Mrs. Suzanne Hawthorn

This is just the second chapter in a longer story. For character background and storylines, please check out Retirement Party Dress. I hope you enjoy.

*

That one afternoon with Anita Patterson changed me. Spoiled me really. As I said before, I've always had a thing for older women. That afternoon with Anita in the dressing room made me a cub in search of a cougar forever.

Unfortunately, the cougar I wanted never came back into my life. I tried hooking up with her again but it never came to fruition. Waiting for her to come back to the shop, driving by her house, hoping to catch a glimpse of her or maybe 'bump' into her in town, all of my efforts went for naught.

Like Bob Seger sang, "I used her, she used me, but neither one cared. We were getting our share." Only I didn't get my share. At twenty, I had no idea what love was and I certainly wasn't in love with Anita but I wanted a lot more than just that one time in the dressing room.

Slowly, I came to realize my afternoon with Anita was going to be a one-time thing. Of course, I was depressed! This was the woman of my dreams, my dirty, filthy, sleazy, wet dreams, and we were to be no more than a fling she had. A moment in time when all the stars were aligned just right, only to never happen again. Frankly, it pissed me off.

Now, older women at work surrounded me but none of them ever came close to being another Anita. Why would they? She was a once-in-a-lifetime woman, the brightest chapter in my memoirs.

Once I accepted that, my libido took over. Like I said, I was surrounded by older women and I kept looking for the next encounter. The only problem was, there was no other woman like Anita. None of these other women ever created a lust so strong in me that I would be as bold as I was with her. I never got the same unspoken signals from them that I got from Anita. I was as horny as a rabbit in Spring but none of these other women seemed to get it.

As depressed as I was, I decided to take my next day off and spend it in the city. An hour-and-a-half car ride later, I was walking away from a parking garage along the crowded city streets. I always hated the city. The people there were always so rude but I thought a change of scenery might do me some good. Besides, it was summer time and pretty girls would be everywhere.

I walked aimlessly through the downtown for a few minutes until I noticed Mrs. Hawthorn, a customer at the dress shop, walking a few buildings ahead of me. Mrs. Suzanne Hawthorn, not Sue or Susan or Suzy, but Mrs. Suzanne Hawthorn, wife of Philip Hawthorn, the Mayor and richest man in my little backwater town.

Philip Hawthorn was close to seventy years old but Mrs. Hawthorn was no more than thirty-five, maybe thirty-seven years old at best. Obviously, she had been the trophy wife of a few years gone by. She was short, maybe 5'-2". Her blonde hair very stylishly cut just above the shoulder, clearly done at one of the outlandishly priced boutiques here downtown.

She always wore the most expensive, current, conservative fashions, but it was evident that her body was still in incredible shape. Her breasts were not big, maybe even a little on the smallish side, but never with a hint of sag.

However, Mrs. Hawthorn's legs and backside were her greatest asset. Sinewy for her height, her legs retained the athletic, lean look of a woman half her age. Her skirts and dresses were always tight enough to show off the perfect curvature of her still pert ass. I always noticed her from behind whenever she came into the store.

And from behind was the best way to deal with Mrs. Hawthorn because even though her face was still beautiful and flawless, her personality wasn't. She was the classic rich bitch, with a tongue sharper than any razor could ever be. Her husband was wealthy, which made her better, above all of the other working-class scum who had to serve her and she never let you forget it either.

I thought nothing of Mrs. Hawthorn other than contempt for her narcissistic attitude but from this vantage point, I did have a pretty good view of her shapely legs and delicious ass as she walked ahead of me. So with nothing much planned for the day other than girl watching, I decided to follow Mrs. Hawthorn's round, tight ass as it swayed back and forth beneath her skirt on her trip through the city.

A few minutes later, the sight of a hand squeezing that round, tight ass, broke my stare and when I looked up, that hand did not belong to her husband. Mrs. Hawthorn turned, startled, then smiled and finally kissed the lips of the handsome man who had joined her.

He was maybe her age, dressed splendidly in a suit and tie. Their kiss was more than a greeting for he held his lips against hers just a little too long. She didn't seem to mind the kiss or the grope much either.

