It sometimes happens that life loses it's colours when woman reaches her 50s. Her body is still hot, even though it's not that smooth and tight. Her husband, an old man with flabby dick can no longer satisfy her. Continue ť

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-- For P., who will never read this.

You'd never dreamed those vulgar words could thrill you so deeply, that you could be weakened to such a state as to lose your sense of Self, your purpose and plan. You'd never dreamed you had it in you -- to fuck like that, like a man dispossessed of his senses, a man half turned to beast.

Buttoned-up and suited and tied you walked a narrow line, unwavering. From birth to death things were planned and predicted, a career, a wife, a mortgage, two kids, a savings account you never touched, and a vacation every year to somewhere warmer, somewhere else. You'd followed the plan till the day you turned 50, till the day you met me.

In the back seat of a shared taxi in the pouring rain in stand-still traffic, I smiled and you lost all direction, all sense of time. I flattered and flirted and you felt yourself blush, something stirring inside. You clutched a briefcase, knuckles whitening, as I inched nearer on the seat, pressing my hip against yours.

The look in your eyes was fear, disbelief. Even your dreams hadn't prepared you for this, for my wet red hair, my shy suggestive smile, my palm on your knee inching higher. Your heart knocked in your chest, your blood pulsing hot, and I pressed my lips to your ear whispering words you'd never knew could stir you so.

You called your wife, guilt showing in your eyes-- you'd always been faithful, in word, thought and deed-- and followed me home in the rain. One room with crumbling plaster walls, with a table and a chair, a small stack of books and a china cup. One room with a dusty lampshade and a thin mattress on a narrow frame.

Your hands trembled at my buttons, your eyes wide and scared. I undressed you quickly, my small hands greedy and rough, knowing by instinct what you wanted; force and thrust, teeth and nails, the words that made your head swim, your world dissolve.

And you were like a virgin, scared and shy, your breath shallow, your lips dry. I kissed your mouth, your throat and neck. I lifted my dress over my head and pressed my breasts against your chest, my belly to yours. You held your breath, hands hovering in the air, afraid to move, to break the spell.

I slid downwards between your legs, took you deep into my mouth and held you there, just gently. You pulsed hard and hot, still holding your breath, uncertain of your ability to contain yourself, unsure of what to do next. And so I sucked and licked, my lips clamped tight, my teeth barely scraping, my tongue stroking, urging you on.

Your hips bounced slightly by reflex as I fed on you. You caught your breath as my throat opened, your cock sliding deeper still. And you grunted and moaned, your eyes wide and wild, your fists clenched tight, enraptured and weaked by my clever young mouth.

You watched in desperate awe as I drew my lips off, leaving you on the edge of release. I straddled your hips and my bare slit parted to engulf you, sliding down, down, taking you deeper than you'd ever known you could go. Deeper into that impossible warmth, the softness and hardness.

Deeper into the ache that you'd held at bay for years, strangled and hard like a knot in your stomach. I settled myself as my thighs relaxed, wet and wide around your hips. I rocked slowly back and forth, letting the pleasure, the heat, and the tightness build.

I slid your hands to my breasts and pressed them into your warm, wet palms. You kneaded and stroked, your breath coming fast, and craned your neck to bring your lips to my skin. I leaned forward and you filled your mouth with my breast, small and pale and tender, my rosy nipple at the tip of your tongue.

Then my mouth over yours, our teeth clashing, I bit you and hissed, "Fuck me." I pressed my lips to your ear and spilled the words you wanted to hear; harsh, clipped words that made you moan like an animal in pain. Vulgarities that thrilled and made you ache.

I writhed against you in a churning rhythm, your cock the pivot on which my hips rotated, and you watched my young face flush and twist. You watched, disbelieving, as I wriggled and squirmed, the heat of our bodies and the sound of my curses filling the room.

In your eyes, an expectant fear, I turned, urging you to roll with me, to pin me to the dirty sheets and fuck me. Your whole body shook in anticipation as you stood on your knees and watched me spread myself slowly, my bare white feet, my pink painted toenails sliding up your bare chest.

You gripped my knees and split me open, my cunt a lewd display of peachy-pink velvet, of wet, silken heaven. Your buried yourself deep and thrust again and again, pulling and pushing, my body like a doll in your strong, urgent hands, my red hair flying, my eyes squeezed tight.

You moved from the bed, still buried to the hilt, and fucked me while standing. You leaned over me, your manicured hands tightly gripping my hips, your glazed eyes fixed on the sight of your cock sliding in and out of my pink, wet cunt.

I was spread across the width of the bed, the top of my head hitting the wall, plaster dust falling around us, and I urged you deeper, to fill me completely, to fuck me harder. Your rhythm quickened, grew out of control and you thrust once more, whole body quaking. A groan, a sigh, then the tears began to fall.

Most men dismiss me as a common tramp, a sweet piece of ass, but you carry the memory of a precocious girl with penny-red hair still damp from the rain who turned your world upside-down; a sweet corruption.

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