She was always in a bad mood. Didn’t matter what day it was — she stomped into the store like someone owed her money. Fifty-six, short red hair that looked like she cut it herself, thick all over with big tits that pushed hard against the buttons of her red work shirt, and a fat ass that filled out her jeans like a sack ready to burst. You couldn’t look at her without thinking about those curves, even when she was scowling.

“Morning,” I said as she walked past the counter.

She didn’t even slow down. Just let out a flat grunt that might’ve been a greeting if you were feeling generous.

I leaned back, arms crossed. “You ever not in a bad mood?”

Jennifer stopped just short of her office door, glancing back over her shoulder with that same tight, irritated look she always had. “You ever mind your business?”

I smirked. “Just saying… maybe your husband needs to step up. You wouldn’t be walking around pissed off all the time if he was taking care of you at home.”

She snorted. “And you think you could do better?”

I shrugged. “I have no doubt that could!”

She turned around then, fully, arms crossed under those huge tits, pushing them up so the buttons on her shirt looked ready to pop. “You talk a big game.”

I stared at her tits not caring that she knew. "By the time I'd get done with you, you will have trouble keeping your knees under you."

Her brow arched.

"Are you up for the challenge?" I asked, still staring at he massive mammories. 

She didn’t say a word. Just turned, motioned with her head, walked off fast through the back hallway, and I followed. We went around the back corner of the building to a small utility room -- storage for SportingGoods. I unlocked the door, she pushed it open, looked back once, then stepped in.

I shut it behind us.

“Don’t waste my time,” she said, already reaching down to unfasten her pants. “You’ve got one shot to impress me.”

I moved in close, crowding her against the counter. “Good. I only need one.”

I unbuttoned, then opened her red workshirt. Looking at that thick white bra — wide straps, high coverage, made for support, not show. 

I turned her around, "8 hooks? Jesus!"

"Shut it, I need the support."

I unhooked her bra made by Fort Knox, slid the straps off of her shoulders, turned her around.

The shape of her tits. Big, round, and surprisingly firm for a woman her age. Long, thick nipples were already hard, begging for attention. 

“You always this worked up at work?” I asked.

“Shut up and get your hand in my pants.”

Didn’t need to be told twice. I shoved my hand down the front of her jeans and inside the soft cotton of her granny panties.  Her gash was thick, plump and aIready wet. She was bare — completely shaven. My fingers sank in with no resistance, and she moaned, low and bitter.

“Jesus, your fingers feel good,” she breathed.

I took my hand out long enough to pull her jeans and panties down to her ankles. 

I turned her around, and bent her forward with her hands on the counter. 

Her huge, round ass screamed to be abused, but that was for another day. 

I slipped two fingers back into her big, wet gash. Working her slow at first, easing two fingers in and curling them against her G-spot. "Ohh, you know about the majic button!" She gasped and leaned hard on the counter, spreading her legs.

“Oh yes, Don’t stop. Right there—”

I didn’t. I kept the motion steady, rubbing her Gspot with my fingers. Her pussy felt deep and used to being filled — stretched with age but still responsive, the kind of gash that could swallow your hand if you weren’t careful. She started squirming, panting into her arm, legs starting to tremble.

“Fuck—fuck—don’t stop—”

“Keep quiet or someone’ll hear you.”

“Screw it,” she hissed, louder now. “Just keep going—”

She came hard, hips pushing bach against my hand, hot fluid spraying down my wrist and arm, dripping onto the floor. I pulled back a little but didn’t stop. She was already close again — body sensitive, wanting my touch.

“Goddamn it—” she groaned, grabbing at the counter top. “You’re gonna make me—again—”

“Good.”

Another gush poured over my hand, down my arm and ontothefloor. She came again, body shaking like she hadn’t had it that good in years. Her voice broke into a moan that sounded more like relief than pleasure.

Three more times like that she asked, almost begging, "Stop, stop, stop."

“You done?” I asked, pulling my hand free.

She turned, face flushed, breathing hard. “Not even close.”

She dropped to her knees without another word. Yanked my belt open, then my zipper. I didn’t even have time to say anything — she had my cock out and in her mouth like she was starving.

Her lips stretched wide. Her hand gripped the base like she needed something to hold onto. She worked me fast — no teasing, no slow build. Just rough, deep strokes, gagging a little but pushing through it.

“Jesus, you weren’t lying,” she muttered between breaths. “You’re fucking big.”

I looked down at her, one hand tangled in that red hair. “You can take it.”

She did. She choked a little, a little drool running down her chin, but she kept going. Her head bobbed fast, hard, determined. She wasn’t trying to be sexy — she was trying to prove something.

