Lori s office A crossed legged fantasy
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Former Dancer Grandma. A Crossed Legged Fantasy free porn video
"I've had a bulge in my pants ever since you crossed your thigh." It's her leg of course.... QUIET! I said to myself. You’re so hyped at this beauty, the thickness and remaining tone for her age. Her age,her age? I continued concentrating ...my lecherous perv on, becoming unwrapped.I thought on weirdly. Sexually pent up over this GILF in front of me. Crunching the numbers in my head from family knowledge: Mom was fifteen when she had me, they lived on farmland upstate so that's why so young...uh...grandma twenty-six ...when she had mom. I summed it all. I registered under my breathe. "She's so fine to be that age."
Grandma said, "I guess I will welcome your attention, it's just you and me here now-but I'm not surprised."
"Your thighs look so full and sexy to me lately. Can I take some pictures?"
"Of course, Jeremy. You mean family pictures right"? She smirked up at me. “Will these be for keepsake... or cheesecake?"
She looked up and posed for me. Glancing briefly at the effect she was inducing in the crotch my pants. She had that solemn look on her face -the look of knowing what men,over the years or in my case a young boy to her; wanted to see. She looked deep into my eyes to find that I was thoroughly enjoying the view. I felt like taking it out. Letting my boner bounce wildly into the air; for her to appreciate my complete lust of this crossed legged fantasy I was having. I’ve spied on her since puberty. She wore short skirts and short dresses only. Mostly in stockings like now. I can remember all the times I salaciously caught a glimpse of her nude thighs above her stocking tops, and tightly stretched straps.
I would ponder at the strength of the suspender belts usually two in front and two in back. Her legs looked so strong and her thighs would flex as she walked. Most of my joy from my horny snooping would be when I would pretend to be innocent when looking her way. Waiting for her to sit. Hoping for her to end in a sitting pose. That left me a perfect eyeshot of exposed thigh, in her revealing attire; the completion of Grandma's indelicate leg crossing. Also: Listening intently to mom and her; to gauge the ending of their mother and daughter sit down conversations.
Because with this my young mesmerized,anxious libido could witness her get up from her seat-to let me see her panties as she uncrossed her thighs and sexy,statuesque legs to stand. The two suspender belts would grab and extend securely to the clips atop those Mid-Thigh High Sheer Stockings. Her ample naked thigh flesh above the clutching elastic nylons was too much....my eyes would widen making my adolescent pecker harden.
So much thick alluring meat packed inside those dual translucent nylon columns that they touched to form my first sight of a woman’s private parts. The unintentional “Y” she would show me before adjusting her snug garment. Would leave me breathless, ears open waiting to hear the soft sound of brushed nylon as she walks out of the room.
Short thigh split skirts or short dresses similar to what she was wearing now- were the best. Because she seemed never in a hurry to hide her half nakedness from family, right? Giving me her grandson, a good and nasty complete view of those 39-inch hips swaying her exposed buttocks. Grandma’s stocking clad upper thighs and long mature legs. Never left my view; watching her fingers pull down on the hem with each immodest step ...her back side would eventually become clothed.
About thirty minutes went by with me inching closer camera in hand snapping jerk off pictures. As far as I knew she only appeared to be waiting while I was: Taking keepsake/family pictures. I just knew, this former Broadway dancer was at my disposal…
She often told me of her career and would show old me snapshots while fondly reminiscing of her life on stage. And that in 1945 she was 19 years old when the first of many showgirl poses were photographed for the signboard. I found them all in her basement. And drained my balls many a time as I housesat, while her and grandpa were vacationing.
But she wasn’t just the ordinary chorus line girl. Grandma was the marque girl. Her image or poster- at the entrance of the building, would entice the audience into the show. For example, one of my favorites; a provocative Nutcracker Costume, full body length marquee. I always brought a towel with me to view it- undisturbed of course. Her bare thighs fully exposed in the sleazy garb. Lithe,abundant and firm,young,tender flesh broadcasted to any male who saw this naughty placard- “cum on in to see my legs and thighs show boys”! I would always aim my spunk carefully into the catch cloth. Her teenaged “Y” was so tempting to spray ropes on.
And then she looked sternly at me. My eyes met hers so I stopped what I was doing. My 19 year old rock-hard dick felt annoyingly uncomfortable in my jeans. At that’s where she stared - and said.
“You have stop thinking of me as your Grand? Haven’t-you-my-grandson!”
