Mature Mrs Hallam And Her Cocksucker Photos free porn video

FOREWORD

Yeah, bored this Sunday. Felt like writing something nasty which features my personal fave of a mature blonde lady with big boobs and a dirty mouth; one who looks and sounds like butter wouldn’t melt. Then, when the heat takes her she de-cloaks into the Super Cougar and gets her claws into some young male meat.

The poor boy.

But he does well in the end. *wink*. There’s a twist in the tale.

I hope you enjoy the scene, which is largely unedited so there are likely to be errors and/or typos in the text. Apologies for any and all fuck-ups. I just wanted to smash this scene out for xHamster before the week’s proper work came in. I wrote it off the cuff and sort of made it up as I went over yesterday.

Anyway. Here it is. Comments and feedback are welcome, as long as it's constructive and not just, "Your story sucks." I can take pointers for improvement – like I probably overused ‘clit’ in this scene. Anyone got a decent synonym? I try to throw in nub and bean, but…

Oops. Sorry. Babbling. I’ll STFU.

Thanks for reading.

Ricky - Cambridgeshire, UK - 8th of June 2020

#

“Oh, I didn’t know those were up here.”

“I wasn’t looking.”

My face burned because she knew it was a lie. She gave me one of those looks, almost like pity, her expression all about, Oh … Come on … really?

Then she said it out loud. “I think you were. But it’s all right. You don’t have to lie.”

“I’m sorry,” I said as my cheeks flared hotter. Mortified, I felt sweat prickle along my spine.

She shrugged and moved closer to me. I passed them to her when she held out her hand.

“God, I don’t know what you must think,” she said as she flipped through the photos.

Some were black and white, others were colour, the tones washed out and faded with age while a few were more recent. Some of the photos were glossy while some had a matt finish. A lot of the monochrome pictures had a white border and there were some polaroids in the shoebox. It was obvious they encompassed a long period of time. I couldn’t guess at how many occasions they recorded, but she was younger in some, older in others.

Her eyes came up for a second when she said it. Then she went back to the photos again. She went through them quickly, with a cursory glance at each before moving to the next like she was handling a deck of cards.

I was embarrassed for myself because she’d caught me with my nose in what wasn’t my business, but also for her because of what she was doing in every single one of those pictures.

“I’m sorry,” I said again because I didn’t know what else to say. Plus, she made me feel uncomfortable. I was awkward when she was around. It was instinctive, something primal in me which put me on edge. She looked like an old-fashioned schoolmarm. Attractive yet stern despite her smiles and elegant diction. She had an aura about her, sexy but scary. I knew she was up around 50. My boss, Bernie, had made a lewd comment as we’d driven to the house. Bernie had the same opinion about Mrs Hallam’s sexual appeal as me, which he’d voiced as he told me about the job while we rattled along in the battered Ford Transit, tools loose in the back.

Then, like those photos were nothing more than old holiday pictures from a time long before mobile phones and digital cameras, she got to the last one in the pack and gave a sigh, the sound nostalgic while she looked at me with a wistful cast to her smile.

“These must go back to … Oh, let me think,” Mrs Hallam said, pausing before adding, “nineteen fifty-eight or -nine? Something like that.”

Then she looked at the pack and showed me the one at the top. It was her with a thick, veiny cock in her mouth. She was wearing a hat, her lips around the cock, big boobs d****d over the man’s thigh as he fed her his meat. It was lewd and made my cock twitch because it was her in the picture. I’d seen pornography before but hadn’t been face-to-face with the model.

“Garden party last summer,” Mrs Hallam explained. “That’s the one of the barmen we hired I’ve got in my mouth. My husband took the picture.” Mrs Hallam paused and glanced at the shoebox. “My husband took just about all of those photos,” she said, casual, not a care in the world. Like it was an everyday thing to have a visiting tradesman – well, apprentice – discover your stash of private, personalised pornography in a shoebox up in the attic. “He’s in a few,” Mrs Hallam continued, “my husband. But he prefers to watch and take the pictures. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a bit of dirty fun. I don’t let them fuck me, and I don’t mind sucking a cock. It’s very exciting to watch a man come. I’ve done it dozens of times. Probably hundreds.”

Speechless, I just shrugged and looked past her for a way out. We were in the attic, which meant the sole point for access and egress was the sturdy, telescopic ladder behind her. I was too slow to react when she first appeared. I hadn’t heard her climb the ladder. It wasn’t one of those flimsy aluminium jobs. It was solid, well made. It didn’t creak or rattle and her head and shoulders were through the sizeable hatch before I knew she was there.

“I didn’t mean to look at them,” I said, blurting it out.

My stomach flipped over several times when she just looked at me, the photos in her left hand, her expression showing something I couldn’t define. Still caught up in the shock of her catching me looking, I was more concerned with getting away. It was the fight or flight response kicking in. My hands and legs trembled and my heart raced like a jet fighter screeching into the sky. But there was something disturbing in the way she smirked and stared at me which also caused a reaction. My cock, already hard from looking at the photos, pulsed and seeped precum, the goo clammy and sticky, and I actually felt my scrotum go tight as the skin shrunk around my tingling balls. I was supposed to be working, lining the walls of the attic, and I was concerned that I was in trouble. I was anxious in case she dobbed me in to Bernie, which on hindsight, was a silly idea, but it was confusing to feel my body’s response to her presence and that look in her eyes.

She kept smirking and said, “Shocked you, hasn’t it?”

What did she expect? I was up there doing a job. It was another day’s work and I had nothing on my mind beyond a couple of technical problems and a vague notion the weekend was only two days away. Boarded out years before, there was all the usual stuff stored in the attic: a couple of old suitcases with leather corners, a Christmas tree in a battered box taped at the corners and edges, golf clubs, a shoebox full of photographs of Mrs Hallam sucking cock…

“I … I need to get something from downstairs,” I managed to say.

To which she tutted and folded her arms beneath her sizeable breasts. On that afternoon, Mrs Hallam was wearing a light summer dress in some sort of wraparound style. Loosely belted in the middle the dress, had a deep V at the neck, and while I hadn’t exactly perved at her, I was aware of Mrs Hallam’s ripe voluptuousness.

