tagMatureRuth and the Boy Next Door

Ruth and the Boy Next Door

byPussyrider©

Eight months, three weeks, four days and, let's see, eleven hours. That's how long it's been since my husband and me had sex. I remember because it was my 53rd birthday. I wouldn't say since we made love; we haven't done that in years. We've never really had much of a sex life, not since my daughter Suzie was born, and she's 27 now. We don't really do much together at all anymore. If it weren't for me cooking his meals and washing his clothes, I'm not sure Don would even notice me. Sometimes I think the only reason we stay together is that we can't be bothered with the effort and expense of getting divorced.

My name's Ruth, and I live in a little place called Penarth, just outside Cardiff, Wales. I'm not a bad looking woman for my age. I'm small, five-feet-three, with a helmet of short nut brown hair and I suppose I'm a bit dumpy – I could do with losing 20 pounds or so. But I've got a smooth round face, twinkling green eyes, plump, sensuous lips and a dimple in my chin. I've got big knockers too – I take size DD bra cups. Don was only the third man I ever slept with, and the last – until recently.

Perhaps it's just my hormones going berserk, but these days it seems like you're surrounded by sex. It's on the TV, in the press, on the Internet, everywhere you look. I'm a secretary at the local secondary school, and it seems like all day long I'm seeing teenage kids flirting with each other, kissing, touching each other. The teachers have to patrol the toilets at break times to make sure none of the kids are shagging in there. Never mind behind the bike sheds – a couple of them were caught at it in a classroom one lunchtime a few months ago, actually doing it on the teacher's desk! The boy told the teacher they were both 18 so it was none of her business, cheeky little fucker.

So, with all this sex around, I couldn't help wondering why I wasn't getting any. I'd given up on Don, and at my age you can't just wander into a local bar and look to pick someone up; in London maybe, but not here. I seem to spend hours looking at websites where you can advertise for a one-night stand, and where blokes with cocks the size of Big Ben sell themselves. I wouldn't have the courage to use a dating website though, and I'm certainly not paying for it.

The answer to ending all my frustration arrived one morning a few weeks ago, quite unexpectedly. The school summer holidays had just started, so I was at home all day. I stayed in bed till Don had gone to work, then wandered over to my bedroom window and stared out of it, as I often do when I'm getting my thoughts together first thing in the morning. As usual I was dressed in my flannelette nightie. Our house is on a street corner, and the back of the house looks out at an angle onto the back of the first house down the side street, perhaps 30 yards away. Just as I was about to go and have a shower, out of the corner of my eye I caught a movement in a window of that other house. Not moving my head I swivelled my eyes – and saw a small brown face staring straight at me out of the window.

I thought about it as I was showering. That house is owned by a Pakistani couple. They're nice enough, but I don't really know them much beyond saying hello. The husband's a pharmacist in the chemist's shop in town. They've got two children, a 16-year old girl, I'm not sure of her name, and an 18-year old boy called Salman. I knew that the room where I'd seen the face was Salman's bedroom – I'd seen him in it sometimes. He didn't go to our school, but he would be on his holidays too at the moment. It was probably just a coincidence that he'd been at his window the same time I was at mine. I chuckled to myself at the notion of a nice looking teenage boy bothering to ogle a woman old enough to be his granny.

The next morning, though, when I stood in my window I turned my eyes in that direction, and there he was again, half-hidden behind the curtain, staring at me. A naughty thought went through my mind, and I pretended to yawn, stretching my arms above my head, making my boobs ride up under my nightie. Then I got a shock. I saw him lift something up – and I realised the cheeky little beggar had a pair of binoculars trained on me! I skittered backwards from the window so fast I banged against the bed and sat on it with a thump. At first I didn't know whether to be amused or furious; but then, he hadn't really seen anything, only me in my nightie, and I'd answered the front door to the postman dressed like that more than once.

I tried to put it out of my head, but all day long I was thinking about young Salman spying on me like that. Later in the day I was looking at a website of sexy grannies, telling myself I looked a lot better naked than most of them. There was one in particular who was leaning through the window of a caravan, her enormous tits hanging down below her like barrage balloons. Looking at her, in the window, I suddenly got the most wicked notion, and sat back giggling to myself. Right, I thought – if Salman wants to stare at me, I'll give the dirty little sod something really worth looking at!

