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Lewis Carter’s Sunday mornings followed the same sequence of events for three consecutive weeks. He dressed in his running clothes, jogged to the little Baptist church, let himself in through the unlocked back door, walked over to where Claire Harrison was reclining on a front row pew with one foot over the back and the other dangling near the floor, and knelt down.
The first time she worn calf-length boots with zips up the sides, the second time shoes with stay-up thigh-highs, and on that third occasion nothing on her legs or feet at all. Other than that, the fifty-three-year-old woman who used him as her pleasure toy looked almost the same every week. She always wore a white blouse over a white bra, and a plain brown pleated skirt with nothing underneath to cover the glistening pink glistening crevice at the top of her thighs which widened as he got closer.
In a way, he was flattered that she desired him with such intensity and took a little pride from being able to bring her to a climax so quickly, although deep down he knew that it wasn’t because of his oral skills. Lewis Carter could tell from the way Claire Harrison practically dripped with excitement, that all he really had to do was put his face between her legs, lick, kiss or nibble just a little, and she’d shudder like a woman operating a jack hammer.
He also knew that it was having the ability to make him do whatever she wanted that excited her even more than the fact that he was thirty years younger, and that they weren’t the reasons for the orgasms which followed: the second mini-one, and the third earth-moving, pew-rattling, deep-throated screaming one were entirely down to him. Lewis Carter not only had an instinctive understanding of how to please a woman, but he was also a very quick learner. He understood right from the very first time his head had been between her legs exactly what she wanted him to do and took an immense amount of satisfaction at being able to make a woman so incredibly happy. He actually revelled in his ability to leave Claire Harrison lying on her back in the little church so exhausted that she couldn’t stand or even speak, and no longer cared that she was coercing him into doing it. The only thing that bothered him was having to run home to deal with his hard-on in the shower while her taste still lingered in his mouth, and his ears still felt the warmth of her inner thighs.
But on that particular Sunday, just as he’s started to run up the hill that led to his parents’ house, an old white pulled up alongside him as its window powered down. Lewis Carter thought that the driver must have been in need of directions to somewhere and politely leant in to offer his help.
Rachel Grant, another of his mother’s friends, half-smiled in response and said, “Get in. It’s hard enough for the car and you look exhausted.”
He instinctively thought that she was talking about his erection which must have been obvious when it was level with the open window but couldn’t even begin to guess at what her intentions were. The last time they’d met, Rachel Grant had pushed a vibrating butt-plug between his buttocks which she and three friends had used to make him go down on them, and Claire Harrison had operated as a “motivation” for him to wear her underwear so she could take the embarrassing pictures she’d been using as blackmail for the last four weeks.
Lewis hesitated for a few seconds, decided that he was too tired to run up a steep hill, and got in expecting to be told what she had planned.
Rachel Grant had felt guilty about what she, Emma, Annie and Claire had done to Lewis ever since the day they’d sunbathed in his parents’ garden, got irritated by his ogling, and decided to teach him a lesson Escort Avrupa yakası which went way beyond what any of them had intended, but that was first time she’d seen him and on impulse decided to stop, offer him a lift home and try to apologise.
She’d been playing tennis that morning and was still wearing an all-white outfit of polo top, sports shoes, ankle socks and a pleated mid-thigh length skirt which fluttered in the air circulated by the car’s cooling fan. Lewis tried to look directly forwards, but he couldn’t take his eyes away from Emma’s very-shapely-for-fifty-two-year-old knees, and that made him feel even more self-conscious about the erection he thought Rachel had been talking about.
But he was wrong.
Rachel Grant had been referring to her old car’s difficulties in getting up the hill when she’d offered him a lift and was intending only on using the drive to his parents’ house as a chance to apologise for her actions 6 weeks previously as the journey wouldn’t last long enough for anything too embarrassing.
However, she saw that he couldn’t even look up from the floor, felt even more guilty and tried to break what had become in just a few seconds a very awkward silence by complimenting him on how he looked in the graduation folder under his mother’s coffee table.
