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Spen gave Jack the standard 10 dollar fare for the ride up the track from Jack's store to the scattering of houses at the cliff edge. It was the only place he knew where the local taxi was an ancient four-wheel-drive pickup. It was about 100 yards to walk down the path from the track to the front door of Danny's cottage where he was staying for the weekend. He was expecting Danny's dalmation, Sprinkle, to come bounding along the path, barking his head off as usual, but no, silence. Spen was puzzled to find the front door closed and no sign of life.

He was wondering quite what to do when he heard "Helloooo". It was a female voice, but he couldn't see who was calling. Then he saw her, 50 yards off to his left, leaning over the low fence between Danny's property and the one next door and waving to him. The house next door was called the Lighthouse, and indeed that was what it was in days gone by. Spen dropped his bag on the front porch of Danny's house and strolled toward the woman. As he approached he could see she was a woman probably in her seventies, tiny, probably no more than 5"2' and slim. Her grey hair was pulled back into a French roll.

As her came close she said "You must be Spen".

"You recognise me?" asked Spen.

"Danny asked me to look out for you. He said a 6’2” black man with a shaved head. I don’t imagine there would be two of you fitting that description, do you?” Her voice was exactly what you'd expect from looking at her - neat, prim, beautifully enunciated. The accent was Boston, or even English. "Sprinkle cut her foot on some glass, and Danny's taken her down to Doc Taylor's".

"I thought Doc Taylor was a human doctor", said Spen.

She smiled. "Doc said to me once 'if you've seen one mammal you've seen them all' and he looks after minor ailments in all our cats and dogs. I don't now how he'd be with anything more exotic"

"Thanks for telling me about Sprinkle". Spen wasn't quite sure what to do. The lady took charge.

"Come on up to the house, I'll make you some tea while you wait".

"Sounds great - thanks"

Spen stepped over the low fence and followed her across her garden toward her house. He found that following her was an arousing experience. The long skirt she was wearing under a shapeless anorak swung rhythmically with her swift graceful walk. She looked around from time to time to make sure he was keeping up. The walk went uphill fairly steeply to start with, and as they reached the top of the slope, her house came into view. It was a small square white house. Its outstanding feature was the glass enclosure on its roof that had obviously been the lighthouse. Spen caught up and walked alongside her. She looked at him and smiled.

"By the way, my name is Alexandrina Petrolofskya. Please call me Petal, everyone does".

Spen remembered then that Danny had told him about the reclusive Petal who lived in the Lighthouse - how she never accepted invitations to local parties and the like, starting rumours that she was an eccentric millionairess, a witch, a transvestite, whatever. Spen decided that she might be a millionairess, but she was no man.

As they reached the house she moved ahead and opened the front door. She pointed to a door directly ahead of them and said "That's the powder room if you need to freshen up. I'll go and put the kettle on for tea". Petal went through a door to the left.

Spen did indeed need to 'freshen up’; it was his first opportunity for a pee since he got off the plane more than two hours ago.

When he'd finished, he opened the door that Petal had gone through and found himself in a kitchen that extended from front to back of the house. From the floor length windows at the back of the house there was a magnificent view out over the cliffs to the rolling Atlantic Ocean.

A small breakfast bar separated the cooking area from a sitting area by the back windows. An old comfortable-looking armchair sat by the window, with a large pair of binoculars hanging within easy reach. Petal had discarded that anorak, revealing a tight tee shirt which did nothing to hide the shape of her breasts. It was cropped off at waist level and revealed a tantalising inch of flesh when she moved. Spen was pleasantly surprised – she had a better body than he’d seen on forty-year-olds. Only the laughter lines around her eyes and little wrinkles around her mouth gave away her age.

"More comfortable now?” she asked.

"Thank you, yes", he replied, smiling.

"Come sit here". She pointed to a bar stool at the breakfast bar that allowed him to enjoy the view.

She poured the tea and put a cup in front of Spen. On the counter, Spen saw a program for a performance of Swan Lake.

"You're a ballet fan?" he asked.

