The Merry Widow Ch. 02

The Vet's Corps was sort of the equivalent of a fraternity, but only open to those with a DD-214. I suppose after you've been through basic training your interest in putting up with a bunch of high school bullshit hazing is pretty limited so none of us had tried to pledge one of the Greek fraternities.

I was a member in good standing and had made a silly promise over drinks and pot one Friday night.

"What if I told you," I had said, as we were passing around stories of women we had brought to the clubhouse, "that I have a 72-year-old landlady that would be up for one of those bukkake things."

The chorus of "ewwwww," "bullshit," "seriously," and "fuck yeah" had me laughing.

"Yeah," I said, "she's the classic merry widow. Says she's enjoying life A.C."

"A.C.?" Dan had asked.

And I had chuckled and said, "yes, After Chester. Her husband of 40 years, she tells me, was one of those Thursday nights for 5 minutes in the dark kind of guys."

We had all laughed at that, had some more beer, and passed around another joint.

"You're serious?" Fred has asked, "because," and he'd had to stop and laugh, "I've always had quite a granny thing."

I grinned and said, "yeah, I think she's ready for something a little more, you know, exotic."

"Well hell yeah," Jimmy, always Jimmy, never Jim or James, had said.

The conversation had drifted to other things then, as it does. Cars and what was on that History test. College student stuff.

But I hadn't forgotten and had been working on Marie since. She's the landlady that I pay in pleasure, and I had her pretty well addicted to what I could do for her.

"Davey," she said, as she sat at the little makeup table, finishing up, "please don't make me do this."

"I am not 'making' you do anything," I said, "I am many things but I am not a rapist."

"But if I don't you'll leave," she said.

I smiled and just rubbed her shoulders.

"Oh, God," she sort of moaned and her shoulders slumped.

"Oh, come on you little hot box," I said, nuzzling her ear, "you'll like it after the first minute or so."

Marie has one of those resting bitch faces. When she relaxes her face falls into a natural frown. But when she smiles, you just have to smile with her.

She smiled up at me in the mirror.

"Do you really think so?" she asked.

"Just think of all the things you were certain you wouldn't like," I said, "and now you ask for."

She giggled, an oddly high pitched and childish sound coming from her mature face.

"Welllllll," she said, giggling softly and giving me that smile again, "I DID fight when you wanted my mouth the first time."

"And your ass, and your tits, and your hands, and your feet," I said, "need I go on."

"How," she started but then stopped to get her thoughts in order.

"How many will there be?" she asked.

"Well," I said, "membership is 37 right now and," and I stopped to chuckle, "I expect most of them will be there."

She sort of moaned.

She stood suddenly and turned to face me.

She took a deep breath and smiled.

"Okay," she said, "what would you like your whore to wear tonight?"

I grinned and deliberately looked her up and down.

Yes, her 72 years showed, but she carried them amazingly well. Her face was remarkably smooth, her lips thin, her eyes, dark brown, were deep-set. A thin, hawklike nose was centered on her face, and her mouth was broad. There was a bit of a saggy pouch of skin under her chin, what she called her "wattle," that was sensitive when it was kissed or nipped.

Her arms were thin, all muscle and tendons, with interesting dark spots, what she called "liver spots" up and down them. A wispy patch of hair showed in her armpits, evidence of my throwing away her razor. Her hands were bony with obvious tendons and heavy veins were clearly an old woman's hands.

She had good shoulders, demonstrating her background as a high school and college swimmer.

She had amazing breasts. Her bras were 38DD and she filled them, leaving interesting cleavage. They sagged, of course. She was, after all, approaching three-quarters of a century, but not too badly. They were still full, not the pancake boobs of some old women. Her areolas were large, the size of a coffee cup, pale, barely a shade darker than the surrounding skin, and her nipples were oddly small on them. As I looked the areolas tightened, the wrinkled skin pushing up a half dozen very distinct love bumps, and her nipples turned red, hard little pencil erasers on the tip of the cone of her areolas.

She had an interesting scar on the bottom of the right breast where she had once had a lump removed. I had put a quarter into it one time, like the slot on a vending machine, and it had stayed.

She retained a hint of a waist and her hips flared into interesting shelves. She had a very round potbelly with four interesting scars. One evening I had touched each one and she had explained, one from her appendix and three from a laparoscopic removal of her gall bladder. The roundness of her belly made her look about five months pregnant but, of course, she wasn't. The heavy, dark, thick, curly pubic hair ran up the roundness of her belly, about halfway to her belly button.

