
"But . . .but ..."
"Oh, I'm an old married woman," Frances said. "A widow. I've seen it all before. There's no need for you to be embarrassed."
Lars looked over his shoulder and saw her sitting on the toilet. Her knees were spread and he couldn't resist looking up her dress. Oh, Jeez! He nearly groaned. There was that fuzzy cunt again!
"Well, I can see you'll never get finished unless I give you a hand," Frances smiled, taking the plunge. "Hand me the soap, will you?"
Automatically, Lars handed her the soap without turning around. He watched her place her hands under the spray, wetting them, then she worked up a lather.
"Now," she said, "I'll show you how to really get clean."
Lars tensed as she wrapped her arms around his waist. He looked down and his unbelieving eyes saw her small hands cup his balls and fist his cock.
He groaned as the woman's soapy fingers jacked off his hard cock and rolled his fat balls. He could feel the soft warmth of her tits pressed into his back as she played with him, and leaned some of his weight against her.
"That's it," she whispered as his hips began pumping, "build up a big load!"
Then the teenager felt her fingers leave his balls, and he groaned again as she took his stiff prick in both her hands. The fat, blood-filled head stuck out above her grip, and the wide piss-slit winked with her movements.
Eventually, the stinging spray washed all of the suds away and he felt nothing but the soft, warm skin of her palm touching his cock-shaft. Then she released it and placed one hand on his hip. He felt the other slide quickly into the crack of his ass.
"Uhh!" He grunted, both in surprise and pain, as her stiff middle finger shot into his asshole and rummaged back and forth.
Frances really knew how to work a man up after all these years, and she wanted Lars so hot that he'd fuck a snake. Her finger found his prostate and pushed rhythmically against it. She could feel the strong ring of his asshole clenching as he grunted and groaned. She leaned to one side so she could see his cock.
Quicky, she yanked her finger free. The teenager's cock was fiercely swollen, and the head was an angry purplish color. It was jerking strongly, and she knew he was ready to blow his load.
She stood back and waited. Now it was his move. She wouldn't do another thing. She smiled to herself. If he didn't practically rape her after all this, he wasn't normal.
Dazed, Lars wavered in the shower. His asshole burned, and his cock felt like a lit match. If he didn't come now, he'd die. He realized that Mrs. Thompson's hands were no longer on his body and he turned around.
"Awwwww," he groaned, staring at the woman's practically naked body. The front of her dress was soaked from the shower, and he could see the large swells of her tits and their wide, dark nipples. The material was plastered to her belly, and below that her dark cunt-hair was outlined.
He stepped out of the shower and grabbed her. Frances nearly fainted when she felt his fingers sink into the softness of her asscheeks. His big cock squeezed between their bodies, throbbing hotly. She found his mouth with hers and gave him a wet, open kiss. Lars returned it, shoving his tongue almost down her throat as his hands slid up to her spongy tits.
"My room! My room!" Frances gasped as he fondled and pinched her hard nipples.
Lars continued kissing her, but now his hands were moving up. He gripped her dress at the shoulders and tore it from her body, peeling her like a banana. Her tits trembled before him. Then he was on his knees, dragging the dress from her wide hips and over the mounds of her ass.
He stared for a second, then buried his face between her plump white thighs. Her wet, shaggy cunt-hair surrounded his face, and he could smell it. Moving his face around, he parted her thick curls and felt her warm, moist cunt-lips with his nose.
His hands cupped the quivering globes of her ass, his fingers dipping into the deep crack as he opened his mouth and licked the length of her inflamed pussy-gash. Then he sucked in her hairy outer lips and chewed on them, pulling them away from her body as she cried out and shook.
Her whole body jerked violently as the wild teenager gobbled her cunt. She'd almost forgotten how enthusiastic, how frantic a teenage boy could be. Lars slobbered all around her sopping, hairy cunt, licking up the center of the hot crease and snapping over the pink finger of her clit.
"Aghhh!" Frances grunted, feeling her knees go rubbery.
"Not ... here!" she groaned. "Please. My . . . room. Fuck me in . . . bed!"
The last time Frances had been fucked, both she and the salesman had been so excited they'd done it on the floor right by the front door. Afterwards, she been both ashamed and unsatisfied. Bitches in heat, animals who didn't have a choice, did it anywhere, with anyone. She promised herself never to act like a bitch again.
Her words finally penetrated through Lars' cunt-struck mind. He pulled away from her slippery, tasty pussy and licked the flavor of her cunt from his lips. He looked up at her with a wet, red face. His palms were still holding her asscheeks.
"Please," she said, looking down at his excited, flushed face. "Let's get comfortable. You can do anything you want to me in my room."
Lars' grip on her ass tightened. "Anything?" he asked, for her words had jolted his deepest, darkest wet dreams.
She nodded. "Anything," she smiled wickedly. After nearly twenty years of marriage, Frances was sure nothing this boy could think of would surprise her.