'The bitch! She's cheating on her husband', I finally realized and for whatever reason, it made me angry. Mrs. Suzanne Hawthorn always presented herself as sophisticated, cultured, above all of the riff-raff that populated her quaint little hamlet. Yet here she was with another man.

I slid my hands into my pocket and inadvertently brushed my cell phone. That's when I got the idea. Smiling to myself, I took out my phone and began videotaping this little clandestine meeting. For what reason, I didn't know. Maybe, somewhere in the future, it would come in handy.

I followed Mrs. Hawthorn and her lover as they held hands and walked hurriedly through town, videotaping as they went. The camera caught every smile, squeeze, kiss and grope along the way.

It was barely twelve o'clock when they walked into the downtown Sheraton Hotel. They made their way to the bar and found a secluded booth in the corner. Not secluded enough. From my perch nearby, I was able to videotape their kissing and groping.

Her hand in his lap, his in hers, my phone captured it all. The reflection in the large mirror showed Mrs. Suzanne Hawthorn's thighs parting under the table as her lover's hand found the soft wetness between them.

In no time, they closed their tab and headed up to a room. Was it his, was it hers? Who cares! The downtown Sheraton has one of those big, expansive lobbies with ornate glass elevators adorning the far side.

I videotaped as the two of them kissed and fondled each other in the elevator, oblivious to any spying eyes like mine. I watched as his hand probed up under her skirt from behind , their tongues dancing together inside her mouth. The doors opened and they disappeared like school kids down the hall towards the rooms.

It wasn't catching them in the act but it was close enough and what that would mean to me I still had not figured out. All I knew was that it pissed me off when she acted superior towards me and the rest of the employee's at the shop.

The rest of my day was less eventful and a few days later I found myself at work, completely having forgotten the little video I had shot of Mrs. Hawthorn's indiscretion. That is, until she walked into the store.

She was dressed stylishly in a gray skirt just above the knee, stockings, low-slung black heels and a short sleeve, high-collared, light gray sweater, Cashmere probably, all accentuated with a string of white pearls.

Immediately, I made myself scarce. No one ever wanted to wait on Mrs. Suzanne Hawthorn unless they had to. She treated you like shit, took up all of your time, expected flawless service but never seemed to be satisfied. I grabbed a broom and began sweeping in back.

Poor Madeline, the store manager, was left to deal with her and after forty-five minutes, Mrs. Hawthorn had finally selected her new dress and was checking out. Figuring I was safe, I swept my way out front.

"I don't care. It's not my problem", I heard her telling Madeline. Spotting me and certainly within earshot, I heard her continue, "Him. What about Slingblade over there? He will deliver it to my house no later than four o'clock this afternoon. My husband and I have a very important dinner this evening and that dress had better be there on time."

She snatched up her charge card and purse and walked out of the store. 'That fuckin' bitch!' I thought. Madeline looked at me, a pained, sorrowful, 'I'm-sorry' look and before she could say it I asked, "What's the address?"

I waited as the seamstress finished and then drove toward the Hawthorn estate. With each passing minute, my anger grew. 'Who the fuck does she think she is?' 'Rich, arrogant bitch.' 'She's nothing but a whore.'

That's when it came to me. The video. I didn't know why I had taken it but now I knew how I was going to use it. I pulled my beater of a car up the manicured drive that led to the house and parked right in front.

Surprisingly, Mrs. Hawthorn answered the door. "Yes?" she asked.

This only made me madder. I stood in the doorway, holding her dress on a hanger, protected in store labeled garment bag. She acted like she had no idea who I was or why I was even there. She was about to find out.

I stepped forward, pushing my way past her into the foyer. Looking around, I held the dress out toward her with one hand not saying anything.

Angrily, she snatched the dress from my hand and said, "How rude! You're not allowed in here. Service calls are taken around back. Quit gawking. I'll have your job for your impudence."

I continued to gaze at the well furnished vestibule, ignoring her completely except for my extended arm with the dresses dangling off of my forefinger. Mockingly, I sneered and said, "Just relax Suzy. You're not going to do anything but what I tell you."

This only enraged her more. She snarled and replied, "How dare you? My name is Suzanne. Mrs. Suzanne Hawthorn and I can have you squished like the bug you are. Look, I don't know who you think you are, but you can kiss your job good bye."

