tagMatureLocked Out ...

Locked Out ...


I had always been attracted to older women. As an elementary student I had crushes on my teachers. In high school I lusted after my girlfriends' mothers; fantasizing about them while I was screwing their daughters. In college I hounded, but never caught, my older professors. I regularly bought the various "Over 50" magazines and jerked off to episodes of "The Golden Girls."

I never had the guts to ask an older woman out. I guess I was hoping that, sooner or later, it would just happen like the stories in the granny porn mags.

Luckily for me, it finally did ...

I had taken the day off to run some errands and was returning to my apartment around lunch time. I came bounding up the stairs to find Mrs. Cotter, my neighbor, sitting dejectedly on the metal firebox bolted to the floor of our shared landing.

Mrs. Cotter was 50-something (to my 32) and totally unaware that I often daydreamed about her. She wasn't attractive in a traditional sense, but she wasn't ugly either. She was pleasing plump with wide shoulders, thick legs and full breasts. Her hair was a short, white-blonde and she was rarely seen without heavy blue eye-shadow, even though the 80's were long gone.

She was squatting on the metal box wearing a colorful silk robe. Being on the lower steps gave me a wonderful, if fleeting, view up and into her belted robe as she stood up. It was painfully clear she had nothing on beneath it.

"Oh, thank goodness," she said, "I'm so glad you're home."

"What's the matter?" I asked arriving at the landing beside her.

"I've locked myself out," she told me, "Trying to get my darn cat. She didn't want to take her medicine."

"Where's your cat now?" I asked, unlocking my door and trying to peek into her robe unnoticed. The soft dark beginnings of her cleavage were barely visible.

"In my apartment," she said, "The inconsiderate beastie. Can I use your phone?"

"Of course," I said, ushering her in with a wave. I watched happily as her butt jiggled beneath the smooth material. She pulled it closed more tightly as if she could feel my eyes on her.

"Is your sliding glass door open?" I asked, looking out at our connected balconies with only a metal railing dividing them.

"It might be," she said, brightening, "Can you get to it?"

"No problem," I assured her, stepping out onto the balcony. I landed on her side with a thump and tried the sliding door. It was locked.

"Locked," I hollered, "I'll try the windows."

Pulling a patio chair over, I tried both windows and was happy to find the far one unlocked. I pushed it open and leaned in to determine the likelihood of my being able to get completely in. It would work, so I dropped down and stepped back to my half of the balcony.

Looking into my apartment I saw Mrs. Cotter sitting on my couch flipping rapidly through a magazine. My face went red! I had left some granny porn on the table and she had found it. My cock jumped involuntarily.

I made some noise before saying, "Your window is unlocked."

She quickly discarded the magazine and stood up as I came in. Her nipples were pushing at her robe as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Great," she said huskily and maybe a little flushed, "I really appreciate this."

I returned to her window and pulled myself in. After a few awkward moments I found myself sprawled on her firm bed. Her room was pure feminine – pink and lacey to a fault. It smelled heavenly and I was lying in a pile of freshly washed and folded lingerie. My fall had knocked it about and I tried to straighten it a bit, enjoying the feel of the soft cotton.

"Meet me at the door," I hollered, leaning out the window.

I made my way through her apartment; it was exactly as you would imagine it would be – frilly and softly lit. There were pictures of her kids – all grown – scattered decoratively about and little knick-knacks everywhere.

Mrs. Cotter had long been divorced and, to my knowledge, had no suitors. She seemed perfectly content living here with her cat. I arrived at the door and turned the deadbolt.

Her robe wasn't as snuggly wrapped when I opened the door.

"Thank y-" she started, before bending quickly, "Oh, no you don't!"

Her cat had bolted past me in a valiant escape attempt; I hadn't even seen it coming. Mrs. Cotter, however, moved rapidly to intercept the feeling feline. She lunged to her right, blocking the cat's exit. It darted back into the apartment and Mrs. Cotter followed it.

"Come here!" she snapped as she and it jumped around the room. All the activity had pulled her belt lose and her robe hung open revealing her pale nakedness.

I stared in open amazement as her breasts flopped crazily while she chased her cat.

"Close the door!" she barked and I let it swing shut. "Help me get her!"

I joined the chase and, between the two of us, we easily cornered the panting pussy. I gently picked it up and stroked its soft fur.

Mrs. Cotter, her robe hanging open, reached for her cat. She pulled it to her chest and for the briefest instant, my hands touched her warm skin.

"Thank you," she said, holding her cat against her bare chest. "Thank you for unlocking my door and thank you for catching my Piper."

