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I pushed through the front door of my building with a little more gusto than was needed, cringing as I heard the door slam in the frame behind me. Shyly grinning in response to the inquisitive glances of neighbors I passed, I strode across the weathered carpet to the stairwell, again applying more force than the light door required and wincing as the impact of the recoil behind me boomed and echoed through the open six-story column. I began climbing toward my fifth-floor apartment, steadying myself with a tight grip on the handrail as gravity and my brunch mimosas conspired to keep me from my home.
It was a warm late summer day, and some friends and I had enjoyed the morning with the cliched city-girl tradition of brunch. A few hours and a few bottomless pitchers of mimosas later, my strappy brown heels and I were fighting a pitched battle against my early-afternoon buzz and the accompanying inclination to nap. I tugged up the lip of my light blue off-the-shoulder peasant top which had begun to ski down the slope of my ample breasts. It was just a few more flights of stairs (I rarely trusted my building’s rickety elevator) and then I could collapse on my couch in my undies for a nap.
Finally, I reached the door to my floor. Careful not to overuse my booze-strength in opening it, I slipped stealthily into the long hallway that ended at my apartment. Slightly out of breath from my battle against the elements, the elevator chimed behind me, as though mocking my struggle. I turned as the doors opened and Mr. Abbott, my retired neighbor from down the hall, stepped out.
Mr. Abbott squinted toward me through the column of glowing sunbeams twirling below the skylight, then began shuffling in my direction. His right arm hung in a sling, his wrist in a soft cast. With his free hand, he struggled to push a rickety grocery cart. Recognizing me, he smiled warmly at my bare shoulders.
“Mr. Abbott, can I help you with that?” I was already walking towards him with my arms extended.
“Why thank you, S-… Sarah. That’s very kind.” As we walked the thirty feet to his door, Mr. Abbott gave me a thorough description of the wrist procedure he had undergone, as well as a summary of the four years of discomfort he had endured prior. “I’ll take it from here.” He said as he unlocked the door, but the cart refused to budge, its wheels stuck against the wooden threshold. I offered to help him put away his groceries, and we entered the apartment.
“You’re young, so you don’t know…” he launched into a lifetime’s worth of relationship knowledge, centering on his divorce twenty years prior, while I tucked cans of tomato sauce and vegetables into the cabinets. Stretching on my tip-toes to push a box of rice to a top shelf, I sensed my jean-skirt hike up dangerously high on my hamstrings, almost to my glutes, though if Mr. Abbott noticed, it didn’t slow his sermon. He followed me with his advice as I moved to the bathroom closet to put away antacids and Tylenol. His lecture continued while I moved back to the kitchen after discovering a jar of spices at the bottom of the last bag.
Balling the plastic grocery bags together, I tucked them into a drawer and looked around the apartment.
“Is there anything else I can help you with?” I looked at the vast collection of plants next to the apartment’s wall of exterior windows. “If you like, I can water your plants.” He stared at me intently, long enough that it began to make me uncomfortable, before he stated the watering can was beneath the kitchen sink.
While I filled the pitcher at the sink, I heard him shamble from the living room to his bedroom. I watered the first section of plants, went back to the kitchen, and dosed the next row of houseplants and he still hadn’t returned. As I was carrying the heavy can across the apartment a third time, he reemerged, instructing me to be mindful not to overwater his dragon tree. Sensing my buzz fading and nearing my fill of old-man for the afternoon, I turned to inform him that I knew only to moisten the soil for Dracaenas, to see that he had changed clothes into pajama bottoms under his button-down shirt.
I bent at the waist as I tended to a last low shelf of ferns and ivy, glancing over to seemingly catch Mr. Abbott staring down the drooping front of my shirt. Finished with his plants, I returned the can to the kitchen and started toward the door when he called me over.
“Sarah, would you please be a dear and make me a cup of tea? Fix one for yourself, too.” Mr. Abbott sat heavily on the couch, grimacing and grasping at his injured arm. My sympathy returned, and I felt ashamed of my irritation, remembering that he was a man in pain and needed my aid. I smiled obligingly and walked to the kitchen, filling the kettle and placing it on the burner, then digging through cabinets until I located tea bags and mugs. I returned to the living room and helped Mr. Abbott remove his sling, leaning over him, my breasts grazed against his shoulder canlı bahis as I lifted the strap over his head. Folding the sling over the arm of the couch, I hurried back to the kitchen as the kettle began to whistle.
