Cary sat about halfway back, wearing a conservative classic black pencil skirt that hugged her hips and fell just below the knee, complemented by a matching silk blazer and soft white blouse. Her silver-blond hair stylishly cascaded over her shoulders. At 63 years old, she looked every bit the real estate firm owner, self-assured and utterly in control. Conventions for her were always a mix of business by day and, hopefully, pleasure after dark.
She found her man up on the podium, giving the keynote address on motivation. He was charismatic, and his talk was polished, touching on how motivation drives excellence, both on the battlefield and in the boardroom. The address was well-received.
John was 48 years old, a graduate of the U.S. Naval Academy, a former Navy SEAL, and now an officer in the SEAL training unit. He had movie-star chiseled good looks, commanding eyes, and, beneath his sharply pressed uniform, Cary imagined he was rock-hard. She had to have him.
As the room emptied, Cary made her way to the ladies’ room. When she emerged, subtle transformations had taken place. Her skirt, thanks to an old trick from Catholic school days, now rode a few daring inches higher. Beneath the blouse, she had removed her bra, and her D-cup breasts now floated freely and swayed with each step, nipples brushing silk. At 5’4”, 135 pounds, she was every younger man’s cougar dream.
The crowd had thinned. Only one attendee remained, chatting with John near the podium. When that person finally walked off, Cary made her move.
The click of her heels announced her arrival.
“Commander, that was a very motivating presentation.”
“Please, call me John.” His eyes did a slow, deliberate scan from her heels to her lips, “And you are?”
“Cary. I was wondering if I could borrow your expertise on motivation. I have two younger male employees who’ve been… difficult to inspire,” she said as she removed her blazer and laid it on the podium.
“Ask away,” John said, though his voice faltered slightly, his gaze now fixed on the outline of her chest beneath the blouse.
Cary stepped a little closer, her voice low and composed. “I was thinking… would a visual incentive help?” She undid the first button of her blouse, revealing the soft swell of her cleavage.
John’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “That would certainly get their attention.”
“Hmm. And this?” She popped the second button, the silk parting enough to offer him a clear view of her full breasts, the sheer fabric clinging to her hardened nipples.
“I think you’re headed in the right direction,” he said, his mouth dry.
“And what about this, too much?” she asked, slowly undoing the final button. Her blouse fell open, exposing her bare chest fully to his eyes, no teasing, just Cary being Cary, bold and unashamed. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then, just as casually, she buttoned it back up, leaving the top one undone.
John blinked. “No, Cary… not too much at all,” he said hoarsely. “Maybe we should continue this discussion?”
Cary smiled, donned her blazer, and turned to walk away, her hips swaying with subtle authority. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
…
Cary offered to buy John dinner, but he had another suggestion.
“Drive out to the island with me, and I’ll cook dinner. I’m a pretty good chef. Then we’ll catch the sunset. I’ve got a small cottage just off base, across from the beach. Anything after that will be a plus.”
“Sold. If this SEAL thing doesn’t work out, you’ve got a future in real estate.”
Cary ran upstairs and quickly packed a few essentials into an overnight bag, just in case. She had no plans of spending the evening in her business attire.
John was waiting out front in his Ford Shelby GT350 for the fifteen-minute drive across San Diego Bay to Coronado. What else would a SEAL be driving?
His cottage was charming, understated, airy, and nestled in a tight beach community. But what struck Cary most was what every real estate agent truly values: location, location, location.
She found the guest room and changed into a casual outfit: a long-sleeve scoop-neck tee with “Big Red” across the front, paired with lightweight beach shorts. No bra, her boobs straining against the material.
When she reemerged, John had also changed, now wearing a well-worn Navy Lacrosse T-shirt and running shorts, and was at work in the kitchen, reheating a pot of coq au vin from the night before. He glanced at her shirt… and at what was clearly visible beneath it.
“Cornell, huh? We played them all four years at Annapolis.”
“Duly noted,” she replied, catching his glance and smiling. “I once dated the captain of the lacrosse team. For a semester. That was… well before your time.”
He chuckled, then pointed with the knife. “Wine’s open. Grab it from the fridge.”
Cary poured them each a glass of red while he chopped lettuce for a quick salad.
True to his word, John proved to be a surprisingly skilled chef. Cary marveled at how a reheated meal, a hastily thrown-together salad, and yesterday’s wine could taste so perfect. They ate outside on the front porch, the Pacific stretching before them.