I woke at dawn the next morning, and lay awake for ages with my stomach in knots, wondering if I really had the nerve to go through with my plan. At the usual time I swung my feet to the floor and made my way nervously forwards. Then, taking a deep breath, I took the last step to the window. I didn't even glance in the direction of Salman's house, I just assumed he was there. I waited about 30 seconds then, my heart racing, I reached down to the hem of my nightie and pulled it over my head, leaving me standing naked. My big boobs would be clearly visible to Salman. As if to confirm it, my eye was caught by a movement as he twitched his curtain back to get a better look, then a flash of sunlight reflected off his binoculars.

I felt myself blushing, but weirdly I found I was enjoying my exhibitionism. I put my hands under my tits and lifted them up, as if weighing them. Then I let one fall back and, still holding the other up, began to play with my big brown nipple, making it stiffen. After a few minutes I stepped back and went for a shower, giggling like a naughty schoolgirl. Over the next few mornings I repeated the show. I found that by craning my neck slightly I could actually get my nipple into my mouth, and actually rather enjoyed the sensation as I sucked on it, stroking my fingers along the flesh of my stretched breast. I felt quite heated up afterwards, and frigged myself under the shower, thinking about Salman watching me. Later that same day, as I was walking out of my front gate, he just happened to be walking past my house. When he saw me his eyes widened in terror and he hurriedly changed direction and headed back to his own home.

Sitting at home all day, looking at porn on the Internet and thanking about Salman maybe wanking himself as he watched me, I started to develop a little fantasy: that I would invite him into my home and seduce him, satisfying both our rampant libidos. Though he had a handsome face he was short, only the same height as me, and quite skinny, and on the few occasions I'd met him he seemed a little shy and reserved. Knowing what the kids at my own school were like I suspected he probably hadn't had many girlfriends. I spent a while thinking about that, but I don't think I seriously intended to do anything about it. Then fate lent a hand.

Just after lunchtime on one particularly hot day, I was struggling back to the house with several bags of shopping. I put them down outside my front gate, to wipe sweat out of my eyes and find my key...and at that moment my voyeur came round the corner and almost tripped over my bags. If I'd had even a second to think about it I'm sure I wouldn't have done it. As it was, acting on instinct, I heard myself say, "Oh hello, Salman isn't it? You couldn't do me a favour, could you love, and help me inside with these bags?"

Salman had been brought up to be a good, polite boy and, giving me a nervous smile, he hefted up my bags and carried them to my front door, then through to the kitchen where he placed them on a counter. As he was turning to go I said, "Thank you love. Oh, you look as hot as me now, would you like a drink? I've got Coke in the fridge, or I was just about to do myself a nice cup of tea."

He shook his head and mumbled something, backing towards the door. I gently took his arm in my hand. "Come on Salman, I owe you something for getting those bags in for me. Anyway, I could do with a bit of company, on my own in here all day. You weren't going anywhere important were you?"

Looking as if he wanted to be anywhere else at that moment, he muttered, "Er no, just the library." I pulled out a chair for him and he obediently sat in silence, staring intently at his hands clasped on the table before him while the kettle boiled and I put away the frozen stuff from my bags. Then I established that he wanted tea, poured us both a cup and sat across the table from him. He seemed uncomfortable in my presence, but I got out of him that he was going away to university in Birmingham in the autumn. His parents had been pressuring him to get a summer job, but he wanted to enjoy his freedom before re-starting his studies. The conversation rather seemed to peter out after that.

I could feel my heart pounding. The first part of my fantasy had actually happened – Salman was sitting in my house. If I didn't do something he was just going to finish his tea, get up and leave, grateful to have got away from the mad old woman from next door. Clearing my throat, I said as casually as I could, "I've seen you watching me, you know."

His head snapped up and he looked at me with panic-stricken eyes. He stuttered, "I...I don't know what you mean."

I smiled, trying to look much calmer than I was feeling. "In the mornings. In my bedroom. Do you like my breasts?"

His looked at me in panic. I saw him swallow once, twice, then in a strangled voice he mumbled, "Mrs Jones, I'm sorry, I..." Then he hung his head and stared at his hands again.

