1. The Widow Henderson


    Date: 8/24/2015, Categories: Fiction, Anal, Erotica, Mature, Reluctance, Young, Author: Unknow user, Rating: 90.7, Source: sexstories.com

    stepped inside and waited while she shut the door. I have only been inside her home on about four occasions, but it appeared as if nothing had changed. There was a dark brown sofa with an oval coffee table in front of it, and two leather wing backed chairs separated by an end table sat across facing the sofa. Against one wall was a flat screen TV while soft music played on the console stereo next to it. Oddly there were no personal pictures hanging on the walls, just landscapes and flowers. There was a hall that led off in one direction that I assumed would lead to the bedrooms and bathroom. The kitchen and dining room combination was located at the back near the patio doors. That's where she headed so I followed. The table was set up with two place settings, and two large wine glasses had been placed next to each plate. One was empty but the other had lipstick on the rim and was half empty of what looked like white wine. I sat the wine bottles on the counter near the sink and watched her busy herself in the kitchen. When I offered to help she declined, and told me that dinner would be ready in a minute so I should take a seat. The meal turned out to be Chicken Alfredo with penne pasta and a tossed green salad. It was cooked to perfection. We chatted effortlessly through the entire meal but it seemed as if she was a little subdued compared to her normal self. I also noticed that she drank the wine faster than I would have expected her to. When we finished I helped her clear ...
    the table and rinse the dishes before loading them into the dishwasher. The kitchen area was narrow and we bumped into each other frequently. One time she bent over to put something in the dishwasher and I was behind her a little too close. Her ass made contact with my groin and we both let out a soft yelp, before we cracked up laughing at each other. Once we had everything put away I refilled our glasses and she suggested we go in the front room and relax. I sat on the sofa and she took one of the chairs after turning the stereo up just a little. After sitting down she crossed one leg over the other causing her dress to ride higher on her thighs and giving me a nice view of those wonderful legs. "So why do you always call me Mrs. Henderson, Bradley," she asked, while peering over the rim of her glass. The question caught me off-guard. I apologetically told her that I really didn't know her first name. In all the time we have lived next to each other I had never heard anyone call her other than what I did. When my parents had referred to her they always called her Mrs. Henderson. I further explained that even Bill had only called her the wife, or, my wife when I was around. Growing up I had never really thought about it, but in retrospect, I can see how unlikely it was to have lived next door to someone without ever knowing their given name. She appeared to ponder my explanation for a short time. "My name is Abigail. But you can call me Abby if you like," she finally stated. ...
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