"You could say that ballet is my life." She paused and looked down, as if deciding how much she could say to this stranger. “I was a ballerina in my early life, but I was forced to give that up”. She paused again. Spen didn’t say anything. He realised that Petal would say only as much as she felt comfortable telling. She took a breath. “I was lucky enough to dance with the Bolshoi for several years – I had a Russian father. I married the choreographer. Unfortunately he turned out to be a rather nasty gentleman who preferred 18-year-olds to his aging wife – I must have been all of 25 by then! “. She looked up and smiled to make sure Spen was interested in her story. “When I told him I was leaving him he turned really nasty and told me that if I left he would make sure I never danced professionally again. I decided to call his bluff. Unfortunately, he wasn’t bluffing.” She looked up again, then giggled and put her hand over her mouth. “Oh dear, I’ve known you for ten minutes, and already I’m boring you with my life story!”

Spen laughed. “Other people’s stories are always fascinating. What do you do now?”

“I write articles for ballet magazines, review ballet books, proofread other people’s ballet books, give the occasional lesson for very special pupils. Generally enough to keep myself out of mischief. Luckily my second husband left me well provided-for, so I can pick and choose what I do”

“Lucky you”, said Spen. “I still have to work to pay the bills”

“Is your wife joining you at Danny’s?”

“My wife died three years ago”

“Oh, Spen, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know”. Petal looked up, genuinely sad that she might have opened old wounds.

Spen looked to change the subject back to Petal and her life. He reached for the ballet program. “You went to see this, I presume?”

“Yes, I had a review to write for a ballet monthly magazine”

“Enjoy it?”

“Not too bad for a local company. The problem, if one has danced at a very high level, is that it’s easy for one to be very critical. This girl’s arm should be a little higher; that boy entered half-a-beat late, and so on. The worst part of the evening, though, was my escort”.

Spen smiled. “Go on”.

“He was a very handsome gentleman, very polite and gallant. Unfortunately, when he brought me home, I asked him in for a nightcap, but he refused. I was rather looking forward to being gently ravished”. She laughed. “Is it alright to say ‘ravished’?”

Spen laughed with her. “I think it’s a wonderful word, very expressive”

Petal seemed embarrassed, as if she’d said too much, been too open. There was silence between them for a few minutes, the Petal offered more tea.
“No thank you”. He pulled his mobile phone from his belt and held it up. “I’ll just ring Danny’s house and see if he’s back”.

Petal reached over and put a hand on his arm. “Don’t ring yet, I’m enjoying so much having a man around the house. Let me give you a guided tour”.

She didn’t wait for an answer, but stood up and went through a door at the back of the kitchen.

As she moved away she said, “This is the kitchen, obviously. I spend most of my time here or in the lighthouse”. She went through the door. “This is my sitting room”. It was comfortably if rather sparsely furnished. On a side table stood a collection of photographs. She picked one up and handed it to Spen. It showed a big man in uniform. “This is my second husband. He was a captain in the British Merchant Navy, and loved ballet almost as much as I do. That’s how we met, at Covent Garden in London. He died fifteen years ago, on my 60th birthday”.

Spen said “He was a very handsome man – you must have been proud of him”. He noted her age. 75! He had always preferred older women, but 75! Good grief!

Petal led the way out through a door at the front of the sitting room that led back into the entrance hall. She climbed a narrow staircase. Spen enjoyed following her, with her round rear swaying seductively in front of his face. Halfway up she turned and smiled at Spen, but said nothing. At the top of the stairs were four doors off a small landing. She opened one and led the way inside.

“This is my bedroom”. It was furnished in the same spare, rather masculine style as the sitting room. “I have my own bathroom over there”. She pointed to a door in the corner of the room, but made no attempt to show Spen inside it. She withdrew to the landing, and pointed to the other doors in turn.
“That’s the spare bedroom. That’s the main bathroom”. She opened the last door, led the way through it and turned to Spen and smiled.
“This is my favourite room in the house”
She led the way up another narrow staircase. When they reached the top, she opened the only door and went through. She turned and allowed Spen to enter. The room was the original lighthouse. The actual light had been removed, leaving an octagonal room, with all but one of the walls glass. There was a queen size bed on one side, and a small desk with a laptop computer on the other side. Around the room, leaning against the windows were several paintings. They seem to fall into two groups – seascapes showing rugged coastlines and raging seas and portraits of ballet dancers, male and female. The views were breathtaking. Across one window at the rear of the room was fitted a ballet dancers’ practice barre. To the left of this window stood a large telescope on a tripod; to the right an unfinished seascape on an easel.

“I still do my ballet exercises for 30 minutes every morning”, she said, smiling at Spen.

“It shows”, said Spen.

She dropped him a small curtsey. “Thank you, kind sir”.

“You paint, too?”