I knew then my i****t had slipped into view. This woman was called a looker in the slang of her day. She knew what I was doing was cheesecake plain and simple. Like when she was 19. She knew a lot of boys and men looked at her in a special way-more than special. I kept thinking how many different photographers must have leered at her asking her to turn, bend and pose in ways that would never become a public photo. And how many boners did she see per show? I began to think nervously. Grandma knew every hot-blooded male audience member that looked at her poster -once inside the auditorium would lustfully search for HER heavenly shaped lower portion. Just-like-me.
She shifted and tweaked her full hips … waiting for an answer. Exposing more of what I wanted to see...and touch. Grand’s naked wide upper thigh came into view. Mature and firm from early years of athletic use. That alluring muscle tone had not completely gone. Her bare thigh above the nylon top- tempting me to kiss it.
I thought back on the times when she and I would take long walks. With me being so young and her- at that age- then. Or anytime I would be out with her. How I purposely but nonchalantly so she wouldn’t notice, walk behind her. Just enough before she turned around to find me spying her backside: in a stocking thighs- bouncy ass- fetish heat. On days of stockings with back seam porn show. I would just lie to her! And say I saw someone I knew and would catch up. Well I timed my departures and return just right every time. Because she never stopped walking to see where I was. Eventually sticking to my plan, I would end up close and closer behind those swinging GILF hips and ass. Her stockings becoming worn-from the sustained undulating motions of her sexy, hefty, meaty gams!
All her short skirts and short dresses, thank goodness- fit her tight. So, in my slow boner laden pace to catch up with her: In my vulgar spying. I was convinced.That one day I would anally fuck my grandma. In my erotic fantasy; she wore her back-seam stockings, skirt hiked up, thighs crossed seductively. And because of her position in my lap. My cock would feel clamped and moist deep in her anal cavity.
Before releasing long, warm, strong, deliberate ropes. As many as I could. As many as I wanted too! My sexually charged inventiveness imagined my large dick shooting up into Grandma's narrow private opening: How i****tuously easy! The idea of load after load pooling, while my hands groped beneath her torso. My reverie ends, with so much sperm drained from my excited balls to leak past her spiral ring.
“O yes -Jeremy to you - I’m-fantasy-grandma-is-that-it?” She said with a sexy woman’s experienced rhythm.
“Cheesecake...as in dessert. Am I right Jeremy?” She paused to examine the i****t fetish written all over my face.
The type of delighted gaze she knew and had seen before from her vast male audiences. I was in the front row right now-closer than they could have been but just as eager to grope this jam-packed,beautifully preserved-as they would say- dame into bed.
“So, tell me boy -or would you rather show me. If the pictures you’re taking aren’t enough. What else would you do?”
“Well grandma” I started to say. “I would like to ask you to….”
Her polite axiom interrupted me. “Change costumes and pose differently?”
“Boy.!” She caught herself, “I meant to say the word outfit or clothes. This situation reminds of those ham-fisted ‘grope-tographers’ on the strip. “
She went on talking-her eyes hooded looking back on a memory, to why she; misworded. “It wasn’t enough to twist every which-a -way for them, but handling me to address a wardrobe malfunction-they so professionally called it all at the time. Well I was a young and scrappy.” Smiling broadly. “I would curse like my Daddy the sailor man!” She slapped her thigh loudly.”..and a shapely teen back then too. I knew it. I meant money. All us girls did. But they had my charms up front and center!” She remembered laughing.” My producer upped me greenbacks -every time I blew my cap about my treatment at the hands of all those doll dizzy promoters.”
She sighed, from what I thought was frustration but she pulled away her dress to show me herself. I saw her panties and those precious nylons supported by the two suspenders. I realized joyfully it was not frustration …but acceptance...
She was half naked in front of me for what it was worth. Crossing her left thigh over right-right thigh over her left; for me to take pictures. The brushing nylons intoxicated me to the point of naughty nirvana. I had to adjust my 12-inch confined meat pipe. She saw me do that more than a couple of times.
“Alright handsome listen. 'My-Old-mans', in hospice we know that’s a fact...And I think you should call me Jean.” She chortled. “By the time we’ve popped your weasel we will be on a first name basis. How -does- that -sound- to- you- fella?” She sounded willing and prepared for her adultress,albeit i****tual; mischief.