“Oh, Jason,” she said through her grin, “you don’t have to run away.” She held up the pictures. “Don’t get all funny about these,” she added. “They’re not a secret. Well,” she went on after pulling a face, “my c***dren haven’t seen them, of course. God, I’d die if they knew their mother was such a slut!”

Mrs Hallam rolled her eyes and gave a wry chuckle.

“I don’t know what he was thinking by leaving them up here,” she said, one eyebrow raised.

I found out later that she was the one who put the shoebox in the attic. Mrs Hallam confessed when the situation moved on from her initial seduction that, bored during the day while her husband was at work, she fancied diversion and thought it’d be fun to tease the nineteen-year-old lad working in the attic.

“Mrs Hallam, it’s none of my business,” I gasped, desperate to get her out of the attic.

“It’s a thing we do,” Mrs Hallam continued.

She flipped through a couple of photos again, then glanced at the shoebox.

“Just a bit of excitement,” she told me, eyes on my face.

“Uh-huh. Okay,” I said.

“My husband likes watching.”

My cock pulsed again when I heard her say it.

“Gets him randy,” she said.

“Mrs Hallam--” I started, stopping when she held up a hand.

“Still does,” she said. “Fucks me like he did when we were courting. He gets very worked up.”

I gulped at the profanity as a huge aching void of sexual arousal yawned inside me.

“It’s only my mouth,” Mrs Hallam went on. Then her grin widened and she dropped an eyelid against one cheek in a conspiratorial wink. “And between my tits sometimes if I particularly like a chap. But shush, don’t tell my husband.”

Then she giggled like a girl, like she might have done back in 1950, before she was too mature to giggle.

Mrs Hallam even held her lower lip between her teeth and crinkled her nose at me. “I’d quite like to suck your cock,” she said with a vixen look on her face.

“Fuck me,” I said on a sigh of disbelief.

I hadn’t meant it that way, but Mrs Hallam’s eyes went round, eyebrows arched with faux incredulity. “You could at least offer to buy me a drink first, darling,” she said.

A moment later, she tinkled a laugh.

“So, would you like me to give you a nice little suck? A little diversion to see us through the day?”

There was no way I was about to refuse. I was shocked, of course. I was stunned with the surprise of first finding the stash of cock-sucker photos, which doubled-up into shock by her outrageous offer of more of the same, and while I had some vague notion about being caught with my dick in her face, the rush of lust made me reckless enough to let her do it.

“What? Really? You mean it?” I said without knowing I was going to ask.

She held the photos up once more. “Really, Jason, what a ridiculous question…”

#

Mrs Hallam held my dick in her left hand. She had her fingers curled round the shaft, the big diamonds in her engagement and eternity rings flashing in the sunlight which streamed in through the skylight set in the angled ceiling above us. I looked at the rings, saw her wedding band glint, and wondered what her husband was doing right at that moment.

She looked at my cock with an expression which told me she was feeling the need just as much as me. It was a predatory, feral, hungry look, something which revealed how she really was, her true, sexual self, the inner personality behind the elegant veneer she used as a front. That look was what I’d sensed and what had made me so uncomfortable being around her. There was a darkness inside Mrs Hallam. Not anything evil or necessarily bad, just something carnal, almost illicit. She was a Cougar a couple of decades before the phrase came into use, A MILF long before the American Pie movie put that acronym out there.

When she looked up and saw me staring, Mrs Hallam winked and gave me her grin. “Dirty boy,” she said before she set her focus back on my cock.

“I was just working,” I said.

Mrs Hallam looked at me again. She was on her knees, a flattened cardboard box as a cushion against the hard wooden boards. She had her dress up to her thighs, one hand working my cock while she caressed her own breasts from outside the dress with the other.

“You were looking at pictures of me sucking men’s’ cocks,” she said with a feral glint behind her eyes. “Probably going to have a wank as well I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“I didn’t mean to look at them,” I said with a gasp. It was difficult for me to reconcile the language she used to her composed and elegant style.

I was desperate to make her believe me. Despite what she was doing and her apparent enjoyment I couldn’t shake the niggling feeling I would get into trouble. I was a product of the times. Young, naive, not a virgin – although my experiences to date couldn’t compare to Mrs Hallam, the attic, and her photos – but I was still afraid of authority. Raised by the generation which came immediately after the Second World War, I knew breaking the rules had consequences.

“But you did. I saw you gawping,” she said.

“I … I couldn’t help it. They … You…”

“Blew your socks off almost, didn’t they, Jason,” she drawled.

“I can’t believe it,” I said.

“Oh, Jason, darling, you don’t have a clue.”

She said it with a low growl, jacking my cock as she looked into my face. Then, after a quick sigh which told me she was hot and bothered and horny, Mrs Hallam opened her mouth and took the dome between her pursed lips.

“Fuck,” I grunted while she snuffled and gasped and sucked her cheeks concave.

I boggled. I couldn’t quite believe it as I watched Mrs Hallam sucking my dick. It was amazing, like something out of Mayfair, a story someone made up for a mucky magazine. She went at it with her fingers down at my root, her hand working me down near my balls, the bulb in her mouth, glugging and glomming like she was making porn. During a lull, after licking the keel from my balls to the tip, her fist moving with fast, urgent strokes, Mrs Hallam smiled, eyes full of clandestine intent.

“You like me sucking your dick?” she asked.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” I said. The heat was on me and I was crude with the compliments. “I think you’re sexy.”

“Thank you,” Mrs Hallam replied. “It does me good to hear a young man say that. I was very pretty when I was younger. I turned a lot of heads in my twenties. But as I get older…”

Mrs Hallam swirled her tongue around the swollen cockhead, her stare set with mine while she teased and taunted with her eyes.

“You might be one of those ones who gets to come on my tits,” she purred when she came off my dick. “For being so nice.”

She said it and then went back to slurping my cock. She made the noises, wanking at me, her free hand sneaking into the dress.

“I wanna see your tits,” I growled, crude and aggressive with need.

