My Mangeress and the Workmen
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Wendy And The Workmen free porn video
It was their morning fuck, and Wendy was getting close to orgasm. Her cunt felt wet and hot and her tummy was feeling that once familiar tightening sensation. Her body was rocking to a rhythm, her nostrils flared slightly, while her uneven, almost ragged breathing racked her chest. Another day had dawned in the leafy outer suburbs of Surrey, England.
Wendy was on her back, naked in her marital bed, legs spread wide, her long dark hair spread out on a pillow and her two nipples bullet hard, high and proud. Bartley, her husband of 20 years, was on top of her, and in her, rhythmically pumping away with his Viagra stimulated cock.
Bartley knew her. Yes he knew her so well. Or so he thought. It was the age old sex ritual between them. The once or twice a week session, following the same pattern: some tender kisses, some nipple play, a leisurely 69 and a less sedate fuck.
"Yes," he said to himself in that inner voice that always gave succour to his thoughts. "I know what she needs, a little tenderness and then a good fucking."
And indeed, it had been always been enough for them both. Oh yes. But now? No. Wendy made her mind focus on fantasy in order to cum with him, as Bartley shot his load in her. She had reached orgasm, yes, but it was what she thought of as a 50 percenter, nice, but not the real thing at all.
Bartley was quickly off the bed and into the shower. Wendy was still wet though, and unsatisfied. Her right index finger traced irregular circles on her clit and she stabbed the middle three fingers of her left hand inside her cunt, fucking herself, trying to meet an unrequited need. The morning was hot, which always made her feel horny, as sunlight breached the windows, warming her face slowly to match her body heat.
Wendy knew Bartley would usually be in the shower between 10-12 minutes. So she timed it to cum properly before he reappeared. It would be disrespectful to him, and would undermine his confidence if he saw she needed more than him to satisfy her, she thought, and she always was such a kind and considerate person.
Around the predicted time he did in turn return, and, as he was having a week's vacation from his work as an investment bank manager, he dressed in his leisure day attire: brown shoes instead of black, the usual black trousers, but with a checked coloured shirt replacing the normal white, and, for once, no oh so carefully knotted silk tie.
"I'll just catch a quick shower darling," she informed him. "Then I'll make you some breakfast." Bartley replied with a smile and patted her shapely bare bottom as it disappeared from the bedroom.
The shower floor was wet, which curiously always slightly annoyed Wendy, and the full length mirror was steamed up. She slowly and carefully wiped the condensation off of it and sized up her naked reflection, before stepping under the hot, soothing jets of water. Wendy looked good, and although, alas, sadly as most women, she often saw her perceived physical flaws, rather than the glorious flower that was her femininity, for once her eyes drank in her own beauty. Wendy had thick dark hair and lively green eyes. At 46 her breasts were full and still firm, and if her hips were quite wide they were in proportion with her narrow waist. Unlike most younger women, Wendy kept a fairly full cunt bush of dark hair, at this moment of a slick, vaguely oily appearance.
Briefly, Wendy ran her hands over her flat stomach, then outwards and downwards, stroking her smooth but strong thighs. Mentally, she thanked herself for the regular gym workouts she undertook, which kept her in top physical shape.
But, 'God, ' she thought, 'I'm still horny and not satisfied, ' as, once again, her fingers inexorably found their way simultaneously to her clit and rose like cunt lips. Her mind moved again to fantasy. This time it was, as it so often was, a nameless younger man, a rough working man, with strong muscles and calloused work hardened fingers groping her, spreading her legs and eating her cunt, then tracing the head of his long thick cock around her reluctant mouth before she opened her lips to form an O shape and sucked him deep.
Wendy was tensing up, getting close again as it got to the part where she was lowering herself down on him, waiting for his length, thickness and warmth to fill her deep, oh so deep.
Alas, the familiar and intrusive sound of a ringing phone broke her revelry. The ring was brief — Bartley must have answered it — but it was enough to break her delightful daydream and she turned off the comforting water jets and towelled off.
"Who was that?" she asked Bartley."
"Oh, just Terry, darling, his golf partner has let him down and he wants me to join him for a fourball. He really seemed quite needy so I said I'd meet him at the course in an hour. I know we were supposed to take that drive and find a nice country pub for lunch, but is it ok if we do that another day?"
Wendy thought to herself that she should be annoyed and disappointed at this. But she wasn't. "Oh that's ok, like you say we can do that another day. You enjoy your game. I might go shopping. We can meet up later in the afternoon."
Bartley kissed her on the cheek, and Wendy prepared his breakfast: wholemeal toast and low fat spread with a black decaffeinated coffee and orange juice. It seemed suddenly so anaemic to her, but then again, Bartley was 12 years older than her, and that medical he'd had last year showed slightly raised blood pressure and a worrying cholesterol count. Low fat food, dull fare; only one glass of wine a night; regular moderate exercise; early nights; avoiding stress at work, that was what he needed, and as a an attentive wife of 20 years that is what she saw he got.
Yet, somehow, and although she felt it wrong, she couldn't help but compare him unfavourably with the men she had known as a girl growing up on the family farm: her father and older brother and the farm workers they employed. They were big men, strong men, who worked hard and had appetites to match. She recalled them sitting at her mother's kitchen table, with their healthy weather worn complexions and tanned sinewy arms with large strong hands, piling into huge heaped plates of steaming hot food; sausages, eggs, bacon, fried potatoes, mushrooms, tomatoes. She looked across at Bartley chewing listlessly and slowly on his toast and sighed inwardly.
