Mrs. O'Malley's Golden Juices Ch. 08

Susan O'Malley had a long day at work in her retail job, on her feet all day. The 65-year-old silky haired blonde with the sinewy, lean body was ready for a drink. And maybe some action.

She walked the street near the store on the unseasonably warm fall day. It had started out cool, so she'd worn black wool trouser socks under her black slacks, which over the course of the day became soaked with sweat. She'd taken her shoes off at work every so often, wrinkling her nose at the wretched stench that emanated from them.

"Shame to waste that," she laughed quietly to herself, resolving to find someone to share it with after work.

She found a bar she'd visited before, quiet, friendly, with several high-topped booths affording privacy. She liked privacy. She could carry out her plan here, she thought as she walked in, spying the sparse clientele at the late-afternoon hour.

She went to the bar and ordered a bloody Mary, making note of a young guy sitting nearby who'd taken note of her when she came in. Smiling at him, she took her drink and gave him a quick nod. He smiled back and watched her walk around a corner, to a secluded booth.

Susan sat, sipped her drink crossing her sexy legs under the table and waited. Seconds later, the young man, all of 22 or so, well dressed and obviously a businessman of some sort, rounded the corner, beer mug in hand.

"Hi," he said brightly. "Mind if I join you?"

"I'd mind if you didn't, young man," she smiled back, moving over to pat the seat beside her as the young man was prepared to sit across from her. "Right here, right here. It's cozier."

"Uh, yeah, yeah it is," he said nervously, taken aback by her brazenness, sliding in beside her. "My name's Michael Kimball. But you can call me Mike."

"Susan," she said, shaking his hand. "Susan O'Malley. But you can call me Mrs. O'Malley."

His eyes widened, blinking at the smiling, sure older woman who's tiny hand was dwarfed in his.

"Uh...well sure, Mrs. O'Malley, whatever you say," he said nervously.

"That's right, Michael," Susan purred, snuggling closer to him. "Whatever Mrs. O'Malley says."

They chatted for a few moments about inconsequential things, Susan finishing her drink and ordering the young man to get her another. He readily obeyed, quickly getting it and returning. He found Susan sitting back on the seat, against the wall, her feet up on the seat, her pant legs riding up to reveal creamy, smooth shins above her black socks. She smiled and lifted her feet, motioning for him to sit. Unsure, he obliged, sliding in and watching as Susan plopped her feet onto his lap, making him jump as her heels punched his balls.

"OW!" he cried out.

"Sorry, darlin'," she cooed, taking her drink and sitting back to demurely suck the straw in it. "Well, not really, but it seemed the polite thing to say."

"No, that's...uh, that's ok, Sus...Mrs. O'Malley," he said uncertainly, watching her twist her feet in his lap, those heels digging into his groin where his cock started to swell. "You're...you're a little...forward, aren't you?"

"Oh, you don't like it?" she cooed, and before he could answer added. "Good, I like it that way."

He looked at her sitting against the wall, her blouse slightly open, a thick patchwork of sexy wrinkled flesh in evidence, curling from her neck to the cleavage below. Susan worked her feet harder down now, making him moan.

"Be a dear and massage my feet, boy," she said dominantly. "I've had a long, long day and they need a little attention. Go on, take off my shoes."

He hesitated and was rewarded with a downward pump of Susan's shoes, catching his balls and making him groan. Quickly, he pulled off her shoes and instantly was rewarded with a waft of sweet and sour air, acrid and sharp, from her sweaty socks.

"Frightful isn't it?" she giggled, wiggling her toes, causing the sexy, freckled calf muscles around her shins to crease and flex, the muscular balls of her calves rippling above her socks. "Don't be afraid, Michael. Dig in. Massage my feet."

She said it so confidently, so persuasively, he found his hands drifting to them, digging into the moist, stinky black socks, massaging and caressing them, watching her all the while as she watched him, sipping her drink.

"Mmmm that feels so nice, young man," she growled, wiggling her heels, feeling his dick stiffen against them. "So nice..."

He continued to work her feet, moaning as her heels caressed his fully stiff cock, a five-minute massage that had him nearing orgasm as she finished her drink. She held it up.

"Another," she said, swinging her feet to the floor.

He looked down at his crotch, his pants tenting before him.

"I...I can't...I mean right now..." he stammered.