Mrs Hallam looked up and eyeballed me, my cock in her mouth. She held it between her lips and used her hands on her dress at the lapels. She peeled and shrugged and the dress fell looser at the middle as the belt slipped. I saw one tanned shoulder Mrs Hallam’s upper arm when the dress slid down at that side. Then she shrugged again, my dick still caught between her pursed lips, her gaze locked with mine.

“Yeah,” I said when the bodice was at the crooks of her arms.

“Boys and big tits,” Mrs Hallam said. My dick waggled after she let it drop from her mouth, her tone close to mocking as she freed her arms from the dress. “Always been the same,” she added while scooping one boob from her bra. “They’re only tits,” Mrs Hallam went on as she hefted the other one free.

Then she gave me the same old grin and shimmied, the action setting her big, round breasts to swinging.

“I don’t know why you men go silly for them,” she said as I gawked and took hold of my cock.

“Ah, fuck, they’re fantastic,” I gurgled while tugging myself.

Mrs Hallam did the girly giggle again. She pressed her arms against her breasts, compressing tit-flesh, nipples long, aroused teats, the flesh excited in the big circular saucers. I groaned and wanked my cock, hot for Mrs Hallam’s big breasts. I couldn’t explain why I felt like I did. I didn’t know what it is that makes breasts so appealing to men, or at least what excites me, but there’s just something in the way they jiggle and sway. It’s in their contours and shape. They’re all the same basic design but supremely crafted. For me, it’s not just big tits that get me aroused. I love little boobs, too. In fact, at nineteen, I was just mad for women in general. At an age when it was all about hormones and heat, when it was all about sex, before I’d fully matured and refined my attitudes to be less chauvinistic, I looked at women and judged them on their aesthetic appeal.

And Mrs Hallam had it all going on. She had the looks, the demeanour, the boobs, and the legs.

“Yes, I know,” Mrs Hallam replied. “If I had a pound for every time I’ve had that said to me,” she said with a glance at her own spectacular frontage. “Well, I’d be a very rich woman.”

Mrs Hallam looked up at me, teasing me with a deep cleavage and pimpled areolae as she crinkled her nose in what seemed to be one of her tricks.

“Gotten me into all kinds of trouble,” she said as she made her boobs jiggle. “These big tits,” she went on through a sigh and her smirk.

“I want to fuck you,” I said as I worked hard at my dick.

“Mm, yes, I suppose you do,” Mrs Hallam said with a pout. She gave me a pitying look. “You’re not the first one to say it.”

“So, lie down,” I said. “Take that dress off.”

Mrs Hallam gave me a mocking look. “Wouldn’t it be easier if I took the dress off first?”

“I don’t care. Please, just take it off.”

She put a hand on my thigh and heaved up to her feet. “I’ll take it off, but I’m not letting you fuck me.”

Disappointment was a leaden sinker into the pit of my stomach when I heard her say it.

“Please,” I groaned, my eyes on her swinging tits.

She let the dress fall. “No,” she said. “I’m not supposed to fuck. That’s not allowed.”

I stared at her as she stepped out of the dress. Her boobs shivered and swung, cantilevered over her bra. She was soft and rounded, a mature lady, not a skinny young thing. c***dren and time had had an effect, but she still had a figure that was entirely, wonderfully feminine. I was nineteen and felt a surge of deep yearning to experience her body, a near overwhelming urge to tear her underwear off her and lay her down so I could plunge into her up to my balls. Desire bubbled, boiling in the indefinable place which is neither guts nor gonad.

It was instinct, a primordial urge, especially strong when Mrs Hallam used profanity. To hear her say ‘fuck’ was as shocking to me as seeing a nun smoking a cigarette. It was somehow entirely understandable but wrong at the same time.

“But I want to,” I whined as Mrs Hallam paused, thumbs at the waist of her briefs.

Her underwear was surprisingly dainty. Of an age where I thought she might be wearing unflattering bloomers, Mrs Hallam’s knickers were more gentle and soft. They were blue, with a panel over her vulva, the material packed full while the sides were lacy and pretty. Her panties were high cut at the tops of her legs, the waistband barely more than string around her hips.

When she paused she looked at me, reinforcing the original notion I’d had about her being the old-fashioned schoolmarm.

“If you don’t behave,” she said, “there’ll be no more of this.”

At which she shoved her underwear down over her thighs and revealed a completely bald vulva, the inner folds of her labia plainly visible where they peeped from the fleshy outer lips. Later, when Mrs Hallam first opened her legs to give me a full view of her intimate places, it shocked and thrilled me in equal measure to see those female folds were thick, meaty flaps, her clit something close to the size of the top joint of my pinkie finger. It was an incredible sight to behold the butterfly wings of Mrs Hallam’s scarlet, glistening quim. It would be one of the most enduring moments in my memory, something which always put me in favour of a glorious, sexy older woman.

When she revealed herself, knickers at her knees, fists on her hips, expression belligerent but also showing a hint of self-doubt behind her eyes, I gasped because it was 1983 and it wasn’t so common for a lady to shave off her thatch.

“I thought that would get your attention,” Mrs Hallam said as she posed.

Which is when I moved in close, cranking my dick, the excitement of it too much as the surge began and spunk flicked from me in a thick, vehement rush.

Mrs Hallam yelped as the first squirt spattered against her skin. “Oh!” she cried, when the jizz landed on her hip.

As she said it, the second spurt hit her stomach, another two forceful spatters leaving gooey, glistening ropes. One on her ribs on the right side, another on her thigh.

“Jason! Oh bugger! You’re coming,” she added, as more of the stuff dripped onto the boards.

I gasped and moaned as the joy of it took me. I cranked at my length, mindless to the carnage while Mrs Hallam stared in slack-faced, wide-mouthed dismay.

“Uh, ah, fuck,” I said, snorting the words.

I wanked until I had nothing left, groaning with pleasure until, while a snotty silver thread shivered and finally dripped from the end of my cock, coherent thoughts filtering through.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” I heard Mrs Hallam say on a half-chuckle. “Caught me by complete surprise,” se went on. “I’m glad you didn’t do that when I had you in my mouth. I’d have just about drowned.”

