My 50s House Wife Fantasy: Ch 02 by Bibliophile
Author Note: The continuing adventures of a younger heroine going after security and safety by targeting an older guy (villain).
I woke up from a dreamless sleep in his king bed, initially disoriented before memories of last night came flooding back. Since I was in his bed, I knew right away that yesterday was real, not a dream, else I’d have woken up in my OWN bed, not HIS bed. I hadn’t noticed him getting up but did notice it was past 9 am. I threw on one of his t-shirts (way too big for me, so it covered my butt), handled some necessary business in HIS bathroom and wandered out to the front of the house.
There was hot coffee in the pot and a note on the counter.
“Quite a performance, Lacey! Working in yard…would like sandwich (no mayo) around 1. BJ to go along with it would be nice too, but that’s more up to you than to me.”
There it was. He was giving me a bit more rope to reel him in and I savored the victory of getting him to taste my forbidden fruit. How could he turn back now? My plan to become his 50’s woman-of-the-house, at his beck and call, with some added spice required by him of being more explicitly submissive and obedient, in order to hook him deep enough that he couldn’t flop off my line and escape, was coming along nicely.
I took the next two hours to shower, wash my hair, get myself perfect and put myself into something simple and innocent enough that it couldn’t help but make me super-sexy, and made it back to the front of the house to nibble on some fruit for myself and make a nice sandwich of cold cuts, cheese, pickles and mustard for him that I’d watched him make for himself from time to time. He would enjoy that while I worked on my own “protein” meal that he indicated he’d provide for me between his legs.
When I went out into the backyard to call him in for lunch, I saw a freshly cut lawn and a clean deck. As I got around the corner and called to him, stretching out my body to show him as much of myself as I reasonably could, saying lunch was ready, I saw more evidence of the weekend warrior type of stuff it takes to keep a suburban yard in order.
He waved back with a smile saying he’d be in in five minutes after he put everything away. I flashed him a boob, gave him a finger to my lips to say keep it a secret, before poking it into my mouth, along with a big smile — to communicate that I was going to give him that BJ, and went back to the house.
A few minutes later, he walked in the door with a grin, and I beamed back at him as brightly as I could, telling him I hoped I’d made his sandwich the way he liked it, but waiting on my knees by his club chair to leave no room for doubt as to the blowjob part of his morning sex note (and instruction note) to me.
He took another few minutes to wash his hands, arms, neck and face before taking the plate and settling into the big wood-and-leather club chair right off the kitchen that I was kneeling next to, that he must have used to visit with his ex-wife after getting home from a hard day of work, while she was cooking dinner.
That was “his” chair.
No words were said as I settled on my knees in front of him, excited that things were going so “well”. I loved that he’d given me instructions on what he wanted from me after the incredible breakthrough I’d made last night in my quest in becoming his kept woman, having finally gotten fucked by him.
His plate on the arm of the club chair, his sandwich in his hand, me kneeling in front of him, my perky nipples poking at my sheer, tight, form-enhancing tee, dolled up for my confidence and his viewing pleasure, the adult play-time unfolded a bit further.
“You finally broke me down last night, Lacey,” he greeted me, in his green-stained Levi’s, but with scrubbed hands, arms and face. “I couldn’t resist you any further. What game are you playing at? Why are you trying to make a fool of me?”
“I’m not playing any games, Mr. M. I am all grown up, but with nowhere to go. I’m attracted to you, to your home, how you go about things. You need a new woman in your life, and I want to be your girl. But not only that, I want to be your SEXUALLY SUBMISSIVE AND OBEDIENT girl, to cater to you so that you can protect and keep me. I want you to take advantage of me in any way you want so I can belong to you.”
Now, I was making myself vulnerable and being honest, but remember that all my other efforts had failed. And there was no particular point in playing coy, since I was kneeling and dressed for sex and seduction, hiding only enough of my body to enhance my offerings to him, after seeing his note, following it to the letter, making my man his lunch, and now a kneeling female supplicant to him, while he sat on his throne, albeit a throne in a home, not a throne in a castle.
But wasn’t every home a castle of some sort, and every man that managed it a king in his own right?