"Do it," she said with a growl. "If you know what's good for you. Get your ass, and that beautiful young cock, out there and get Mrs. O'Malley a drink!"

He gulped and got up, bending over slightly to hide the erection she'd given him and showed no signs of abating. He quickly got her drink and returned, sitting next to her. She got close to him, putting an arm around his neck and with her other hand, cupping his hard cock, making him jump.

"You liked rubbing my stinky feet, didn't you boy?" she hissed, leaning in to lick his ear as she stroked his dick in his pants. "Admit it. You love my stinky socks!"

"Oh God yesssss," he groaned as she thrust her tongue into his ear and jerked him in his pants.

"Then you'll love this!" she laughed.

From under the table, she produced both her black socks and rammed them into his mouth, rubbing the stench into his nose and face, laughing as he sputtered, eyes open and watching her bony little hand smear the sweaty socks into him, holding his head still by grabbing a handful of his hair.

"Smell it bitch," she snarled. "And eat up!"

She forced his mouth open and rammed both socks inside, closing his mouth and putting a hand over it, forcing him to embrace the full funky flavor of her stinky socks, the sweaty, nasty odor permeating his sense of taste and smell. He resisted, but not very much, his mind awash in confusion, not sure if he should be enjoying it as much as he was. His stiff cock betrayed him as Susan grabbed his package, squeezing his balls and dick.

"Now then," she growled, unsnapping his pants and fishing his dick out to stroke it as she looked into his wide-open eyes. "Let's continue..."

She let go his cock and sat back, swinging her feet up and bringing them directly to his face, slapping it, wiping the sweaty, stinky soles on his nose. He inhaled deeply, desperate to devour her foot scent. She laughed and reached up to pull the socks from his mouth and let his anxious tongue wash over her wrinkled old soles, lapping up the sweat and grit, and then over the balls of her feet to lap her delicious, bony toes.

"Suck 'em, boy, suck those toes like tiny COCKS!" she hissed, eyes flashing in the dim lighting of the bar as the sun set outside. "Clean them, lick up the funk between 'em!"

He did, eyes rolling in the sockets, given completely to the task of being this crazy, sexy older woman's foot slave. He sucked each toe, nibbling the flesh, running his tongue between them, savoring the grit and grime and stench, before she pulled her feet away and dropped them down, instantly securing his cock between her solid, muscular calves. She stroked up and down, his copious pre-cum smearing the insides of her chiseled calves, and soon the quiet of their little corner was permeated by the obscene squishing sounds of her rapid calf fuck.

"Oh my GOD...Mrs. O'Malley...never...I never..." he babbled deliriously, looking down to watch the muscular wrinkled folds of her supple calves flow around his squeezed dick. "I'm...gonna...CUM!!"

"Oh no you DON'T!" she hissed.

Suddenly, her calves opened, her hand reaching in to pull his entire ball bag up around his dick, and slammed shut again, scissoring his balls and the base of his dick in the most painful grip he could ever have imagined. He opened his mouth to scream, but Susan quickly balled up her dirty socks to stick inside, cutting off his voice.

"You do NOT cum until given permission!" she barked into his frightened face, squeezing harder for emphasis. "You have so much more to do first!"

She relinquished her scissor lock on his genitals and swung her feet off him. Smiling at him as he writhed in pain next to her, she slithered out of her pants and spread her thighs, wrinkled and saggy but exquisitely sexy, and his eyes darted down to her copious, gray bush.

"It's all yours, baby," she cooed. "Now get under the table and get busy!"

Helplessly, he slipped under the table, as she pulled the tablecloth hanging off it over her lap, and looked into that bush, the funky musk washing over his face. The smell stopped him, a smell of piss and sweat and funk. He balked.

"It's not gonna eat itself, boy," she growled, impatiently reaching for his head and slamming his face to her cunt, wrapping her muscular old thighs around his skull, locking her feet and squeezing. "Make Mrs. O'Malley cum, bitch!"

He stabbed frantically at her old pussy, spearing the cheesy folds and lips and skewering her hole, tongue fucking her rapidly as her thighs tightened and she moaned in response. He lapped up and down, focusing on her engorged clit, sucking it into his mouth, dribbling it with his tongue, and her thighs scissored him harder as she neared orgasm.