I was sucking in air, the residual excitement still on me while Mrs Hallam surveyed the damage.

As I looked on, she tutted and rolled her eyes, shoving her underwear down to her feet before she stepped out of the insubstantial scrap.

“I do adore a youngster who comes like a fountain,” Mrs Hallam continued. “What did you do? Store it up for a week?”

I’d come but the arousal was a fire inside me. Seeing her naked had the effect. Mature, incredibly sexy with her bald vulva and large breasts, Mrs Hallam was like a d**g. I thought she was wonderful as she looked at the cum, the goo dribbling over her skin. Then, in an action which is another enduring memory like a tattoo on my mind, Mrs Hallam scooped spunk with a forefinger, held the dollop up so she could examine it and, after making sure I was watching, she slipped the finger between her lips.

Then she did it again.

Then she chuckled, the sound rich and dark. It was the dirtiest laugh I’d heard in my life. And with good reason because what she did next was show me the grin, get down so she was knelt on the cardboard again, reached for my cock, and then sucked every trace of ejaculate from the bell-end and shaft.

“We’re going downstairs,” Mrs Hallam said when she stood up.

I gawked and said, “We are?”

When she smirked and turned I felt the arousal rush through me again. It was her feminine shape that did it for me. I saw her shoulders and the sweep of her body down into her waist. Her buttocks and thighs were taut, the skin elastic in the way only a woman’s skin can be. Her calves, sculpted and shapely, were under pressure because of her shoes. The blue high heels, to match her briefs and her dress, exaggerated the length of her legs, muscles tight.

“Come on,” Jason,” she said as she started to move.

When she turned to look back over one shoulder, her ash-blonde bob shimmered, hair straight and almost perfect, with only a couple of flyaway strands from where I’d pushed my fingers through her hair when she sucked my cock.

My insides lurched and my cock jerked with renewed vigour when I saw the sway of her hips. I even gave my dick a few quick, encouraging strokes, my eyes set on her rump.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“My bedroom,” she said.

I paused. “But what if Bernie comes back? Or your husband?”

She was at the top of the ladder, naked except for her shoes and her bra. “I’m not expecting Bernard until four-thirty,” she said. “He’s picking you up. Why would he have any need to come back?”

I shrugged, unsure. “I dunno. He might,”

“He’ll knock. He won’t come into my bedroom. Don’t worry.”

I watched her boobs sway as she grabbed at the robust rail and put a shoe on the ladder.

Mrs Hallam paused and looked at me. “And my husband would only take pictures,” she added.

#

Excited and nervous, I took a quick look around the room. Her bedroom, the most prominent object in there, of course, was the marital bed. I thought about that, but only for a brief moment. I was nineteen, had my hard dick sticking out of my flies, and was gawking at a desirable, supremely attractive and naked older woman who was unclasping her bra while still wearing those high heel shoes.

“You might as well take your clothes off,” Mrs Hallam said. “You need to be comfy, and I don’t want buttons and things poking into me.”

I did think about saying I’d love to poke my dick into her but thought better of it. She’d made it clear that full sex wasn’t going to happen. It was a disappointment for sure. There wasn’t anything more in the world I desired than to fuck into Mrs Hallam’s meaty cunt right in that moment. But having her suck my cock was already more than incredible. I might have been desperate for her but knew enough to keep my mouth shut.

“What are we going to do?” I asked as I pulled my tee-shirt over my head.

I stopped, paralysed with shock and surprise when Mrs Hallam first sat on the bed and then eased back to take her weight on straight arms angled behind her, legs coming up so she could fold them at the knees and spread her thighs. That’s when I first saw the ungainly, ugly-beauty of her cunt, the thick folds loose and crinkled as they parted with a tacky reluctance as she splayed them with the tips of her fingers.

“Don’t be frightened,” she said, holding her flaps back like butterfly wings. “It looks big but it isn’t. It’s tight inside.”

I boggled, lust a heavy drag at my guts while Mrs Hallam smiled at me, half-shy, half-vixen as she swung her knees side-to-side in short little arcs.

“But--” I started, and then had to cough. The word came out as a croak because need, desire, and a dreadful, aching yearning had swelled my chest and blocked my throat. I coughed and cleared it and then managed to get the words out. I said, “But I thought you said I couldn’t fuck you.”

To which, after pulling her bottom lip between her teeth and she stared at me for a few seconds, Mrs Hallam said, “I did. What makes you think I changed my mind?”

Confused, I felt foolish, heat warming my cheeks. “Yuh-you said it’s tight…”

“It is, but I thought you might be put off.” Mrs Hallam gently slapped the flats of her fingers over her sex, the sound thick and sloppy. “Piss flaps like elephant’s ears my husband says,” she went on with a roll of her eyes. “I was just saying you don’t need to be scared. In case you were. You know, because of these.”

Her labia shivered when Mrs Hallam teased the folds with her fingers. She stretched them and I saw her scarlet core glisten. Then she slid the tip of a forefinger over her clit.

“I don’t usually do this,” Mrs Hallam said. “But, well, I quite like you, Jason. First impressions are you’re a decent lad. I’ve got an instinct for character and I reckon you’re nice. You’re not pushy like some of them are.”

Mrs Hallam’s upper lip curled with disdain as she paused and looked at me with that feline look behind her eyes again. Then she flicked her clit with her thumb a few times, gasping and wincing as her tummy tensed and her boobs shook and rolled.

“You were shy at first. And it was really sweet the way you blushed.”

Mrs Hallam glanced at my hard-on and then looked me right in the eyes.

“I don’t know if you’re aware,” she said. “But that’s quite a big cock. It’s really made me feel quite fruity. I’m randy and my cunny’s wet.”

To prove it, Mrs Hallam spread her flaps again. She even forced her thighs wider, holding herself open to expose the cerise mystery of her glistening centre.

“So,” she added as I gazed, mouth slack, “what I thought, as a special treat, is you might like to lick me right here.”

Mrs Hallam indicated exactly where she wanted me to focus my attention by teasing her clit between her forefinger and thumb before she slid the middle- and ring-fingers of her left hand into her body.