Her legs were her worst feature. Her thighs were muscular but every thin, and her calves were far too thin for the rest of her. She had matched scars down her kneecaps where her knees had been rebuilt. Her feet were long and bony with matching bunions at the joint of her big toes, and corns on three other toes. I kept her thick horny nails shaped and colored.

I reached out, pointed my forefinger at the floor and twirled it, the universal signal for "turn around."

She had an interesting scar just inside her left shoulder blade. It was a pink, puckered line she had received when she and her son had been grab assing in the kitchen one time and she had fallen across the hot rack on her stove. It looked like a brand. I touched it, as I always did. I liked it.

Her ass was gorgeous. Where her hips flared she had two distinct dimples. Her ass was nicely rounded, dimpled with cellulite giving it an interesting texture. You could see the hint of staining where she consistently resisted my urge to get everything bleached back there. The gluteal crease where her ass met the tops of her thighs was deep enough to hold a roll of quarters (I had experimented once). An altogether wonderful ass.

"Do I pass inspection?" she asked, smiling.

"You, my sweet," I said, bowing a little, "are going to be a BIG hit."

She smiled again.

"Is it wrong, David," she asked, "that now that I've said 'yes' I'm looking forward to it?"

I grinned.

"Slut," I said

She grinned back.

"What you made me," she said.

I kissed her, very lightly, not wanting to mess up her makeup.

"Now, let's see," I said, moving to her closet.

Since I had been living here her wardrobe had changed pretty dramatically from the neck-to-ankles dresses she had worn before. I pulled down my favorite, a bright blue, very short skirt and matching halter top, and handed them to her.

Her eyes met mine.

"No underwear?" she asked.

"Hardly necessary," I answered and she sort of moaned again.

While she got the skirt zipped and buttoned and the top adjusted I reached up and pulled down the high heeled shoes with ankle straps, what we all called "fuck me shoes" at the Vets Corps, that I had bought her, well, that I had bought with her credit card.

I put the shoes on her as she sat and then helped her to stand.

I took her to the full-length mirror on the back of the bedroom door to show her what she looked like.

She moaned.

"Jesus," she said, "I look like an over-the-hill whore."

I slapped her ass and said, "you look like a beautiful, mature woman who's enjoying herself."

She took a deep breath, forced it out quickly, turned to me and said, "let's go before I lose my nerve."

In her car, a sensible Honda Accord, with me driving, we made it about five blocks before she said, desperation in her voice, "Pull over, David!"

As soon as the car stopped she opened her door, leaned out, and was very noisily sick.

I grabbed one of the surgical towels I kept in the console and went around the car. I waited while she retched, over and over.

When she finally finished I laid my hand on her back and used the towel to wipe her face, which desperately needed wiping by then. Thick mucus laden drool hung in ropes from her mouth, and her nose was running as well.

I reached across her, picked up the water bottle and handed it to her. "Here, rinse your mouth and then redo your makeup."

I went back around and got in the driver's seat and waited her out while she rinsed and then repaired the damage.

She giggled.

"You know, after that, I'm really ready," she said.

I chuckled and drove on.

At the Vet's Corps House we went in and found Randy in the kitchen.

So I did the introductions as my mother had taught me - "Marie, this is Randy, Randy, Marie."

He looked at her and then at me. "You weren't kidding," he said, "she's special."

"Ummmmm," Marie said, showing some of the gumption I liked in her, "I'm standing right here."

He chuckled and took both of her hands in his.

"I apologize, Marie," he said, "you certainly and you certainly are something special."

He leaned back and deliberately looked her up and down.

"Special," he repeated.

"Well thank you, dear," she said and surprised me, and I think him, by reaching up and putting her hands behind his head and pulling him down for a kiss.

It was a good kiss. I know, I had taught her.

"Now," she said to him, "before we start do you have some Listerine or something? I'm afraid I had a bit of an attack of nerves on the way over."

I chuckled at the formality of what she said and led her through the front room, drawing looks as we passed through, and into the bathroom where I found a bottle of Listerine of indeterminate age and provenance under the sink.

I left her in the bathroom and went back into the front room.

There was a blue tarp on the floor.

"Come on guys," I said, "a little respect. Let's find a quilt or something to put over the tarp."

We were laughing as we rummaged through closets and finally found an old quilt.

"David," she said, standing in the doorway, "a moment?"

Again I chuckled at the formality.

"Yes," I said, going to her.

She was smiling. "Can you get me two beers and I believe I smell pot in the air. And a joint?" she asked.

I grinned and said, "hold that thought."

I went into the kitchen, grabbed two Coors and a joint we kept in the freezer and took them back to her.

She had found the bedroom and took my hand and led me in there.

