Landladies I Have Known Pt. 01

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Landladies I Have Known


This was a phase in my life that I look back on nostalgically and with tinge of sweet, memorable titillation. It was a period of sexual discovery that, in current terminology, can be described as my first ‘gilf’ or ‘granny-fucking’ experiences.

Back in those days, sex with older, or to be more politically correct, ‘mature’ women offered many benefits for a young man who, by definition was polygamous by nature and with his libido in overdrive!

These were the days before the spectre of HIV made barrier prophylaxis mandatory.

A previously monogamous, post-menopausal woman, liberated from the threat of conception was the ideal partner for unprotected sex without fear of contracting a sexually transmitted disease.

Furthermore, the onset of the physiological changes with age increases her capacity and speed for achieving orgasm, making her a grateful and satisfying fuck.

This, in spite of (or, perhaps because of?) the loss in flexibility of her vaginal passage which, in any case could be dealt with by the use of any available lubricating medium.

Part I: The Gwen Harris Story

Gwen Harris and her husband, Ron, were what you could describe as a couple of OAP’s, living in quiet retirement in Worthing, the ‘Costa Geriatrica’ of Sussex, on the south coast of England.

The ‘Costa Geriatrica,’ so called, due to the preponderance of old, retired people who went there to die — and then forgot to!

Gwen and Ron were locals, born and raised in West Sussex. They lived in the sleepy resort town that was home to the large industrial company that I joined when I graduated from university.

In common with many of the local residents, they took in lodgers in order to supplement their retirement pension. I was their lodger for about four months, until I was able to find a place of my own.

Gwen was a vivacious sixty-something, having recently retired from her work on the packing line at the local mushroom plant. Ron was several years older and had long since ceased to trouble Gwen for his conjugal rights, content with just pottering around the garden and on his allotment.

Gwen, blonde and blue-eyed, though she may have been a beauty in her youth, had the facial lines and imperfections you would expect of a woman her age, but she had a body ‘to die for,’ even at the ripe old age of sixty – three!

Gwen was always obliging and attentive, catering to all my needs during my stay — two square meals a day, laundry, etc., etc., but it was not until the second month that it became clear that her intentions were other than maternal.

It was a Sunday morning, Ron had left for his allotment early to plant the season’s Brussels sprouts, and I was having a lie-in after a heavy Saturday night drinking session with the boys.

I was awake but still lying in my warm bed, with my usual involuntary erection pressed against the mattress. The door swung open, and Gwen floated in unannounced, in a dressing gown and carrying a large tray containing what looked like two cups of hot beverage and a plate of biscuits..

“Rise and shine!” she declared, “Early morning tea?” she enquired.

She placed the tray on the dresser and poured two steaming cups of tea. She handed me one of the cups and I sat up in the bed to accept the proffered beverage. She sat at the foot of the bed, holding the other cup and sipping the scalding tea, as she surveyed me intently.

Her general demeanour struck me as odd, but what she did next was totally unexpected and took me completely by surprise. I had hardly taken two sips when she had stood up, placed her cup on the tray on top of the dresser and slipped out of the long, flowing dressing gown that draped her slim, diminutive body. She stood facing me, in a short, white, lace Haramidere escort bayan negligee that barely covered her narrow thighs and hung loosely from her incongruously firm, rounded breasts.

Dumbfounded, I stared incredulously at the mature, half-dressed female before me, unable to vocalise my surprise. A stream of confusing and conflicting thoughts raced through my mind as I took in the not-unattractive form before me.

My first reaction was ‘The daffy old cow has flipped!” followed by admiration for the youthful physical attributes on such an old body. She cut a very youthful and beguiling figure and, in spite of the incompatibility of our ages, I was flattered and excited by her gesture.

She observed the perplexed look on my flushed face and sought to ease the mounting tension by taking the initiative. She took the still-full cup from my quaking hand and placed it on the bedside table.

“Room for one more in there?” she enquired, flicking the edge of the bedcovers.

No answer. I just blinked, in wide-mouthed disbelief. Undeterred, she lifted the bedcovers and slid in next to me. I usually slept only in a brief slip and I could feel the smooth, cool skin of her limbs against my warm thigh. I moved further over to give her more room and lay on my side. She sat up and, in one deft movement; she pulled her skimpy night dress up and over her head, tossing it onto the end of the bed. Turning to face to me, she placed the warm, smooth palms of her manicured hands on my neck and shoulders as she embraced me. Her round, domed breasts pressed against me and her limbs felt soft and pliable as, in a reflex action, I embraced her and we fell backwards onto the mattress.

