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The Texan Tart - PART ONE

Short story By: Mercutio della Lingua
Erotica



During a wedding weekend in San Antonio, a young musician succumbs to the incomparable allure of a much older woman.


Submitted:Apr 7, 2014    Reads: 956    Comments: 1    Likes: 3   


Lydia loved long hair on a man; though I couldn't claim to be fully grown back then.

The night we met in Texas, she grabbed my thick brown, curly mane, two-fisted. And as if she were ready to throw her panties on stage, the vixen said I looked like I ought to be a rock star.

That's what half a beer did to her.

That's how she introduced herself.

Nobody knew Lydia but my Aunt Cora; but everyone welcomed her as family. While the last of the relatives arrived from Kansas and Kentucky for the wedding weekend, we crowded into the groom's room where everyone drank Shiner Bock and reminisced about past reunions.

The excitement of the upcoming wedding built up in me until I was ready to take on a harem. How my cousin knew he was ready for such a commitment I could not fathom, nor was I about to ask him.

Only a few years older than me, John Earl lived his last night as an unmarried man surrounded by friends and family - and plenty to drink. Aunt Cora kept close to her step-son until the men folk took over for the final nights of his bachelorhood.

At the age of twenty, any attention from my aunt's buxom friend easily aroused me; but her years of seniority activated my attraction most of all. Lydia's age and ample weight didn't prevent her from an open interest in a younger man; one she might very well devour if given the chance. A smooth skinned forty-five, she flirted like a party girl leaving sorority life for something wilder. Before Lydia, that uninhibited sexuality existed only as something imagined in the older women I so often conjured in bed, the shower, and my most enticing dreams.

We spent a few minutes immersed in one another before Aunt Cora recommended the courtyard outside for quality conversation. Perhaps Cora recognized I would make 'the outsider' become familiar with us because Lydia's son was about my age; perhaps I compensated for his absence or distance.

Perhaps Aunt Cora failed to see the obvious.

Lydia needed no assistance in establishing an immediate claim on the place. Her comfort zone was the hotel itself, and maybe all of San Antonio.

During our initial introduction, she opened me up so easily that in half an hour, I gave her my life story and all the dreams that still burned inside of me; and she believed in dreams, of dreaming big, and creating her own reality. Once those first candid revelations past between us, I felt incredible about my odds against the world. I was still so naïve: Lydia stroked a man's ego only to stroke the cock out of his pants.

Her intellect wove webs around me, and she loved how I devised to uphold a dynamic conversation. What were the twenty-five years between us? Time passed easily in her presence. She had kind eyes, an enormous rack, and knew how to treat me like a man seasoned with greater experience. With enormous thighs and an ass one might call intimidating, Lydia kept my focus on her eyes to stimulate my mind and imagination; to overwhelm my innate scrutiny of every woman's figure. In Lydia, sexiness became something more by her manner alone. What she did to provoke a man physically occurred only after she ensnared his mind with unanticipated desires.

We strolled over the property side by side, and she asked me to point out my room for her. Once I found it, she paused and lifted her eyes to the second floor, then glanced at me with a curious grin as her cheeks flushed. My brother and a couple of cousins lounged inside the room with an open door and some smuggled brew, all too young to drink. Despite their youth, Lydia waved with a flirtatious flap with her fingers. My brother looked at me sideways when I walked off with the woman, twice my age, whose rolling hips swayed in tight denim capris.

Lydia spoke about upstairs rooms as if they had certain advantages, and this somehow convinced me to follow her up the stairs. The first thing to do when you check in to a hotel, she told me, is to shower. Test the water, smell the soap. That's what she always did. (Purposely planting the image of her naked body in conversation seemed just as common.)

Secluded on the second floor walkway, Lydia lifted her wrist to my nose, then the crook of her inner arm as though I should appraise a chef's creation. The image of her, naked and steamy from that supposed shower, lingered in my imagination as actual bare flesh rose to stimulate my senses. I sniffed her creamy skin, and my eyes turned upward in serious consideration. Her eyes, however, watched only me.