“Yes. The seascapes are my husband’s. I’m trying that one on the easel, but I just can’t get the colour and movement correct.”

She walked across the room to the barre. Watching her walk was more erotic than some blue films Spen had seen. She walked with such grace. A dancer’s walk. Her toes pointed down, feet slightly splayed. When she reached the barre she leaned on it and gazed out through the glass.

“I work in this room, but sometimes I just have to take my computer downstairs and draw the curtains, the view is so distracting.”

“I can well believe it”

They stood silently for a few minutes and watched a container ship disappear slowly across the horizon.

Petal didn’t look round at Spen when she said, “I would bring a man to this room if I thought he might be interested in ravishing me”. She said it quietly, almost if talking to herself.

Spen didn’t quite know how to respond to this. He wanted her badly, but didn’t want to jump to any wrong conclusions.

“How would you expect the gentleman to show that he was interested in ravishing you?”

She didn’t reply for a moment or two, and Spen wondered if she’d heard him, or if he’d overstepped the mark. Then she spoke.

“I think I’d like him to stand behind me and put his arms around my waist”.

Spen moved behind her and slipped his arms around her waist. He had to reach down – Spen was a good foot taller than the diminutive Petal. He felt her lean back against his chest. Looking over her head he could see, reflected in the window, a smile creep across her face.

“And how would you indicate that, um”, Spen struggled to find the right words, “that his, er, advances were acceptable?”

She paused again.

“Well”. Another pause. “If he was just acceptable, I would put my hands over his. Like this”. Her hands were warm and soft. “If he was more than acceptable, I would move his hands, like this”. She held Spen’s right hand with her right hand, and lifted the edge of her tee-shirt with her left hand. She moved Spen’s right hand up across her rib cage. Her skin had that lovely papery feel that older women have. She stopped when the edge of Spen’s hand reached the underside of her breast. Spen took the initiative and moved his thumb across her breast until it encountered her nipple. A low, quiet moan escaped from Petal’s lips and she moved Spen’s hand further up so that his hand covered her breast. He squeezed it gently. He felt the nipple grow rigid under his palm.
“Would it promote the gentleman’s cause if he were to kiss your neck?” asked Spen, his lips almost touching her ear.

“Oh, yes. Oh, indeed, yes”. Her voice had become quieter, breathy.

Spen moved his lips across her neck, from below her ear to the neckline of her tee-shirt and back, giving little kisses and licks that had her sighing and squirming her buttocks into Spen’s groin. She gave a little throaty chuckle when she felt Spen’s erection pushing into her rear.

“And if he were to nibble her ear?”

“Oh, yes. Oh, yes”

Spen gently pushed her tongue into the rim of her ear, then nibbled around the edge of her earlobe. She groaned softly, then squeezed his right hand to indicate it should stay covering her breast. She took his left hand and pushed inside the elasticated waist of her skirt, inside her panties, down until Spen could feel soft, crisp hair beneath his fingers, Petal was pushing hard back into Spen’s groin now, grinding her buttocks left and right across his erection. Spen moved his fingers up and down through her pubic hair until he could feel moisture seeping through to lubricate his movements. He gently parted the hair and found her warm, soft pussy lips. He moved his middle finger upwards until it found her clitoris, firm and sensitive. Petal gasped each time Spen’s finger moved across her little button.

“What you have the gentleman do next?” Spen was having trouble getting the words out.

“He would … oh, oh,……he would … pick me up by the waist and throw me on the bed. Face down.” The words came out in a rush.

Spen did as she requested. He was able to lift her easily, and drop her, face down, onto the bed.

“Push my skirt up to my waist.” Orders, not requests, now. “Kiss and bite my bottom.”

Spen didn’t need any encouragement. He pushed up her skirt to reveal the bottom he had watched ascend two staircases. The thong she wore did nothing to conceal the beautiful globes of her arse. Spen grasped them and moulded them in his hands. He pushed her legs apart and inserted two fingers into her pussy. Petal gasped.

“Deeper, deeper, please deeper” Petal was asking, pleading.

The liquid from her pussy was flowing onto Spen’s palm. He worked it higher and higher along the crease between the cheeks of her arse until it reached the puckered brown opening of her rectum, then he pushed his thumb against the opening until he could feel it give. Petal was moaning and groaning under his ministrations.

“Oh, my …….. I’ve never ……. Oh, please, oh please …..oh…. oh ……yes, yes …….please, I want you inside me ….”

