My 50’s House Wife Fantasy Ch. 01

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High Heels

Author Note: I’ve wanted to write a more explicit younger girl / older guy story (with my usual interest in BDSM as the dynamic) for a while now (since I’m farther along myself), but never could make it all that believable (again, to myself) on physical attraction existing between heroine and villain. What girl would prefer a man twice her age??? So I went back to the good old safety and security bargain that has always existed and felt that made the fantasy (with some BDSM) merely “mostly” unrealistic rather than “totally” impossible.

AT LAST, I was engaged in a sexual act with Mr. M. Finally! This guy had really put me through the wringer, but it was a real breakthrough to achieve this milestone of kissing his shaft and licking his mushroom head as he presented it to me, running my tongue along his smooth, thick rod, even taking his thing into my mouth and getting my first taste of long sought-after dick.

Mr. M was the divorced father of a childhood friend of mine. My own parents were old — they’d had me very late in life (in their mid-40’s). I think Mr. M had started having his kids in his late teens. So compared to my seasoned-citizen parents, he was comparatively full of vigor.

My reputation around town, as I emerged into my early twenties from my late teens, was bad and probably not recoverable. I’d started early and had NOT been wise enough to know that I should have been more discreet in who I spread my legs for, and been more picky in terms of quantity, and less of a volume girl.

But this guy, Mr. M, had gotten married early, had his kids early too, and so he was NOT very old (at least not yet). He was mid-40’s, I think, and a man that was probably accurate to describe as at the end of his prime — but still in it, at least that’s what I rationalized – and attractive (to me at least) in the way that I had learned, through hard experience, that men who had their shit together, and their life mostly in order, their bills paid, their house and yard looking good, were ultra-attractive, especially compared to the “technical” men (at and over the age of 18, had a dick, their voice had deepened, etc.) I’d been fucking, but who were really just boys when compared to him.

And, also a plus, he didn’t know that I was a hard-used and often-discarded (or discarding) slut. To him, I represented fresh, young, and lightly used pussy (at least that is what I hoped). I didn’t think I could pass myself off as a virgin with him, but maybe as an innocent?!?!?

His hand was currently on the back of my head, gently urging me forward onto his dick. Being imprisoned, naked and cuffed, I didn’t have a whole lot of choice on whether I could resist, but I actually wanted to comply, so I didn’t object as he gently but firmly introduced me to his cock.

Continuing my brief exposition to this long diary entry, everyone was now out of his house — either divorced and on to greener pastures or graduated and at their first job and beginning their adult life – and I had been living rent-free as a “down-on-my luck” sort of “charity case” with Mr. M for several weeks, now stretching into a few months. He’d bought my sob story about not getting along with my aging, decrepit and “disappointed-with-me” parents and given me his oldest daughter’s bedroom until I could get my shit together and get back on my feet.

Now — I describe it as a sob story. But I had actually learned that it was a big, cold, hard, cruel world out there. Things didn’t come free. A roof over my head, warmth at night, and food to eat required resources. And I didn’t have anything that special about me in the smarts or work ethic department that earned me big bucks. I was just your average, good-looking-because-I-was-young, mis-educated by the do-gooders in the public school system young adult.

I wasn’t on my way to a doctor’s degree, or owning my own successful small company, or a computer software writing genius, or a highly paid nubile-looking model. I was just a young adult female who had found out that I was unprepared for real life.

So I was intellectually aware of my precarious situation in life, temporarily being helped by Mr. M, and, bad luck for me, he’d been a TOTAL gentleman from day one, he had never hit on me once, even though I wouldn’t have made it very hard for him to get under my blouse or inside my panties, especially after the first few weeks had gone by.

His dick was getting hard now as I was paying close attention to it with my lips and tongue.

Like I already mentioned, I was currently naked, blindfolded, my hands were cuffed behind me with your standard adult-store issue handcuffs (that I’d found in his nightstand). He was finished rubbing his man-meat along and around my face and lips and had pushed his thing through and into my mouth, past my lips, which I’d opened willingly to accept him, since I’d “presented” myself this way at the time he usually got home from work.