Whenever my grandma would find herself in a serious or emotional situation. Her 1940s grammar/speech cadence would come to the forefront. I was serious too. I meant to fuck the shit of this mature turn on. And to tattoo my mushroom deep inside Jean- while she screamed MY name.
“We have time for anything Jeremy. But I’ll go find the that very short split skirt number and back seams you enjoy.”
With that she stood to leave. Before she turned away, she winked at me and made that “tick tock” sound from the back of her throat like Ann Margret did in the movie Cincinnati K**.
“Loose the pants BOY let THAT breathe...the SHOW will go on. I PROMISE.” She declared. Walking away still holding her dress in her hands so I could see all that was underneath!
I love watching her movements. All the time! I know her mannerisms and so on. So, as I’m standing there in a cold sweat- so as not to cum too soon: Her round cheeks in those panties, wiggling ass meat inside.
Walking as much as we have together and her healthy attention to her own anatomy kept gravity at bay. The load of carefully aged feminine brawn wrapped in nylon. Succulent is not strong enough of a word to describe the sight of her legs and thighs in motion. Memories of willfully ogling behind her during our back seam porn walks spark a thought in me.
Lame of me to finally think she knew all the time I was behind her for one reason only. Me delightfully aroused at the way she dressed in public. How her fingers repeatedly fine-tuned her short skirts and short dresses, so not to seem indecent. Just an immodest peek of bare thigh above stocking top and suspender clips was her plan.
Since she was 19 or younger for that matter. A girl shaped like her commuting to work on the sidewalks of New York? Catcalls whistles and worse came her way. She probably even heard the lewd sexual innuendos targeted at the girl on the marquee-as she walked inside the theatre!
And as if on cue to my newly acquired awareness she spoke loudly- for she was almost in her bedroom. Executing a dancer’s pirouette, even now holding her dress out of the way for me to see her lovely “Y”.
“Now-BIG BOY-I’ve-been-waiting-many-years-for-you-to-WHISTLE..."
So, I did. With all my heart; I felt like applauding this show she had given me for so many moons, (pun intended).
Instead we both noticed my standing ovation pointed her way. I looked down quickly knowing I was going to truly enjoy burying my long wide i****t ready cock inside her tight puckered hole.
“O my daughter’s son Jeremy for me?” She sang the obvious. “A standing ovation after all this time.”
Another wink, an in her most seductive 1940s cadence, she growled. “Fella, ... you and I know you-are-pretty-doggone-smart for lying, to sneak up behind me…remember? So-BRIGHT-BOY tell me the difference between an encore?” She paused to whisper. “And Jean’s dessert, {tick tock}?"
Grandma said, "I guess I will welcome your attention, it's just you and me here now-but I'm not surprised."
"Your thighs look so full and sexy to me lately. Can I take some pictures?"
"Of course, Jeremy. You mean family pictures right"? She smirked up at me. “Will these be for keepsake... or cheesecake?"
She looked up and posed for me. Glancing briefly at the effect she was inducing in the crotch my pants. She had that solemn look on her face -the look of knowing what men,over the years or in my case a young boy to her; wanted to see. She looked deep into my eyes to find that I was thoroughly enjoying the view. I felt like taking it out. Letting my boner bounce wildly into the air; for her to appreciate my complete lust of this crossed legged fantasy I was having. I’ve spied on her since puberty. She wore short skirts and short dresses only. Mostly in stockings like now. I can remember all the times I salaciously caught a glimpse of her nude thighs above her stocking tops, and tightly stretched straps.
I would ponder at the strength of the suspender belts usually two in front and two in back. Her legs looked so strong and her thighs would flex as she walked. Most of my joy from my horny snooping would be when I would pretend to be innocent when looking her way. Waiting for her to sit. Hoping for her to end in a sitting pose. That left me a perfect eyeshot of exposed thigh, in her revealing attire; the completion of Grandma's indelicate leg crossing. Also: Listening intently to mom and her; to gauge the ending of their mother and daughter sit down conversations.
Because with this my young mesmerized,anxious libido could witness her get up from her seat-to let me see her panties as she uncrossed her thighs and sexy,statuesque legs to stand. The two suspender belts would grab and extend securely to the clips atop those Mid-Thigh High Sheer Stockings. Her ample naked thigh flesh above the clutching elastic nylons was too much....my eyes would widen making my adolescent pecker harden.