I told him. "That's all right, I'm not angry. It's quite flattering actually, to have a handsome young man like you looking at me in that way." His head dropped a fraction lower, and I saw a single big tear drop roll down his cheek and burst on the table. I reached a hand across the table and placed it on his; he flinched. As gently as I could, I said, "Salman...have you ever had a girlfriend?" He shook his head and gave a loud, self-pitying sniff.

Still with my hand cupped over his, I asked, "Do you play with yourself when you're watching me?" He didn't answer, but his shoulders shook as he began to cry in earnest. Squeezing his hand lightly, I said, "Would you like to play with me?" Tears still covering his face, he looked up at me in miserable incomprehension. I continued, "You've seen my titties; would you like to actually touch them?" His jaw dropped and, wiping his face with the back of a hand, he stared at me in disbelief that he had really heard what I just said. I smiled reassuringly, and almost whispered, "You can if you want to. I don't mind; in fact I'd like it."

Salman continued to stare at me. I stood and, my knees feeling weak, walked around the table and squatted beside him. I reached out and took his hand, pulled it towards me and placed it lightly on my boob. He looked fearfully into my eyes for a moment, perhaps expecting me to scream, then I felt his fingers flex, as he gently squeezed me. I was surprised to feel my nipple start to stiffen. Finally starting to believe this wasn't some bizarre dream, Salman turned sideways on his chair to face me, and cupped his spare hand around my other boob, squeezing that too. Still acting more on instinct than conscious thought, I stood and took one of his hands in mine. Feeling suddenly light-headed, I heard myself say, "Come on, let's go upstairs, we'll be more comfortable there."

I don't know which of us was more nervous as I led him up the stairs to my bedroom – mine and Don's. Salman still looked petrified as I sat him on the bed and closed the curtains over the window where I'd paraded myself for him the last few mornings. I sat beside him and wondered what on earth I should do next. Again, instinct seemed to take over. I undid my blouse, button by button, then held it out at arm's length between finger and thumb and dropped it, as if I was performing a striptease. Then I reached back and unclipped my bra. Salman gasped as my big pink-white boobies dropped down, the nipples stiff.

His eyes locked on my chest, he tentatively reached out a hand and cupped it under one of my breasts, rolling the nipple between his finger and thumb, as if in wonderment. I felt my tummy jump, and next thing I knew there was dampness between my legs, just like that. I expected him to take my other boob in his other hand again; instead, he dipped his head down and sucked it into his mouth, his lips massaging the breast while his tongue drew circles around my nipple. I sighed at that, cupped a hand behind his head, closed my eyes and murmured, "God Salman, that's lovely."

I felt more aroused than I would have believed was possible with an inexperienced kid; more aroused than I had been in years. We sank back onto the bed until Salman was laying half across me, mouth and hand still locked to my boobs. I reached down and found the zip of his jeans, fumbled it down then slipped my hand inside. I pushed his briefs out of the way, and heard him gasp as my fingers closed around his circumcised cock. He was already very stiff, and I began to slowly rub my hand up and down it, feeling every ridge, every contour.

We were both breathing more deeply by then, and, any doubts I'd had forgotten, I felt it was time to move things on. Removing my hand from his jeans, I whispered, "Salman, let's get undressed." He rolled off me and, with curious shyness in the circumstances, turned his back to strip off his clothes. I quickly kicked off my jogging pants and my damp knickers and lay back, gazing at my lover's taut little bum.

When Salman turned round I got my first proper look at him. His skin was beautiful, the colour of mocha coffee – I look more like a glass of milk. He wasn't as weedy as I'd thought, in fact his body was quite sinewy. He had no chest hair, but a wispy forest of black hair perched above an impressively erect cock. It was slim but surprisingly long given his small stature, maybe eight inches. By contrast, his hairless scrotum looked unusually small.

He lay beside me on the bed and, for the first time, smiled, his teeth a brilliant white. Then he took me by surprise, suddenly leaning into me and smacking his lips onto mine, as he gripped my tit quite firmly. I pressed my tongue against his lips, and after a moment or two he realised what I wanted and opened them for me. I slipped into his mouth and stroked his tongue with my own, making him groan. He had eaten something spicy for lunch, and the taste of it made my tongue tingle.

Without warning he pulled out of the kiss and pushed me urgently onto my back. I opened my legs and he moved between them, but too late: he spent his load half into my thick bush of brown pubes and half onto the duvet. Salman hung his head, and said, "Fuck! I'm sorry Mrs Jones."

