So he was seventy… so fucking what? It’s not like he was a broken down, unable to move, seventy; he took long, easy strides that forced her to skip to keep up with him. He didn’t smell like he was seventy; he always smelled like he had just shaved with sandalwood soap and its scent clung to his skin for a long time. Alright, so he had wrinkles and if you pinched the skin on the back of his hand, it kind of stayed pinched for a bit. And one day, she’d brought over one of those battery operated circular trimmers and pinned him to the bed, straddling him to get at the fuzz in his ears; it just felt nicer squirming your tongue into an ear that didn’t have quite so much protection. But he was gentlemanly in all the right ways and none of the wrong ones. And, damn it, he was good to her.
Why should she go and find someone her own age who stayed late at the office and was dragging around the fruitless baggage of the recently divorced? Someone who wore sweats all weekend to make up for the five days a week of a shirt and tie? Nah.
Charlie (that’s what she called him in her mind) always wore suits. They were always creased in the right places – a razor sharp line that accented his long legs and did a little squiggle just above where his cuffs touched his shoes. And those shoes – always gleaming. He said you could tell a lot about a man by how he kept his shoes. So true, so damn true, thought Jane dreamily.
Of course, he didn’t always wear a suit. Today she sat in the shade of the table’s umbrella watching him play tennis with the Frenchman. He was whipping around the court in perfect tennis whites. Jane couldn’t for a moment understand why Isabella refused to see how handsome he was.
“Chiquita, he could be your father – your grandfather even! It’s disgusting! You are such a beautiful woman, Jane. Look at your legs – look at your breasts! You look ten years younger than me! You could have anyone you wanted.”
Jane slid her sunglasses down her nose to look at her friend and sighed dramatically. “Where’s Jose?”
Jose was Isabella’s husband and Jane knew very well where he was – the question was rhetorical. He was at work, as usual. Or maybe he was banging his secretary.
“Oh, you know. His firm is very busy at the moment. He has too much to do, poor dear!” pouted Isabella.
“And when was the last time you had a really good fuck?” demanded Jane.
“Ay, Dios mio! Don’t be so disgusting, Jane. None of your beeswax!”
Jane roared with laughter. Isabella’s English was almost perfect, but every so often she came out with these weird anachronisms. “I assume that means ‘not in a while’. And after you do have sex, on the rare occasions you do, I’m sure he tells you how tired he is and falls dead asleep.”
Isabella looked at her disapprovingly. “Well, he IS tired. He works very hard. He doesn’t have a choice, you know! He’s a good husband – not an easy thing to catch when you’re forty, mi hijita. And now,” she said, switching from defensive to smug and settling back in her chair. “We are rich.”
Jane thought of a thousand nasty little quips she could fire back at her friend. But she didn’t want to fight. It wasn’t Isabella’s fault that she hadn’t seen the light and besides, there were reasons why Jane liked being with Charles that she couldn’t really discuss with Isabella. They were close – but not that close.
The men shook hands across the net and Charles walked towards them. Oh, that is a lovely set of daddy-long-legs, Jane thought. She’s seen them very close up indeed and just the thought of rubbing her cheek against the hair on his thigh…
“I saw you over here, chatting away, Jane. Is this the much vaunted Isabella?” Charles asked, taking Isabella’s hand and bringing it to within a few millimeters of his lips.
“Mmm. Jane – this man is muy, muy caballero.”
Jane thought that, any minute now, Isabella was going to start fanning herself like someone out of Carmen. “I told you he was. Isabella and I were at school together. I think I mentioned it,” she said to Charles. She stood, pecked him on the cheek and whispered. “I’ve ordered you a gin and tonic.”
Charles slid an arm around her waist and gave her ass a little pat. “You spoil me, my dove.”
After drinks and some polite chit chat, Jane left Charles in the company of a couple of club cronies and walked Isabella to the parking lot.
“Perhaps he is charming. But still, he could be your father.”
Jane was rather bored of hearing that. Isabella wasn’t the first to say it and certainly wasn’t going to be the last, but her patience was running a little thin.
“Yup, he could be. But he isn’t.”