So much thick alluring meat packed inside those dual translucent nylon columns that they touched to form my first sight of a woman’s private parts. The unintentional “Y” she would show me before adjusting her snug garment. Would leave me breathless, ears open waiting to hear the soft sound of brushed nylon as she walks out of the room.
Short thigh split skirts or short dresses similar to what she was wearing now- were the best. Because she seemed never in a hurry to hide her half nakedness from family, right? Giving me her grandson, a good and nasty complete view of those 39-inch hips swaying her exposed buttocks. Grandma’s stocking clad upper thighs and long mature legs. Never left my view; watching her fingers pull down on the hem with each immodest step ...her back side would eventually become clothed.
About thirty minutes went by with me inching closer camera in hand snapping jerk off pictures. As far as I knew she only appeared to be waiting while I was: Taking keepsake/family pictures. I just knew, this former Broadway dancer was at my disposal…
She often told me of her career and would show old me snapshots while fondly reminiscing of her life on stage. And that in 1945 she was 19 years old when the first of many showgirl poses were photographed for the signboard. I found them all in her basement. And drained my balls many a time as I housesat, while her and grandpa were vacationing.
But she wasn’t just the ordinary chorus line girl. Grandma was the marque girl. Her image or poster- at the entrance of the building, would entice the audience into the show. For example, one of my favorites; a provocative Nutcracker Costume, full body length marquee. I always brought a towel with me to view it- undisturbed of course. Her bare thighs fully exposed in the sleazy garb. Lithe,abundant and firm,young,tender flesh broadcasted to any male who saw this naughty placard- “cum on in to see my legs and thighs show boys”! I would always aim my spunk carefully into the catch cloth. Her teenaged “Y” was so tempting to spray ropes on.
And then she looked sternly at me. My eyes met hers so I stopped what I was doing. My 19 year old rock-hard dick felt annoyingly uncomfortable in my jeans. At that’s where she stared - and said.
“You have stop thinking of me as your Grand? Haven’t-you-my-grandson!”
I knew then my i****t had slipped into view. This woman was called a looker in the slang of her day. She knew what I was doing was cheesecake plain and simple. Like when she was 19. She knew a lot of boys and men looked at her in a special way-more than special. I kept thinking how many different photographers must have leered at her asking her to turn, bend and pose in ways that would never become a public photo. And how many boners did she see per show? I began to think nervously. Grandma knew every hot-blooded male audience member that looked at her poster -once inside the auditorium would lustfully search for HER heavenly shaped lower portion. Just-like-me.
She shifted and tweaked her full hips … waiting for an answer. Exposing more of what I wanted to see...and touch. Grand’s naked wide upper thigh came into view. Mature and firm from early years of athletic use. That alluring muscle tone had not completely gone. Her bare thigh above the nylon top- tempting me to kiss it.
I thought back on the times when she and I would take long walks. With me being so young and her- at that age- then. Or anytime I would be out with her. How I purposely but nonchalantly so she wouldn’t notice, walk behind her. Just enough before she turned around to find me spying her backside: in a stocking thighs- bouncy ass- fetish heat. On days of stockings with back seam porn show. I would just lie to her! And say I saw someone I knew and would catch up. Well I timed my departures and return just right every time. Because she never stopped walking to see where I was. Eventually sticking to my plan, I would end up close and closer behind those swinging GILF hips and ass. Her stockings becoming worn-from the sustained undulating motions of her sexy, hefty, meaty gams!
All her short skirts and short dresses, thank goodness- fit her tight. So, in my slow boner laden pace to catch up with her: In my vulgar spying. I was convinced.That one day I would anally fuck my grandma. In my erotic fantasy; she wore her back-seam stockings, skirt hiked up, thighs crossed seductively. And because of her position in my lap. My cock would feel clamped and moist deep in her anal cavity.
Before releasing long, warm, strong, deliberate ropes. As many as I could. As many as I wanted too! My sexually charged inventiveness imagined my large dick shooting up into Grandma's narrow private opening: How i****tuously easy! The idea of load after load pooling, while my hands groped beneath her torso. My reverie ends, with so much sperm drained from my excited balls to leak past her spiral ring.
“O yes -Jeremy to you - I’m-fantasy-grandma-is-that-it?” She said with a sexy woman’s experienced rhythm.
“Cheesecake...as in dessert. Am I right Jeremy?” She paused to examine the i****t fetish written all over my face.
The type of delighted gaze she knew and had seen before from her vast male audiences. I was in the front row right now-closer than they could have been but just as eager to grope this jam-packed,beautifully preserved-as they would say- dame into bed.