Conversation flowed easily, naturally.
Cary shared that she and her late husband, Mark, met at Cornell, married soon after graduation, had two kids, a girl and a boy, both now practicing law. Their move to Wilmington had been a spontaneous leap, two New Yorkers rolling the dice in the South, but it turned out to be one of their best decisions. Mark had passed away four years earlier, and Cary had slowly built a new rhythm: splitting time between real estate, friends, and being a doting, if slightly overcommitted, grandmother to three young grandkids, all under ten.
“So, you’re a GILF,” John stated matter-of-factly.
“I’ve heard that term used before,” Cary replied, unashamed.
John opened up as well; his own marriage had been brief, strained by the demands of training and sudden overseas deployments. He had a daughter finishing high school in Phoenix. They saw each other on holidays, and he spent two weeks with her every summer. She loved the beach.
“I’m trying to convince her to apply to UC San Diego,” he said, looking out toward the water.
After dinner, they cleaned up together, dishes washed and put away, then strolled across Ocean Boulevard, arm in arm, just as the sun began to slip into the Pacific.
The air had cooled slightly. The breeze carried the scent of salt and sea, along with the quiet hum of the waves. Cary felt the warmth of John’s arm along hers. There was an ease between them, not forced, not rushed, something slower.
They stood at land’s end, the water curling around their feet, Cary in front, John pressed gently behind her, his arms draped around her waist. Neither spoke. The silence between them felt comfortable, like an unspoken song playing in both their minds.
Only a distant cloud bank dulled the sun’s final plunge into the sea. And there they stood, wrapped together, facing west, as darkness quietly overtook them.
John’s hands slid up and under the thin fabric of her shirt, finding the curve of her breasts. He fondled her gently at first, then with more purpose, thumb and forefinger circling each nipple as they rose beneath his touch.
Cary reached up and took one hand, guiding him beneath the loose waistband of her beach shorts, taking him to where she was warm and bare and ready. When he slipped his fingers inside, she gasped softly, her hips rolling back into him.
John pressed forward, his growing erection brushing against her through his shorts, his hips grinding slowly, rhythmically. Cary let herself melt against him, losing track of time, of place… until the distant sound of laughter reminded them where they were.
They straightened, exchanged a quick glance, then turned wordlessly, making a beeline for the cottage just 200 yards away.
Before the front door had fully closed, their mouths found each other, tongues tangled, breath hot. Clothes were pulled at, peeled off, scattered behind them. In seconds, they were naked, pressed together in a standing embrace, heat rising again.
The seeds Cary had sown just hours ago on the convention floor had taken root. Now, in the hush of this oceanside cottage, they were blooming.
John led her to the sofa and eased her down, her legs open, her feet dangling off the edge, welcoming him in. He knelt between her thighs, his hands caressing up the length of her legs as his mouth lowered to meet her folds.
He kissed her softly at first, exploring, tasting, listening to the way she breathed. Then his tongue found its rhythm, circling, teasing, dipping, until her hips rose beneath him. When he reached her clit, now swollen and throbbing, she let out a quiet cry, her fingers threading through his hair.
The waves outside crashed faintly, echoing her moans, her body bucking against his mouth until she came… hard… her thighs trembling, her back arched, the orgasm rolling through her in deep pulses.
When she finally stilled, John looked up, his lips glistening.
“My turn,” he said, breathless.
Cary gave a slow, satisfied smile.
She had him sit back on the couch and dropped to her knees between his legs. No teasing, no hesitation. She took him in hand, stroking the base slowly, swirling her tongue around his tip, savoring the taste of his precum. When she pulled back, she leaned up to kiss him deeply, letting him taste what he’d done.
John wasn’t big, but he was beautifully proportioned and cut from stone. Sculpted abs, lean waist, strong arms, chest, and shoulders. Cary explored it all with her hands, her mouth.
She brought him close, then let him drift, then back again… each time a little deeper, a little wetter, until his fingers curled into her shoulders and he cried her name.
When he tried to pull out, she pinned his hips and kept him inside her mouth, letting his release flood her. It spilled over, trailing from the corners of her lips, but she didn’t stop until he finally slumped, shuddering, against the couch.
Then she rose to him, kissed him deeply, and whispered, lips still brushing his:
“We southern girls, via New York, know how to finish what we start.”
