Carla Hadim - Wild And Willing

Mrs. Simpson led him to the rec room, holding firmly to the handrail as she negotiated the stairs. A fall at her age could easily break a hip and Mrs. Simpson knew from bitter experience that old bones mend slowly.

"Please wait," she said. She selected a sheet from the wall closet, began to spread it over the daybed. She looked at Rick again, as if studying his coloring, then back at the sheet. It was covered with fields of yellow daisies. She looked back at Rick, then calmly, taking her time, folded the sheet and returned it to the closet. She returned with one covered with wild strawberries.

She wore only a pink robe, silk, with a white-trimmed ruffle around the neck and wrists. It gathered where she had tied it in front and swept to the floor. She seemed to glide, slowly and carefully, across the floor without moving her feet.

She asked' Rick to disrobe, please. She was a shy woman, and looked away while he took off his clothes.

Nothing happened to his prick, even when he was stark, bare-ass naked.

She turned around when he was finished and studied his body. She blinked. "Would you turn around, please?"

He did so.

"Thank you. Now, please follow me." She led him into the bathroom where a steaming tub of water waited. "Sit right down in that water, young man. It's good for you."

So Rick sat down, the suds reaching to his arm pits. He felt silly as hell, but Mrs. Simpson kept a serious, almost stern, expression on her face and he resisted his impulse to laugh.

Holding a washcloth decorated with strawberries in one hand and a bar of soap in the other, Mrs. Simpson began washing, soaping, washing and soaping. Up over his back, over his shoulders, down his arms, into his arm pits, between his fingers, tickling down his ribs, into the water to wash his thighs, his legs, scrubbing his knees as if he was a recalcitrant child who did nothing but scruff his knees in the road all day. She held his feet out of the water and scrubbed them, down into the furrows between his toes.

By now Rick was enjoying the process and relaxed in the thick foam, the hot water. His body began unwinding from all the tensions of having to keep a hard dick for old ladies he did not really even like.

After his first session with Mrs. Witherdine, he had spent an entire morning with her neighbor, the widow Stone. Widow Stone grew roses as a hobby, something she had taken over from her husband when he died, along with his wealth. She had hated the roses when he was alive because he spent more time with them than with her, but after his death she had become as enamored of them as he had ever been. She enjoyed pouring rose petals over Rick's crotch from a silver vase as soon as he reached full erection and then, with Rick's head hanging over the other side of the bed so he could not watch, she would slip three or four petals into her mouth, wrap the head of his cock with another, and go down on him taking roses and cock into her mouth at the same time.

Mrs. Foley, who lived in the other direction, only liked to be fucked standing up in the kitchen, with her maid pounding on the door in a phony attempt at breaking up the union. Mrs. Foley liked to pretend that she was the maid performing illicit acts while the mistress, played by the real maid, was incensed but helpless on the other side of the door.

Mrs. Morris, as Rick slipped his vaselined cock in and out of her dry hole, kept crying, "I'm too old, I'm too old." Rick had had to close his eyes and imagine Jenny Roman's tanned legs and the wonderful white shorts she had been wearing before he could get off with that one.

He had been back at Mrs. Witherdine's several times, the fucking there increasing in pleasure as they got better acquainted. She had accepted at last the idea that he would enjoy eating her and she let him dive into her muff the last time and he was surprised at how much he really did enjoy it. Mrs. Witherdine had mouthed him as well, but she had yet to allow him to get his rocks off in her mouth. He thought she might go that far the next time, and he knew that if he could come in her mouth she would be far more generous than she already had been. And so far she had been exceedingly generous.

Just as Rick was beginning to drift off in Mrs. Simpson's tub, she instructed him to stand. "I have to wash your ass, don't I?" she asked.

He knelt, like a dutiful son, while Mrs. Simpson soaped the cloth and rubbed it over the cheeks of his ass, then, timidly but forcefully, she made a quick pass through the crack and against his ass hole.

"Now," she whispered, "I have to wash your front, too. That gets dirty, too, don't forget."

So Rick let her wash his crotch. She soaped her hands until they were covered with lather, then she wrapped both sets of fingers around his balls, sliding out to the end of his prick that was mildly excited, like a new rubber hose that was almost firm but certainly could not stand by itself.

She began mumbling, like a chant, "I have to wash this. I have to wash this fucker. It's going to fuck girls, all kinds of them. Going to get hard and stay hard and fuck girls in their cunts, their ass holes, under their arms. Between their fits. Going to get hard and fuck all those girls. Going to fuck their mouths, too. The girls are going to touch it, pet it, kiss it, suck it, going to let it go up their cunts and get all covered with their wetness. It's going to come in them, shoot all its white stuff out of these balls… "

She kept chanting her litany, mumbling, as she soaped his balls and his cock, soap sliding down his thighs into the water. She slid her hand between his legs to wash his ass again, back out the length of his cock that because of her ramblings and stroking had gotten bard at last.

When Mrs. Simpson thought it was clean enough, she rinsed it with cool, glean water, helped Rick out of the tub and rubbed him dry with a towel. Afterwards she stretched him out on the daybed, on the strawberry sheet, and rubbed his body with talcum powder.

He was as clean as he had been the first day of his life, when the nurse handed him pink and crying to his mother.

His erection went away after awhile and. when he was completely dry and powdered, Mrs. Simpson handed him his clothes and fifty dollars and left the room; He let himself out of the house.

He was refreshed from his bath but not relaxed. It was dark already, and he had a date later with Mrs. Witherdine.

The old grand dame had asked for him the night before, but he had had to turn her down because he had already arranged to play rummy with Mrs. Baxter. Mrs. Baxter was willing to pay Rick $75 to play rummy in the nude. The loser had to pour tea in the sitting room.

So Rick had had two days without an orgasm. He thought there was a good possibility that he might go out of his mind. He did not really want to fuck Mrs. Witherdine, he did not even look forward to her sucking him off, if indeed she would do that. He began wondering what in hell gigolos do for holidays, vacations. Gigolos must need them even more than working people. He had already made a small fortune but he felt that he was on a treadmill and since he had already made contacts for the winter in Florida he was concerned that he would find the same treadmill there. He was not sure he could lie still while another old lady tickled his ass with a feather.

He knew that he needed to reinvigorate his body, and the only way he knew to do that was with a young girl. An old lady would not do. Not even the best of the lot, Mrs. Witherdine. He thought of dropping in on Mrs. Cruise, but he thought that even she might not be all that he needed.

He walked down the deserted roadway until he came to the junction with the road that led to the main high-way. A phone booth stood there, lighted like a beacon to a traveler lost in a sea of darkness.