Haughty

It's not easy getting older. I think if I'd been plainer when I was younger, I wouldn't have noticed aging so much. Is that snotty? Vain? Probably. Honest? Definitely. I had my 44th birthday yesterday. I'm used to getting attention when I go places; I hadn't realized I was, used to attention that is, until I stopped getting it. Or at least as much. Now, young men in their 20s often address me as "m'am" and are, well, often indifferent to me. I at times feel invisible. Older men still enjoy my ... attributes, and women often look me over, check out my outfit, boobs, wondering if they're real or fake (fake). But, still, I can tell I'm on the downhill side of young.

I'll admit, I haven't been kind in my treatment of all people. I didn't take time to be overly polite, sensitive. Men would approach, I'd more-or-less give them the finger with my expression. Fuck off. That's pretty much what I was thinking too. I've only recently been back on the 'market'. It's fine, I can deal with it; been there done that. And, I can still garner some of the attention. But. . . things have changed. I find I have to work a little harder for things now. That rich, successful middle-aged man? He's looking at my daughter (or would be, if I had one), not me.

Last night, I went to the Cattlemen's Ball with a couple of my girlfriends. It's a black tie & tails gala. I wore my favorite Versace, showed off my assets, so to speak. I ended up talking with Hank, I later learn he's a real-estate guy of some type. Actually, I'd recognized his name, I know his company, let's just say that real estate is big in Texas, and I know his assets improved during the dot com years between real estate and hi-tech investments, that coupled with apparently impeccable timing, he's done pretty well for himself. He's tall, passing 6' by maybe an inch or two. Broad and square, like he played football in high school, but now works -- well, not behind a desk precisely, but he's no longer the young athlete either. Mid 30's maybe. Nice looking, but it's his attitude, the way he moves that catches my interest. Confident. Possibly arrogant. And male. Very very male.

Anyhow, I could tell I'd had one, two, possibly three drinks too many. I was touchy and giddy and horny. Hank comes up to me and whispers "lovely dress Vanessa."

I blink slowly, look at him over my drink, "Have we met?"

"It's been a while. My name's Hank, we, um, encountered each other about ten years' back."

I stop, fuzzily trying to remember the meeting. He's looking at, well, my boobs. I take his hand to shake it, laughing, and tell him it's good to meet him again, and ask if he wanted to go get another drink with me.

We go toward the bar, and then he maneuvers me out a door onto the terrace, saying "It's quieter out here." I bump into him a bit as he takes me to the far side of a tall tree, blocking the view of other guests. He leans up against the building, and I ask "So, you want to talk?"

He looks at me, a smile at the edges of his mouth, he moves his hand along my chest. I'm a little taken aback, quick moves, definitely presumptuous --- yet, I don't tell him to stop. He stills, looks in my eyes, and then slowly moves his hand down, between my breasts, then under my dress to cup my left breast, then breathes in my ear, "Nice."

I'm breathy, drunk , getting hornier, and leaning a little toward him. He continues, "You looked hungry back there." He pauses, then outlines my breast with his hand. Except for my shivers, I don't move.

"You're just a slutty tramp aren't you? under all that money and ice." I was wearing some pretty fine diamond earrings, I assume that's what he was talking about. As for slutty? I know I'm being insulted, but his hand is what I'm responding to, not his words. He continues playing with my breast, bringing his other hand to work my other one. He murmurs, "You always were a whore, I felt it. Just an uppity slut when you were younger, weren't you?" I still for a moment, looking at him, offended, embarrassed, and – more than anything, incredibly, skin jumpingly, horny. He starts moving one hand down my belly, I can't help it, I moan softly, and he presses his hard cock into me.

"Wh-what?" I manage to say.

"Oh, Vanessa, you & me, we've met before. I believe it was at a similar function, you were the queen bee with your banker husband buzzing around on top of the financial world then. But, you didn't have time for me. Little ole builder me. Oh, you looked twice at me, but then you realized I didn't have a pedigree, just a small homegrown construction company and . . . "

At that point I gasp, he'd hiked my dress up and started fingering my cunt. "Christ, you're dripping. You really want my cock don't you?" I keep moving, I want to come.

"Stop it. Stop. . . " I say.

"You want me to stop?" his fingers still.

"Oh god, no. Fuck me. Please." I push myself toward Hank, oh god, can he shut up already? He's hard, he's big, and I want him in me.

He unzips his pants, pulling his cock out of his underwear. "Kneel down. I want you to suck me."

I look at him. Frustrated, angry. I give him a defiant look, but, I go down on him. I feel a sense of satisfaction when he groans as I take his dick in my mouth, down my throat, and slide it in and out. He starts fucking my mouth, holding my head down. In out in out. He speeds up, moving. I can taste cum in my mouth. I can tell he's approaching climax. I tear my head away from his hands, his cock slipping out of my mouth.

"No. I want you to fuck me."

"Still the bossy bitch, huh?" he says as I get up, lean against the wall. He pulls me toward him and crams his cock into me. "oh!" He stops.

"Beg for it bitch. You uppity cunt, you just want to be fucked just like everyone else. I think you want it dirty. Hard and nasty. Say you're a slut."

I shake my head, and try to move my hips. He grins without humour. "Say it. ADMIT it you little cocksucker."

"Fuck me. Please. Oh, g- , I'm a slut Hank."

"Say it like you mean it."

"I am a slut. I. like. To . fuck." I glare at him, while feeling completely at his mercy.

He moves suddenly, banging in & out of me.

He says between breaths, "You're old meat now, you know. I can get slick young cunt anytime now. Beg for it. Beg for my cock."

"Please. . . " I gasp.

Oh god oh god, he squeezes my tit, oh oh, feels soo good. I'm humiliated, because I feel old, desperate, and all I want is for him to fuck me until I come.

Keep going, keep going, don't stop, "Come on baby, I know you want to come," he murmurs in my ear. "Fuck. My.cock," he grits out. I orgasm, juices running down my leg, have I ever been that wet? Then he loses it, grunts, holds me close, biting my neck. God, that made me come again.

He finally withdraws. Looks disdainfully at me. "Thanks Vanessa. Call me when you need a good fucking. " He straightens his clothes, tweaks my nipple, grins sardonically and reaches into his pocket, grabbing his wallet and hands me the card he pulls out. I weakly take it between my fingers. Hank then strolls away without a single look back, as I watch, dazed, from against the wall.