"Damn, you're good, soooo fucking good," she cooed, pumping herself against his face.

He palmed her rugged, wrinkled thighs to pull them apart but couldn't move them, surprised at the muscle tone beneath that saggy skin. He lapped and sucked harder, eager to please her and be free of her leggy prison, when he heard someone speak.

"Another bloody, ma'am?" the bartender said, standing at the edge of the table.

"Yes, yes, that would be lovely," she cooed politely, quivering her meaty thighs against Michael's trapped face as he froze in fear, her sudden squeeze an indication he should continue, so he resumed his clit suck. "And another beer for my young man...who's in the bathroom at the moment.."

The bartender laughed and walked away. Susan moved the tablecloth from her lap and looked at Michael's face, red and sweaty in the clamp of her lusty old thighs.

"That was close," she laughed. "Now keep eating my pussy!"

Michael obeyed, feeling her pussy tremble in his mouth and moments later heard the bartender return, putting the drinks on the table. Susan thanked him and as she did, squeezed harder as Michael's talented young tongue brought her to a crushing orgasm, bathing his face in her juices, filling his mouth.

"Will there be anything else, ma'am?"

"No, that should be all...for now, my good man," Michael heard her say, but just barely as Susan's fleshy thighs completely covered his ears.

The bartender left and Susan finally unlocked her powerful old legs, but leaving them on his face, ankles loosely entwined. She pulled the tablecloth aside again, looking down into Michael's panting face.

"I have to go pee," she said.

"Ok," he gasped, pulling back slightly only to be stopped by Susan's re-tightening thighs, his mouth right at her pussy. "But you said..."

"I'll go right here, right now!" she snarled, cupping his head in her hands and holding his open mouth at her pee slit. "In your MOUTH!!"

He tried to wriggle free but her hands were holding him too securely, her thighs scissoring him too tightly, and he screamed as he felt the first steaming hot jet of piss fill his mouth. He swallowed and swallowed, the taste bitter and strong, the scent overwhelming, but he swallowed to keep from drowning. Susan laughed darkly as she pissed down his throat, not doing so fully, but in spurts, staccato jets of her golden juices, allowing him to gulp it down before another spurt filled his mouth. She laughed as he gulped and wriggled in her scissors, and when she was finally done, she loosened her legs just enough to let him pull back a few inches, panting desperately for air.

"Jesus Christ!" he snapped. "You're crazy, you're fucking crazy!"

"Lick it," she said calmly, pointing to her piss-soaked pussy hair. "Suck that pee off my pussy, clean me up!"

He groaned and obeyed, lapping at the golden fluids coating her copious, matted pussy hair, sucking it in and down, anxious for it to be over. She finally released him fully from her thighs and pulled him up to sit next to her again.

She laughed as he wadded up several napkins to wipe his face clean, looking at her like she was insane. She pointed to his beer.

"Drink up," she said. "You deserve it."

He did, swigging nearly the whole thing down, anxious to wash away the piss flavor he feared would never leave him. She got up slowly, scooting around to the other side of the booth. His eyes widened as she pushed her feet up between his legs, cupping his cock in the smooth insteps of her gnarly old feet, slowly stroking him up and down. He sat back, moaning, marveling at the sensation of that wrinkled flesh jerking him off like no woman ever had.

"Feel good?" she cooed, fingering her pussy under the table as she worked his dick.

"Shit..yessssss," he moaned, nearing orgasm, feeling his nuts swell as her feet pumped up and down, slamming into them with just enough force to hurt but feel so incredibly good doing so.

She slowed the footjob, making him groan in frustration. She smiled at him, nodding at his nearly empty beer mug.

"Give it to me," she said.

"What?"

"Give me your glass. Now."

He obeyed, sliding it over and watched in rapt fascination as she slipped it under the table. She unlocked her feet from his cock, putting one on the floor and brutally pressing the other one against his nuts, making him cry out in pain. He watched her watching him and heard the unmistakable sound below.

She held the mug to her pussy, tight against it, and pissed long and hard, filling it nearly to the top, the wet, tinkling sound reverberating under the table, echoing in Michael's ears. She smiled as she did, pushing her foot harder into his compressed balls as he slowly shook his head side to side.

"Oh, yes, yes," she corrected his frantic head shaking "Oh, yes...yes..."