And even though I couldn’t see Pendik Escort anything, I could feel some blood flowing into his cock, feel him stiffening up slightly as this first-between-us intimate act progressed, which was sexually gratifying — that his plumbing worked, and it also turned me on, since it was my young, naked, cuffed, blindfolded BODY that was turning him on and making him hard. I could feel my pussy tingling in excitement and tactical victory over this man who had been ignoring my young body the last several weeks as I started sucking his cock proper, bending over and down to get my head at the right height to fellate like a “good girl” SHOULD and like I hoped he enjoyed and might want more of.

Anyway, while I had been sponging off his kindness, living in his house, being ever more desirous to make a temporary situation permanent and reduce my real-world stress levels, and as the shock of his family life breaking apart had settled in, it was clear, by living as his roomie and gradually engaging him in more and more frank conversations in the evenings when he was home from work and I was on my nights off from waiting tables, that he was working on his own plan to get into dating shape, get some updated clothes, clean himself up, get into flirting practice, so that he could start over again in the girl department and get some brand new fuckable pussy.

New trim requires work!…if you know what I mean.

So his general priorities were straight. Who wants to live alone??? Man requires pussy to get through life…and pussy needs shelter, and so a female has to give up her body to a man to get that shelter she needs. Everything has a price. This is the real world we are talking about. Besides, sex is fun (or at least CAN be fun) in and of itself, so there’s nothing too awful about giving it up in a trade, especially to the right guy.

And I’d already tried giving it up to multiple guys and that didn’t seem to be getting me anywhere too special.

I guess his wife leaving him, among other things, had motivated him to take stock and fix himself around the edges. He was slimming down a bit to increase the quality of the tail he could target, aiming for a 6 or a 7 instead of a 4 or 5, and he was making progress. That in itself was attractive to me too. That he had the discipline to work on himself in order to aim for something a bit higher, a bit better looking, a bit sexier. He was fooling himself if he thought he could get himself back to twenty-something shape, but anything incremental was all good.

But it was becoming increasingly evident that HIS plan to get his body in shape for the next part of his life (since every other aspect of his life was already organized and in shape) to go get a girl was in conflict with MY plan to BE THAT GIRL.

And so, his SPECIFIC priorities were definitely NOT acceptable in that they didn’t involve ME…

But I learned, during this period of living on his largesse, with some hard-to-resist-for-long flirting on my part, and a bit of naivete on his side that I was just asking as a curious bystander (which I was not, but asking as an increasingly interested-in-him seductress), and of course rifling through his dresser drawers, his computer’s browser history, etc., when I was alone in the house and he was at work, that he had a definite plan that his NEXT girlfriend was going to play the subbie girl to his wanna-be dom, not the equal sexual partner. He’d indicated he’d had vanilla with the ex, been the nice guy who curbed his fantasies, but now he wanted to be in charge in the bedroom.

Nothing too shocking or awful there, to my over-exposed-to-the-filth-of-our-age-young-but-old mind. Pretty standard male fantasy stuff.

Just like having a strong, commanding man who was protecting you, but also wanting you to be obedient in the bedroom and you wanted to be submissive for the right guy was fairly standard female fantasy stuff. Nothing wrong — and quite a bit right — with the amalgamation of ravished heroine with the 50’s housewife fantasy. Cooking and cleaning and keeping house for your man while accepting the dom-sub stuff and being his secret and willing and even approving submissive sex-kitten and fuck-toy at night, willingly obedient to the alpha male that protected you and kept you safe.

But when I hinted that I might be willing to be THAT girl, he laughed it off, saying I was too young, would have too much sexual power regarding him so that he couldn’t play the dom-sub games he wanted. I had too many options in terms of getting any guy I wanted. He was too old to keep my interest long-term, and I’d eventually make a fool of him, and even fit him for a pair of horns, once he was in my manipulative and all-powerful sexual clutches.

Instead, he said he wanted a girl closer to his own age, a bit more desperate to lock her man down, more willing to play by his sexual rules rather than in a constant power struggle over who was really in Kurtköy Escort charge both in and out of the bedroom, a girl more willingly compliant without struggle or complaint.