“Here your go.” I said in an artificially sweet voice as I bent over to place his mug on a coaster on the coffee table in front of him. He smiled gratefully, blowing across the rim as he looked at me through the rising steam. I’d picked the chair closest to the door across the table from him; politely sipping my tea, but my mind on my nap.
We sat in awkward silence for a time, interrupted only by slurps of tea. As we sat, I noticed the prominent tent that had sprung in Mr. Abbott’s pants. I tried to look away, instead focusing on the display of photographs littering the far wall. After a few minutes, he acknowledged my awareness of his condition.
“I… this is sort of embarrassing.” His gaze shifted from my eyes to my breasts. “I take Tadalafil – you know, uh, Cialis – for hypertension.” I nodded absently. “Sometimes there’s this, uh… side effect.”
“Well, that’s…” I started, without knowing how to finish my statement and decided to abandon the thought altogether. “I should probably get going.” I stood and bent over to pick up my mug. He grimaced, almost doubled-over in discomfort. “What’s wrong? Are you all right, Mr. Abbott?”
He looked at me with a troubled expression on his face. “It’s those pills and…” He looked from me to the floor in apparent embarrassment.
“And… and what?”
“Those pills… plus you,” his eyes gestured over my breasts, legs, and ass. “It hurts worse than usual.” His body again nearly folded in half with the aching protuberance. I sat beside him, sympathetically patting his shoulder, but afraid too much touch would worsen the problem.
“Sarah,” he took a deep breath, “this is asking a lot – too much, I know – but I need your help.” I looked down at his stubbornly writhing erection.
“What kind of ‘help?'” My nose and lips wrinkled into an involuntary sneer of distaste.
“I need your help with this pain you’ve caused me.” Mr. Abbott looked up from my body to my face. “It isn’t a matter of sex,” I raised my eyebrows in disbelief, “it would be more… medical…”
He grimaced again in distress as the bulge in his pants continued to thrash about painfully. With a resigned sigh, I decided to help. A handjob to a friend(?) in need didn’t seem like such a big deal.
I pulled down the elastic waist of his pajamas, inch by inch revealing his throbbing erection. Tucking the waist of his pants beneath his greyed, hairy balls, I took his thick shaft in my hand. He rolled his head back at the first stroke, murmuring like a man who had gone too long without a woman’s touch. I massaged his quivering pole, feeling his tension pulsing in my palm.
Using his good hand, Mr. Abbott tugged at the front of my peasant top, jerking it down to expose my heaving tits. “Seeing these will help.” He said. Obliging, I pulled my arms free from the sleeves, leaving the garment wrapped around my lower ribs. His fingers tugged at my nipples as both hands – including the surgically repaired side – kneaded my breasts.
A steady drip of clear precum began to run from his tip. I pumped my arm at the elbow, putting my “tennis muscle” behind my efforts. I tightened my massaging grip on his shaft, the rigid pole trembling in my hand as it ached for release.
“Are you getting close?” I asked as his breathing quickened.
“Sarah… I worry that a handjob just isn’t gonna get it done.” He said as he placed his cast-wrapped wrist at the back of my head and began pulling my face toward his lap.
He brusquely pushed his cockhead against my lips, which I parted obediently to allow his dick into my mouth. Pulled abruptly from my previous seated position, I shifted my legs from under me, now kneeling on the cushion with my high-heeled feet suspended awkwardly over the arm of the couch. My tongue twirled around his glans, tasting the thin saltiness of his leaking precum. My fingers wove through his curled pubic hair, running along the underside of his scrotum. Cupping and massaging his heaving balls, I began to pump my mouth over his tool, determined to complete the task before me.
He pulled my red hair away from my face, gathering a loose tress at the back of my neck. Keeping my lips on the tip of his cock, I took the elastic from my wrist and pulled my hair into a tight ponytail. I dove my mouth down his cock, tightening my lips around the base of his shaft with his head tickling the back of my throat. My nose pressed into his nest of pubes as I held my position, constricting his shaft with my mouth and throat.
Mr. Abbott gasped above me, his hands latching tightly onto my round tits hard enough that I wondered if he was trying to pop them. He wrapped both hands around my neck, gripping it to hold me down as he began to pump his hips into my face. bahis siteleri His cock battered the back of my throat, my eyes filled with tears that ran and smudged my mascara in dirty streaks down my cheeks. He pounded my mouth into a frothy mess of precum and saliva, the slop running down my chin and dripping over his balls. Not relenting his punishment of my pearly-pink-lipstick-smeared hole, Mr. Abbott began to speak to me.
