Mature Mrs Hallam and her cocksucker photos
FOREWORD

Yeah, bored this Sunday. Felt like writing something nasty which features my personal fave of a mature blonde lady with big boobs and a dirty mouth; one who looks and sounds like butter wouldn’t melt. Then, when the heat takes her she de-cloaks into the Super Cougar and gets her claws into some young male meat.

The poor boy.

But he does well in the end. *wink*. There’s a twist in the tale.

I hope you enjoy the scene, which is largely unedited so there are likely to be errors and/or typos in the text. Apologies for any and all fuck-ups. I just wanted to smash this scene out for xHamster before the week’s proper work came in. I wrote it off the cuff and sort of made it up as I went over yesterday.

Anyway. Here it is. Comments and feedback are welcome, as long as it’s constructive and not just, “Your story sucks.” I can take pointers for improvement – like I probably overused ‘clit’ in this scene. Anyone got a decent synonym? I try to throw in nub and bean, but…

Oops. Sorry. Babbling. I’ll STFU.

Thanks for reading.

Ricky – Cambridgeshire, UK – 8th of June 2020

#

“Oh, I didn’t know those were up here.”

“I wasn’t looking.”

My face burned because she knew it was a lie. She gave me one of those looks, almost like pity, her expression all about, Oh … Come on … really?

Then she said it out loud. “I think you were. But it’s all right. You don’t have to lie.”

“I’m sorry,” I said as my cheeks flared hotter. Mortified, I felt sweat prickle along my spine.

She shrugged and moved closer to me. I passed them to her when she held out her hand.

“God, I don’t know what you must think,” she said as she flipped through the photos.

Some were black and white, others were colour, the tones washed out and faded with age while a few were more recent. Some of the photos were glossy while some had a matt finish. A lot of the monochrome pictures had a white border and there were some polaroids in the shoebox. It was obvious they encompassed a long period of time. I couldn’t guess at how many occasions they recorded, but she was younger in some, older in others.

Her eyes came up for a second when she said it. Then she went back to the photos again. She went through them quickly, with a cursory glance at each before moving to the next like she was handling a deck of cards.

I was embarrassed for myself because she’d caught me with my nose in what wasn’t my business, but also for her because of what she was doing in every single one of those pictures.

“I’m sorry,” I said again because I didn’t know what else to say. Plus, she made me feel uncomfortable. I was awkward when she was around. It was instinctive, something primal in me which put me on edge. She looked like an old-fashioned schoolmarm. Attractive yet stern despite her smiles and elegant diction. She had an aura about her, sexy but scary. I knew she was up around 50. My boss, Bernie, had made a lewd comment as we’d driven to the house. Bernie had the same opinion about Mrs Hallam’s sexual appeal as me, which he’d voiced as he told me about the job while we rattled along in the battered Ford Transit, tools loose in the back.