I gasped and moaned, eyes on the sight of it while the symbols of marital fidelity glinted and winked, the finger inside her squelching twat in almost up to the knuckle. As I stared, Mrs Hallam worked those digits against her insides. When she did, she grunted and closed her eyes and shifted position to bring her weight onto her side, legs wide as she rested on one hip and an elbow, left hand uppermost as she carried on mining her cunt, right hand mauling her tits.

“Jason, fuck, don’t just stand there. Take your fucking clothes off,” Mrs Hallam said, moaning the words. She looked at me through heavy-lidded, lust-glazed eyes, tit-flesh squeezing through her fingers as she grabbed at herself, fingers working her sex. “I need you to lick it. I need to have a sweet little orgasm, darling. Do that for me and I’ll suck your cock. How does that sound?”

I thought it sounded like an excellent fucking idea! I couldn’t believe she was going to let me get my face on her big floppy twat, but I worked past the doubt by toeing the heels of my trainers to get them off my feet at the same time as I unbuttoned my jeans and unzipped he flies.

I got my shoes, jeans, and underwear off, erection waggling around, the jib wild as I all but jogged to the bed.

“Socks, Jason, please,” Mrs Hallam said. “A modicum of fucking decorum, darling. Don’t be an oaf.”

That stayed with me. The socks. I never went to bed with the girlfriend I was destined to meet a couple of months in the future while wearing my socks. It was a girlfriend I would actually marry. But that’s another story because I was weeks away from meeting her in one of the market square pubs. Right then, on that afternoon, it was all about Mrs Hallam and her comfortable body. I was mad for her bald mound and wonderful pussy. I was eager to get my lips and tongue on those big loose folds and oversized clit.

“Ooh, fuck, yes, suck on my bean, you naughty, gorgeous boy,” Mrs Hallam said on a groan as I tasted her essence.

I had limited experience at pleasing a woman with my face at that time. For sure, I was full of enthusiasm, but that didn’t quite make up for style and finesse, or so Mrs Hallam informed me. I first went at her all slurpy and giving big licks. I slobbered and lapped, my hands moving over any part of her body I could reach. I wasn’t sure if she’d let me touch her at first. There were no clear boundaries except for the frustrating, “I’m not letting you fuck me,” thing. But, as I flicked her clit with my tongue, I slid my hand over her tummy and went for her boobs.

The spongy-firm texture made me squirm against the bed to get some friction on my dick. I didn’t have enough hands for what I wanted to do, which was wank my cock while grabbing and squeezing Mrs Hallam’s boobs, her bottom … anything I could get hold of.

So, there I was, wriggling around, hands full of womanly flesh, her pussy slick on my tongue while her essence siped from her scarlet opening.

Then Mrs Hallam let out a gasp. She said, “You’re doing a lovely job down there, Jason. It’s lovely, darling, but…”

#

Mrs Hallam moaned and grunted. She gasped out my name and said I was lovely.

Then the judders began. Her orgasm hit her and she squirted a viscous spurt of honey against my tongue. At the time I was licking the elastic skin between her vagina and pee-hole. I also had two fingers inside her, teasing the spongy walls within, the tips of two fingers working against some small, irregular patch of rougher skin which made Mrs Hallam writhe and burble obscenities whenever I rubbed it.

That was something else which shocked me about her. For all her style and elegance, the more aroused Mrs Hallam became, the deeper into the gutter her language dropped. She wasn’t shy when it came to the sweating. There was no rationing of obscenities. She called me names and described parts of her body with a crude litany of synonyms not even a sailor could match. As I licked and lapped and probed, Mrs Hallam begged me to worm my tongue deeper into her slippery cunt. She urged me to finger her slutty twat and also growled at me to finger her ‘til she pissed cum over my face.

Her words, I swear.

Mrs Hallam started off gentle as she guided me with verbal instructions and the way she positioned her body. I was eager to learn and tried really hard, the result being she started with the sewer-mouthed filth, writhed, gasped, and came.

Hard.

Then, when it was over and she was sucking in air, huge eyes on my face, she pulled me up from between her legs and pushed her tongue into my mouth.

It took me by surprise, but I returned the kiss, my hands full of her ripe curves.

“Suck my tits,” Mrs Hallam said with a grunt. “Yes, baby, yes, suck on my nipples. Play with my tits. You love those things, don’t you, Jason, my lovely?”

Then it happened. I’d sucked on Mrs Hallam’s long, thick teats, my fingers playing with her labia – not her clit because that felt like electric shocks if I touched it she told me – and had kissed her mouth for ten minutes or more while she sighed and moaned.

“You know I said I’d suck you,” Mrs Hallam said as she pulled away and sandwiched my cheeks between her palms.

I nodded as best I could while she held my face that way, her stare locked with mine.

“Well, I lied,” she added.

“Mmf,” I said.

“No, listen.” She held my face, eyes wide while she slowly nodded. “I’ll still suck your cock,” Mrs Hallam added. “But later. If you still want me to.”

I gasped and pulled free. “But--” I said.

“No, shush,” Mrs Hallam put in as she placed a forefinger over my lips. “You don’t understand. You see, I know I said I won’t let you fuck me, that fucking is against the rules…”

Mrs Hallam removed the finger. She shrugged.

“But I like you, Jason. I like you a lot.”

I gawped as it percolated through and Mrs Hallam moved over the bed until she was resting with her shoulders against a couple of pillows propped against the headboard.

Next, Mrs Hallam spread her legs. She held herself splayed and licked her fingers before she used them to split her folds, a digit slipping into the opening before she worked circles around her clit.

“Come on, Jason; come here, my darling. Just come and fuck me,” she sighed.

#

I was between her thighs, up on my knees, I stroked my cock, sensations swirling inside me as I looked at her vulva, framed as it was by the smooth skin of her taut inner thighs. Mrs Hallam rested with her torso inclined at sixty degrees. She was still wearing the shoes, straps buckled around her ankles, knees folded, and even from that elevated position looking down at her I could see a hint of her anus in the shadow where the undercurve of her buttocks swept in and up. Her big boobs jiggled when she again sawed a finger between her substantial flaps, her eyes slits as she looked at me, teeth clenched. It was another sexy expression, all about relentless, desperate need, a raging fire of arousal she could only extinguish through sexual fulfilment.