Her head rested on my chest as her hands gently slid up and down my front, from my midriff to the waistband of my briefs. I was now feeling randy as hell. The smell of her fragrance and the feel of her body against mine stirred my libidinous drive, as my cock started to stiffen. She pressed her mouth to mine, her pliant lips parted, and I felt her tongue probing against my lips, which I parted so that we kissed open-mouthed.

My hands slid over her narrow waist, into her knickers and I grasped her buttocks. She looked up into my face, smiling as I squeezed and massaged the soft, smooth fleshy mounds, then cupped her breasts in my hands. They were unusually full and firm for a woman her age and I fondled, teased, and literally ate her titties as I sucked them into my mouth and stimulated her nipples with my tongue.

Her hands reached under the covers and peeled off her knickers, which she kicked off and down into the foot of the bed, then proceeded to tug at my briefs, to also remove them. I raised my hips of the mattress to enable her to do that. Then, her roving hands cradled my erect cock as her tongue played over my chest and down, over my belly and onto my cock.

Her tongue played over my scrotum and the shaft of my cock before she took the bulbous tip into her mouth. She sucked and licked my cock with gusto, slobbering over it as she intermittently ran her tongue over it and wanked it. It was incredible, but I protested that if she continued, I was likely to cum, either in her mouth, or over her face.

“Sorry, I got carried away. I love young cock!” she apologised, adding, “And, I won’t mind if you cum in my mouth, I love the taste of it!”

I responded by putting my hand on her smooth-shaven crotch and fingered and probed her pussy. It felt warm and slippery. She had, apparently, greased herself up with lubricating gel in anticipation. Women of a certain age undergo physiological changes so that they can no longer secrete the pre-coital fluids that lubricate the vaginal passage.

“Gwen,” I announced, “I’m going to fuck you!”

“I was planning on that,” she reassured me, “I’m a great fuck… Escort İkitelli c’mon. Ron won’t be home for hours…”

I lay over her as she moved onto her back and positioned myself between her raised thighs. I pressed my very stiff prick into her moist crack and pushed. She felt tight at first, but I gradually worked it in further until I had fully penetrated her. She curled her legs around my hips and her arms about my neck as I gently pumped her crotch. She gasped and moaned as I worked my erection in and out of her cunt, in long, deep, gentle strokes.

Well, she was correct, she was a good fuck. She felt snug around my youthful erection and the sensations caused by my steady shafting action inside her slickly moistened passage were mutually pleasurable, if the sounds she was making were any indication!

She had released her grip around my neck and, so, I raised my body onto my elbows so that I oscillated with my whole body, to-and-fro. I was fucking her steadily, by now, and increased the tempo to shaft her faster, deeper and harder with every stroke. The bed reverberated and the springs squeaked under the brisk pounding.

She let out a resounding whoop as she climaxed. I came a split-second later, ejaculating profusely inside her. We lay there, for what seemed like ages, in a post-coital miasma with my gradually deflating cock still inside her.

Eventually, when we had recovered from our sensual arousal, we lay in each other’s arms as Gwen recounted the story of her life. It seems that poor old Ron had long since abdicated his conjugal rights. That was before she’d had the breast enhancement surgery (I thought they were too good to be real, for someone her age).

However, it wasn’t the end of her sex-life, she confessed, since there was always a randy young lodger willing to indulge his fantasy to ‘fuck a granny’.

Their previous lodger was a young African student who stayed six months. She had fond memories of his stay, since he was very well endowed (at least eleven inches, apparently) and could keep going all night! She recalled one weekend, when Ron was away on a fishing trip to Cornwall, they never got out of bed the whole weekend — except for the occasional snack and to answer the calls of nature.

All the talk of Gwen’s lewd and promiscuous near past had got me worked up and she couldn’t help but notice my erection, so we were soon at it again. This time, I fucked her doggy-style, although it wasn’t her favourite position.