"You're very welcome," I replied, trying to appear casual as I gaped at her nude form. Reluctantly, I turned to the door.

"Oh," she continued, "And thank you for the enlightening reading material."

I stopped in my tracks; I could feel my face turning red.

"I didn't even know they made magazines like that," she told me, her cat still hiding her chest. "And I certainly didn't know you were interested in older ladies."

My penis tingled as I turned to face her. She had lowered Piper slightly and her pert nipples sat in its soft fur.

"Do you think I could be in one of those magazines?" she asked directly, turning her wide hips in a mock pose.

"Yes," I gulped, "Definitely."

"Really?" she asked, tossing the cat to the floor before striking another pose.

She proceeded to go through a series of semi-serious poses, holding each for a few seconds, before moving on to the next. Pulling her robe from her shoulders, she continued.

Her breasts, rounder and fuller than I would have expected, danced with each crisp movement. My jaw dropped and I stared openly.

"But, I guess," she said, stopping suddenly, "For those magazines I'd probably have to pose like this."

She returned to posing, but more provocatively; cupping her breasts and pouting her lips. She turned around and presented her wide ass.

"What do you do with those magazines?" she asked over her bare shoulder.

"I don't know," I lied, adjusting my pants.

"Do you," she resumed posing, shaking and dancing in front of me. "Masturbate with them?"

I stood dumbly staring. Her breasts looked amazing as she shook.

"Show me," she said, dropping her robe to the floor before falling heavily onto her couch. "Pretend I'm in your magazine. Show me."

Her poses became more intense as she rubbed herself between her thighs and lifted her legs.

"Show me," she said again.

I may be shy, but I'm not totally stupid. I undid my pants and pulled them down. My dick was fighting to get out of my briefs and I pulled them off quickly. My erection stood firm and throbbing. Mrs. Cotter smiled as I took it in my hand.

I started slowly, a little uneasy, but my pace soon quickened as she began posing again. The poses were becoming increasingly graphic – she was spreading her legs wide or licking her own tits – and I was about to erupt.

"Do you ejaculate on the women in the magazines?" she asked, leaning closer.

"Sometimes," I admitted, stroking myself vigorously.

"Then do it on me," she said, positioning herself in front of my swollen cock. "Ejaculate on me."

I exploded with a shudder and a powerful line of spunk splashed onto her bare chest. The second burst landed on her neck and shoulder, the third across her chin. I continued pumping myself until the spasms stopped. I was panting, with my dick still in my hand, when Mrs. Cotter leaned in and kissed me.

Slowly at first, then with more passion, we kissed. Her naked body was pressing into me and my hands cupped her wonderful breasts, squeezing them in disbelief. My cum was warm and sticky on her tits and her nipples were stiff and very sensitive.

She pushed me back onto the couch and straddled my revived cock; her tits hung inches from my face.

"Did your magazines ever do this?" she whispered before lowering herself slowly toward my straining manhood. I felt her wet warmth as it brushed against me. I shifted, trying to enter her crease as she rocked back and forth teasingly.

Finally she slowed long enough for my mushroomed head to press into her slick hole. My dream had come true; I was fucking an older woman – a much older woman. I thrust in deeply, up and down, trying to match her rhythm. My hands palmed her dangling breasts and I watched how her skin wrinkled and creased as I mashed them together.

Her pace increased and I struggled to keep up. Her aged pussy was pulling at me tightly and I felt her start to shake. Her orgasm came in waves and she buried her face into my neck, moaning softly.

I was right behind her, shooting my load deep into her furry box. She stayed on top of me and I held her tight, gently rubbing and fondling her. Shortly, my spent penis slid out of her wet gash and we slowly climbed to our feet.

We stood staring at each other for a moment.

Things felt awkward and I dressed quickly. Mrs. Cotter was saying something about having to get to the bank before it closed and I made a hasty retreat back to my apartment.

I dropped contentedly, but a bit confused, into my favorite chair. It had been worth the wait ...


Mrs. Cotter managed to avoid me for about a week, but we finally ran into each other on the stairs. She apologized and told me she had been on some prescription medicine that morning and it had her, "all loosey-goosey." She told me she really wasn't that kind of woman and hoped I would forgive her. I had no idea what to say, so I forgave her for making my dream come true.


From the author: It has been pointed out, correctly, I seem to enjoy the build-up as much or possibly more than the actual business end of the story. This story is an example of that ... I take a long time, maybe too long, getting to the action. Feel free to met me know ...

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