Their steps crunched on the gravel as they got to where Isabella’s car was parked. Jane’s friend opened her door and then looked back.
“Certainly he’s very polite to you… but I saw that, you know. I saw the way he groped your behind. Jane…” Isabella lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “He’s just a dirty old man!”
Jane gave Isabella a wide, tight-lipped smile and kissed her on both cheeks. “Oh, you have no idea. He’s absolutely filthy.”
* * *
Later that day, just as the sun was disappearing in a ball of orange glory, Jane and Charles sat on his patio eating a light supper. She thought they would have made a beautiful picture, had anyone been there to take it: her in a white sun-dress and he in a cream linen suit.
“Did I pass muster?” asked Charles absently.
“No. Not really. She thought you were charming but old enough to be…”
“Your father. Doesn’t that bother you? I just get sly winks from colleagues but you suffer the worst of it.”
Jane put down her knife and fork and sat back. She grinned and shrugged. Fuck them; to hell with them all, she thought. They assumed she was a little gold-digger, when in fact it was she who had the wealth. They assumed it was a loveless, sexless, pitiful relationship. That made her smirk.
“You look so good in that Panama hat. I wonder if it would look half as good on me,” she said, stalking around the table and whipping it off his head. Settling it on her own at a rakish angle, she stood beside his chair, gave him a mock curtsey and blew him a kiss.
Charles put set his wineglass down slowly and looked down at his empty plate for a moment. Then he looked back at her sternly and, very calmly, he said, “And what do you think you are doing with that hat, young lady?”
The voice alone was enough to make her drop to her knees. Her neck grew hot as he plucked the hat off her head and put it on the table. Threading his fingers through her hair, he took hold and pulled her face up until their eyes were level. Still his face was a perfect mask of impassiveness.
“Are you looking for trouble, you little cocktease?”
The warm terracotta tiles scratched her knees. She tried to look as penitent as she could, considering that she wasn’t very penitent at all. She was slipping into the play; drifting into that place where she felt innocent and filthy at the same time. It set her heart racing and she could feel the flush creep around her neck and up her cheeks.
“No, Daddy,” she whispered.
“I’m afraid I didn’t hear that, sweetheart. Did you say ‘no’?” Charles pulled her up even further so she was stretching, leaning on him. He spoke in her ear, “because I wouldn’t want to have to add the sin of telling lies on top of the insolence.”
She placed both her hands on his thigh to stop herself from toppling over. The heat from his skin seeped through the fabric at about the same rate the wetness between her legs leaked and soaked her panties. Charles lifted his napkin off the table, drew it open and twirled it into a thick long rope.
“I won’t tolerate insolence, you know that,” he said, wrapping the napkin around her wrists and knotting it tight. “I won’t have anything but obedience from my girl.”
“Yes, Daddy.” Jane raised her head to try and brush her lips against his face, but he pushed his chair back from the table in one swift, abrupt movement. He had a firm grip on her wrists and she practically did topple over then; she had to scurry on her knees or be dragged.
“You know what I want, young lady. Give it to me.”
This was something she adored about him. He had a trick of immersing her in an emotional bath – part fear, part desire. Yes, she knew what he wanted.
Raising herself up a little, she draped herself across his lap. She could feel her erect nipples pressing against him and felt the short skirt of her dress ride up. The first cool evening breeze fluttered over the back of her thighs. With her eyes closed, she could picture exactly what he was seeing; the image excited her to distraction. She would have done almost anything to see the look in his face but she didn’t really need to – she could feel his cock stiffening, pressing at her ribcage. It made her salivate.
“Mmm. That’s very nice,” purred Charles. A warm dry hand slid slowly up her thigh and over her panty-clad ass. It was the touch of an owner, not hesitant or stealthy. Fingers nudged their way under the leg of her underwear and into her burning, sodden furrow. Jane’s back arched and she whimpered – she couldn’t help it.
“What a little slut you are, Jane. You’re in heat… just like an animal.” He was working his fingers through her wet slit as he spoke. “Daddy’s going to take care of that…” he said gently as he pulled out of her and drew the back of her panties down.