Spen removed his hand, stood up and quickly unbuckled his belt and shucked off his trousers and shorts. Petal watched him over her shoulder, hers eyes glinting, a smile on her lips. Spen knelt back on the bed, his prick standing out like a bowsprit on a sailing ship. She saw him coming and lifted herself to her knees, her legs apart to accommodate him. Her hand snaked between her legs, grasped his length and steered into her sopping pussy. Spen pushed gently until his pubic hair was crushed against the cheeks of her arse. He stayed still for a long moment, then started to thrust.

“Long and slow, Spen, long and slow. Please”

Spen did as she asked, withdrawing as far as he dare, then slowly pushing all the way in. Petal groaned with each thrust. The groans got louder and louder, until Spen was worried that he might be hurting her. Then he felt her whole body stiffen as her orgasm overtook her. She gripped the blanket on the bed. Spen thrust his prick into her. He reached underneath her and grasped her breasts. They were hot, the nipples rigid. He felt her shake and push back hard, as if to bury his prick as far as it would go. Then her body relaxed and she collapsed onto the bed, chuckling.

“Oh, Spen, that was wonderful. The very best ravishing I’ve had since …. well, for a very long time”. Her breath was coming in short gasps, but she slowly recovered. Then she realised that Spen was still rigid inside her.

She said, “Spen. You didn’t ….. finish, did you?”

Spen smiled. “No”

“Oh, that’s not fair! What’s your favourite position?”

“I want you on top of me.” He lay down on the bed beside her.

She chuckled. “Wonderful”

She stood up on the bed, threw off her tee-shirt and her skirt and panties, then on top of Spen, reaching down and guiding his solid prick into her soaking pussy.

“Please ravish me some more, as fast or slow as you like!”

He reached round her and gripped her arse cheeks, massaging and separating them.

He pulled her mouth down to his. Her lips were soft, sweet. Her tongue came out to wrestle with his. She caressed his shaved head with one hand, the other she put behind her and caressed Spen’s scrotum. The hand roamed further down to his rectum. She could just reach far enough to push one joint of her finger inside him. Spen returned the favour. He could reach much easier than she could and grasped the cheek of her arse, at the same time pushing his middle finger into her rectum. He began thrusting his prick into her, faster and faster. She urged him on.

“Yes, yes. Faster, faster. Harder, harder. Come on, I want to feel you explode inside me. Spen, darling, please, please, please.”

Spen couldn’t hold back any more and let go inside her.

“Don’t stop, darling, please, I’m nearly there again. Oh, oh, oh, oh”. Her grunts kept time with Spen’s thrusts. Then, she went rigid again, her finger thrust as far as she could reach into Spen’s arsehole.

She lay down on Spen and kissed and nibbled his neck and the side of his jaw.

“Nice?”

Spen kept his eyes closed. “Wonderful”

“Spen?”
“Uh-huh”
She was quiet for a moment, then she said, “Would you like to come and spend a weekend with me? I’m a very solitary person, and I don’t anyone living with me, but occasionally I love company, particularly male company, with someone who is good at ravishing.” She giggled like a little girl.

“Well, I’m not sure. I mean, all there is to do here is to watch the ships go by, make love, drink tea, make love, walk along the cliffs, make love …….” He looked up at Petal. Her face had a look of desperate disappointment; he couldn’t keep a straight face any longer, but broke into a smile to let her know he was teasing. She tried to maintain the look but couldn’t and burst into laughter.

“You rotten beast. You had me believing you. I let you into my house, you make love to me three times, and this is how you treat me.”

“Hey – we only made love twice!”

She leaned forward and bit the end of his nose. “You don’t think you’re escaping just yet, do you?”
8 comments

READERReport

2006-12-29 13:06:31
well written and has my 50 year old pussy leaking, a bit longer story and my fingers would have be brining me off big style

READERReport

2005-06-16 13:25:57
The author has shown a flare in describing the beauty of sex and as such deserves an eleven stars rating. I hope to see future works as well written as this piece.

The works used to paint pictures of the events and places in the story could not be been chosen better. The only regret is the story could have been a tad longer.

Again keep up the goood work.

READERReport

2005-05-10 13:46:45
A well written story. I liked the english spellings when she spoke. It gave you writing an interesting flair.

READERReport

2005-02-08 10:09:20
Topp story and well written

READERReport

2004-09-27 13:00:53
75 year old women love to be fucked and sucked too. Even 85 year olds. I know.

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