Run for It

A single, high libido, unattached young man, recently jilted by a girlfriend, gains instant sexual satisfaction with an unusual partner.

*

I was fucking desperate for a shag. That stuck up cow Verity had walked out on me when I tried to fuck her arse hole. It wasn't as if that was the first time, but she'd complained before giving me the final finger that she'd refused so many times, hadn't I learned.

Patrolling this convenience store in a small country town provided some nice visual sights of stuff I'd like to fuck. There are yummy mummys, smart single executives, college student, local housewives and hoi polloi. Decked out in short low cut dresses, mini skirts, tee-shirts and shorts in the summer, I got loads of sneaky views down blouses, the odd nipple impression and bits of up skirts. Winter, when I had started this security job, desirous of any income, having been made redundant in the town, had provided not only a meagre wage but also close up views of tight darker skirts, not much nipple and cleavage and lots of sheer tights or stockings and stilettos which as a consolation did show off nice legs.

Verity worked as an analyst at a mega international computer R&D headquarters on the edge of town in a converted and considerably extended lovely old mansion and seventy acre park. She was clever and at medium executive stage. We had met one evening, when I was playing cricket against her company team, over the booze and grub gathering in the lush club house afterwards. I went for her, as my philosophy is - go for the plain girls as they are gagging for it. Verity's not pretty. She had a long horse face, a aquiline nose, great teeth with an over bite and mousy light brown hair. She certainly liked her booze and got very lairy and fucking noisy after a couple of glasses of white wine.

Her tits were OK but nothing to write home about - say apple like, I think 36B with pale areolae and nipples,a slender waist, athletic legs and a boot of a cunt, no big lips, but it would accommodate my big - and I mean big todger easily and her collection of massive dildos. I mean I'm no oil painting with thin, wispy, light brown hair, stylish specs and a thick, tall, frame, with a secret weapon. It's not really a secret anymore - I've shagged around and I'm good at it. So has Verity and I miss her big twat. I've since heard she's now the department bike. Maybe she was before we met - don't know.

Apparently I have a nice smile I've been told by various girls I've fucked, that's why they were attracted and I must have an engaging personality 'cos I can start and hold a conversation with anyone regardless of age or sex. For instance, the school kids that fill this place, waiting for a bus outside to take them home get on very well with me. I'm a joker, tip them off where the good deals are and because I know the bus drivers well enough for them to hold the service if the kids are still getting sorted at our notoriously slow checkout. Alone, that little service of mine adds tremendously to my kudos.

I can't move away, being devoted to caring for my dear old dad. He and I have a magnificent bond and for all his seventy seven years, he's bright as a button, full of life, jokes and very gregarious. Dad exists on the state pension, plus an adequate company pension and owns out right, his large detached house with an acre and a half. Yes - I stand to gain this, we've sorted his will, there is no other family and in a sense I could be called happy, but to keep me top notch I need to fuck - often.

"Got to watch this lot Nev," murmured Kevin Scholes, our manager, emerging from the back office as a couple entered the store. "The cops tell me there's a bunch of diddycoys up Backdoor Lane, these could be some of them," he added, while we strolled up the aisles towards the front doors.

"Yeah I'll keep my eyes on them, but dodgy customers usually enter when we're busy, to merge with genuine punters," I advised.

"Yeah, you're right mate, leave you to it," he agreed to my experienced eye and wandering off.

The couple were certainly scruffy and shifty, checking all sorts of low value produce, the squat, swarthy bloke doing all the checking and the tall, willowy, raven haired, younger female tagging close behind. They both wore black bomber jackets. His was over dirty jeans and Timberland boots, I mean they're not cheap. She had good, bare legs buried into black biker boots with laces half down, not a pretty sight. Her skirt was blue denim knee length. They both wore neckerchiefs, his the traditional red, with white spots, hers plain red. They were odd, but so far no problem. I kept a safe distance, then I got a little excited with a totally new experience in the ogling, leer sense.

They approached thick as a plank, pretty, skinny Nadine at the checkout, who scuttled off with fright as soon as they neared and as if magic, scrawny old Isabel appeared to resume duties. The woman opened her bomber jacket and dug out a leather bag hung round her neck. He put their meagre selection on the roller, while she delved into the bag, but the prize sighting of the day was a very thin off white tee-shirt, over big tits and it looked like she was smuggling peanuts under it, such were her nipples.