I turned toward her and moved a step closer as I smiled. Even though she was clearly shorter than me, her rage made her seem much bigger. "Now, now Suzy," I mocked, "Don't get your lace panties in a bunch. Or is it a thong? You seem more like a g-string kind of gal to me."

Shocked and infuriated, she tried to slap my face with her free hand, only to have me catch it in mine. I held her by her wrist, leaned in closer, stared into her eyes and whispered, "You know those lace panties. The one's stained with that other guy's cum."

Her eyes instantly flashed and I knew I had her. She immediately regained her composure but the cat was already out of the bag. "Why you little ... Get the hell out of here," she growled.

Still holding her wrist, I replied, "What, no tip for the service?"

She sneered, "You're nothing but a little boy. A little, dirty, disgusting pig. I'll have your job for this."

I retorted, "And you're nothing but a cheap, two-timing slut and I've got the video to prove it."

Feeling her fortitude weaken slightly, I let go of her arm. Feigning ignorance, she said, "I don't know what you're talking about. Now get out of here before I call the police. They work for my husband." She stepped to the side as she held the dress in one hand and the open door in the other.

I ignored her orders and continued by saying, "You know exactly what I'm talking about. The other day. In the city. The downtown Sheraton. Mmmm, you look like a good kisser. Good with your mouth. He seemed to like your ass and pussy better though. His hands were all over them. I bet he fucked you good that afternoon, didn't he? Just the way you like it." I watched as my words registered in her eyes.

She stood there, motionless, holding the dress and door. A few silent seconds later, she looked first at me and then her feet. Slowly, she replied, "I don't know what you're talking about. Now, for the last time, go before I call the police."

I turned and walked into what I thought was the living room. It could have been a den, library, study, hotel lobby, you name it. The room was certainly big enough and furnished with all of the above offerings. Suzanne Hawthorn followed me inside. Placing the dress over the back of an overstuffed leather chair, she sternly said, "Fine. You give me no choice. I'm calling the police. They work for me."

"Go ahead," I carelessly replied. "They'll probably call your husband, his honor the Mayor. Won't he be surprised when he sees the little video I took of you and that handsome man in the dark blue suit the other day? All of that kissing, fondling, groping. His hands all over your body. The Mayor will love the way you spread your legs for that guy so he could play with your pussy in the bar."

Turning back toward her, I continued. "Mr. Hawthorn is gonna love the way that guy's tongue invaded your mouth while his hands moved up under your skirt on that elevator. Your ass on display for all to see."

Feeling bolder, I bluffed, "I followed you up there. The sounds you two made. Like two animals in heat. You're quite the loud, passionate slut, aren't you? Loud, except for when his cock was in your mouth."

Suzanne froze in her tracks. She knew I had her or at least she knew she couldn't take the chance that I had a videotape. "Let me see what you're talking about," she angrily said.

Shaking my head, I knew she was cooked. I smiled and said, "Now, now Suze, all in good time. But it seems we have a little dilemma here."

Frustrated and irritated, she said, "What? What's the problem?"

"Well Suze, there's the whole issue of my tip," I said.

She sighed heavily and reached for her purse. She opened it, fumbled for her cash and replied, "Fine. How much money do you want for the video?"

She stood there with her wallet in hand, staring at me. My eyes dropped and moved over her body. Slowly, leeringly, I drank in all of her curves. Her breasts rose with each emotional breadth she took. Her hips flared nicely against that tight gray skirt and I suddenly felt bold, powerful and in control.

Maybe it was the light, maybe it was the circumstances, or maybe it was the change in her demeanor, all I knew was that I was incredibly aroused at that moment. For the first time, I had knocked Suzanne Hawthorn off her high pedestal and it felt very good. The power, the control I had taken, all of it was intoxicating.

I felt like I was slipping into that dressing room on Anita again. Bold, powerful, confident. I quietly said, "I don't want your money."

Her eyes met mine and she knew instantly. I looked lustfully in her eyes and said, "I want you to suck my cock, slut."

Outraged, she angrily shouted, "What? What did you say to me? You're nothing but a child. Go to hell! That's not going to happen little boy so get that through your thick skull."

My anger met hers. The fire in my eyes matched only by my intensity. I reached forward and grabbed the back of her head. Curling her expensively coiffed hair in my fingers, her head turned upward towards the large vaulted ceiling. From somewhere deep and dark inside of me, I growled, "Yes it is slut. Now, get on your knees."