“You love sucking cock, don’t you, you dirty little girl?”
“Mhuhyss.” I replied, nodding as he continued to choke me on his dick.
“But you like sucking my cock most of all, don’t you?” I nodded again. “Say it! Say my cock is better!”
“Hhuyore coshk ih behber.” He released his grip on my throat and I dropped my head on his thigh, gasping for air as the frothy mix of spit and cum dribbled out of the side of my mouth.
His hands returned to my tits, kneading and squeezing them, tweaking and turning my nipples like a radio dial while mashing the meat of my orbs beneath his palms.
Showing great dexterity with his surgically repair wrist, Mr. Abbott pulled my skirt up over my ass and traced along the blue lace line of my thong between the twin rounded hocks of my ass. Reaching my mound, he pushed his fingers against my pussy through the damp panties. I groaned as I returned my mouth to its duties on his cock, licking and sucking at the head and shaft as he probed my wetness.
Pushing aside the scrap of blue lace, he plunged two fingers into my dripping, bare snatch. Gasping, I pulled my mouth free and grunted with pleasure. Restoring my mouth to his dick, I rocked on my knees, pushing my hips to sink his fingers deeper into my pussy, then swinging forward to drive his cock further into my mouth. Mr. Abbott’s busy hands gripped and squeezed my pendulous, swaying tits. His head lolled backward atop his neck into the back of the couch, his breathing again quickened, and I braced to take his cum in my mouth. Unexpectedly, he pulled my head from his crotch.
Mr. Abbott’s hands left my breasts, traveled to my waist and unbuttoned my skirt, pushing it down my hips. I stood, shimmying the denim loop to the floor and dropping my panties on top. My hairless pussy glistened with beaded moisture. His cock waved expectantly in his lap. Wiping foamy precum from my chin, I stepped forward with each of my high-heeled legs, in turn. Careful to avoid catching his splayed legs with my stiletto points, I stooped back to the couch until I knelt on the cushions, straddling his hips.
Steadily lowering myself, his glans tickled my labia as it split the sodden lips. His guttural groan betrayed his pleasure as his rock-hard pole sank deep into my pussy. My breath quickened as my lips found the base of his shaft. I shifted my knees on the cushion, gripped the couch-back on either side of his head, and rose slowly on my knees, feeling the length of his shaft run thrillingly between my slit. His cockhead reached my opening and I reversed, sliding back down his staff until I reached the bottom. Gaining my balance, I gradually increased the speed of my bouncing, pitching on my knees to grind my young pussy over his old cock.
His hands traveled from my waist to my round ass, squeezing the meaty hocks and propelling the pace of my springing in his lap. Scooping my ripe tits in my hands, I fed them into Mr. Abbott’s hungry mouth. He sloppily licked and sucked at my breasts, soaking the mounds with saliva as he nibbled and slurped at my globes. Thrilled with the additional sensation as his mouth consumed my breasts, I theatrically arched my back as my hand traced to the back of his head, pressing his face deeper into the canyon between my fleshy peaks.
My wet slit trembled, thrilled to be filled with his thick cock. With each pump of my hips, electric snaps zipped from my pussy through my nerves. His head struck deep in my cunt at the nadir of my every bounce, the wide glans pounding into sensitive flesh, leaving me breathlessly squealing atop him. In response, his hands encircled my hips, gripping them and forcing me down faster and harder on his dick, directing my movement for his pleasure.
Panting and sweating as I bounded, the sparks in my pussy began to flatten into a growing, spreading warmth. My fingers and toes tingled and as I grew lightheaded, I began to lose control over my mouth.
“God, fuck me harder, Mr. Abbott!” I grunted as I bent my head down into the crook of his neck. Frantically flailing my hips, pumping my tight, youthful pussy over his cock, frantically driving myself to what would be a debilitating orgasm. “Fuck my young pussy!” His hands flew to my tits, scooping each orb into a wrinkled palm and squeezing my meaty globes. “Oh fuck!” I panted into his ear. I was on the edge, about to tip over into climactic oblivion. “Fuuuuuuuck, Mr. Abbott! I’m gonna cuh-”
His cum spilled into my womb in a tidal wave, washing away my orgasm in a surge of sticky shock. My mouth hung bahis şirketleri open in dumb, gasping surprise, while inside me his cock continued its unending eruption. Spurt after spurt of thick goo flared from the tip of his still-hard cock, splashing against my pink walls as my pussy filled with semen.
