Vera sat back in the comfort of her new sofa, a beige velour number with billowing cushions at head height and on the arms. It was something you could sprawl on, stretch out and laze, without banging your elbows on a wooden bit put there purely for decoration.
She clearly felt like the lady of the manor, an ice-filled glass of Kahlua on the coffee table in front of her as she sat with one knee hooked over the other, slightly provocative but not tarty. She was more confident in her body now, at fifty-five, than she had ever been in her youth. She was wearing a rust-coloured sleeveless woollen dress that stopped just above the knee when she was standing and was a couple of inches shorter in this sitting position.
I could see all this going through her mind because I was sitting opposite her on a similarly pneumatic armchair, a large brandy in my hand. It was a typical Vera dress, quite smart but not showy, inexpensive but not cheap, stylish but sensible, and my eyes lingered on it as I imagined her late husband unzipping it at the back and watching it slide to the floor.
We were old friends – colleagues, actually, from a clothing manufacturer where I had once been assistant manager and she was still a supervisor. That evening we had both attended the 25th-anniversary reunion party in a large private room above the British Legion club. Vera was one of dozens of women who had worked there as machinists, quality controllers, etc. I had left fifteen years ago, but it retained a place in my affections because it had been my first job of any substance and the manager, Nigel, and I had enjoyed being the only men among this plethora of women. We each had our favourites and spent many a happy hour in the pub nearby, discussing who we fancied and what they might be like behind closed doors. But Vera had never featured in these discussions or in my private fantasies because the competition was too fierce. She was Good Old Vera, a hard-working woman who could always be relied upon to help out in any way we needed.
Since I had left I had travelled a lot, living and working in various parts of the country, enjoying my twenties and thirties without the burden of ambition. As long as I had enough money to eat and drink and live in a decent flat, that was enough for me. I had married and divorced and was now in my young adulthood part two, or so it seemed to me. My family thought of me as an underachiever and it was probably true, but there was still time to make my mark in the world. This reunion was comforting in that nobody seemed to have moved on much. Nigel was still manager and the women were still earning a wage to take home to their families.
Vera had appeared at my side a lot during the evening and when I decided it was time to leave before I got drunk and started on one of the younger new recruits, she had asked me for a lift. It turned out she had moved after her husband, Des, had died, and she was now round the corner from where I had recently moved in. She had invited me in for a nightcap, which seemed an oddly old-fashioned concept. But then Vera was old-fashioned.
She patted the sofa and urged me to sit next to her. I still had her down as an also-ran in the staff race, but there was something in the air.
“I know you and Nigel never fancied me,” she began abruptly as I sat beside her. I sensed that she had just passed the critical point between sober and slightly drunk. She was still well in control, but her parameters had changed. “I was never in the league of Barbara and Sandie and all the others,” she continued, as years of frustration and perhaps envy trickled out. “But I was all right. Des and I had a good marriage and I had plenty of sex.” At that point she gave a self-conscious laugh at her own brazenness.
“I’m glad to hear it,” I said, to help her out.
“Yes,” she said. “Conventional stuff, though. Des had a big appetite but he wasn’t adventurous.” She placed a hand on my thigh and looked into my eyes. I put a hand on her leg and felt the warm, soft skin of her pale flesh.
Vera’s body and mind were calling me to kiss her and my body was responding, whether I liked it or not. But what harm could it do? We were both adults and this was a private place. I leaned down and kissed her and she kissed me back, heartily. I slid my hand up into her skirt and she slid hers up to my balls.
“Ooh!” she said light-heartedly. “Well… don’t stop.” I kissed her harder and worked my finger into her pants, which were skimpier and less sensible than I would have expected.
“So, not much adventure,” I probed.
“No, we would never have sex on the sofa, for instance,” she said, enjoying her new-found freedom of expression. “Never got naked outside the bedroom.”
