I agreed because his mom made kickass pasta.I showered and shaved, took a jog, bought the paper, had some coffee and juice, and then headed down to the gym for a workout and a nice, hot sauna. By three that afternoon, I was feeling relaxed. I checked my phone machine: no messages. Shit. She could at least call me up to compliment me.By five, I was in my car and on the way to Stoney’s. Mrs. Santucci greeted me at the door. She was about 55, a sweet old motherly kind of broad. I headed to the rec room downstairs where Stoney and I watched some t.v. and drank some beer. I was famished, so after about an hour I headed upstairs. Mrs. S. was finishing up the spaghetti sauce in the kitchen.“Hey, Mrs. S.” I said. “I’m starving. Whaddya got to snack on.”Mrs. S. turned away from the stove with a big smile. I smiled too. Then I looked down and noticed her necklace. It had a heart charm on it!“I’ve got lots of good stuff, Lenny,” Mrs.. " He was exploring so deep. "I always wanted to fuck you, Pansy." Sweat was forming on his chest."Omigawd." Every time you walk by the shop this is what I think about doing to you." His rhythm was that of an orchestral conductor."That's, that's why I, why I walk by every day." Her soft response was nearly inaudible.He picked up the pace. "I thought so." He was fucking her with love and passion now. Steady. Firm. Deep. Accurate."I, I," She was incoherent.He slapped her on the ass again. She was lost in sissy femininity. Another slap on the ass. Sweat dripping. Pansy's cute little tank top crinkled into a piece of spaghetti wrapped around her nipples. Soft little sighs were all she was able to let out. The only active communication now were his grunts which grew louder and louder. He grabbed her waist tight and pulled her in, thrust after thrust. She was nothing more than a rag doll at this point. He couldn't take it any more. His desire for Pansy overrode everything. She sensed it and.
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