After a while she looked up at him, lightly studying his face and figure.
“It is a risky thing you're asking,” she said.
“I'm offering a good price.”
“But I'm not poor. I'm not in great need of money so your price isn't all that interesting to me.”
So the town gossip was true. How impossible these small towns were. He decided to make things easy for her.
“But what else can I offer, my dear madam?”
She smiled and stood up. She began to move slowly around the lighted room as if thinking. She stopped in front of a painting, small painting above a grate where a log fire was burning low. He watched her, her stout bottom and belly rustling in her skirts.
“This is a picture of my husband,” she said, staring at it.
Cesare moved across the room and stood beside her and just a little behind.
“A good-looking man.”
“Yes, he had many virtues and I miss him? particularly in bed.”
Cesare smiled. So she was going to brazen it. She didn't look at him. She had crossed the bounds of decorum and was waiting with bated breath to see how he reacted.
“I'm sure the loss is more his.”
“Ah, you mustn't say such blasphemy,” she said?but quite disarmed at his reply.
She moved away again, leaving him standing beside the portrait. When she turned, her eyes dropped to his loins and then rose to meet his.
“I long for people to take his place?just for a while,” she said in a tone which, Cesare was surprised to find, made him feel rather sorry for her.
“Madam, there can be few could resist such an open-hearted admission from such a fine woman as yourself.”
“Oh tush!” But she smiled again and moved toward him. “A beautiful person like yourself has no need of elderly women but…” she hesitated… “that is my price.”
“My dear lady you overestimate me. You offer me delight and disparage yourself at the same time.”
She was pleased with his gallantry even if she hardly believed it. She came toward him and put her hands on his shoulders, her head against his breast as he pressed her body into his.
That it should come to this, Cesare thought with a sardonic humor. But bargainers can't be choosers.
“My husband was so good because he knew my quirks,” she said softly, rubbing her loins gently against his, so that in spite of his reservations he found his prick responding.
“Your quirks?you like to be excited in some?abnormal?manner?”
Gallantly he helped her, saving her embarrassment. Besides he was in a hurry.
“Yes?he used to whip me. But I no longer have the whip and, besides, now that I'm a little older, I prefer the more intimate touch of the hand and then perhaps a few strokes from a cane I keep in my boudoir.”
Better get it going, Cesare decided. He pushed his hips back at hers and tried to get his hands around her big buttocks. She looked up at him with her mouth open and he lowered his face onto hers as if going into a dungeon. Her skin was rather dry under her powder but she had kept herself well and he was surprised at the keenness of passion with which she responded.
“I'll send the servants to their quarters,” she whispered.
She disappeared for several minutes and when she was once again in the doorway, he saw she was dressed in a silk gown which hid her stout flabbiness and gave a certain silken luster to her appearance.
She beckoned and he followed. She led him up a flight of stairs and into a tasteful boudoir with a large bed to one side on which was a long, whippy cane.
“Will you undress?” she pleaded.
He began to slip out of his clothes and she watched as if she would eat his body. When he stood in front of her, naked and with his upstanding penis rearing toward her, he could hear the rustle of the gown where she was trembling. She stared at his body in admiration and desire.
“So young?so strong,” she whispered.
She came over to him, opened her gown and enclosed them both in it, crushing against him. He could feel the sag of her breasts, low down on his chest and the bush of hair around her cunt. The fat thighs were hot and met his like bastions.
“Kiss me?and then beat me until I scream,” she said fiercely.
He kissed her and she held his prick, squeezing it gently so that he felt the blood running into and expanding it. He was surprisingly excited. It occurred to him that she'd be the oldest woman he'd ever fucked.
She dragged him to the bed, pushed him down, flung off her gown and threw herself face down, sinking into its soft depth. For a moment he gazed at the fat, flabby buttocks which quivered like jelly, so fleshy were they. He glimpsed her breasts, large and hanging down toward her waist. There were rolls of fat at her waist and lines across her thighs. He could see the fringe of a tuft of black hair protruding between her buttocks.
Well, she should have her money's worth. He'd make fine play with that fat, soft body.
He knelt beside her on the bed, holding her down in the small of the back with one hand. He brought his other sharply down across her buttocks, feeling it sink, stingingly into the flesh, leaving a red and white mark as he lifted it again. She winced and muffled her gasp in the bed. Her buttocks quivered with that jelly-like helplessness and she winced with her whole body.
He raised his hand again and smacked it down in the wake of the first blow. Again she smothered her gasp in the sheets. Again and again he brought down his hand, until she was writhing and squirming and her buttocks were fiery red. Sometimes he stopped, thinking from her stifled scream that she'd had enough, but then she'd raised her smarting bottom up toward him to indicate that she needed yet more.
When her rump was glowing in a single smoldering flush, he took hold of the cane, swished it once in the air and then brought it down with half-force across her backside. It made a single deeper weal across the blush of her puddings. She cried out, made as if to escape, and then pushed her loins hard into the bed, remaining where she was.
Cesare held her firmly with his left hand and brought the cane down with all his force. This time she shrieked with pain and the weal came up immediately, bruised and angry-looking. Three more times, holding her fast as she squirmed and struggled and screamed with the pain, he lashed the flickering stick down across her fat behind and then she cried out in a loud voice.
“Screw me now! Stuff me up, quickly?oh now!”
He pulled her up onto her knees and slipped between them. His prick was stretching and in excitement, invigorated by the thrashing he'd subjected her to. He eased back, directed his organ and surged forward into her, pushing the walls of her vagina aside like earth under a pick.
She quivered and screamed. And he caught those tender buttocks in his hands and began to punish her with his prick, ramming in and in with strong, rough thrusts which jerked her forward on her face every time he reached the extremity of her passage.
She cried out again and again and at last she was laughing and sobbing with joy at the same time. He wondered through his teeth-gritting labor how long it was since she'd had a young man's prick up her cranny.
Every time he jabbed it in a long, breath-sucking stroke, the friction of his loins against her fat pink behind set off her buttocks wobbling furiously. He separated them in rolls of fat and plunged his fingers between their great curves. He pulled on the tuft of black hair he found, making her shriek with ecstacy and skewer her unsupple body against him.
He reached right under her with his other hand and felt through the sticky juices which were beginning to flow. Her clitoris was as hard as a nut, and big, too. He pinched it, hurting her and then held her fat wobbling belly in handfuls, feeling it heave and jump under the emotional and physical turmoil through which she was passing.