In other words, he was looking for a girl that liked him MORE than he liked her, so he could exploit that for his sexual dominance interests. And he felt it was impossible for a twenty-something property-less girl like me to like a forty-something successful man more than the other way around. I’d have the whip hand and he didn’t want to sign up for being in the inferior position.

I thought he was being a bit too smart for his own good on that point. Girls in their twenties without assets other than their looks, but with some experience and brains, were often very justifiably attracted to still-vigorous men in their forties, who were far enough along to provide something safe and secure for the girl. Hell, there were guys in their fifties that would fit the bill too (but I think, or at least I hoped, he was still on the underside of that number).

Young pussy for successful older dick — an oldie but a goodie in terms of consensual arrangements between men and women in this world.

And of course, him being too smart for his own good and not crediting me for really liking him both pissed me off and made me even more anxious to move from temporary roomie to permanent girlfriend! If he was smart enough to target older pussy that was more motivated to behave as a trained fuck-slut rather than younger and less-controllable trim, he was smart enough to make me even MORE interested in him.

After being too promiscuous for a bit too long, I had “grown emotionally” or maybe I was just tired of fucking boy-men, and I wanted to change my life and lock down a man-man rather than a man-child. And THIS was my guy.

I had the inside advantage of being on site, my nose under the tent, constantly on the playing field. I had to make it happen!!!

But he was strong in gently but persistently resisting me, even as he was too nice a guy to throw me out for being impertinent and continuing after him, and he had now nearly completed his transformation from a bit run-down and a bit overweight to in-shape and thus even more physically attractive.

And even worse, he had set a date for tomorrow with a girl that had seen his pic, knew his sexual interests and was giving him the green light for an early sizing-up date, probably a sizing-up date that would turn into a fuck-date if things progressed past “go” since time was a lot more precious at their age than at mine.

Since he was a simpleton when it came to security and I’d cracked his various logins, I knew she was fuckable, if not nearly as good-looking as me (how could she be, if she was twenty years older than me). Maybe I was being vain, but I considered myself an 8 out of 10, minimum!

So in short, things were getting desperate for me. He’d even talked to me about how much longer I needed a place to stay! Whether I’d put enough money away to get out on my own or move in with a friend or even, gosh forbid, back with my parents — if I was getting along better with them!

He was slimmer, trimmer, hungry for sex, ready to go, had put himself out there, and was now working on freeing up his place to become a sexual den of depravity – and I was now in the way of his dastardly plans to sexually dominate another woman!

So I was in the process of playing my last card. Flirting, offering, asking, inflaming by wearing skimpy clothes and even underwear around his house hadn’t worked. The time had come to adopt EXTREME MEASURES. Plans alpha, beta, gamma and delta had failed. Plan zeta was my last-ditch effort.

Since I knew his fetishes, through both conversation and spying the last few months, I decided Friday night was my time. I’d washed myself, shaved my pussy until it was baby smooth, made myself up, done my hair, picked up my room, cleaned the kitchen, decided to go naked instead of panties and bra, put on two of his neckties as a blindfold to make sure I was sightless, pulled the handcuffs out of his bottom nightstand drawer (I didn’t know where the keys were) and cuffed myself behind my back. Now I was totally COMMITTED without a way to back out.

I was waiting for him in this vulnerable “take me, I’m yours” state as he walked in the door after a hard week of work putting a roof over his head, but also over my head.

“What’s this, Lacey,” were his first words to my sightless, searching face, as I heard the front door close, heard him drop his keys on the table, and walked up close to me, putting a hand on my head, mussing my hair a bit.

“Mr. M…I’m sorry, I got myself into a situation here goofing around,” I softly and shyly replied.

“You should be more careful. Bad things can happen to girls in your position,” he said as he brought his other hand into the mix and cupped my naked tit while moving his original hand around and down to cup my chin and Ümraniye Escort pull up my sightless eyes so he could look at my face, even though I couldn’t see him.