My stress was lower than it had been in weeks as he’d given into his male lust last night (after holding out for way too long) and had fucked me pretty thoroughly and violated me even further. I felt secure that I had my goals in sight, which made me bold in making my case. I just had to deal with this forty-something cunt that he was seeing tonight and get rid of her, but timing was delicate.
“You’re definitely irresistible,” he smiled in reply, took a bite, and then looked down at his fly.
I took his cue and shimmied closer, drew down his zipper, and fished out his cock and lifted out his balls too. I left his belt in place and didn’t undo the button holding his Levi’s together around his waist — so his package was out and available, but tightly framed for me to work on. His dick looked nice and suckable, ruddy and healthy and kind of big, against his faded and aged, third-best outside yard-work jeans.
I went to work on his mid-day, yard-garden-sweaty manhood.
It felt totally natural to me to wake up, put myself together while he worked around the house, make him lunch, and now suck his cock while he enjoyed the sandwich, which I had meekly and subserviently made for him, even as I was about to still more meekly and more subserviently suck his cock while he chowed down.
He finished his meal quickly enough but made no move to do anything else while I gave him a long, slow, unrushed, and luxurious blowjob. It sounds funny, but I didn’t mind at all the sweat and smell of his outside labor on him. His hard and callused hands in my hair or on my arms and shoulders as I worked him over reinforced his masculinity and the roles we were playing and I found myself getting aroused as I pleased him, playing my part in the protector-protectee relationship, giving him my body and my sexual obedience and devotion, in exchange for his protection and safe harbor.
After he was nice and hard (and thus further in my female power — what man can turn away a girl after his dick is hard). I came off his one-eyed snake to ask about his date tonight — that whore that wanted to take my place.
“Now that I’m your girl, Mr. M — aren’t you going to cancel your date tonight. That submissive bitch you’re going after? You don’t need her now that I’m going to be your secret little sex slave, do you?”
“This is not the right time to discuss tonight, Lacey,” was his reply as he put his hand on the back of my morning-clean hair and urged me back to my “lunch-duty” kitchen-slave-girl roleplaying.
I moaned in disapproval as he pushed me back on his hard dick, but not in any real disobedience, as he put me in my temporary place and urged me to continue the task at hand. I was enjoying myself, and he was in charge, so I didn’t mind now that I’d made my “ask”.
As I kept servicing him, though, I slowly undressed myself and snaked the fingers of one hand down to play with my boobs and sneak it between my legs to rub my still-sore-from-all-the-attention-last-night pussy. Totally naked and vulnerable, but not bound or cuffed, my intent was to show him with body language that just the act of going down on him made me horny and I couldn’t help but touch myself.
But I was aroused and excited anyway, so it was as much real as it was play-acting.
But I also drew it out. I wanted to give him some insight into how much of a secret slut I could be for him, and I purposely kept him away from orgasm while I rubbed his balls, pinched and pulled my nipples, fingered my pussy, tugged his cock, lipped his shaft, and slobbered all over his nice, tasty, hard and thick fuck-muscle. I sucked, but then I teased and licked, purposely not progressing.
In fact, I eventually forced him to take control, fist a hand in my hair and tell me with non-verbal male dominance, via body language, when he had grown tired of the edging and was ready for the fireworks.
And when he sent that message, I obeyed. I left off touching myself and focused totally on him, using both my hands and my mouth and my tongue, along with a vacuum lock on his thick and blood-filled shaft to suck, tug, and ball-rub, all in an effort to get my mid-day meal.
He grunted in orgasm, and I moaned in delight as I felt his first spurt of jism jet into my closed mouth. I took the first one totally inside, but stretched out and flattened my tongue to hold his cock on it, but with my lips open wide while I pulled from root to tip with my hands to catch the follow-on diminishing spurts of cum.
His load was definitely smaller than last night, so twelve to fifteen hours was not long enough for him to replenish the well fully, but I had a better chance to explore and accustom to his taste this afternoon, since my hands were free and wrapped around his cock while I milked him dry into my eager mouth.
From there, it was at least a minute of playing with his cum, pushing it onto my lips, scooping it with my fingers and back inside, telling him how good his spunk tasted and how I wanted it every day from now on.
These were total and complete lies of course, but in for a penny, in for a pound.
He told me to swallow, and I refused, saying it tasted too good and could I play with it some more.