What does she see in him?
A girl might go after an older man because he’s got money or power or brains, but sometimes it’s simpler than that. Sometimes she’s just plain hot for his body! Older men know how to treat a girl right. They know exactly what to whisper, where to touch, and when to put a girl over his knee.
In this collection of six salacious stories, savour the flavour of younger women as they take pleasure in the minds and bodies of older men. Even when it’s forbidden, they can’t resist rubbing up against an experienced older man!
In case you're not familiar with the work of Lexi Wood, I'm going to share with you an excerpt from her story Blueberry Brat, which appears in Younger Women, Older Men. Enjoy!
An excerpt from Blueberry Brat by Lexi Wood
The sign said OPEN, but the stand seemed closed. Then Karl spotted what he was looking for sunbathing on a lounger that must have been from the seventies. They didn’t make ‘em like that anymore.
But it wasn’t the chair he was interested in. It was the brat in the blue bikini, wearing sunglasses and chewing a licorice lace. He couldn’t believe the gall of this girl, lying out next to the road for every passerby to gawk at. Had she no shame?
No, of course she didn’t. That’s what brought him back to her.
Karl stood at the foot of the lounger, blocking her sun. She raised her glasses lazily, but she didn’t say a word. Just stared at him with those emerald eyes.
“Did your boyfriend buy that for you?” he asked, indicated the licorice lace.
She set her glasses back down and said, “Colin’s history. I bought this myself.”
“You sure get around.”
“I sure do.”
Karl watched the girl’s white stomach rise and fall with every breath. He wondered how she stayed so white when she worked in the sun, or at least lounged in the sun. He wondered why she wasn’t asking him what he wanted. Maybe it was obvious.
He hadn’t come back for the blueberries.
“Aren’t you afraid?” he asked. “Lying out here all alone, nearly naked?”
“Afraid of what?”
“Afraid of… anything, really.” Afraid of men, he meant, but he didn’t want her thinking she should be afraid of him in particular. She’d already called him a pervert once.
Once was enough.
He spent so long watching her breathe that his every inhale matched hers. She stopped chewing the lace and just sucked it. Her dark glasses reflected the brutal sun, so he couldn’t be sure whether she was looking at him or she had her eyes closed.
“You want more pie?” she asked.
He didn’t know how to answer that question.
Sighing, she slipped both feet over the side of her retro lounge chair and into a pink pair of flip-flops. She walked toward the whitewashed hut, swinging her narrow hips as she went. Flipping the latch on the door at the back, she turned to Karl and asked, “Your wife run off with another guy?”
“No.”
“Is she climbing Mount Kilimanjaro?”
“Hardly.”
“Is she dead?”
That question stopped Karl in his tracks, or would have done if he’d been walking.
“She’s dead?”
The way the girl said that word, so casual and yet so final, made him wonder who’d failed to teach her proper manners. “Yes, my wife has passed.”
“So your kids are orphans?”
“They’re not orphans. They have me.”
“So half-orphans.” She opened the plywood door. With the end of a licorice lace hanging out of her mouth, she said, “I’m a full orphan. Both my parents are dead.”
Karl felt strangely numbed by this admission, but he said, “I’m sorry to hear that.”
With a shrug, she said, “It’s better this way. Now it’s just me and my grandma—and my grandma doesn’t drink.”
Karl’s stomach knotted.
She stepped inside the blueberry hut.
When he didn’t follow, she stuck her head out and asked, “What are you waiting for?”
He was waiting to wake up from this strange dream.
They’d covered quite a lot of heavy territory, which weighed Karl down immensely. This girl seemed to hop over tragedy like a jump rope.
As he approached the white hut, he asked, “How can you be so cavalier about losing your parents?”
“It was a long time ago,” she said from inside.
“Even so…”
“If you had the kind of parents I had, you wouldn’t have to ask.”
When Karl arrived at the open door, his mind drew a blank. He forgot their entire conversation. All that remained was the image before him, of a naked eighteen-year-old surrounded by baked goods.
“Come in,” she said. “Close the door behind you.”
He did as he was told, though he knew no good would come of it. He crossed the threshold and stepped inside, all the while staring at the girl’s small white breasts with their soft pink peaks.
Her pussy was shaved bare, which he would have guessed after seeing her in a bikini, but she stood there like it was nothing. Like she hung out naked in the blueberry hut all the time and why was he making such a big deal about it?
