A very politically incorrect seduction

In these politically correct days, there are mature ladies who fondly remember a time when being casually groped by a stranger could be considered a compliment.

Not all ladies of course, but there are a few women in the Autumn of their years who haven't so much failed to keep in step with the cultural changes regarding their emancipation, but have steadfastly refused to budge. In their youth, they enjoyed the occasional wolf whistle and even if they didn't find men's dirty jokes paticularly amusing, they could laugh at the men's pathetic attempt at being funny. Sure, they were being treated as sexual objects by men with lecherous intent; but it felt good to feel wanted, didn't it? If being groped was the going rate for receiving nice presents, then why not pay it with a demure smile and a girly giggle? It was prostitution of a kind, but then so was a marriage for the sake of financial security - such as young Mary had entered into.

Her husband, Tom, was as common as muck but earned big money. He wasn't bad looking, but was what she termed a very blokey bloke. He drank like a fish, smoked like a very dirty chimney and lusted after anything in a skirt. That said, he was always kind to her, provided for her every need (including giving her two children) and so, all in all, Mary was fairly content with her not uncomfortable lot.

Years passed, they all aged, which resulted in the children growing up and fleeing the family nest. This left Mary with a pot-bellied, balding lothario of a husband who seldom seemed to be home of an evening. Was he gambling? Having an affair? Sitting alone in her well appointed home, all bought and paid for, Mary decided that she really didn't care any more. She'd got what she really wanted; security, although at some cost to her personal freedom.

All that changed when Tom suddenly died of a heart attack, leaving her everything - including an enormous life insurance pay out. This also left her at the age of fifty eight with a whole new life to build - and that's where I come into the story.

My name's Paul and I'm a builder by trade. By chance and a highly competitive quote from me for the job, Mary chose my company to rebuild her conservatory. As is the way with these things, I went to her home to measure up and get the precise details of what my new client required. I supplied diagrams and photographs intended to give Mary ideas and she supplied me with copious cups of tea and views of the most magnificent cleavage I'd ever seen. It was a view that was certainly giving me ideas. It was hard to tear my eyes away from Mary's bountiful bosom heaving away so seductively within the confines of a her provocatively low cut dress. Almost as hard as I felt my penis becoming. She caught me ogling her massive mammaries and smiled a knowing smile. My face suddenly became very warm, indicating my acute embarrassment at being found out, plus the fact that even as a middle-aged man, I was still capable of blushing.
"Don't worry" she said, "a girl likes to be noticed; even an old goose like me?"
By phrasing it as a question, it was obvious my hostess was fishing for a compliment and under the circumstances, I was only too relieved and happy to provide her with one.
"Believe me, old is not a word I'd ever use to describe you, madam. Mature maybe; sophisticated certainly and as for goose, well since you've copped me having a gander at your voluptuous charms......"
At this point, my words failed me but it didn't matter. She got the joke and burst out laughing uproariously.
"Ah, don't worry pet, I love all those old naughty innuendos and double entendres of yesteryear we're not supposed to use anymore. They gave us so much more freedom of expression, not to mention some lovely smutty fun. Oh, and by the way, please call me Mary; you calling me madam makes me feel as if a wall of formality is being built between us and I'd much rather you simply stuck to building my conservatory."

Just what was she telling me here? That it was okay for me to check out her chest in her own home and talk dirty, or did she mean that I should know my place and concentrate solely on the job in hand? All the time she'd been speaking to me, she'd been looking me in the eye as if trying to read my mind; but then she glanced down and smiled an unmistakable smile of smug satisfaction. She'd seen the bulge in my trousers caused by my erection. FUCK! Once again, I felt my face reddening. What the hell was I supposed to do now? She was now ogling me!
"My, but you builders carry your spirit levels in some funny places" she murmured before giving a breathy giggle that jiggled the visible mounds of her soft, white boobs most alluringly. I could hardly believe it, she was letting me know in no uncertain terms that she was aware I had a hard on and was genuinrly pleased that she'd managed to sexually arouse me. She was playing with me for her own amusement. I knew it and she knew I knew it so now what? Should I make my escape to avoid further embarrassment and risk losing ten thousand pounds of business, or join in the game out of genuine curiosity to see just how far this aging femme fatale was prepared to go? No, whatever might occur next, I couldn't walk away now, for better or for worse, she had me hooked. That said, I felt I should be saying something to let Mary know I was willing to play along with whatever her little game turned out to be.