…
Cary and John took their time in the shower, the water cascading over their bodies, prolonging the intimacy as their hands glided and their bodies brushed, with the occasional kiss exchanged between soapy caresses.
Cary whispered over the sound of the spray, her lips grazing his ear, “The first was just a taste. This next one will be slower and deeper. We’ll try everything, if that’s okay with you.”
John grinned. “SEALs have great endurance. Are you ready to be impressed?”
Cary dried off first, wrapping a towel loosely around her torso, giving him one last glance before disappearing down the hallway.
“Make yourself comfortable in the bedroom,” she called back. “I’ve got a little surprise.”
John obeyed, pulling on a pair of boxer briefs, then lying back against the pillows of the king-sized bed. Candles flickered, and the sound of the nearby surf could be heard outside. The mood was set, but nothing could have prepared him for what walked through the door.
Cary entered like a vision. Time seemed to slow to a crawl.
She wore a sheer black lace bodysuit, high-cut at the hip and plunging at the neckline, the floral embroidery barely concealing her taut stomach and the curve of her breasts. A satin ribbon crisscrossed her middle, ending in a bow just above her navel. The neckline dipped dangerously low, showing the swell of her cleavage, her nipples faintly visible beneath the lace. Her toned legs were framed by thigh-high stockings, held in place by garters that tugged gently with each step.
Her hair was swept to one side. Her lips, wine-colored red, promised danger and delight. She wore strappy, black heels that clicked softly against the hardwood floor with every slow, deliberate step.
And the way she moved…
It was not just a walk; it was a prowl. Smooth. Intentional. Feminine. Her eyes locked on John with every step.
John’s breath caught. His heart thumped. He had seen beautiful women before. He had slept with beautiful women before. But never had he felt beauty like this: commanding, sensual, powerful.
She was everything, a seductress and a lover wrapped in velvet.
Cary let the smallest smile play at her lips as she reached the foot of the bed. She trailed one finger along the carved wood of the footboard, letting the silence stretch between them, letting him watch.
John sat up, the boxer briefs doing nothing to hide the rising evidence of his desire.
She tilted her head slightly. “So,” she purred, voice like honey, “let’s see about that endurance?”
He opened his mouth to answer, but no sound came.
Cary stepped up onto the edge of the mattress, knees straddling his legs, hands moving to his shoulders. She leaned in, her mouth hovering above his.
Then she kissed him… deep, slow.
And the night unfolded from there…
Cary moved slowly onto the bed, her bare skin brushing softly against the smooth sheets as she curled herself in front of John. The flickering candlelight painted over the curves of her body, and the scent of her perfume lingered in the air like an invitation.
John eased closer behind her, their bodies fitting together, his hand brushing her hip, then curling around her belly as he pressed a slow, lingering kiss to the back of her neck.
His boxer briefs were gone now, his arousal warm against her lower back. She reached behind her to guide him, her touch deliberate and sure, until she felt him slide along the wet seam of her sex. They both paused, anticipating.
When he finally entered her, it was slow, his head stretching her open as she gasped and pressed her hips back into him. He filled her gradually, settling inside her until they were one.
“Cary,” he whispered, “You’re… incredible.”
She pressed her hand over his, where it rested on her stomach, pinning him to her. “Don’t move yet,” she breathed, her eyes fluttering shut, taking a moment to feel everything: the heat of him, the slow, pulsing fullness inside her.
Then they began to move, rocking together in a hypnotic rhythm. John’s thrusts were long and unhurried, each one gliding deep and smooth, causing a soft gasp to slip from Cary’s lips with every pass. He kissed the back of her shoulder, her neck. She arched slightly, offering him more, her hand sliding along the bedsheet as her pleasure began to build.
His arm curled beneath her, cupping her breast, thumb brushing her nipple in slow, steady circles, teasing it into a tight peak. She moaned his name, her thighs tensing as she pushed back into him, matching his rhythm.
Cary turned her head slightly, meeting his lips in a soft, breathless kiss. “Mmm… I want you to stay inside me like this forever,” she whispered, her voice laced with need.
John responded with a deeper thrust, a little more forceful now, but still holding back, drawing out the moment. The friction of his pelvis against her ass, the fullness of each stroke, had her trembling on the edge.
“I don’t want to come yet,” she whispered, half begging, half commanding.
John slowed again, his control impressive, and pulled her closer so her back was flush against his chest. He kissed the top of her shoulder and kept rocking slowly, deeply, making sure every inch of him was felt.
