“Got anything planned for today?” my mother enquired as she brought me my morning tea.

“I expect I’ll go down to the skate board park later with some of the lads.”

“Be an angel and drop our edge trimmer round to Marion’s, would you sweetie? She rang earlier and wants to tidy up her lawn.”

“Sure.”

Marion was Mum’s oldest friend.  They went back to college days. Now she was married to Albert, a rotund, cigar-smoking bore who sold caravans.  There were no kids and it always seemed to me that poor Marion probably ‘wasn’t getting any’. But she was still a looker. A sort of Lauren Bacall type: tall and leggy, with a sultry smile.

I loaded the garden tool in the boot of my car and sped round to the quiet cul-de-sac where Marion and Albert’s ranch-style chalet was located. Albert’s car wasn’t in the garage; he was obviously out giving some poor sap the sales spiel.

“Nickie, you’re an angel,” Marion purred on opening the front door in a very revealing pale blue chiffon housecoat. Though it was belted at the waist it nevertheless gave an enticing view of a freckled bosom. She nervously pulled the collar tighter and stammered: “So sorry, darling, I was just about to take a shower. Come on into the kitchen and I’ll fix us both a drink.” I parked the edge trimmer in the porch.

“It’s so warm today, isn’t it? Fancy a Pimms?” she enquired as she reached down a large green glass jug. The question was obviously rhetorical as half a bottle of the amber cocktail was soon emptied into the jug, topped up with soda and ice. Then she took a chrome measure from a kitchen drawer and added two shots of sweet vermouth. “Gives it an extra ‘kick’” she added with a grin.

This woman was clearly an experienced toper. She handed me my drink. “Bottoms up, sweetie!” My first gulp warned me that this was fire water (Marion’s glass was already half-empty).

“Let me give you a top-up and then we’ll go into the lounge”. As she led the way (as if reading my mind) she called back: “Don’t worry, Albert won’t be home until suppertime.”

She settled on a long green velour sofa beneath a picture window overlooking their immaculately-tended garden. The housecoat fell open to reveal her slender legs.

She patted a cushion beside her. “Come and sit beside me, Nickie? Don’t worry, I won’t bite!” I did as I was bid and quickly picked up the aroma of very expensive French perfume. Marion emptied her glass with two swigs and placed it on the floor. “Fancy a refill?”

“Errm… not for the moment,” I stammered as I nervously tried to conceal a rising mound in my denim shorts. She looked down and giggled at my semi-erection.

“Mmmm, you’re ‘obviously pleased to see me’ as Mae West might have said!” I blushed as she took my hand and guided it towards her un-stockinged thighs. Another sensuous giggle: “I’ll show you mine if you’ll show me yours. How does that sound?”

I fumbled with my zip, but before I could remove my erect cock her hand had darted inside.

“Oh my! What a magnificent specimen of manhood, Nickie darling.” She deftly peeled back my hood to reveal a helmet already secreting the first drops of pre-cum. She leaned forward and, moaning softly, ran her tongue across my pee-slit. She pulled one end of her housecoat’s belt to fully expose her breasts. Closing her eyes, she flopped her head back onto the cushions. I moved into a kneeling position in front of her and carefully placed my cock between her magnificent orbs which I fully intended to ‘anoint’.

Marion smiled and closed her eyes with expectation. After less than half-a-dozed strokes I was ready to ejaculate. Lovely thick ‘ropes’ of spunk criss-crossed her breasts, with my final thrust coating her slender neck.

It was several minutes before she opened her eyes. Looking down at my spent semen she purred: “Now Kitty’s going to slurp up all Nickie’s lovely cream before you kiss her! Then I'm going to take you up to my bedroom for Round 2!”  END