"So Mary, you miss the sexual banter of days gone by then. Some of those songs Rugby players used to sing in the changing room were distinctly unsubtle; what did you make of them?"
"You know, I can't say I ever had the pleasure of sharing a changing room with a load of big, strong, sweaty, naked men in full voice; but I did go to a mixed school and so got what kids today call a buzz from overhearing the dirty stuff the boys there were sharing. Do you know the old song, Bye Bye Blackbird? The one that starts off.....
'Pack up all my cares and woe,
hear I go, singing low;
bye bye blackbird?'"
I nodded and commented that she had a very seductive singing voice.
"Well, they'd got hold of a version that went:" and she started to sing with obvious relish.....
"Took a plump girl to a wood,
Just because I knew I could;
My, my fat bird.
Took her deep amount the trees
Till the grass came to her knees;
My my fat bird.
Took her where I thought no-one would find her,
Tied her pudgy lilly-white hands behind her,
Slapped her tits, rubbed her bum,
Stuffed her up with bubble gum,
Fat bird, my my.

But this girl, she was no sport,
Took her story to the court;
Sly, fly, fat bird.
When the jury assembled that morn,
All the men were on the horn
For my fat bird.
When the Judge could stand it no longer,
He said "mate you should have stuffed her stronger;
Stuffed her right; stuffed her tight;
Stuffed her cunt with dynamite
Fat bird, bye bye.......BOOM!"

Mary really threw herself into the "BOOM" as if she found the idea of plump little girls being blown to pieces something to relish, but instinctively, I sensed it wasn't that. It was the effect the word of the song had on the boys that was arousing her. It revealed to her that carried to its logical conclusion, many men got sexual enjoyment out of thinking about women that way and in consequence, men were intrinsically dangerous creatures. On impulse, I shared these thoughts with Mary and asked her if this was intact the case.

Her smile now gone, she nodded. I just had to ask, "do you find me dangerous?"
"You might be. You've got me alone here. You're a big strong man; you could do any thing to me and I'd be incapable of stopping you."
The penny dropped and I saw that Mary had engineered this whole set up. She wanted sex but something in her was keeping her from openly asking for it. She wanted to be taken but out of pride, didn't want to be seen as giving herself.

We'd been sitting at a table that was covered by plans and diagrams of conservatories with the table between us. Again, she was examining my face, just as now, I was examining hers. She was clearly waiting on my decision. The wedding ring on my finger was a stark reminder that I had a loving wife at home who's body I had access to almost anytime I wished, but it was always the same body. Here was a different body for me to enjoy. I'm not by nature promiscuous but Mary's thinly disguised longing was drawing my to her like a moth to a flame. I'd be committing adultery but what the hell, my wife would never know while I'd know what it would be like to fuck another woman for a change. It would give me a dirty little memory I could wank on for years. But first, I had to make sure what Mary's reaction was going to be. It was show time!

I got up from the table and gestured that she should do the same. She obeyed, breathing heavily. We stood face to face in her living room and I let her clearly see that I was examining every inch of her mature feminine form.
Mary bit her well made up lower lip. For the first time in our acquaintanceship, she looked nervous. She was conceding control of the situation to me.
"You're not going to scream and make a fuss if I do something a little impolite to you are you Mary?"
A subtle shake of her head told me all I needed to know. Reaching out my right arm and with cock throbbing with sperm secreting lust, grabbed a handful of her softly yeilding unprotected left breast, gently squeezed.

Clearly, this is not the end of the story. It could turn any number of ways from rape and murder to romance. What other kinks our protagonists possess might come to the forest. I look forward to reading your comments and suggestions, or to hearing from you on [email protected]