Mrs. Willoughby Pt. 01

When a perfect opportunity presents itself, it can be hard to know if taking advantage of a lady in distress will be worth the risks involved. I consider myself lucky this time, but I had plenty of reason to worry.

Renovation of classic old homes is my business, and I was called by the wealthy Willoughby family to replace a chandelier in their large dining room. The Willoughbys are a respected old family in our town and occupy one of the fine old homes in the historical district. Mr. Willoughby is retired after a successful career, and his wife is one of the pillars of volunteer work in town. She is a member of the Women's Club, the Garden Club, the country club, and I've seen her a few times on television during fund raisers for good causes.

And, she's a looker. Mr. Willoughby must be in his later sixties, and I guess that Mrs. Willoughby is about ten years younger. He has a sagging frame and round belly and balding pate. She plays tennis, attends yoga classes, and has kept her figure. She is a handsome woman, tall and slim with a high waist and long legs. Her dress is impeccable, very stylish and smart, modest but flattering.

Mrs. Willoughby met me at their front door and showed me into the dining room. An old light fixture hung at the center, and she wanted it replaced by a vintage item she had found. The new fixture was large with arms extending out in a circular pattern. Between the arms were a series of chains decorated with prisms. It would be a rather simple task, but it would require making a mess of the room and access to the attic above.

I removed the old fixture, exposed the wiring, then went into the attic to install a strong mount for the new heavier chandelier. This required removing a section of ceiling, wood, and plaster. The new fixture was secured in place, but the ceiling and attic floor needed to be patched.

This is where my day became far more interesting.

I was in the attic and heard Mrs. Willoughby call out, "Sir, how it is going?"

I replied, "Fine. I'll need most of the afternoon to finish."

Then I heard her on the steps to the attic. She appeared to be dressed for an event, and wore a mid-length full skirt and an attractive blouse that modestly did not show any of her chest. Her breasts were not a prominent feature of her figure anyway. Her trim figure, long legs and attractive face were her strongest assets.

"May I see what you're doing?" she asked.

"Sure," I said, "Please come in."

I couldn't help enjoying watching Mrs. Willoughby. She is the type of mature woman who I like to fuck. Women my own age are not as interesting or exotic as those who have aged in a certain way and who maintain their allure. You'd be surprised how many older wives like to flirt and enjoy a younger man's attention. Some flirt, but won't fuck. Some allow a kiss, but won't fuck. Some let me touch them, but won't fuck. Some, bless them, love to fuck.

What would Mrs. Willoughby allow, I wondered as she stepped into the attic. She gave no signs of being a fuckable mature wife, but that did not stop me from dreaming.

She glanced around, "How long will it take?" she asked,

My eyes traveled up and down her handsome figure and pretty face, "With luck, another hour," I said. "Oh," I added, "the attic floor near the new fixture isn't quite secure, so watch out where you step."

She nodded, then she looked around at boxes stored in the attic, "Oh my, I don't know what I'll do with all this stuff," and we began to chat about old family photos and collections. Her mood was wistful and she seemed comfortable telling me about her family history.

She took out a photo album and showed me a photograph of an ancestor. "She's beautiful," I said, "You look a lot like her."

Mrs. Willoughby lowered her eyes and said, "You're kind to say that," as she touched my shoulder. I got the impression that my work might lead to more than installing a fixture. Perhaps I would install my cock in her pussy later today.

Just then, she walked over a weak spot that I had not yet repaired. The floor of the attic creaked, then it gave way. Mrs. Willoughby screamed as she fell through a hole. I leapt to help her, but it all happened too fast. Luckily, she only fell partway. I tried to lift her up, but I didn't want to risk injuring her.

"Something's holding me up," she said. "My foot is on something that feels secure."

"Hang on!" I yelled. "Can you steady yourself while I run downstairs and see if you can safely stand on whatever it is?"

"Yes, I think so," she said, "but hurry."

I raced down the stairs and into the dining room below. Ah ha! Her foot was on one of the chandelier chains, as if in a stirrup. The fall had caused her skirt to bunch up around her waist, and both legs were bare. One leg was secure and holding her weight while the other was waving around, and in between only her panties allowed her a bit of modesty.

I shouted, "You're okay. You can rest your weight on the one foot, but let me get something for you to stand on." I pushed a tall armoire under the chandelier and used a chair to climb up on top. With on leg resting on the chandelier, her other leg could now rest on my shoulder. "Okay," I shouted, "You won't fall."

What she didn't know was that my face was between her legs, and her panty-covered pussy was less than a foot from my nose. This was an opportunity of a lifetime. But how could I "help" her and also help myself? Her legs were securely fixed so that I had perfect close-up view of her panties stretched taut and revealing more about her pussy than she could conceal.

I called out, "Let me build up a step for your other leg so you can stand." But poor Mrs. Willoughby was starting to panic. Her legs began to sway. I worried that she might destabilize the chandelier, and then we would be in trouble.

I tried to calm her. "Please don't panic," I said. "Try to be calm." But she got more agitated.

"Let me try this," I called to her. After orgasm, some women become calm and settled. Others go wild and do not relax. On a hunch that she might relax, I took full advantage of the situation and took full liberties with her panties.