“I was looking at some pictures of you the other day,” she said trying to sound friendly, but was suddenly so nervous that the words came out with a rasp due to her dry throat, “You look so handsome all dressed up, even though you’re obviously nervous in everyone, but that’s understandable. What young man wouldn’t have felt the way you did posing like that?”
He felt a lump in his throat as a cold sweat formed on his forehead, and his heart started to race as he tried to process why Claire Harrison had decided to show her friends the embarrassing pictures of him wearing women’s underwear. He thought he’d done everything she’d asked, and thought he’d done it even better then she could possibly have expected, but she’d circulated her pictures of him anyway. Was this the only woman she’d given them to, or were there others? And what was this one going to do with him when they got to her house?
Rachel glanced over at Lewis who was still staring silently downwards and felt so guilty that what she’d done had left him unable to even talk to her about his graduation ceremony it became impossible to think clearly. She so much wanted to say “sorry” but couldn’t find the words. Any words. Her head was so scrambled that she regretted offering Lewis a lift, made a promise to herself not to see him again if at all possible, and desperately hoped that nobody would see the two of them in her car just so that he wouldn’t come up in conversation.
And that was why Rachel Grant panicked when she saw her friend Emma washing the family car on the driveway outside their house. All she should have done was drive past knowing that nobody would even suspect her of anything other than giving her friend’s son a lift up a steep hill after she’d played tennis. But she didn’t. She felt so guilty about her part in what had happened, so self-conscious just from being in a car with a 23-year-old she’d used and abused six week earlier, and so utterly unable to think clearly in her desperate desire not to be seen with him, that she instinctively spat out the words: “Get down.”
Lewis Carter had spent five minutes staring at Rachel grant’s knees, admiring what he could see of her legs and wondering what she intended to make him do in return for not showing anybody else pictures of him posing in different pairs of a middle-aged woman’s underwear that he’d pulled out of a laundry Ataköy escort hamper.
And that had been five minutes telling himself to prepare for having his head between the legs of another fifty-plus-year-old woman in less than half an hour and having to wait even longer for the shower he so desperately needed to relieve the pressure in his pants.
He was surprised, but not perturbed in anyway. If she’d decided not to wait until getting him home, he didn’t particularly care. It would be uncomfortable and challenging, but it might mean an earlier shower than the one he’d been expecting, so he unclipped his safety belt, slid into the footwell, turned onto his side, lifted her pleated tennis skirt with one hand, stuck his thumb up the inside leg of her panties, and pulled them aside.
Then he leant over and pressed his tongue as far into her pulsating pink slit as it would go as Rachel Grant gripped the steering wheel and tried to focus on what had been the simple task of driving an old car along on empty road.
She was more surprised than he had been and didn’t have any idea why he’d suddenly gone from unresponsive to putting his head between her legs. Had he been thinking about doing it from the moment she’d picked him up? Had she tasted so good six weeks ago that he wanted more? Why had he not said anything? Why had he not waited until they were alone somewhere? Why had he decided to do it in a moving car when his movement would be restricted or was that part of the reason?
It took her only a few seconds longer to dismiss all these thoughts than it had for Lewis to react to what he’d thought was an instruction. She didn’t care why he’d done it. She hadn’t forgotten what it felt like to have a 23-year-old head between her 52-year-old thighs, but the last time she’d made him do it: now he obviously wanted to, and she had absolutely no intention of stopping him.
Rachel Grant said a silent prayer of thanks to a god she didn’t believe in that her house was empty because her husband had taken all three of their children swimming that morning, congratulated herself on managing to drive for three minutes without a traffic accident, turned onto her drive, urged the automatic door to open faster, drove into the garage, pressed a button so that the door closed behind them, pressed another button so that her seat reclined fully, spread her legs as wide as she could, and pulled at the seam of her tennis knickers until they split up the side of her hip.
Lewis Carter forced his mouth deep into what was now a sodden pink mass that tasted liked a heavenly slush puppy as she moaned in ecstasy, slapped the leather seating, writhed with pleasure and eventually came with such force that the car shook like it had been hit by another vehicle.