“Come and fuck me,” Mrs Hallam urged.

I knee-walked in closer, slowly working my hand over my cock as I leaned over her body to take my weight on one straight arm. With the other hand I aimed my bulb at her body, excitement a hot rush when I surveyed her frontage and marvelled at how, only thirty minutes earlier I’d been measuring sheets of ply.

I gulped, swallowing down on the surge of emotion. “Mrs Hallam, you’re lovely,” I said on a murmur.

She nodded, eyes wide and staring. “Put it in, Jason. But put it sweet and slow. Don’t go charging off. Not yet. There’ll be time for you to show me what a man you are. But when you first put it in, just make it lovely.”

I knew what she was talking about because I felt it, too. It was sex but there was also more to it. I understood she was breaking the rules with me, that this was a betrayal. Regardless of her husband being complicit in the cocksucker photos, what we were doing broke the agreement she had with him.

So, it was up to me to make it worthwhile. She didn’t want me to climb on and start banging away. Mrs Hallam wanted romance – or at least as much as I could offer. She wanted to love, for us to be tender and warm.

There might even have been love sparking between us. Not that it would be a long-lasting flower, but at least it could flourish and bloom for a short while.

That’s why, as I shifted my weight onto both arms and gave Mrs Hallam control of my cock, I held her gaze when she offered the dome to her body.

“Oh,” she sighed when the bulb popped the faintest, slick resistance and she took half the length in one quick, liquid glide.

I gasped and looked down to our conjunction and saw her labia clinging to the shaft. When I looked at her face again, I gave the slightest nudge with my hips and her body took me all the way in.

When she had all of me in her molten embrace, I moved down onto my elbows and offered a kiss.

“Mm,” she breathed.

“Ah,” I sighed as we started to move.

I loved her for as ling as I could. Then, when the urges surged and we both seemed to burn with passion simultaneously, the fucking started and I was up on my hands, my cock moving like a greasy piston, her body taking me until my pubic bush flattened against her bald pubic mound.

We grunted and sorted, rutting with bestial vigour as our bodies collided with thick meaty thwacks. I shifted around at her instructions, changing the depth and angle of the thrusts as she clung to my shoulders and fucked her hips so her cunt took every squelching stroke.

“Mm-hmm, oh yes. Fuck, baby, fuck. Love me and fuck me,” Mrs Hallam gasped.

I ducked in and slobbered a kiss against her mouth, after which it descended into us licking each other’s tongue, moving together in synchronised lust which had us both moaning and urgent.

“You like it, Jason?” she asked.

“Yeah, I love it. You’re incredible.”

“Is tight like I said?”

“It’s perfect,” I told her with no word of a lie.

“We shouldn’t be fucking.”

“I don’t care about that, Mrs Hallam.”

“Me neither,” she said through a snarl. “I want this. I want your gorgeous cock.”

“You’ve got it,” I moaned.

“Oh, Jason, are you going to come?”

“I don’t want to,” I said on another low moan.

I was working hard at holding it in. I didn’t want it to end. It enthralled me to watch her breasts as they shivered and rolled. I wanted to watch her face and see the expressions shifting from joy to desire to what looked to be something like wonder before she winced and gasped and urged me to fuck her.

“You shouldn’t but I want you to do it inside me.”

She was looking at me, eyes wide, awe behind her eyes.

“Nobody has come inside me since I got married,” Mrs Hallam went on. “I’ve sucked hundreds of cocks. I’ve had spunk over my stomach, my breasts, even my face and in my hair. I’ve had dresses ruined when men have gotten carried away, but you’re the first one I’ve let fuck me. You’re the first one I’ll let come inside me besides my husband.”

She was working herself into a climax by saying all that. I knew it excited her to say it because it excited me, too.

Mrs Hallam groaned and clawed at the bed, grabbing the sheets like she wanted to tear them loose while she brought her calves up to my flanks, hands going to my shoulders while she shunted her pelvis and stuck her chin on her chest.

She called out a thrilled, “God, look at how fucking gooey you are!”

At which I looked down and saw my shaft smeared with buttery gloop when it appeared on the outstroke.

“That’s you,” I said, mesmerised by the sight.

“It’s us,” she moaned, hips working hard.

We went at it with frantic energy, grabbing each other and kissing, bodies moving with liquid squelches until, at last, on the back of a long, low moan, I sobbed I was coming.

Whatever I had left in the tank I squirted into Mrs Hallam. I came, mumbling nonsense about love and how she was so beautiful as she took it all from me. I grunted and slumped down, holding her to me while I emptied myself and, when the fog cleared I realised Mrs Hallam was there with me for the ride. As I’d dumped my lust, she’d had a hand down there between us, the fingers on her clit so she could rub herself through those final few paces.

We climaxed and kissed, panting into one another’s open mouth while we cooled. Then the shrivelled giblet slid from hr body in a quick, slippery rush.

“Oh, God, there’s cum sliding out of me, Jason,” she said with a dark, lascivious chuckle.

“Sorry,” I said.

She held me and grinned. “Don’t worry. I rather quite like it.”

We kissed some more, slower and loving. Then, after several minutes and we were both recovered, Mrs Hallam told me it was over.

“Better get dressed and get back to the attic,” she said. “I’ve got to clean myself up…” She paused and moved off the bed. I watched and felt a quiver of desire when I saw her body. “And I need to change the fucking bed,” she added, then grinned at me.

I didn’t want to go. I wanted to stay and look at her until I got hard and we could do it again. Her shape, the texture of her skin, the kissing, and my youthful vigour meant I’d could easily manage another tumble on the big bed. But Mrs Hallam wasn’t having any of it so, with the greatest reluctance and some petulance, I dressed and went back to work.