I shivered in a combination of excitement, thrill, and anticipation that he was finally giving in, that he had a hand on my naked tit, that he wasn’t rejecting my offer of my body.

Frankly, he would have been either a cold fish, or an inhuman monster if he turned me down now — and, good luck for me, he was neither.

“Are you going to let me go, Mr. M?” I asked breathily, saying with my tone that I wanted him to do the exact opposite.

“I don’t think so, Lacey,” he replied. “I think you have to be taught a lesson about being more careful how you pass your free time in a man’s house, especially when he is giving you shelter, sharing his cupboard with you, and keeping you safe.”

I sighed in happy success and feminine desire as his tit-cupping shifted to a thumb and forefinger to my nipple and he began to apply some gentle pressure, bringing very sexy feelings of wantonness and desire in me (as well as helplessness), after so long trying to seduce him, so long being deflected, but now getting my way. The lack of touch (being handcuffed) and sight (being blindfolded), heightened everything else.

I didn’t like it when he left off touching my face, cupping my chin, massaging and touching my tits and softly rolling my nipples in order to use his hands to unzip and pull his dick out — losing physical contact with him without the ability to see him or touch him myself – but I was buoyed by the sound of him fishing out his cock from his fly and then the return of touch by him rubbing his thing on my face and lips before “insisting” that I start sucking it by presenting it to my mouth.

Him pulling his dick out of his pants and presenting it to me so I would have to suck him off was a CONFIRMATION that I’d done the RIGHT THING to offer myself to him as a handcuffed, naked, sightless, vulnerable, and helpless twenty-something girl for him to use as he pleased.

As I sucked him, with his hand guiding the action to my blind face, I was also happy that he tasted and smelled manly and masculine — but not objectionable. And I was also turned on by him getting hard.

I couldn’t see it but knew from experience with other cocks that he was circumcised rather than un-cut, working fine (at least it was stiffening up in my mouth), and a little bit thicker and longer than the average that I’d been exposed to so far (except for that one guy about a year ago, of course, whose cock was scary-big but oh-so-delicious when it was actually inside my pussy).

Anyway, I decided that I liked his dick…and so I liked him even more now that I’d sampled the very acceptable merchandise. Outside of his cock and picturing the rest of him in my seated, naked, blindfolded and back-cuffed state, he was better than I’d seen him in years. A slightly rounded belly, but hard, with muscled arms from yardwork and from just being an older man. And he had rough hands, which I loved the feel of on my body.

By the feel of his hard-on, he was having fun and was turned-on, and that was nice to experience too. It was a turn-on for me that I was turning him on. Combine that with him tasting clean and smelling like a male, and him being organized and having this nice house for me to stay in, and sleep securely each night, I was determined to do the best I could for him in sucking his cock. I REALLY wanted to show him appreciation.

From time to time, he’d put his hand on my head and push me down a bit, letting me know he wanted more depth, not minding if I choked and spluttered and needed a moment to collect myself before diving down around his thick sausage again. As he occasionally muttered “good girl,” I tried to remember to moan or go deeper, to acknowledge the male attention and male compliment.

I was experienced enough to know that being called a good girl was a good thing — even if I might have been taught in the useless school system that the proper and politically correct response would be to have taken offense.

He didn’t like the standing position though and decided to move me to the couch in the front room. A total turn-on for me to have him use his male strength to help me up, direct me with a firm hold on my upper arm as to where to go, and I obeying his non-verbal gestures. He guided me with that hand on my arm and another one on my back over to the living room, where he must have sat down and settled me, on my knees, hands still cuffed behind my back, unable to make eye contact with him because of the necktie blindfold, between his legs and I started sucking his cock in a more “traditional” way, on my knees, on the carpet, while he lounged and relaxed and enjoyed himself.

But the degree of difficulty was a bit higher because my hands were cuffed behind me, forcing my naked tits out a bit, and I couldn’t hold his dick or cup his balls or put a hand on his thighs to steady myself or get any leverage. So while I was sucking him, I had to spend time and attention on maintaining a “safe and secure” base, which sort of forced me to spread my knees, sit on my calves and position my body for a no-hands blowjob.

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