I sat up and kissed him lightly on the forehead. Then, trying to sound more upbeat than I felt at that moment, I said, "That's okay sweetheart, we've got all afternoon. And call me Ruth, not Mrs Jones." I took a tissue from the bedside and scooped the spunk off the duvet, knowing I'd have to change it before Don got home, and went to the bathroom to clean myself up. On the way back, as an afterthought, I took a spare toilet roll with me. Salman still looked ashamed of not having been able to hold back so, trying to control my impatience and frustration, I pulled him into my arms and we kissed again for a while.

I took one of his hands and pushed it between my legs, then eased one of his fingers into me. He let it just sit there for a few moments, then began to stir it around. I pushed at him and moaned to let him know I liked what he was doing, and he inserted another digit. Before long four of his slim fingers were in my pussy, stroking me and pumping slowly in and out. After a few minutes of that I broke our kiss and fell back beside Salman, panting. My nipples couldn't have got any stiffer without bursting. My new lover began to pump at me more quickly, and attached his mouth to my boob. Soon after that I almost wailed at him, "Oh God yes, that's great, keep doing that Salman...oh shit, I'm cumming darlin'." Then a red mist descended before my eyes and my internal organs exploded. I screeched through clenched teeth, my hips bucked off the bed towards him, and my pussy walls clamped round his fingers like a vice.

I sank back, sweating and with my whole body tingling like prickly heat. Salman, bless him, kept stroking my pussy until I reached down and stopped him, pulling him up to kiss me again. I hadn't felt that good in a very, very long time, and I felt incredibly tender towards him. I was aware of his erection burning against my thigh and, pulling my face back, I asked, "Do you want to give it another try, honey?" He nodded, slightly nervously I thought. I kissed him on the cheek and assured him, "It's okay lover, it'll be fine this time."

I lay back and opened my legs invitingly. This time, to my surprise, Salman didn't lay on top of me, but tucked his knees under my buttocks and shuffled up to me, his hands cupping my bum cheeks. He entered me with a solid thrust, and I wrapped my legs around his cute bum and locked them at the ankles. I think the position he'd adopted gave his actions extra power, and he fucked me with long, fast, powerful strokes that soon had me gurgling with joy. Having already cum once I was still heated up, and after only a minute or so I screamed "Yeeessss, oh yes honey" as my insides melted again.

Feeling my pussy clamp on him, and my legs tighten around him, Salman asked me if I wanted him to stop. I felt as if I was floating on a cloud of champagne, and murmured, "Fuck no, you carry on lover." Whereas my first orgasm had set me up for the second, thankfully Salman's had had the reverse effect on him, enabling him to carry on for ages. I had a second climax before he'd finished, and I think a third mini one arrived as he finally gave a series of gasps, began rolling his head around and fired into me with one last huge shove before settling back on his haunches in a daze.

We lay together kissing and cuddling as we recovered our strength, bathing in our own sweat. Salman sat up and gazed down at me, then said, "Ruth, was that okay, really?"

I pulled him back down and told him, "Salman, it was great! You've given me one of the best fucks I've ever had. I haven't cum as much as that in years." He snuggled into me, smiling happily.

Later, as he left, he asked, "Ruth, can I come round again sometime?"

I grinned and replied, "You can come every day if you want."

He didn't do that, but we've seen each other three or four times a week since then. Every morning I do my flash show for him, but now I look straight at him as I do it. The second time he came round we ended up going down on each other. I used to enjoy sucking cock, but Don thinks it's a waste of an erection these days so I hadn't done it for years. Salman's long slim prick reaches more or less to the back of my throat, and I love stroking my lips up and down it and cupping his little balls as he curls his hands in my hair. The first time he went down on me he obviously didn't have much idea what he was doing, but I hadn't experienced it for over 30 years and it drove me wild. Now he's getting better and better, and he knows how to play with my clit to bring me to the brink two or three times before he finally lets me cum. His confidence as a lover is now as high as a kite, and I'm feeling well and truly fucked. He's going to keep some lucky young lady very happy in years to come. He only has to touch me now for my pussy to start getting wet. I don't know how we'll continue to see each other when he goes away to university, but until then I'm going to enjoy every fucking, sucking moment with him.

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