#

It was torture that night. I kept thinking about Mrs Hallam and her cock-sucker photos. I couldn’t get her out of my mind. Distracted, I sleep-walked my way through the evening meal at home. I tried to distract myself with television and books. I went out to the pub but couldn’t focus on conversation of banter with the lads. I thought about sharing the adventure with my best friend Baz but thought better of it. It wasn’t like me to keep it a secret. I was a blabbermouth, always boasting and showing off. But there was something about the thing with Mrs Hallam that made me keep it to myself.

It turned out to be a prescient moment, a decision which I would come to be grateful I’d made.

Anyway, I knew Baz would only pester me for details. He’d want me to steal a few photos and would also spread it around. He was even capable of turning up at her house and causing no end of strife. I could get into trouble with Mrs Hallam and her husband. They might tell Bernie to sack me…

No, it was best all round if nobody knew except for the parties concerned.

It was a fitful, restless night. I didn’t sleep much. I dozed but kept stirring because I was excited to see Mrs Hallam again. I didn’t hold out much hope for more of the same, but there was a glimmer of hope which kept me awake.

I masturbated. Twice. I relived the moments where Mrs Hallam revealed her breasts. I tugged myself and pictured the way her boobs jiggled as I’d fucked into her fantastic pussy. I thought about her flaps and the oversized clit and the way she’d gasped and grunted when I’d flicked the bean with my tongue. I came while picturing her face and the way she’d slipped her finger through her labia, her expression a teeth-clenched snarl of desire, eyes flashing with lust when she’d told me to fuck her.

I wanked and came and then did it again just before the alarm went off. I washed all the vital areas before I went down to breakfast. I managed to keep up my end of the morning chatter as my mother bustled around. It was a normal Friday morning. Terry Wogan on BBC Radio 2, my pack-up ready on the kitchen counter next to the flask of tea I never drank. I met Bernie on the corner near Connie’s sweet shop.

He came in to have a word with Mrs Hallam about the conversion.

She ignored me apart from a polite greeting.

I grabbed my canvas satchel and took a few vital tools from the back of the van.

Disappointment sank into the pit of my stomach when I noticed the shoebox had gone.

I sighed, looked around at the jobs I’d neglected the previous afternoon, told myself to just get on with it, and started to work.

There was a rush of excitement when I heard noises like someone coming up the ladder.

They were, but it was Bernie. He told me what he expected and inspected what I’d done so far. Then he left after issuing advice and instructions.

She left me to suffer until 10 a.m.

“Is it your break time?” Mrs Hallam called from the foot of the ladder.

Everything lurched inside me at the sound of her voice. I’d made a couple of expeditionary visits to the toilet in the hope I’d see her, but there’d been no sign of her upstairs and I wasn’t brave enough to go down to the ground floor. Surprise and delight flashed through me when I heard her call.

I went to the hatch and looked down.

She was wearing another summer dress. This time in canary yellow. The colour suited her light golden tan. I thought she looked pretty, and possibly nervous. Anxiety squeezed my guts when I saw her expression, and my immediate thoughts, beyond admiring Mrs Hallam’s figure, were that I was somehow in bother.

“Would you come down,” Mrs Hallam said.

Her tone reinforced the impression I’d done something wrong.

“Uh, there’s a lot to do today,” I said. “Bernie told me--”

She cut me off as the excuse came burbling out. “Jason, just come down. I want to talk to you.”

Without waiting to see if I was on my way, Mrs Hallam turned and walked away. I sighed and then gulped as mixed emotions and sensation tumbled and swirled.

“In here,” she said as I went past her bedroom door.

The schoolmarm looked at me.

“What we did, Jason,” she said. “How do you feel about it today?”

“I … I can’t stop thinking about it, Mrs Hallam,” I said.

She looked gorgeous standing there with her eyes fixed to my face. I wanted to go over and kiss her.

“Are you sorry about it? Do you regret it at all?”

That surprised me. I hadn’t expected her to talk about regret on my part. Why would I be sorry? What was there for me to regret? I’d experienced the single most exciting sexual adventure of my life. She wasn’t a girl with the same limited experience as me. Mrs Hallam was everything a randy young bloke could dream of.

“I just wondered,” Mrs Hallam said after I shook my head. She shrugged and smiled like she was halfway embarrassed. “It got a bit … heated,” she added. “I said a lot of things. I hope I didn’t scare you, Jason.”

Desire simmered and my cock got stiff. “You didn’t scare me,” I said with a murmur. “I think you’re lovely.”

I was shy when I said it, catching some of the tension from her.

Her smile brightened. “You do? I mean do you really, Jason?”

I nodded, eager to please. “Yeah. Of course.”

“Am I not too … old?”

I gulped down on the astonishment. What the hell was she talking about?

I shook my head.

“My body…” she said.

I looked at her, puzzled. “What?”

“My … My vulva … You know, my labia, Jason.”

An image flashed across my mind’s-eye: she was on the bed, the big, loose folds pinned back with the tips of her fingers, cunt glistening and pink…

I closed my eyes and sucked air in through my nose. Then I let out a moan.

“It doesn’t put you off, Jason?” she asked.

“Put me off? You’re joking,” I said. I was getting bold with the aching need yawning in the pit of my stomach. My cock was stiff and I wanted to haul it out and wank it in front of her.

I’d show her how her body affected me…

“I just wondered if it wasn’t a little intimidating?”

“It’s lovely,” I said. “You’re lovely,” I added.

Fear and a little guilt squeezed me when she said, “I was going to tell my husband all about it…

“…but I didn’t,” she added after a pause.

I didn’t have a reply, so I just shrugged and nodded.

“I’m naked under this dress,” Mrs Hallam said on a whisper. She reached down to the skirt and lifted the hem to mid-thigh. Then she looked at me as her smirk started to form. “I could take it off if you like.”

My throat worked and I forgot to breathe for a couple of seconds.

“We could have a quick little fuck…?”

Everything surged. Lust boiled.

I nodded.

“Oh, goody,” she said.

