Panther in Yoga Pants

Gladys arrives in her car outside our glass door, overlooking the apartment block's small tree-lined parking area. Before getting out, I see her preening in the rearview mirror, her hands deftly adjusting her modest bust beneath the snug white T-shirt. After a moment of hesitation, she reached under the shirt, revealing the fine, green, transparent net bra. Disappointingly, it was a little too distant to make out the details but close enough to see what she was doing. She leaned forward and snugged her shirt down again. Unbeknownst to her, this had become the subject of my voyeuristic fascination—a fascination tinged with the bittersweet nostalgia of unrequited teenage lust. In past conversations, I had learned she had taught at an all-boys school, and I imagined, like me in my school years, her adolescent students discovering themselves; she was gorgeous. I guessed that they must have fantasised about her, as did I about my teachers in my youth.

I took this chance to ogle as she made her way from the parking lot. At sixty-five, she was a vision of confidence and maturity, her short bottle-blond hair and her tight-fitting yoga pants leaving little to the imagination. Her white T-shirt clung to her modest, mature bust, and the thin, unpadded dark green bra underneath hinted at the shape of her nipples.

As she strolled past each window, I followed her, taking the opportunity afforded by the reflection in the windows outside that restricted the view into our flat to admire her magnificent shape voyeuristically. She was a panther, a woman who knew the power of her allure. As she reached the main door, she tapped on the window of our spare room, conveniently located closest to the main doors of the apartments, a playful smile on her lips. She had feigned having forgotten her keys. I rushed to let her in, my heart pounding with anticipation; my sexless marriage exacerbates my raw base lust, overriding my common sense. I wanted Gladys.

We stopped and chatted in the lobby, her eyes sparkling with mischief. In my peripheral vision, I noticed her prominent nipples stiffening. She managed to engineer an invitation for coffee from me. I welcomed her, knowing there would be no way of restraining myself if she was interested, and it was certainly looking good for me. As she made herself comfortable in our apartment, she bent over to put her bag down, the tight material of her yoga pants revealing a tantalising glimpse of her pudenda sandwiched between her thighs. I swallowed hard, trying to keep my composure.

As we sipped our coffee, she nonchalantly guided the conversation to the gift for me. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a tube of lubrication, her eyes never leaving mine. "Still alone, I see," she murmured, a playful smirk on her lips. "Are you interested?" I was quite unable to answer. She walked over to the glass doors facing the parking area. "I think I can see my keys," she said. Can you see them?" she lured me over to the glass doors.

I approached her from behind, and she choreographed a practised low bend, which presented the outlines of her full pussy disguised by the thin black fabric; I came up close behind her, and then, to my delight, she pressed back against my growing erection.

"Good thing I have these old yoga pants on, or you would be stuck in me," she laughed, her voice a sultry melody. Still leaning forward slightly over her shoulder, she ordered me to pull my rugby shorts to one side, “free yourself”, she demanded, then guided me between her covered thighs. I thrust gently, the feel of her fabric-covered pussy driving me wild. I was surprised by the sensation of her large erect clitoris riding along the top of each slow exploratory dry thrust I made, even through the barrier of fabric; it was electrifying; I could feel each thrust slowly moistening her. She closed her thighs, increasing the pressure, a soft moan escaping her lips.

"Do me a favour and get the lube," she whispered, her voice heavy with desire. I complied, my now freed cock swaying as I walked back to her. Her eyes were locked on my erection. “that’s nice and hard,” she had noticed. Taking the tube, she firmly squirted a dollop of the lube into herself, her eyes never leaving mine. I looked down to see a third of the tube had disappeared into her; she turned to the glass door once more and reached forward so I could take her womanly hips; she guided my fingers to explore her pudenda. I discovered a cleverly modified access flap perfectly positioned for easy entry. Erotically, I vividly recalled jerking off to photos on an amateur website; a couple had a pair of jeans unstitched at the crotch, and they had taken pictures of themselves enjoying that same advantage at a plant park. Now, I had our version happening to me.

She turned around, bent forward facing the glass door, bent over, presenting me a gift. My cock aching, I pushed forward through the heavenly access and entered her slowly, the warmth of her body enveloping my manhood, the copious lubrication spilling from her; one of my favourite fantasies flashed into my mind as I imagined what it would be like if this were her fill from an orgy. The lube had a pleasurable tingle to it as each stroke explored her depths.

I wondered what the people arriving could see, the thought sending a thrill down my spine. I was acutely aware of my security camera; its lens pointed towards our empty parking space and our door. The sound of our bodies slapping together filled the room, her moans growing louder with each thrust. Her body bounced against my hips. My orgasm arrived quickly and hit me like a wave, the pleasure intense and overwhelming.

She turned around, her eyes filled with lust. "You aren't going to leave me hanging," she demanded, pulling her pants around her thighs. Pushing me to my knees, she forced my face down onto her fine, grey-speckled pubic hairs, wet with sweetened lube and my semen. Moving my head and guiding me around her pussy, having me focus on her swollen clitoris, she orgasmed, her body shaking and quivering; I was taken by surprise by a sudden powerful jet filling my mouth, a smile playing on her lips. "Oh, oh, ooooh", "Fuck, Fuck, Fuck". I experienced my first quirting; it was overwhelmingly erotic.

I wondered what the view was like from the outside, what our neighbours could see. The CCTV camera, its red light blinking steadily. She redressed quickly and, without sitting down, this was fuck buddy territory, no unnecessary cuddling and lovey-dovey; she was as horny as I was, and this worked to our mutual benefit. She waved and thanked me for the coffee. As she left, she smirked at me. “Send her the CCTV footage,” she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

I downloaded the footage, the reflections in the glass hiding the graphic nature of our encounter, but it was clear what we had been doing. The rhythmic appearance of her face framed by her blonde hair, my bald head clearly visible, driving into her from behind, some thrusts pressing her face and breasts against the glass. I sent it to her, my heart pounding with excitement.

A few hours later, she sent a message asking if I could press submit to the website. I respond with an instant YES. Upon visiting the site, I discovered she had a pretty extensive profile; her late husband featured prominently in her past exploits. I leaned back, a smile playing on my lips as I remembered her username “School Ma’am”.

The thought of all patrons clicking on her recent submission excited me in a way I had never felt before. I almost wanted to be recognised, and I imagined a dinner party where sex-starved husbands had uncertain expressions of recognition, politely avoiding letting onto that recognition—hoping they had been servicing themselves over our erotic CCTV footage.

The salaciousness, Gladys sharing me balls deep in our her out in the big bad world.