Anyway, we soon had to get up, because Ron was expected home any moment, not that he would have minded. He suspected that Gwen was getting her oats somewhere and at their time of life, did not perceive any potential lover of hers as a potential threat to their marriage.

However, in spite of this, I insisted that all similar sessions in future were at a time when Ron was not in the house — and there were plenty more similar sessions.

In fact, it became a regular Sunday morning event when, soon after Ron’s departure for his allotment, she would slink into my room and slide into bed next to me. There then followed a morning of hot, uninhibited fucking as I tried to break my record for the number of times, I could come in one session. Her capacity for achieving orgasm seemed unlimited, but my limit was two, and so I would continue to fuck her until she climaxed, until long after I had past the point where I could no longer ejaculate.

We copulated in every conceivable position and every possible location: on the bed; on the floor; against the wall; on top of the dresser; reclining, sitting, standing…

Gwen was a sexy and over-sexed old biddy and probably one of the best fucks I’d ever had!

Part 2: The Rose Martin Story

I was in line for promotion to Technical Manager and my Company had posted me on Çapa escort temporary 12-week assignment to our subsidiary in the north of England for training prior to assuming the post. Following a two-week stay in a hotel, it was company procedure for all new staff to find their own accommodation. It was usual for staff at the Company to take in visitors on a long-term stay as paying guests (the Company footed the cost). Rose Martin was the Purchasing Officer’s PA and often took in guests in her large, Edwardian terraced house in the more fashionable end of town.

Rose was an attractive lady in her mid-fifties and was always glad to have company in the large, rambling house that she now occupied alone, after her husband’s death. Her usual boarders were new female members of staff or students at the nearby University. It was now the end of the academic year, so the house was empty again and she was only too pleased to extend her hospitality to a male colleague.

She had been widowed about two years ago and was now yearning for some male company. I was recently married and was not especially looking for extra-marital adventure, but as luck would have it, the inevitable and unpredictable twist of fate threw us together after the third week of my stay.

Part 3: The Barbara Owen Story

At 37, Barbara was the youngest landlady I had the pleasure to have the pleasure with!

She was, of course, married with children. Her husband, Eric, was a long-distance lorry driver for a freight and logistics company and consequently, was on the road a lot of the time.

At first, she maintained an air of cool aloofness, which I later learned was a defence mechanism: a façade of disinterest that was a bulwark against any potential intimacy that would compromise her role as wife and mother.

Well, as you can imagine, her husband’s frequent absence and the close proximity to a rutting young lothario soon eroded her self-restraint.

We never did it in her marriage bed — it was is if it would compound her adultery — so out of deference for her sense of guilt, I would extend the hospitality of my humble, single bachelor’s bed for our illicit trysts.

It all began one gloomy, drizzly, mid-week evening in February.

We had just had the main meal of the evening (or ‘tea’ as the English call it) and she had put the children to bed, as she usually did by 6.30 pm. I was sitting in front of the telly in the living room, as was my custom on such nights, half — lost in a reverie of the day’s events at work and the early — evening news. I sat on the sofa with my back to the glazed double-doors that led from the dining area, which was next to the kitchen, so I did not see her enter, until she was in full view and seated at the other end of the sofa. She wore a light-coloured, full-length, satin dressing gown, held closed by a tie-belt at the waist. Her legs were bare and fluffy mules covered her feet. Beneath the dressing gown she wore nightdress, much shorter than the hem of her dressing gown and, I surmised, the lack of lines or bulges beneath the satin of her dressing gown was a sure sign that she wore no underwear.

“Want a drink?” she suddenly offered. It took me by surprise, causing me to falter slightly.

“What do you have?” I replied eventually.

The pre-coital foreplay on the sofa had pretty well played out by now. She was fully aroused and her breathing was heavy and laboured, and my erection was starting to ooze gobs of fluid that made my underpants feel damp against my straining knob.

“Upstairs,” she murmured, “your room, in five minutes.”

And with that, she extricated herself from the tousled sofa, wrapped her dressing gown around her dishevelled negligee and left. She had probably gone to check on the children first, and then to put in place the customary panoply of contraceptive devices that women are inclined to do.

As I climbed the stairs to my room in the light of the candle, which I held gingerly in my hand, I could see candle light flickering in the bathroom at the top of the staircase, testimony to Barbara in the act of applying the spermicidal gel and Dutch cap where it would do the most good.

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