He rolled off her, silently congratulated himself for doing such a spectacularly good job for the second time in 30 minutes, and was about to open the car door when Rachel Grant leant across him, pulled at the waistband of his jogging pants until his erection popped free, and said in such a way that he knew it wasn’t any sort of option, even if he’d wanted one, “What are you waiting for? Fuck me!
He rolled back over she guided his throbbing erection into the warmest, wettest, most welcoming, heavenly place it had ever been as Rachel Grant groaned with pleasure at something far larger and harder than any erection her husband had ever had pressing deep inside her, pushed him slightly away so that she could look at his pretty 23-year-old face when he came, and squeezed some muscles in her lower body that hadn’t been put to such good use for years.
Lewis Carter exploded inside her like a tube of toothpaste that Şirinevler escort bayan had been hit with a hammer as she smirked with satisfaction at doing such a spectacularly good job in such a short time, vowed to never forget his rapidly changing expressions before, during and slightly after he’d splurted with such intensity that she thought he must have been storing his pressurised spunk for months, and then pushed him away.
She slid her torn panties down and off, used them to wipe herself down and handed the sodden rag to Lewis so he could do the same. “That was perfect. Better than I could ever have imagined. I’ve been feeling guilty about what we did to you, but you obviously didn’t mind.”
He shook his head, “No, I did mind, but there’s no need to make me do things anymore. I’m getting to quite like it, especially if I don’t need to give myself a hand job in the shower afterwards.”
“Getting to like it?” she said, puzzled at his use of the present tense. “Yes, I didn’t at first, and I really didn’t like Claire taking those pictures.”
Rachel decided to stay very calm, pretend she knew what he was talking about, and get him to explain. “So would you rather another one of us had taken the pictures?”
Lewis shook his head and laughed, “No, it wouldn’t have mattered whose knickers I had to put on. I can’t see how it would have felt any different.” Rachel tried not to smirk. She instantly realised that he’d thought they were the pictures she’d been talking about in the car, not the ones in his mother’s album, and that when she’d said “get down” he’d thought it an instruction to do what he did or face some unspoked consequence from using whatever was on Claire’s phone, not a panicked reaction her seeing a friend.
“Quite,” she smiled, “But it was just a bit of harmless fun. Claire hasn’t done anything with them has she?”
He shook his head again. “I don’t think so, but I didn’t even know that you’d seen them until you stopped the car to tell me half an hour ago.”
Rachel’s smile widened to a grin as she said, “Don’t worry. Only the three of us know about them, but I don’t want you to feel forced to fuck me if you don’t want to.”
His felt just like he had in the car earlier. His throat tightened; his heart raced, and a cold sweat formed on his forehead. “Do you mean it? Do you want me to?”
She stopped smiling and said very deliberately, “Fucking me is just one of many things I that want you to do, but if you’d rather not…” Rachel left the sentence unfinished, smirked and handed him her phone “Put your number in there. I’ll message you.”
Lewis nodded happily, tapped his number into Rachel’s phone, got dressed, and ran home to have his first post-run shower in 6 weeks that wouldn’t have any purpose other than to clean him.
Rachel had a shower of her own and wondered how she was going to find the time to fuck a toy-boy without anybody finding out when she had a husband, three children, a house that was rarely empty and no real excuses to go anywhere alone which wouldn’t arise suspicion.
And then she suddenly realised that as Claire Harrison had exactly the same set of problems, they could help each other: all they had to do was come to some sort of mutually beneficial arrangement of alibis, cover stories and excuses, and Lewis could be shared in the same way many other things had over the last forty years.
Only now, instead of clothes, shoes and sports equipment, it would be a 23-year-old fuck toy,
Rachel Grant was so excited that she practically skipped out of the shower and into the bedroom. She pulled her emergency vibrator from the shoe box in which it was hidden, lay back on the bed, wondered whether to ask Claire to share the pictures of Lewis wearing women’s underwear, eventually decided that if she wanted to see how he looked dressed up like that then it would be with his knob sticking out of her panties not someone else’s, and within a minute had an more shuddering orgasm than one she’d had in the car half an hour earlier.
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