Every slap sent brilliant colors through her brain. She clutched onto his leg with her tied hands and cried out. Every so often, he would stop and push his fingers back inside her, bringing her to within an inch of orgasm before starting again. The combination of stinging buttocks and throbbing pussy was delicious. When she was sobbing, when she couldn’t bear it any more, he stopped – as if he was inside her skin and knew exactly where she was.
Jane slid back and buried her face into his crotch, mouthing his erection through the fabric of his trousers.
“Oh, so that’s what you want.”
Jane nodded her head and moaned against the hardness. She scrabbled with her bound hands, unbuckling and unzipping him. Just the heat of his cock in her fingers almost pushed her over the edge as she freed it. Jane fell on it hungrily, taking the crown into her mouth and sucking, stroking the curved surface with her tongue. Charles rested a hand on her head and pushed her down. They moaned in tandem as the head slid over the hill of her tongue and nestled snug at the back of her throat.
“Oh, that’s right… suck it you little slut,” Charles gasped.
With her nose pressed against the base, Jane could smell him: soap and something darker, warmer – something so entirely masculine. She relaxed her jaw and felt him pump up into her throat. She pressed her tongue hard against the underside of his cock as he fucked her mouth.
Now, right now, nothing would be sweeter than to feel him gush into her and swallow him down. But it was not to be. He pulled her off him with gentleness and, untying her hands, said, “The dress, take it off.”
She stood up in front of him and pulled it over her head. When she bent down to step out of her panties she heard him click his tongue.
“Don’t … please. Leave them on – just like that, yes. Now, bend over the table, young lady.”
Jane pushed the plates aside and obediently bent over, pressing herself against the checkered table cloth. There was something gorgeously erotic about doing this. Her nerve endings were singing as she heard him walk up behind her – she spread her legs wider.
“Let’s see what we can do about that heat, then, baby.”
But he was teasing her again, dredging the tip of his prick between her pussy lips, prodding at her clit with it. He held it there and she swore she could feel the blood pulsing through it, feeding her own throb. She moaned and thrust her hips back at him. Once he had her like this… she was all his. She was his fuck thing.
“Please…please. Put it in.”
But he didn’t oblige her. He bent over her, reaching beneath her to seize a nipple and squeeze it as he teased.
“I do love you like this. You are the dirtiest little girl in the world.”
“I am,” Jane panted. “Give it to me – all of it – please.”
He positioned the hot head at her entrance. “Here? In this little pussy?”
She strained backwards furiously. “Yes, there! Mmm. More please…” Her cunt was voracious; she could feel her muscles gripping the tip of him, trying to woo him into her.”
Charles’ voice was hoarse now but still he chuckled. “Such a greedy little thing… how much more does it need.”
“All of it, I need it all.”
“Then take it, baby.”
The thrust was exquisite. She roared as he entered her and buried himself to the hilt. For a moment she thought she would pass out with pleasure. He grabbed her hips and began to fuck slowly as she whined.
“Is it good? Like that? Oh, yes.”
She couldn’t answer him; she just pressed back onto him over and over. Shuddering, her legs shaking, she was coming. Inside, her walls rippled with every thrust he paid her.
“Good girl, I can feel you… what a lovely slut.”
Charles’ thrusts got harder and deeper, pushing and twisting his way into her core, until suddenly he plunged hard and stiffened. Hot spurts of come sent her moaning; god, she loved it when he came inside her. He was marking her as surely as the hand-prints on her ass. He covered her back with his body.
“Daddy…” Jane whimpered.
“Mmm. Sweet little thing…” He stroked her hair back from her face and kissed her, still smelling of sandalwood soap.
“You’re old enough to be my father!” Jane said, exploding into giggles.
“Lucky, huh? If I was younger than you, this might not work so well.”
This is quite simply THE hottest thing I have read in a very very long time! Beautiful and vivid and I loved every bit of it.
This reminds me of why I have been into older men, or rather how I imagined an older lover would be: having the self confidence and assurance to dominate, without aggression. That would be perfection. Sigh…