Lifting my dazed form from his lap and placing me beside him on the couch, Mr. Abbott’s cock still stood upright, rigid and angry. I felt a semi-liquid trickle between my thighs as cooling spunk leaked from my pussy and dribbled over my puckered asshole on its way to the upholstery. Bending over from the couch, I snatched my thong from the floor.
“Leave it there.” Mr. Abbott said, standing over me. I dropped the panties and looked up at him with a mix of confusion and disappointment. Indicating the swinging flagpole below his waist, he continued. “We’re not done yet.”
He instructed me to my knees on the cushion, bending me over the arm of the couch. I looked over my shoulder as he pushed my hips apart, vulnerable with my cum-dripping pussy raw and exposed. This time, there was no patience in his penetration. His cock pierced my quim and with a single, fierce plunge of his hips, he had bottomed out against the back wall of my pussy. The breath rushed from my body and I collapsed on the couch-arm. My large breasts were squashed beneath me and my ribcage rolled atop them as I was propelled forward with each of his thrusts.
Mr. Abbott’s fingertips dug into my hips, tightening his hold as he pounded away at me at a furious pace. My mouth hung open, an incomprehensible squawk slipping from deep in my throat with each impact. Behind me, the older man grunted and snorted like a wild animal; hammering away at my young pussy, using my nubile body for his instinctive pleasure. Inside my cunt, his cock pounded through the coating of his own cum already layering my walls, squelching loudly as he pulverized my innards. The excess spunk overflowed and leaked out of my pussy, trickling around his throbbing shaft and dribbling messily down my inner thighs.
Digging my fingernails into the couch-arm’s aged upholstery, I stabilized myself against his onslaught. I felt my cum-soaked cunt adjust, accustoming to Mr. Abbott’s battering and learning to take pleasure in the pummeling. My helpless squeals of panic warmed into pleasured moans as the loosened lips of my pussy started to fuck him back.
I sent my free hand to my groin, the fingertips finding my engorged, sensitive clit. I winced at the first direct touch, but as I twirled and stroked my nub, the warm sensation began to regrow in my loins. The thick cock stretching and hammering my pussy combined with the work of my own fingers, and I found myself restored to the edge of climax.
My moans deepened into grunts as a hedonistic drive to cum took over. Bracing against the arm of the couch, I rocked back on my knees, meeting his thrusts and pushing his cock deeper into my soaking wet, spunk-filled pussy. Growling with each impact, I looked over my shoulder at him, begging him to fuck me deeper and harder. Mr. Abbott grabbed my red ponytail in one hand, yanking my head backward and arching my back with the force. With his other hand, he grabbed a fistful of my top, balled up around my waist, and used it as a second handle to pull his hard, old cock deeper into my young cunt.
A staticky haze rolled into my eyes as inside my body, every nerve tightened, twisted, stretched, and then snapped into a stupefying release. I bellowed like an injured cow, ramming my own head into the arm of the couch as my rubbery arms lost the ability to support my bodyweight. My pussy clamped down on his cock, refusing to release him while my orgasm lingered.
I was remotely aware of Mr. Abbott still fucking my cunt from somewhere behind me. The shimmering cloudy environs of my climax gradually faded as the wall of photos in the background and the worn upholstery of the couch-arm in the foreground came back into focus. His dick was still hard, still pummeling my pussy, still using my young body as his means to an end. Somewhere behind me his cadence broke as his own, second orgasm approached.
“Ahhh! Fffffffuck!” He bellowed as he came. The warm jet of spunk spraying inside my quim was a jolt back to my reality. His cock twitched again and again, pulsing spurts of jism deep into my innards – already saturated with cum. Finally spent, he pulled his softening cock from my pussy, and I felt the spattering on my crack and knot as he massaged his shaft, forcing out the last drops of jizz.
After a beat resting, drooped over the arm, I stood, immediately feeling gravity’s effect as watery nut dripped down my thighs. Mr. Abbott had collapsed, seated on the couch, and seemed to be dozing with his finally-slackening erection drooping over his thigh. I dressed quickly and toed my way – as quietly as possible in my heels – toward the door. As I snuck towards the exit, I felt more of his seed leaking from my saturated pussy, dripping down my thighs, and leaving a trail of cummy breadcrumbs in my wake. I stealthily opened the door, crossed the threshold, and escaped into the hallway, silently shutting the door behind me.
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