I reached around and unzipped her dress and wrestled it down to her waist. She had large breasts, but didn’t display them, so I had never really thought about them. Now, though, I was on the way to fucking this woman and the next stop was her tits. I undid her bra, tossed it aside and felt her pale, shapely melons.
“You have beautiful breasts, Vera,” I whispered.
“Are you going to suck them?” she asked breathily. I kissed them and took a nipple in my mouth and she tensed and gasped.
“Ooh, blimey,” she said. “That’s nice.” I sucked on one and then the other as she squirmed happily. Then she stood up and stepped out of her dress before sitting down and taking my right hand, placing it on her pubic mound. “You may take my knickers off,” she said, lifting herself as I pulled them down. She had sparse brown pubic hair, untouched by wax or razor, which was what I expected and which turned me on. I slipped my middle finger inside her and she kissed me as if she hadn’t had a man in ten years, which was probably true.
Bearing in mind the prosaic nature of her sex life with Des, I decided she would like to be licked while she sat on her sofa, in the place where she normally watched the television. So the next time she was sitting there with her mother or her daughter or a friend, she would have this raunchy memory to brighten the moment.
In the meantime Vera had unzipped my trousers and pulled my cock out of my underpants. I stood up and completed the undressing and she watched me, adding to the rainy-day memory the fact that a naked man had been standing by her coffee table with a rock-hard erection that was soon to enter her body. I leaned over, put my hands on the back of the sofa and my cock dangled in her face. She took it in her mouth gratefully, ticking another item off her checklist. She sucked me with something like surprise and soon began to enjoy her skill at it, as she heard me grunt with helpless appreciation.
Now it was time for me to return the favour, and I wondered if she had ever been licked. Being the positive and obliging person she was, she might well have given a blowjob somewhere back in the mists of time, but had any man, assuming Des hadn’t been her one and only, got his face in her crotch and enjoyed her?
I parted her legs and she stretched them further as I launched my face into her slit, parting the hairy banks and tasting the river of her femininity. She gasped and pulled my head in hard.
“God, yes,” she exclaimed as I sucked her clitoris and poked my tongue at her piss hole. Thinking about bodily functions, I wondered if she would object to my party piece. Would she let me lick her arse?
I turned her over and got her to kneel sideways, with her elbows on the side arm as I scrambled into position behind her. I could tell she was expecting me to get my body up right behind and penetrate her, so when I pulled her cheeks apart and licked her bottom she turned as far as she could to see what was happening. I gave her a long, loving lick and she closed her eyes in ecstasy. She began to moan and whimper as my tongue continued its ministrations while my hands felt for her breasts and enjoyed the feeling of their fullness and smoothness. She began to squirm harder and then gave a little cry as she came.
“Oh my God, I have never…” she said, half-laughing.
I moved up behind her and fucked her doggie-style and she pressed her rump back at me, exposing herself and wanting more. I humped her and my thighs battered her hindquarters until she cried out again before collapsing and I pumped my semen into her.
A few minutes later we were in the cocoon-like confines of her bed and she began kissing me all over while muttering endearments. She sucked my nipples, at first tentatively and then enthusiastically as she sensed I like it. What she really wanted, though, was to return to my cock, now softer but still interested, and she slurped at the stew of my cum and her natural oil.
After a while she came back up and lay in my arms, smiling and talking happily. We were in no hurry to go anywhere.
After a while she began to kiss me again.
“I want you between my legs,” she said. “So I can see your face when you cum this time. You can cum again, can’t you?” She was anxious not to seem presumptuous or to pressure me, or maybe to seem too keen. I lay between her thighs and her private, conservative body felt heavenly beneath me as we worked in tandem to build the steam back up until we were cruising, pumping perfectly together. Her fingers quietly explored my back and she got an obvious thrill when they ventured into my crack. She looked into my eyes, wondering if it was okay with me, before allowing herself to push one digit into my hole. She kept it there as she pulled me into her and back again, in and back, until we both reached orgasm and lay in a giggling heap on the bed.
