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It was raining heavily by the time Greg Somerfield parked outside Mrs Hemsley’s house. He looked at the distance to the house and cursed himself for not having brought an umbrella or a raincoat. He would have to choose between getting thoroughly wet and making an undignified dash to her front door. Grabbing his briefcase, he decided to hell with dignity. He quickly got out of the car, went to lock the door but fumbled and dropped the keys on the road. They bounced and landed underneath the car. He had to kneel and scrabble for them, getting the knees of his trousers wet while the rain pelted down on his back. Finally, painfully aware of what a bedraggled figure he had turned into, he locked the door, put his briefcase over his head, and ran. His path and Mrs Hemsley’s had first crossed some ten days previously, at a public meeting. Greg worked in the city council’s Parks and Recreation department, and the purpose of the meeting had been to present to residents in the suburb where she lived a concept plan for improvements to a local park. She had been an annoyingly frequent questioner, bobbing up from her seat every time she spoke, a brown overcoat and pink scarf obscuring whatever figure she had, her face framed by fading blonde hair. Unlike the rambling-minded do-gooders who so often came to the fore at meetings like this, her questioning of the plan was succinct, pointed, and showed that she knew what she was talking about. She could not be fobbed off. Greg summed her up as one of those sometimes formidable middle-aged and middle-class women, usually divorced or widowed, with more time and energy than they knew what to do with, who busy themselves with local causes. In short, to the bureaucratic mind, a pain in the butt. Eventually she subsided, after he’d suggested that she put her points in writing to his department. And, in consequence, some days later, his boss Phil Maitland summoned Greg to his office. “Greg, d’you remember Mrs Hemsley from that meeting the other day?” Greg felt a sudden foreboding. “Er…yes.” “Well, she’s been causing a bit of a stir. She’s chair of her local residents’ association, friendly with several councillors, and she’s been phoning them and emailing them – and me – about our plan for that park. Says she and her group have alternative ideas that she wants to discuss with us. Pain in the arse, but she’s got clout, and both her ward councillors are on the case. And we know who one of them is, don’t we?” Greg nodded. Councillor Ellen Levitt, the feisty Chair of the council’s Parks and Recreation Committee. “So we’re going to have to listen to Mrs H and humour her. You get the picture?” “Sure, Phil, but where do I come in?” Greg’s boss leaned back, steepling his fingers and grinning. “Well, she’s issued an invitation for someone to go round to her place, have a friendly chat over a nice cup of coffee, maybe go on a site visit with her to the park, you know the sort of thing. And the ‘someone’ she’s asked for is you, matey.” “But shouldn’t someone more senior be going?” “On the contrary. For starters, since she’s asked for you, it wouldn’t be good manners to send someone else, would it? And, on top of that, sending someone with more authority could be seen escort beylikdüzü as an implied commitment to take her mob’s ideas seriously. The point of you going is that she can’t expect to be able to lure you into giving assurances or making promises, because that’s above your pay grade. She’ll know that all you can do is listen and report back.” Phil’s grin morphed into a look of wicked glee. “And, besides, I’m sure an old girl like her will feel quite touched and flattered by us sending along a nice-looking young guy like you.” “Eh?” “Well, I don’t mean you’re expected to charm the knickers off her; just make her feel satisfied that her group’s ideas have been listened to. That’s all. I’ve emailed you her contact details, so go to it.” On the phone she had been brisk but not brusque, warm and friendly in tone but, nonetheless, businesslike. They arranged for him to visit her at home on the following Friday afternoon. Friday morning, the forecast was for heavy rain in the afternoon. He phoned her to suggest that an on-site visit to the park might not be feasible and that perhaps they should reschedule. But she insisted they stick to their appointment. “I’ve got plenty of site photos on my laptop, so we wouldn’t really need to go there.” It wasn’t raining when he left the office and went to the Council building’s underground car park. The downpour started very suddenly.  * * * By the time he rang her doorbell, his shoes and his trousers below the knees, were sodden and mud-spattered, and his jacket and shirt were clinging soggily. With dread, he heard footsteps inside the house and braced himself for her response to his scarecrow-like appearance. It was a very different Mrs Hemsley who opened the door. This time there was no disguising her figure. She wore jeans that hugged her thighs and hips as if sprayed on, and a sweater whose loose fit and scooped neckline did nothing to conceal the generous swell of her breasts. From the strands of grey in her blonde hair, Greg guessed her to be a few more than twice his own twenty-five years, but her face had a fresh and almost ageless look, except for smile lines around her eyes and mouth. Having expected to spend the rest of the afternoon with a boring and dowdily nondescript middle-aged housewife, Greg was suddenly aware that he was in the presence of a surprisingly sexy woman, transformed like a chrysalis into a butterfly. Her warmly welcoming smile turned instantly into a look of concern. “Oh, you poor dear man. Come in and let’s get you dry.” She led him into her bedroom and opened a wardrobe, from which she took a thick, masculine-looking dressing gown. “This was my husband’s,” she said. “Get those wet clothes off and put this on, and I’ll put your clothes in my clothes drier. Oh, and how do you like your tea? Or is it coffee for you?” “Coffee, please. Black and two sugars.” “I’ll have it ready for you when you bring your clothes out.” She left, shutting the bedroom door behind her, and presently he heard the buzz of an electric coffee grinder. She was so straightforward and practical, so friendly and so adept at making him feel at ease with the situation, that by the time they were sitting down together escort akbatı at her dining room table, sipping at her delicious coffee and nibbling her home-made shortbread, he