Shortly, Bartley loaded his golf clubs into his new Jaguar car and with a wave drove away. Wendy returned to the kitchen, ate scrambled eggs and drank a mug of real coffee, sat back in her chair and mused briefly about her life.
The big house they lived in seemed empty now that her two sons were away at college. Bartley was a good man and she loved him, but sexually the sparks had long gone, and a big house, regular foreign holidays and new cars every year seemed little comfort when compared with an unfulfilled life. 'Yes, ' Wendy mused, 'that's what I am now, unfulfilled.'
Wendy thought further: she had many friends and taught creative writing and literature part-time at a local college, which she loved. 'Oh stop being a stupid cow, ' she chastised herself. 'Be grateful for what you have rather then dwell on something you think you may be missing.' What was it Bartley would say to her when things hadn't gone smoothly in their life? Oh yes. "Chin up darling."
After a time spent flicking rather idly through a magazine, Wendy decided to enjoy this rare hot English summers day and walk the mile or so to the local shopping centre, rather than drive. She dressed in a tasteful mid length floral patterned dress which was light and airy, slipped her large handbag over her shoulder and left.
The shortest route from her spacious detached suburban house took her across a park, resplendent in flower bloom and lush vegetation. Wendy, an intensely sensitive and dreamy sort of person, felt especially sensuous this day, revelling in the vivacity of colours on display: the vibrancy and beauty of the many flowers, with their delicious intoxicating aromas, and the thousand shades of green in the tree foliages.
"Lord it's hot," she said to herself. Indeed, she felt beads of perspiration form on her forehead and between her thighs. Although dressed lightly, the intense heat made her clothing feel suffocating and cloying. Walking across lush grass in a secluded area, Wendy took off her shoes and put them into her large handbag, then daringly, and totally uncharacteristically for her, she glanced around, and seeing that she appeared to be alone, slipped off her panties and unclipped her bra, which joined the discarded shoes.
She felt in ways great; free, but still, somehow, she had to admit to herself, horny and unsatisfied. Her cunt was, yet again, feeling wet, and she was aware that her large nipples, now free of the constraints of the bra, were bullet hard and poking out, their shape clearly visible, straining through the thin material of her dress
Shortly Wendy became of crude, deep, heavy noises from rumbling engines and clanking metallic sounds. Looking ahead she saw a gang of workmen creating a section of slip-road. Huge machines dug out great slabs of soil, while others rolled land flat. Around the metallic monsters numerous men toiled heartily, clad in big boots and helmets; some wore fluorescent yellow jackets while others went bare-chested.
Wendy's mouth fell agape and her nostrils flared slightly as she stood and watched the men as their work-hardened male muscles strained and glinted in the sun so deliciously before her eyes. Somehow, Wendy, now almost drunk with lust in her dreamy state, absent-mindedly walked into a coned off area.
"Excuse me, you can't walk here lady," a deep voice boomed out, strongly but not impolitely, nearly breaking her trance.
Wendy looked up to see what she assumed was the gang foreman walking towards her. He was a slim, dark haired, tanned faced, white guy of about 40. Looking at him as he got close she thought he slightly resembled Al Pacino playing Tony Montana in the movie Scarface. The foreman's sleeveless jerkin was unfastened open at the front and Wendy was fixated by a large snake tattoo whose tail appeared to begin somewhere behind his right shoulder and whose head presumably ended down the front of his jeans, which was sadly out of view to her.
"Excuse me," he repeated, less patiently this time, "You can't stay here, there's dangerous machinery being used, you have to move back now."
Wendy seemed to come out slightly from her trance-like state. She looked into the foreman's dark eyed face. He looked annoyed, but then he seemed to look at her more carefully and dropped his gaze down, checking out her ripe body and the obviously erect nipples jutting out through her dress. Now, he looked somewhat less annoyed, and Wendy felt she detected a distinct twinkle in his eyes.
Wendy looked again at his tattoo. It fascinated her. Without giving it any conscious thought, she placed the fingers of her right hand onto the snake's tail and she slowly traced its form from the foreman's shoulder over his smooth chest and down his taut stomach. The foreman made no effort to stop her, merely quietly muttering to himself: "Fucking hell," in a harsh London accent.
Her hand reached the limit of his exposed flesh. She glanced at his face. His look was challenging. Noting this, Wendy traced her fingers over his belt buckle and cupped his cock and balls firmly through the material of his jeans.
"Fucking hell," the foreman again exclaimed. Then he removed Wendy's hand from its rest and took it in his own hand. "Come on," he said, and he led her away from the work area and back fifty yards or so through the park into a concealed area which was quite thick with trees and bushes.
The foreman wasted no time. He hastily helped Wendy to remove her dress and lay her down naked on her back in the grass and pulled her legs apart. In other circumstances Wendy might have admired his quick and direct method of working, which would be a good example in leading a group of men under his supervision. But in this particular scenario, she instead thought to herself as he was unbuckling his belt, 'I hope he's got a nice thick cock.'
He did, and he was clean shaven there. The snake's mouth flicked its tongue towards the base of his cock. He kicked off his big boots, jeans and shorts, flipped off his helmet, walked rapidly over, lowered himself on top of her, squashing her boobs with his chest, eased her legs further apart, and, with no further ado, sunk his hard cock balls deep into her streaming wet cunt in one smooth movement.
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