She pulled the mug up from between her legs and put it on the table, resuming her footjob, making the young man groan again. Smiling, she pushed it toward him. He looked at it, then her, with disbelieving eyes.

"Drink up," she snarled. "You deserve it!"

He balked, and was rewarded with a savage squeeze of her heels on his nuts, nearly exploding them in their sacs, and his mouth opened in a silent scream as she nodded toward the glass. He quickly picked it up, moved it to his lips, the crispy, piss stench invading his nostrils and entire sexual being. She slipped her silky soles up around his cock again, soles soaked with his precum, and stroked, up and down, eyes locked on his.

He gulped, lifted the glass to his lips, closing his eyes. The taste was as it was when she scissored his face to her pussy, forcing him to drink her. But now it was clearer, crisper, and much to his chagrin, tastier, no doubt due to the pleasure her incredible old feet were bringing him. He gulped it down, mouthful by mouthful, hot and salty, as Susan's feet quickened, jerking faster and harder.

"Not all of it," she growled. "Save some for...dessert!"

He opened his eyes, gulping the last mouthful, putting the mug down, with about a quarter left inside. She shook her head.

"Not there," she smiled, pointing to his crotch over the table. "There. I want your cum mixing with my hot piss!"

"Oh, fuck," he groaned, grabbing the glass with trembling hands and bringing it to his lap. "Oh..fuck!"

She stroked him harder, more insistently, biting her lip as she fingered her hairy cunt, cumming on them. She twisted her feet to the side, still jerking him, making it easier for him to cup the glass over the head of his dick as the first jet flew from it. She moaned watching him cum, hearing the splat-splat-splat of his spunk hit the remaining beer in the glass and she worked one foot up and down his dick, holding it in place with the other, milking every single creamy drop into the beer. She stroked him slowly now, tickling the sensitive head with her toes, giggling as he winced.

"Very well done, Michael, very well done," she said, finally letting got of his cock and dropping her feet to the floor.

He sat, panting, watching her slip her socks back on, then slacks, then shoes, getting up to come round the table and sit next to him as he started to push his dick and balls back into his pants. She stopped him, cupping one strong hand around his nuts, smiling at him. He smiled weakly back, lifting the glass with the cum-streaked beer inside, handing it her way. She shook her head.

"Drink up," she growled, squeezing his balls brutally hard. "You deserve it."

"No...no please...Mrs. O'Malley, please OWWWWW!!"

"Is everything OK?"

The bartender was at the table side, unable to see Susan's hand squeezing Michael's nuts, concerned at the young man's howling.

"Yes, my young friend just as a cramp in his leg," she answered calmly. "And I was just massaging it for him."

"Uh...ok, sure," the bartender said warily, not able to see exactly what Susan's hand was doing but knowing it was under the table. "Want another beer, young man? That may help."

"Sure, sure," Michael said weakly, trying to ignore the mounting ache in his belly as Susan's hand pulsated around his agonized nuts.

The bartender made a move to clear the glass, but Susan stopped him.

"No, he's not done with this one yet, but soon will be," she said pleasantly. "Won't you, Michael?"

"Yes, yes, Mrs. O'Malley, yes," he groaned.

The bartender, used to years of seeing just about everything, just smiled and walked away. Susan looked back at Michael.

"Now," she growled, squeezing his balls again. "Dessert."

She lifted the glass herself, to his lips, tipping it, her eyes locked onto his as she poured the remnants of her now-cooling piss and all of his cum into his mouth, tipping it more and more as he winced and gulped.

"That's it...that's it..." she cooed, laughing. "All of it, every. Single. Drop!"

She brought the glass back down, smiling, and released his nuts, gently returning them to his pants and zipping him up. She lifted her hand; a dollop of cum dotted her freckled fingers, which she pushed into his mouth to be sucked clean.

The bartender brought them another round of drinks, which they enjoyed quietly, Susan looking at her newest victim, Michael looking at his elderly piss mistress with fascination, fear and respect.

"Thanks for the drinks, young man," she said finally, standing to leave the exhausted young man in the booth. "I trust you'll pick up the tab?"

"Of course," he sighed, looking at the beautiful old woman walking away. "Of course, Mrs. O'Malley."

"See you again sometime," she laughed. "Now that I know where to find you..."