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The text in this story contains erotic material and is expressly written for adults only.
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This is a work of fiction, any resemblance to persons living, dead or otherwise is purely coincidental.
© obohobo 2012
"Ding, dong, ding, dong"
"Shit!" I swore softly. Flicking the bulk of the flour from my hands, I walked to the door and opened it by hooking my little finger around the handle.
An elderly, sixtyish, woman greeted me, "I'm sorry, I can see you're busy but I saw you had windfall cooking apples on a chair by the pavement when I went to the post office but they'd all gone when I returned and I wondered if you had a few more I could have to make a pie for dinner. I can wait until you've finished making whatever it is you're making."
"You'd better come in, it's a bit cold and drear out there and the wind's keen. Typical November day, isn't it? It won't take me long to roll out the pastry and get the pie in the oven and then we can go down the garden and see what we can find. With this blustery wind, there's sure to be some more."
"Thank you. What are you making?"
"Would you believe, an apple pie?"
"Perhaps I should stay here and save myself the job of making one," the woman laughed and while I knew she joked, I took her up on it.
"Well it would be nice to have someone to share it with and I have a meat pudding in the steamer that would last me several days, if you are on your own, perhaps you would like to stay for a meal?"
"You're a fast worker and no mistake," she giggled like a youngster, "You don't even know me although I know of you from my neighbour's children. They collected eating apples on their way to school earlier in the year. They call you Mr. Vic.
"Victor Pyle, but everyone just calls me Vic. The children did well for apples this year, the boughs were breaking with the weight of the fruit."
"Grace Pembery," she introduced herself, "Were you serious in your offer of a meal?"
"Certainly, it will be my pleasure to have you. Haven't had a lady to dinner for a long while and it will make a nice change to have someone to talk to while I'm eating instead of looking through the day's junk mail."
She watched and commented while I put the top crust on the pie and coated it with milk before popping it in the oven. "Shall we go and collect the apples before it gets dark and I'll make a pot of tea afterwards. You can decide then whether or not you wish to stay."
"Oh, I can decide right now, I've been on my own for too long; I'll stay on one condition, you come to mine for a meal on Saturday."
"You're a fast worker and no mistake," I laughed as I threw her words back at her. "Is there no one else in your life?"
"I do have a neighbour that pops in when he knows I've been cooking and scrounges a meal but he's old, in his late seventies and a bit grumpy. My husband died two years ago and I have a daughter that comes over from Collampton most Sundays and brings her two teenage boys if they've nothing better to do, or I go to hers, but otherwise I'm on my own. Do you have family?"
"Not locally. My ex moved out a decade since and my daughter and her husband live in the wilds of Norfolk and it's a two-hour drive for her to get here. My grandson is at university in Manchester so I only see him a few times a year."
Grace hung her coat on the Newel post, stood her bag of apples alongside and promptly started to help prepare the vegetables, something I hadn't expected. We chatted, or at least she did, whilst we worked and throughout the meal. I enjoyed her company and her humour and during our conversations, learned she was two years older than me. "That's okay," she grinned, "I can have you as my toy-boy." Even at that early stage in our relationship I didn't object to the title and hoped we'd be able to get together for more than two meals.
While we prepared the food, I had time to admire my new companion. At about 5 ft 6 inches, I overtopped her by only a couple of inches and her 'fuller figure', as the clothing catalogues put it, gave her a slightly stocky appearance. Her shoulder length black hair, tinged with grey, combined with the comfortable clothing, sweater, trousers and walking shoes, indicated, at least to me, that she wasn't into keeping up appearances and her speech suggested a down-to-earth woman, someone I hoped to get to know a little better.
When, with her help, we'd cleaned the dishes, I lit the log fire in the lounge and we relaxed together on the settee watching the flames and talking like we'd known each other for years. Her closeness, combined with the warmth from the fire caused a stiffening of my prick, not a full erection or anything but something she noticed and took advantage of by rubbing her hand along it over my trousers. Feeling the response, Grace unzipped my flies and pulled it out into the open and gently played with it. "Nice one," she remarked, "My husband always said that size didn't matter and we had a pretty good sex life for most of the time we had together, but I always remembered a couple of men I had before we married who were better endowed and knew the fuller feeling and climaxes I had with them."
By then my hand had insinuated itself into her crotch and, when she opened her thighs a little, I caressed her mound and I knew she became aroused. "Grace, I know it's not usual to have sex on a first date, but if you would like, we could adjourn to the bedroom."
She gave me that humorous smile I'd seen a number of times since she arrived and replied, "That's for teenagers, us oldies don't have that much time to waste. I have to tell you though, I'm not on the pill, but there's no need for you to pull out and hasn't been for many years now."
The bedroom being somewhat cooler than the lounge, we hurriedly undressed but, having less to remove than Grace, I had a short while to admire her body, particularly her full, if slightly sagging breasts and the dark patch of pubic hair. We soon dived under duvet and snuggled and kissed with the fervour of teenagers and my prick that had wilted in the cool air, quickly revived when placed against the warmth of her body. Her hand grasped the shaft and rubbed it while I induced her juices to flow by massaging her clit and mound. "Fuck me, fuck me, Vic, it's been too long since I had a prick in me."
Of course I did, and enjoyed the sensations of having my organ slide in and out of her warm cunt, especially as she encouraged me to do it harder and harder. Shortly before spending my seed into her infertile womb, a little cry told me she'd climaxed and, a few thrusts later, I did just that. Living alone, I frequently wanked myself but, by chance, I hadn't for a couple of days and therefore had a sizeable emission. I didn't pull out straightaway but left it in until it went flaccid.
"You trying to make sure your sperm finds an egg?" she giggled.
.... There is more of this story ...