She tried shaking her head as I put my free hand on her shoulder. She gasped when I pulled her down by her hair with one hand and pushed her to her knees with the other. She started slapping at my leg and crotch with one hand while trying to free her hair with the other.

"NO!" she screamed. I looked down at her, kneeling in front of me, struggling, fighting me. Suddenly, I released her and she instinctively backed away from me on her knees. I'm not a rapist and using force to get Suzanne to do what I wanted didn't really turn me on.

Unconditional surrender and reluctance however, now, that was something completely different. The power I felt, such control, was intoxicating and I could feel my cock swelling in my pants.

I took a small step and stood in front of her, looking into those beautiful light blue eyes of hers as she knelt at my feet, my throbbing bulge face-level and so close to her. The look of panic and terror on her pretty face was taking all of the fun out of it.

Slowly, I leaned forward and whispered, "Yes, you will. Because you know what's going to happen if you don't. If you don't suck my cock, suck it real good like a little slut, this video goes to your husband."

Looking around, gesturing at the room's surroundings, I continued, "This. All of this will be gone if your husband ever finds out about you and that handsome man in the blue suit."

I could see her resolve weakening as she listened to what I was saying. I watched her eyes as they gave her away. Slowly, very slowly, I could see her reluctantly begin considering my demand.

The look of panic and terror was replaced with one of hopeful disgust. I could almost read her thoughts as the expressions registered on her face. If she did this just the one time with this disgusting pig, I'd give her the video and it would be over. She could go back to her perfect little life and no one would ever know.

I smirked to myself. 'Desperation sure makes people naïve', I thought but there was no way I was going to tell her that. Instead, I continued, "I know you know how to suck cock, slut. Make it good and this will be over real quick. Remember, Mr. Hawthorn will be home soon."

The terror flashed again in her eyes as she looked over at the clock. She looked back at me and tears began to form in the corners of her eyes. "Please," she softly begged, "don't make me do this. I'll pay you anything. Anything you want." For a second, I felt just a bit sorry for her.

But only for a second. I whispered softly yet firmly, "I don't want your money. I want my cock in your mouth. I want your pretty lips sliding up and down my shaft. I want your tongue to make me cum."

I took another half-step forward and pushed my swollen crotch closer to her face, her eyes locking in on my throbbing cock for a brief second and then back on mine. "Go on," I grumbled, "take out my cock."

Suzanne sniffed slightly, hesitated and I watched her right hand slowly start reaching out. Her eyes locked on my erection and I watched her slowly unbuckle my jeans. Instantly, my cock swelled.

Slowly, she unbuttoned my jeans and reached for the zipper in her delicate right hand. Her manicured nails found the tab and she gently pulled it down. I could feel my pants falling away from my hips. I watched as she reached for the waistband of my underwear.

With both hands, she tugged the soft material down and my cock instantly sprang out at her face. Reflexively, Suzanne turned her head but her cheek slapped against the head of my hot cock. She gasped slightly and I could see a small wet spot on her skin where my pre-cum had made contact.

"That's it," I taunted, "look at it, slut." Suzanne acquiesced, turning her head back and stared at my throbbing erection. She stared for what seemed like an eternity, sniffling, stifling back her tears. Finally, I said, "Stroke my cock, slut."

One tear was followed immediately by another and then another as she tentatively reached her delicate right hand out and grabbed my hot cock. Slowly, she began to do as I commanded, lightly stroking her hand up and down the length of my hard shaft.

The tears continued to fall as she slowly, softly stroked my erection. "Look at it," I murmured in a low voice. Suzanne's eyes again fixated on my cock. She watched her thin hand as it slipped up and down my shaft.

"Mmm, that's it slut," I whispered. "Lick the head of my cock."

The tears continued to drip down her impeccably made-up cheeks. Slowly, I watched as Suzanne's full lips parted and the tiniest tip of her tongue peeked out of her mouth. With the speed of a frozen glacier, Suzanne leaned forward and that soft tongue of hers finally made contact with the inflamed head of my cock.

Instantly, Suzanne's tongue darted back into her delicate little mouth as she sniffled and cried again. Angrily I commanded, "Lick my cock, slut!"