At first when I pulled them aside to look at Mrs. Willoughby's pussy, she resisted and became more agitated. She never said to stop, but she shouted, "What are you doing?"

"I'm just trying something to calm you so we can get you free from this," I said as I admired the most lovely pussy I'd ever seen. As I slid her panties aside, there below her puff of full pussy hair was an amazing sight. Her crease was full and pouting. Outer and inner lips rolled and pushed out. At the top of her slit was a prominent projecting hood covering her clitoris. Her pussy was lovely shades of pink and light brown. It would be no problem to find her clit and start her engine.

"Young man, what are you doing?" she exclaimed.

Without answering, I leaned forward until my tongue could gently touch her pussy. I slid my tongue along and under her creases, trying to slightly stimulate her entire lengthy of puffy lips. Mrs. Willoughby tried to twist away to avoid my tongue, but every move she made only added to the stimulation of the movement of my tongue.

Up and down along her crease, I lapped her with increasing pressure until my tongue entered between her labia major and minor. My tongue traveled upward and over her prominent clitoral hood. She began to shiver. I repeated this with increasing pressure until my tongue found her most sensitive spot. Mrs. Willoughby stopped moving. Her legs rested gently and wide apart for me. I concentrated on a pattern of touch and tease.

I knew she was fully secure and there was no danger of her falling, so I took a little time to let her build herself up to a strong orgasm. Perhaps this was the first time she had been treated to a gentle tongue. Perhaps she and Mr. Willoughby were not very active sexually. If not, then perhaps the orgasm that was coming would be something new.

I stopped and called up to her, "Almost done." Then I continued to tease her pussy. She did not respond, but I imagined that she was breathing hard.

Three times I brought her nearly to a climax, but each time I stopped and let her calm down. Then I decided it was time to free her. My tempo increased, pressure on, pressure off, predictable licks directly over her clit then to one side and the other side. Circling around, then dancing directly on top of her clit with the tip of my tongue. The diving down deep between her pussy lips. Back and forth. She was cooperating and dancing with me leading until I heard her shout, "Oh my god!"

I kept up the pace for another few moments, then gradually tapered down to allow her to fully release. Her legs went limp. She was quiet.

I added a few books to the top of the armoire to give her a step for her free leg, and I untangled myself from between her legs to let her foot rest firmly on the books.

Hopping down to the floor, I ran back up the stairs. Mrs. Willougby face looked tired and exhausted. Without saying a word, I helped her rise and lifted her up and out of danger. I'm sure she had a few bruises from the fall, but otherwise she seemed okay. I rested her back down onto the attic floor to let her rest.

"Are you okay?" I asked. "Can you tell if anything is hurt?"

Mrs. Willoughby looked up at me, "Just my pride, I suppose. I'm so embarrassed." Her skirt was twisted and out of position, and her long legs were mostly on display. Knowing I could still see her panties, she made no move to hide pussy from my view. She asked, "Where did you learn to do that?"

"It was just a hunch that maybe it would help you feel less anxious, but it was just a guess."

"Well, son," she said, "Good guess."

Not sure if I should fuck her now, I made a joke, "It's a good thing that a man with a very large tool belt was here to help you."

She and I both laughed, and then she said, "How large?"

I smiled and unbuckled my tool belt and trousers. She looked up at me as I said, "Well, fair is fair. Let me show you my favorite tool."

Mrs. Willoughby's eyes were fixed on my cock as it flopped out for her to see. My bell head was thick and oozing cum as it lengthened. Wives tell me that my thickness is their favorite part of my dick, but thick and long is a winning combination. My full eight inches were poised over Mrs. Willoughby, and I was ready to move in for the fuck.

"Amazing," she said, "but what do you think you're going to do with that thing?"

"Fuck you with it," I said.

"Dear boy, I am amused to see such a thing, but don't you think you're being fresh?"

Fresh? I had just devoured her pussy. She was still feeling the pleasant after-effects of my licking her through a powerful orgasm. And here I was offering to complete her pleasure, and she thought I was being fresh?

I stopped and just stood there, cock waving in front of Mrs. Willoughby as she lay back with her legs still parted. I knew that under her panties was a soaking pussy.

Mrs. Willoughby apparently regained her composure. She brought herself to her knees, facing my dangling dick. "Young man, it seems like every man I meet likes to flirt and wants to fuck me."

I could well believe that was true.

As she rose to her feet, she took my cock in her hand. "This is the best offer I've had, by far, and you have undoubted skills in that department."

I interrupted, "I have fucked a lot of wives."

Mrs. Willoughby laughed, "I bet you have. But this wife is not so easy. You took advantage of me when I was in distress. You've seen my pussy but no other man has. Even my husband doesn't get that kind of view."

My cock pulsed and dripped a long drop of cum as she released it and tidied her hair and skirt. Mrs. Willoughby walked to the stairs and looked back at me standing with a dripping dick.

"I'll have to think about it," she said as she stepped down. "Finish the work, please, and no more traps."

I finished the job, rearranged the dining room furniture, and was about to leave for day when Mr. Willoughby came home. "Hi there," he said to me. "Got that chandelier ready for us?"

"Yes, sir," I said as Mrs. Willoughby entered the room.

"Hello, dear," he said to her. "Did all go well today?"

She gazed at me, "Things went quite well. Maybe we should call on this young man for services again."