#

There was no tenderness in it. It wasn’t love and affection. The second time we did it, I fucked her with confidence and vigour. I was mad for her body, wild with lust as I held her hips and worked my size into her cunt. Braced against the wall as she gasped and squealed, our difference in height forced up onto her toes despite the high shoes. I was taller than her, which meant she had to work to get her pelvis angled to where she could take my length into her body.

Mrs Hallam was just as keen and enthusiastic as me. She thrust back to meet me on the inward stroke, gasping as out bodies collided. The little spare flesh she carried on her hips and bottom rippled as I went at her.

“God, yes, just fuck me like that,” Mrs Hallam gasped.

Creased at the waist, tits swaying, she reached back with one arm, craning around to hook the nape of my neck with her fingers.

Mrs Hallam grinned at me, absolute joy in her face as she said, “Teenage cock … Lovely young lad … Use my cunt … God, Jason, keep fucking…”

It was awkward, but I leaned in to slobber a kiss against her mouth. She returned the kiss, gasping into my open mouth while I mauled her breasts, the texture causing the first tickle of a violent, spurting climax down in my shaft.

Mrs Hallam must have felt something because he pulled away from the kiss to brace herself with both forearms against the bedroom wall. She shoved back at me, head lolling loose, ash-blonde bob swinging. She gasped, “Not inside me this morning, Jason. Don’t come inside me.”

I held her hips and kept on smashing her cunt. The rush was imminent and I wasn’t listening to what she was saying.

It was what she moaned out next which made me pull out and jerk the fountain of spunk over her buttocks and back.

“I want to do it again later,” Mrs Hallam moaned. “Don’t do it inside me.”

Hearing say that brought on the rush. It was close, and I almost gave in to the sweet lure of emptying myself into her pussy as her insides squeezed my girth. I felt her skin, smooth and velvety under my fingers.

“Ah, fuck,” I grunted.

“God, baby,” Mrs Hallam moaned.

“You’re lovely,” I muttered.

And then, as the outrush began, I pulled myself clear and wanked it over her bottom. I sobbed in joy as I pumped my dick, my eyes catching the quick pink flash as her cunt gaped and her folds shivered.

After that it became a blur of delight while the hot stuff spattered onto her skin.

When it was over, Mrs Hallam wiped at the muck with one hand, licking cum off her fingers as she teased me with her eyes.

“Before the job’s finished,” Mrs Hallam said, “I think you should let me suck your cock. I do love to see a man come.”

She said it and then danced over to the bed where, mindless to the spunk on her backside and her back, lay on the cover where she could spread her thighs and get to work on her greedy cunt. I watched, only partway deflated as Mrs Hallam took a couple of minutes to get herself to her peak. She put on a bit of a show while she rubbed at herself, fucking two and three stiff fingers into her opening while also describing her thoughts and impressions in the crudest of terms.

When she finished, I was ready again. I stood near the bed, hard-on in one hand.

“Mm, look at that,” Mrs Hallam said through her smile. Then she leaned over the bed and sucked at the dome before she let it fall free. “Later. Not now. Get some work done, you dirty, lovely boy. I’ll call you when it’s time for a break.”

Which is how it went on for the rest of that job.

It was work a little and then fuck Mrs Hallam. Most days I fucked her three times, sometimes only two. We had a couple of interruptions and one very close call. One memorable time, Mrs Hallam sucked me from start to finish. It didn’t take long, but I left her with thick ropes of cum in her hair, spunk over her face, and huge, beaming smile. It amazed me she could get enjoyment from having my goo all over her face, but she said it got her all hot and bothered to see my excitement.

“It’ll wash off,” she said as she scooped ejaculate from her chin. “I’d be less pleased if we were somewhere public,” Mrs Hallam added. “But here…?” She shrugged and blurted a laugh as she then did her trick of sucking jizz from her fingers.

The filthy bitch kissed me after that, but I didn’t care, I was already feeling the need to fuck her again.

Then the job finished, the attic complete. It had taken Bernie’s expertise to finish it off, which made me petulant and pouty because his presence meant I couldn’t get at Mrs Hallam.

It was an emotional time for me. I was halfway in love with Mrs Hallam by then. I told her and we had a deep and meaningful in her bed. It was the last time I’d see Mrs Hallam’s glorious body naked again. It was over, but she sent me away after gently explaining how it could only have been what it was. I was young, she was too old. She was married and had no intention or even an inkling to leave her husband.

“I’m not going to betray him again,” Mrs Hallam said through a sigh. “This past week or so has been wonderful, Jason. You’re a gorgeous, sweet, beautiful man.” She smirked and nudged me and took the potential for my emotional response away by adding, “And you come like a firehose, darling. And I hope you’ve learned something about how to treat a lady.”

She kissed me and rolled away. I smacked her bottom to make it jiggle. She yelped and laughed.

Then she left me in her bed with my thoughts.

#

A couple of months later I was in the Green Man pub. It was Friday night. I was with Baz. It was payday and I was flush with cash like every Friday night. The pub was busy, as it always was on Friday. It was around 9 p.m. when I saw her standing near the bar. I liked her shape from the rear and wondered if she looked as good from the front. I’d had three pints of Tetley’s and was brave enough on it to make an approach.

The view from the front was a surprise. Not that she wasn’t pretty, because she was. In fact, I thought she was beautiful, it was just that her looks had a profound effect on me. I was smitten from the moment she turned around and smiled. I saw something in her face, maybe the grin, which told me she was a dirty girl with a penchant for dirty talk.

She was happy enough to let me buy her a drink. So I did. We talked. We clicked. She told me her name was Sarah. She was a year older than me and was home from university for a few weeks. I told her I liked her. She smiled and told me she thought I was nice. My insides flipped when I saw her smirk. We kissed.

Sex was an adventure. Sarah was wild and, after a couple of goes, proved she was open to just about anything to do with fucking.

She was the one who instigated the anal.

It was incredible sex.

But the sex wasn’t the only thing which drew me to Sarah. It was also her looks and her body. I adored her big, heavy and rounded tits; plus, she had piss flaps like elephant’s ears and an oversized bean about the size of the top joint of my pinkie finger.

I was nervous in the extreme when I first met her parents. Well, to be exact, I’d never seen her father before.

But I did know her mother…