felt completely untroubled by being naked underneath the dressing gown. By that time too they were on first-name terms; hers was Andrea. Greg was immediately impressed by how well she had prepared for this meeting. He thought she must have been a teacher, or a lawyer, or at any rate must have been in a line of work that required thorough mastery of detail and the ability to speak with comprehensive precision, using words incisively, with economy and a certain elegance. He could see why her residents’ association had elected her as Chair. Spread out on the table was a colour-photocopy of an A3-size sketch plan showing her group’s alternative plan for the park. Around the edge were strategically placed artist’s impressions, connected by arrows to points on the plan itself, illustrating what the result of the proposals might look like. Inside the periphery of the plan were photographs likewise arrowed to the corresponding locations. As she talked him through it, she pointed animatedly at the plan with one hand,. With the other she navigated through a slideshow of additional photographs on her laptop. Her hands moved deftly and gracefully, he noticed, and he was struck by the delicate tapering of her fingers with their carefully manicured and discreetly varnished nails. “This sketch plan is a work of art, Andrea,” he said. “Did you make it?” She shook her head. “No, I’m not that artistic. One of our members did it. A girlfriend of mine. Lives quite nearby. She’s a landscape architect, very brainy and creative. Lovely woman in every way. Pity she couldn’t be here now. You must meet her.” “I’d like to,” Greg replied automatically, wresting his mind away from what was becoming an increasingly magnetic distraction. Sitting at right angles to each other as they were, every time she leaned forward to point to something, a view of deliciously bra-less cleavage presented itself to his eyes. He hoped she wouldn’t notice him surreptitiously looking. “Hmmm.” Suddenly there was a reflective tone in her voice. “Well, young man, I hope that for the moment you can be satisfied with me.” “Eh?” He looked into her face and saw amusement twinkling in her eyes. Damn, she’d caught him.  “You’ve been looking at my tits, haven’t you?” There was nothing accusing in her tone of voice. Quite the contrary. As she spoke, a hand descended firmly on his thigh. He blushed. “I guess I, um, have to plead guilty,” he mumbled. She giggled softly. “No need to be shamefaced. I take it as a compliment. Have you enjoyed the view?” “Actually, um, yes. Um, very nice… Lovely really…from what I can see.” “Not bad for an old biddy like me, eh?”  ‘Oh, Andrea, you shouldn’t call yourself that.” “Call me Andy, darling. And, for saying such nice things, you deserve a better look.” In a sinuously swift movement, she reached with both hands to the hem of her sweater, pulled it off over her head and cast it aside on the floor. She sat before him naked to the waist, her breasts gently swaying as a consequence of her disrobing. Greg felt escort beylikdüzü his pulse quicken and his cock begin to harden at the breathtaking sight, and he heard a horny hoarseness in his voice as an involuntary, “God, they’re lovely,” burst from his lips. He had never seen such breasts: such abundant fullness, such ever-so-slightly pendulous voluptuousness. Nor such nipples, each a luscious-looking mouthful. She leaned back in her chair, slightly opening her thighs and lifting her breasts with both hands, teasing her nipples with her thumbs. “I think perhaps I might be what they call a milf,” she said. “What do you think?’ “Umm.” He nodded dumbly, mesmerized by the sight of her nipples rising proud and tall amid their wide areolas. “Do you know what ‘milf’ means?” “Yes, I do.” “Tell me, Greg. Do please tell me.” “I think it means ‘mother I’d like to fuck.’” “Yes. Mmmm… would you like to fuck me?” There was a husky, vibrantly beckoning edge to her voice. Her sudden directness took Greg by surprise. Bereft of speech, he could only nod. “Well, then…” She rose to her feet, holding out a hand. * * * In the bedroom she knelt in front of him, untied the belt of the dressing gown,opened it, and pushed him down so that he lay across the bed with his hips level with the edge. At the same time, she pushed his legs apart. “What a lovely cock,” she purred, “Can I play with it?” Without waiting for an answer, she leaned forward between his thighs and engulfed it in her mouth, gripping the base with the forefinger and thumb of one hand and softly cradling his balls with the outspread fingers of the other. Slowly she slid her lips up and down his shaft, her tongue swirling round and round it, sending delicious tremors coursing through his body and causing a rapid hardening. Greg had had blowjobs before but nothing like this; nothing like the wet, slurping, gobbling noises and the moans and grunts with which Andrea expressed her obvious pleasure. His last girlfriend Liz had been quite adept, but she’d always conveyed the unspoken message that it was something she was doing for his enjoyment rather than hers. Andrea’s zest and gusto amazed him. Where was the rather staid lady who had bobbed up and down in her seat so annoyingly at that public meeting? Could she really have morphed into the wonderfully voracious creature who was now feasting hungrily on his manhood? There was no doubt about it: she had. Instinctively he thrust his hips towards her, matching her eager rhythm, but she was quick to press down on him, taking control of their combined movements. “Shit, Andy,” he gasped, “I’m close to cumming already.” She lifted her head and looked up at him, her eyes dancing with erotic mischief. “Not yet you aren’t, baby,” she muttered. She jiggled her breasts playfully. “You like these, don’t you?” He nodded. “God, yes.” To his surprise, she drooled saliva between her breasts and rubbed them together in a movement that was infinitely lascivious. Then, still kneeling between his thighs, she leaned forward and enfolded his cock between those soft, luxuriant mounds. Playing with her nipples at the same time, she pushed her breasts together, squeezing his cock, and rubbed them up and down the length of his shaft. She started slowly at first but gradually increased the tempo. Occasionally she paused to drip more saliva onto his bulging cock-head, or to lick his belly, repeatedly letting his arousal subside a little before resuming. Each time she edged him closer to climax.

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