“That’s it,” I groaned, hips moving just slightly. “Get me nice and hard for your pussy.”

She pulled off, spit-covered and panting. “You better fuck me like you mean it.”

I reached down and grabbed her by the arms, pulling her up. “Bend over.”

She turned without hesitation, bracing herself on the counter. I kicked her pants out of the way along with her big white panties. Her ass was full and pale and red from my earlier slaps. Her pussy was gaped open, wet, ready to be dicked.

“I’m not pulling out,” I told her, lining up.

“I would hope not!”

I slid the tip between her lips, pressing forward slow and steady, watching her pussy part around it. She was wide and warm, her gash swallowing the head like it’d been waiting for something that fit. She gasped and gripped the edge of the counter.

“Jesus—”

“Feel that?”

“All of it,” she breathed. “God… yes.”

I pushed the rest in with a steady grind until I was buried to the base. Her ass met my hips, tight and shaking. I stayed there for a second, letting her adjust, letting myself feel how deep I was — how her pussy hugged every inch like it didn’t want to let go.

Then I started to move.

Not fast. Not yet. Just long, solid strokes that dragged all the way out and slid all the way back in. She moaned deep in her throat and bent lower, bracing herself, her tits swaying heavily with each thrust.

“That’s it,” I muttered, hands gripping her hips. “You take cock like you’ve missed it.”

“I have,” she snapped back, breath catching. “Now shut up and fuck me.”

I did.

I picked up the pace, fucking her with a steady, punishing rhythm — every thrust smacking against her ass, every sound echoing off the shelves in that little back room. She was loud now, not even trying to hold back.

I grabbed a fistful of hair and jerked her head back.

 "STFU before we get caught!

Her hands clawed at the counter.

Her pussy was soaked — dripping down her thighs, soaking my cock. I reached up, grabbed those long thick nipples that were begging for attention, twisting both of her nipples between my fingers.

She let out a wild moan and jerked against me. “FUCK—again—do that again—”

I did, twisting both nipples, fucking her harder. Her pussy clamped down, her thighs started to shake.

“Oh god, I’m gonna—fuck—fuck, I’m—”

She came again, louder than before, back arching hard enough that her feet lifted. Her pussy tight around my cock, sucking at it like she didn’t want me pulling out. I held her there, grinding deep, feeling her body quake again.

“You’re not done yet,” I growled, not slowing.

“I know,” she moaned, nearly slurring the words. “Fuck me. Finish it.”

So I did.

I kept pounding her, faster now, no space between thrusts. Her gash was stretched open around me, gripping tighter the longer I kept her full. She was dripping onto the floor. Her body jolted with every slam of my hips, every slap of skin on skin.

Her breath was gone. Just gasps and broken cries.

Then she started to lock up again.

“Wait—fuck—again—goddamn it—”

Her body tensed and she let go one last time, her knees nearly buckling as she squirted again, hard, soaking both of us. Her pussy clenched in waves, trying to milk me for everything.

That was it.

I grunted, shoved deep, and held her still.

“Take this load!"

Then I let go — cock throbbing, cum splashing hot and heavy right against her cervix. She moaned loud as she felt it hit, hips grinding back, like she wanted to feel every drop. I stayed buried, holding her there, one hand on her ass, the other gripping her shoulder tight as I emptied every last shot into her.

She didn’t speak.

Neither did I.

We just breathed.

Finally, I pulled out slowly. My cum dripped out of her immediately, spilling down her thigh and onto the concrete floor. She hissed at the sudden emptiness, then reached down and picked her panties up.

“Goddamn,” she muttered, voice hoarse. “You weren’t kidding.”

I pulled my jeans up, tucked back in, and adjusted my shirt. “That’s what happens when you let someone do the job right.”

Jennifer leaned on the counter, breathing deep. Her tits still hung low, long thick nipples stiff and red. She caught me looking. I reached up, giving both another firm pinch and hard twist.

“Put those back before someone walks in,” I said.

We got dressed without another word — buttoning up, zipping, straightening clothes like nothing happened.

Right as she reached for the doorknob, I said, “You off this Thursday?”

She paused. “Yeah. Why?”

I stepped up behind her, hands on her hips again, voice low. “Maybe we pick somewhere that isn’t the supply closet.”

She looked back at me with a smirk. " Your place at ten?"

I slapped her ass once more. “Don’t be late!”

She shook her head, pulled the door open, and walked out without saying another word.

But I caught the way she smiled to herself.

Like she already knew Thursday was going to be a great day.