“So, tell me boy -or would you rather show me. If the pictures you’re taking aren’t enough. What else would you do?”
“Well grandma” I started to say. “I would like to ask you to….”
Her polite axiom interrupted me. “Change costumes and pose differently?”
“Boy.!” She caught herself, “I meant to say the word outfit or clothes. This situation reminds of those ham-fisted ‘grope-tographers’ on the strip. “
She went on talking-her eyes hooded looking back on a memory, to why she; misworded. “It wasn’t enough to twist every which-a -way for them, but handling me to address a wardrobe malfunction-they so professionally called it all at the time. Well I was a young and scrappy.” Smiling broadly. “I would curse like my Daddy the sailor man!” She slapped her thigh loudly.”..and a shapely teen back then too. I knew it. I meant money. All us girls did. But they had my charms up front and center!” She remembered laughing.” My producer upped me greenbacks -every time I blew my cap about my treatment at the hands of all those doll dizzy promoters.”
She sighed, from what I thought was frustration but she pulled away her dress to show me herself. I saw her panties and those precious nylons supported by the two suspenders. I realized joyfully it was not frustration …but acceptance...
She was half naked in front of me for what it was worth. Crossing her left thigh over right-right thigh over her left; for me to take pictures. The brushing nylons intoxicated me to the point of naughty nirvana. I had to adjust my 12-inch confined meat pipe. She saw me do that more than a couple of times.
“Alright handsome listen. 'My-Old-mans', in hospice we know that’s a fact...And I think you should call me Jean.” She chortled. “By the time we’ve popped your weasel we will be on a first name basis. How -does- that -sound- to- you- fella?” She sounded willing and prepared for her adultress,albeit i****tual; mischief.
Whenever my grandma would find herself in a serious or emotional situation. Her 1940s grammar/speech cadence would come to the forefront. I was serious too. I meant to fuck the shit of this mature turn on. And to tattoo my mushroom deep inside Jean- while she screamed MY name.
“We have time for anything Jeremy. But I’ll go find the that very short split skirt number and back seams you enjoy.”
With that she stood to leave. Before she turned away, she winked at me and made that “tick tock” sound from the back of her throat like Ann Margret did in the movie Cincinnati K**.
“Loose the pants BOY let THAT breathe...the SHOW will go on. I PROMISE.” She declared. Walking away still holding her dress in her hands so I could see all that was underneath!
I love watching her movements. All the time! I know her mannerisms and so on. So, as I’m standing there in a cold sweat- so as not to cum too soon: Her round cheeks in those panties, wiggling ass meat inside.
Walking as much as we have together and her healthy attention to her own anatomy kept gravity at bay. The load of carefully aged feminine brawn wrapped in nylon. Succulent is not strong enough of a word to describe the sight of her legs and thighs in motion. Memories of willfully ogling behind her during our back seam porn walks spark a thought in me.
Lame of me to finally think she knew all the time I was behind her for one reason only. Me delightfully aroused at the way she dressed in public. How her fingers repeatedly fine-tuned her short skirts and short dresses, so not to seem indecent. Just an immodest peek of bare thigh above stocking top and suspender clips was her plan.
Since she was 19 or younger for that matter. A girl shaped like her commuting to work on the sidewalks of New York? Catcalls whistles and worse came her way. She probably even heard the lewd sexual innuendos targeted at the girl on the marquee-as she walked inside the theatre!
And as if on cue to my newly acquired awareness she spoke loudly- for she was almost in her bedroom. Executing a dancer’s pirouette, even now holding her dress out of the way for me to see her lovely “Y”.
“Now-BIG BOY-I’ve-been-waiting-many-years-for-you-to-WHISTLE..."
So, I did. With all my heart; I felt like applauding this show she had given me for so many moons, (pun intended).
Instead we both noticed my standing ovation pointed her way. I looked down quickly knowing I was going to truly enjoy burying my long wide i****t ready cock inside her tight puckered hole.
“O my daughter’s son Jeremy for me?” She sang the obvious. “A standing ovation after all this time.”
Another wink, an in her most seductive 1940s cadence, she growled. “Fella, ... you and I know you-are-pretty-doggone-smart for lying, to sneak up behind me…remember? So-BRIGHT-BOY tell me the difference between an encore?” She paused to whisper. “And Jean’s dessert, {tick tock}?"
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