And then, like a rising wave cresting and holding just before breaking, Cary felt the first signs of that shift, her body hungry, her need sharp. She turned her face toward him and whispered, “Not yet… let me lie back… I want to see you.”
He kissed her cheek and slowly slid free from her warmth, leaving her body open and wet with need.
Without breaking the mood, she shifted onto her back, and he rolled into her arms. As their eyes met, her lips curled into a soft smile.
John moved willingly, easing between her legs with a reverence that made Cary’s heart thud.
They kissed softly, then deeper, until their tongues danced again and their breaths mingled like steam.
She guided him over her with a gentle pull of his shoulder. His hands slid up her thighs, then cradled her hips as he positioned himself, his cock glistening at her entrance. She was more than ready, aching, but still, he hesitated, teasing the tip along her folds, brushing over her clit in a deliberate pass that made her cry out softly.
“Don’t tease,” she whispered, but there was a smile in her voice.
“Oh, I’m going to tease you,” John said, his voice just a little mischievous. He pressed forward slowly, just his head entering her, stretching her just enough to pull a breath from her lungs.
Then he stopped.
Cary opened her eyes. “John…”
But he was already pulling back, letting his tip nearly slip free, so close, before thrusting forward again, a little deeper this time, enough to make her whimper.
This became his rhythm.
He would push in slowly, nearly fully… then retreat until only the very tip remained inside. Each return was slow, deliberately dragging along every sensitive nerve ending before burying himself again.
Cary arched beneath him, her hands running down his back, her nails lightly scoring his skin in helpless reaction. “Oh, my god… this is maddening…”
John grinned and kissed her collarbone, never breaking rhythm. “You feel so tight when I do this. So hot… like your body’s trying to pull me back in every time I pull out.”
“Because it is,” she gasped, her hips bucking upward as he plunged again. “You’re driving me insane.”
The sounds of their joining grew louder, her body growing wetter with every stroke. He’d pause now and then, deep inside her, holding still to feel her muscles flutter and squeeze around him, before starting the teasing again. The head of his cock would almost escape her warmth, then he’d push back in, slow and firm, watching her lose herself each time.
Her legs wrapped around his waist, heels pressing into the small of his back, pulling him deeper.
“Harder,” she finally begged, her voice husky, ragged with need. “Please… I can’t…”
But John was in no rush.
He slowed again, pushing all the way in this time and staying there, their hips flush, her eyes wide and needy beneath him.
“I love watching you,” he murmured, lips brushing hers. “I want to feel every second of it.”
Cary moaned, a long, low sound of surrender.
His hand reached between them then, finding the sensitive spot just above where they were joined. He rubbed slow, firm circles against her clit while holding himself deep inside her, his cock throbbing against her inner walls.
She gasped, hips rocking in reflex as his fingers worked her.
“Oh god, yes… keep going…”
John began to move again, but only in short, shallow thrusts this time, his cock grinding against her with every flick of his fingers. Cary arched up into him again.
“Don’t stop,” she panted. “John… please…”
His mouth met hers again, and he began to thrust harder now, less teasing, more claiming. Their rhythm built together, his body meeting hers again and again in a deep, pulsing cadence. Cary broke into soft cries with each drive forward, her thighs tightening around his waist.
And then he slowed deliberately, again.
Retreating nearly all the way. Hovering. Holding.
Her whole body was trembling beneath him.
When he plunged back in, deep, slow, her back arched and she cried out, a sound of sheer, overwhelmed pleasure.
And then, just as she neared the edge again, he slowed… and stopped.
He looked into her eyes, breathless. “Turn over for me,” he whispered, kissing the corner of her mouth. “I want to see you from behind this time.”
Cary blinked through the haze of arousal. She nodded slowly, lips parted, and began to shift beneath him.
With a gentle motion, John pulled out and rolled to the side, giving her space. Cary pushed herself up slowly, crawling forward on the bed with feline grace. As she rose to her knees and placed her hands flat on the mattress, her backside arched high, John caught a glimpse of her in the large wall mirror across the room and froze for a moment, captivated.
The candlelight shimmered off her curves. Her back was arched in a perfect slope, her hair a tousled cascade down her shoulders, and her hips swayed just slightly as if tempting him wordlessly.