She hadn’t taken off her flip-flops, and she hadn’t taken off her necklaces. The beads and feathers and strips of leather danced against her chest as she made space on one of the low shelves. Karl’s heart clenched as she jumped up on it, because he was sure it would collapse beneath her, but either the shelf was stupendously well-constructed or the girl weighed next to nothing, because she sat easily upon it, not a trace of worry on her face.
“You haven’t fucked anyone since she died.” The girl leaned against the wall, which was painted the same glossy white as the rest of the hut. Then she added, “Your wife,” as if he wouldn’t know who she was talking about.
“That’s right,” he said. “I haven’t. Haven’t even thought about it, to be honest.”
She opened her legs. “Until now.”
He nodded. “Until now.”
Her pussy lips were the most perfect shade of pink. Though the closed hut had no windows, enough light came in through gaps in the loose slats to make her juices glitter like diamonds. He’d never seen anything so alluring.
“Lick it,” she said, kicking off her flip-flops.
When he didn’t move, she walked her bare feet up his chest and pressed down on his shoulders with her heels. He let her move him down to the ground, which was the same glossy white as everything else. Felt nice and cool against his knees.
She slid her feet down his back and said, “I hope you’re good at this. There’s nothing worse than a grown man who can’t eat a pussy.”
Karl wondered if she was speaking from experience, and how much experience, but put the question out of his mind. He inhaled deeply between her legs. All he could smell was blueberries and pastry. Probably because there was an open pie sitting beside the girl and she was idly picking away at the top crust, eating it while she waited for him to begin.
“How do you stay so slim when you eat sweets all day long?”
She flatly said, “I’m eighteen. That’s how.”
At least she knew it wouldn’t last. Most girls her age didn’t realize there was a best by date on their effortless figures.
Karl extended his tongue and lovingly fed on the sweetness of this stranger’s pussy. An eighteen-year-old pussy was like nothing else in this world—not that Karl had any recent experience with young women. He was around them all the time. Taught them. Evaluated them. But he didn’t see them as potential sex partners. He was too shaken up after his loss to see anything. And, prior to that, he’d been so happily married he forgot other women existed.
Sounds impossible, but that’s how much he loved his wife. While she was alive, there was only her. His whole world was her.
And now his face was buried between the legs of an eighteen-year-old blueberry vendor. He really ought to have some feeling about that, but he didn’t. All he felt was arousal.
Wicked arousal.
Wild arousal.
He still had all his clothes on, but he was already so hard it hurt.
“What, are you hourly?” asked the brat.
“Hmm?”
“Lick my fucking cunt,” she said, over-enunciating every syllable. “I’m trying to get off, here. This isn’t charity work.”
“Sorry,” he said, and licked her clit with focused intensity.
“Better,” she said in a tone that sounded undecided. “But still not great. Try sucking it.”
Karl wrapped his lips around her perfect pink clit and sucked, but the slippery thing kept escaping from his mouth.
“Were you ever any good at this?”
He pressed his face between her legs so his cheeks touched her inner thighs. Wrapping his mouth around her bare pussy lips, he slobbered and sucked. She wiggled around on the counter, like she was looking for a better position, which meant he wasn’t pleasing her.
Picking at her pie, she said, “Oh, this is going nowhere.”
Every jeer was a challenge. He worked harder, slurping her pussy lips, sucking her clit with ever more force. He’d wanted to start slow and build up steam, but this girl was obviously looking for a cold, hard fuck.
Or, more precisely, a hot, hard mouth-fuck.
He stuck his tongue in her pussy and reamed her in and out.
“That’s just pathetic,” she said. “Get up. Get off me.”
He didn’t, and she kicked him with both feet to drive the point home.
As he gazed up at her from the floor, she slid down from the counter. She moved the pie she’d been picking at to the spot on the counter that was wet with saliva and pussy juice. Then she jumped up and sat in it.
Karl watched in awe as this sulky teen with the perfect pink pussy wiggled her butt in a blueberry pie. He didn’t know what to do or what to say or what this was all about. “Would you like me to leave?” he asked.
She gave him a stunned look, then hopped down from the counter. “If you left, who would lick all this blueberry pie from my ass?”
When she peeled the pan away, the bottom crust went with it. All that remained on her perfect porcelain skin was a slick helping of pie filling.
She leaned against the counter with her butt facing him and said, “You might want to take off your clothes. This could get messy.”
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