"What do you think? It's kind of sweet, huh? I was surprised…for hotel soap."

I nodded to agree, and still felt the ripples of contact on the tip of my nose. Even my lips vibrated with an enticing shock.

Having covertly lured me on with encouraging questions and amusing anecdotes, I arrived with Lydia to her room, oblivious to our obvious destination. By the time she offered that soft bit of fragrant flesh, we were outside 219; precisely above my own room where my brother and cousins were about to begin a cribbage marathon.

"You better say goodnight now, buddy."

"Good night," I said; then stepped backward, away from door as if dismissed.

"You're so damn cute…" I stopped. "You don't have to leave." She stepped toward me. "Not right away, anyway."

"OK," I said. "Did you want another beer? I can go grab some."

"Do you want another beer?" Lydia's tone attended other appetites than alcohol.

"I'm fine; I just thought I'd offer to…"

"You're too much a gentleman, you know that. Don't you see what's going on here?"

A charge rippled down my limbs. What? I wondered. How high could flirtation fly?

"We're making trouble…" she said with a mischievous grin. "If you're Aunt Cora knew I was bringing you back to my room like this…Scandalous!" Yet for all the implications, Lydia proceeded to play with me.

"So, like I said: You better say goodnight or there's gonna be talk."

"Yeah, I'm sure my brother's wondering where I am by now."

"Oh my god, yes…did you see the way they looked at us?"

Us? Were we a couple all of a sudden? Apparently, Lydia scored a boy toy in the hour of her arrival.

She unlocked her room. As I followed her in, she pressed my back against the door, stroked my shoulders, then kissed my startled mouth as it fell open with her attack. Her tits tackled me as a team, and my hands rushed in from both sides to match her momentum. I squeezed her breasts together as I pressed forward with my mouth. Kneading those soft mounds, we tongued and kissed for a frenzied minute or more.

"I'm going down on you, goddamn it."

I still felt her wet mouth on me as Lydia slithered down my loins. Kneeling as I leaned against the door, her eyes held me in a hypnotic gaze, insisting I obey her every suggestion. She commanded my zipper open with a sudden jab of her thumb and a jerk of her hand. A giant smile led to stifled laughter as she amused herself with my vulnerable position.

"Are you…" serious? I stammered, unable to speak further.

"What did I say? Hmm? Oh, what's this? Wow, it's actually hot." Lydia looked up again once her long nails led her to my bone. "You're so hard…so fast" she said, as if to chastise; then she smiled, feigning concern: "Are you gonna be alright?"

As if a throbbing erection were a debilitating condition.

Her lips smacked the tip of my dick as if to welcome him home. One hand grabbed my thigh as the other twisted my shaft to keep me in place. Then that smile widened, broader than laughter, and her mouth fell upon my cock half way down. The curvy vixen pulled my hips into her face, into the hot moisture of her mouth. Her dangerous nails seemed to wrap around my lean frame like a pitcher of beer in her hands. I was eagerly engulfed by her appetite, and soon a rhythm commenced that coaxed ecstatic groans from my throat , until I fell into an endless chant of "FUCK...GOD…FUCK…GOD" as though nothing else could possibly exist.

When Lydia's cougar purr began to enjoin my own noise in a primitive call-and-response, the vibration of her tones warmed my cock with riveting pulsations. I warned her of my rising climax, tugging her long hair in my hands with more emphatic night calls. As her throat was about to be splattered with liquid lust, Lydia only provoked my eruption with stronger strokes over her tongue. Her cheeks tighten with the suction of an underwater animal. The skill she possessed was unparalleled by any I had known, and I fell back with both hands against the door as I overflowed. I gave her a series of enthusiastic thrusts, reaching behind her head to support my forward movement. Lydia enjoyed my coursing stream with such determination that I worried she may not return the juicy bone.

When she did, she slapped just me on the ass and said, "Now get on out of here, Big Boy."

Provided I trusted her instincts, that San Antonio smile promised more of the same to follow. I helped her up to her feet and stunned to silence, stumbled out her door. However I may have left her room, in whatever direction I went, I encircled the entire hotel before I found my own room again.





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