John positioned himself behind her, one hand on her hip, the other guiding his cock toward her entrance. Cary gasped as he slid into her from behind, deep and slow, claiming her again. They both looked into the mirror, their bodies moving together. The sight was hypnotic.
Every thrust was timed with the rhythm of their breathing. His hips rolled forward, hers pressed back to meet him. Cary’s mouth was open, soft moans escaping as John filled her again and again, the sensation deeper from this angle, the mirror giving her a voyeur’s view of her own surrender.
He reached forward to cup her breasts, fingers brushing her nipples while his lower body never broke rhythm. The reflection gave her everything: his muscles flexing with every movement, the way his eyes were locked onto hers in the mirror, the beautiful rawness of their bodies entwined.
Cary moaned louder, her body rocking into him, faster now, more urgent.
“Yes… John, yes… that’s it…”
He gripped her hips tightly, his tempo increasing, and they both watched, mesmerized, as her body rippled under him, her fingers clutching the sheets for balance. He leaned forward, his chest brushing her back as he whispered, “You look incredible like this… watching yourself…”
The words tipped her over the edge.
Her orgasm tore through her, shaking her, tightening every muscle in her body. Her eyes were wide in the mirror, her expression one of surrender. John followed with a groan, burying himself deep as he climaxed with her, their bodies collapsing forward in a breathless tangle.
They stayed like that for a long moment, Cary on all fours, John draped over her back, both of them trembling, sweat glistening in the candlelight.
John rolled over onto his back. Cary collapsed onto her side, her body still tingling, legs slightly parted, her skin warm and flushed. She rested her head on his chest, one arm falling across his hip.
They didn’t speak. The room grew silent except for their breathing, falling in sync into a steady rhythm. And there they drifted off, entangled in each other.
Time passed, and as if in a dream, John felt himself coming to life again. He opened an eye and saw Cary with one hand massaging his rising cock, the other probing her pussy, getting wet again.
Then Cary turned her head and gave him a devilish smile. “Can you handle one more? Let’s see how well you do when I’m in charge.”
They both laughed. After a beat, she sat up slowly and swung a leg across his hips, straddling him. His hands instinctively came to rest on her thighs. She leaned forward, her lips brushing his as she whispered, “I’m just getting started.”
She rose onto her knees, lifting her hips, then reached between them to guide him back inside her. They both groaned at the connection, the delicious stretch, the deep fullness that came with her being on top.
Cary began to move, setting a pace that was slow, deliberate, and sensuous. Her hips rolled forward, then back, a graceful rhythm that let her feel every inch of him inside her. Her hands pressed into his chest for balance, and she looked down at him, her hair cascading forward like a curtain of silk.
John’s eyes never left her. He watched the way her breasts bounced softly with every movement, the subtle flex of her thighs, the power in her control. She was glorious like this, completely in command, sensual.
She changed her movement, rocking side to side now, grinding in slow figure-eights, her breath catching with each deep stroke. His hands slid up her waist, then settled at her hips to steady her.
Cary leaned back slightly, placing her hands behind her on his thighs for leverage, and began to ride him in a new rhythm, up and down now, bouncing in deep, fluid thrusts that had him gasping. Her head tilted back, lips parted, a moan escaping her throat with each downward slide.
John’s hands roamed again, his fingers circling her hips, her stomach, then finally slipping between her legs to find her clit.
She inhaled sharply.
“Yes,” she moaned, her body jolting as he rubbed in slow, insistent circles. “Don’t stop…”
Their rhythm intensified, her pace growing faster, more urgent as she chased the climax building inside her. John met her movements with gentle thrusts from below, their bodies locked in perfect rhythm. His fingers never stopped moving, and Cary was almost there, so close she could taste it.
“John… I’m…”
Her whole body tensed, then released.
The orgasm rumbled through her, sharp and deep, her body shuddering violently as her head dropped forward, her nails digging into his chest. She cried out his name.
John groaned beneath her, eyes squeezing shut as he came just seconds later, the feel of her pulsing around him pushing him over the edge. He arched into her, gasping her name.
They clung to each other as they rode the aftershocks.
Eventually, Cary shifted to the side, sliding off and curling up beside him. Neither of them spoke; they lay there, bodies tangled, hearts slowing in tandem.
Then Cary turned her head, still panting, and said with a sly grin, “You realize we just used every good position in one night?”
He kissed the top of her head. “We’ll just have to get creative next time.”
“Next time…” she echoed, already imagining the possibilities for next year.