She didn't say anything, just put the joint in her lips and waited for a light which I provided. She took three quick hits, downed one of the beers in three hard drinks, another two hits on the joint and the second beer almost as quickly. She let out a most unladylike belch, giggled, and said, "Okay my love, go join your friends and let me make my appearance."

I stood and started to leave but she grabbed my hand.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" she asked, looking up at me.

I chuckled and said, "certain."

She squared her shoulders and said, "okay, go."

In the front room, I was greeted with a chorus of, "well?"

I laughed and said, "I'm not really sure what she has in mind right now."

It was a couple of minutes before she came in. Looking back, I think she was being deliberately dramatic. Once she had decided to do it, she wanted to do it right.

Oh my goodness, and she did.

She walked in, head high, shoulders back, wearing nothing but the shoes.

She smiled and did a slow turn as everyone whistled.

Then she went to the middle of the quilt on the floor and got to her knees, an odd combination of graceful, showing her athletic background, and awkward, showing her age and various replacements.

Finally, on her knees, back straight, head up, she smiled and said, "Pants off boys, gramma's wantin' some action."

Nobody moved.

She lifted her breasts and tugged on her nipples, hard now, and said, "nobody's interested?"

Brian stood and kicked off his shoes, unbuttoned, unzipped, pushed off jeans and boxers, and went to her.

That broke the ice.

In 60 seconds she was surrounded by a dozen hard dicks with another 20 sitting around, watching, waiting our turns.

Brian had been there first, and his was the first ejaculation. When he came, thick jets of semen striking her face and hair she kissed the tip, sucking the last drop, and looked up at him and said, "thank you, baby."

She spent the next five hours on the floor. Her knees started hurting so she was on her back and on her belly and on all fours at various times. She sucked dick and gave handjobs, got fucked in the pussy, the ass, and between her tits.

The bukkake party went on until almost midnight when she had satisfied all 27 of the members who had shown up.

When I helped her to her feet she looked like someone had poured about a five-gallon bucket of yogurt over her head. She was literally covered in semen, her face a white mask with only her eyes showing. Her tits were dripping as was her belly. More semen was leaking from her pussy and, although I couldn't see it, from her asshole too I'm sure.

I grabbed her clothes and a towel and walked her, naked, out to the car.

I laid the towel over the passenger seat and helped her in. She was smiling, but blank. I worried about her being in shock or something, to be honest.

We were about three blocks away from the Vet's Corps house when she said, in a clear voice, "please don't hate me."

I chuckled and said, "why in the world would I hate you."

She turned to face me then, a string of semen shaking off of her chin and hitting my arm.

"Because I loved it, David," she said.

I chuckled, and said, "toldya."

"I want to do it again," she said, "tomorrow?" she added.

I laughed softly and said, "well, maybe not tomorrow."

She pouted very prettily.

When we got home I walked her into the house, kind of draping the towel over her in case someone was watching, but not wiping her off.

"I think," she said, giggling, "I need a shower."

"Tomorrow," I said and her eyes got big.

"But Davey," she said, and moved her hands from her chin down, indicating her body.

"Tomorrow," I repeated and took her hand.

In the bedroom, she said, "Baby, I have to pee."

"Do what you need to," I said, "but if you so much as wash your face you'll be eating standing up for a week."

"DAVEY!!" she sort of yell/moaned.

I just grinned and started taking off my clothes.

"Oh, God," she sort of moaned as she went into to pee.

I took her, missionary position, when she got back to bed. She was just flowing with semen and so slick there was no friction at all.

When I went to kiss her, though, she turned her face away.

"What?" I asked, holding still, just enjoying being inside of her.

"David, I'm a mess," she said.

"So what?" I said.

We held still for a long 10 count.

"Look at me," I said and waited while she turned her face to meet my eyes.

"Don't be silly," I said, "you're beautiful."

This time, when I moved slowly to kiss her she didn't turn away. Her lips were slick with semen and that close the scent was strong.

She was still tense and I held the kiss, waiting her out.

It was like a dam broke suddenly. She was kissing me back. Her fingers were digging into my back. Her heels were drumming on my ass. I could feel the liquid release of her orgasm as it took her. Her tongue was a separate, living thing, exploring my mouth, fencing with my tongue.

I had her mouth covered with mine and inhaled quickly, inhaling her scream of release as another orgasm took her.

She was a wild thing under me, more passionate than we had ever been together. She was writhing, her hips were bucking, her fingers were digging in as she came in four more waves.

Then she just collapsed.

It was like her bones were dissolved.

She was snoring as I finished and added my ejaculate to what was running out of her anyway.