I sauntered nearer, to an adjacent unmanned till, as if checking some point of sale items on a rack for the impulse shopper, to ogle the female and make my day. She unearthed her cash, then I spotted that her boobs didn't move or bunch up, with all the arm movement around them. They were big, solid, like traffic cones and pretty obvious, they were fucking falsies. The bloke spotted me spotting them and scowled, stuffing their purchases in a shop bag which they did pay for and they left.

"Funny lot Nev," Isobel snickered, wiping the roller. "Never see them round here before, nice jackets both of them eh? Scholesy reckons they could be diddycoys - do you?"

"Dunno," I answered, trying to see past her where the couple went, but didn't. I wandered off and waited for the horde of school kids, it was four fifteen and I was off duty at six.

I have dismissed the idea of chatting eighteen year old Nadine up, who had taken refuge behind the soft drinks cabinet, having tried several times. She smoked like a chimney, was always as nervous as hell, oblivious to my charm, humour and smile, taking after her father, with reference to humour I would add, who I had worked with as a systems engineer at a medium but well founded and funded local firm, until they were taken over by a Jap outfit, who then ruthlessly got rid of key personnel like me, throwing us on the scrap heap at, for instance, my age, thirty one. Her dead beat father remained.

The one time she gave me a frisson of interest, was when I had by chance and duty to be on the spot when she slipped on some spilt stuff in the storeroom, having held the door open for her while she carried a new batch of plastic bags out. She was given the task by Kevin to give the stupid girl something to do and I was tipped the wink not to help carry the albeit light stuff, a keep her busy ploy. Nadine slipped, fell in two motions, by dropping the bags first then part landing on them, breaking her fall and ended up laid spread eagled in front of me. I went to help the stricken, sore bum girl and got a super view under her uniform of white smock, beneath which, she wore a light grey skirt. In full exposure while she whimpered, I stooped to help, while telling other staff that I was dealing with it, I saw her white plain panties. Just the slightest glimpse, into one side, they weren't tight, but I heaved her up, not wanting to be caught in what could be deemed, in this reserved district, peeping - and I was. She did manage to thank me in a surly way and limped off.

In my work schedule I had a day off and moonlighted now and then for a small shop and post office in a tiny hamlet a short walk away. The old woman who owned it is a friend of the family, a long term friend of my deceased mum, I think they were at school together and that's way back - round 1957 or so. Mrs Pettifer was a real sweetie, an ex-school teacher, with severe sharp features, a tiny mouth under a button nose and scrimped sharply back, silver hair.

When she knew she had big delivery vans due in and being very careful and precise about her goods, she quite rightly worried about the front shop and of course the post office being unattended, therefore over the years she had it down to a fine art. Olive, for that's her name had the suppliers eating out of her frail bony hands, so she had got them to agree to fixed days when the truck would come. However when that happened, if that was the case she would call on me, if I was off duty or old Joe Hampshire, who lived next door to her premises, just to stand guard and call for her to come through from her store and serve. She would pay me, as I was currently her favourite, with cash sometimes or free stuff from the shop. Dad would get his tobacco from her, other stuff and sit and chat outside in the sun.

It was one of those days. The Warburtons big bread van was due in and she was out back sorting some empty plastic pallets to go back, while I watched the business. That morning, there had been Jennifer Laurence with her baby buggy in for some stamps, Minnie Drover posting something abroad and George Mooney who brought his mother in for some bird food. It was all regular stuff, trade brisk in terms of footfall but how the fuck Olive kept going I don't know, guessing her Post Office salary would deal with the limited requirement.

On an aside, dad did a bit of gardening round and about and I was obviously one of his confidantes, like who else could he talk intimately to, probably a big chip off the old block, as he would chuckle and tell me about, what he spotted, what was hanging on their washing lines and things he heard - Minnies washing lines for instance - wow!.

I watched the delivery van drive off, concerned about his diesel exhaust polluting our countryside, then I spotted a furtive glance through the poster/notice festooned front post office window, someone I had seen before, but in my usual main job at the convenience store, not here. I only saw the top of her head down to her eyes over the displays inside the shop and window dressing. I knew her to be a very occasional, small items shopper and had always kept a very close eye on, with no problems. She had a vague far eastern featured face, flat eyes, slant eyes, tiny mouth and most times in weird totally enclosing ethnic garb. She was plumb ugly too, black lank shoulder length hair, loosely constrained in a patterned band, with a large wide jaw, heavy eyebrows and with several growths, lumps scattered over her face. The woman was always pleasant but taciturn, thrusting the Big Issue charity magazine at all comers regardless of how often she was passed by the same person - very annoying really.

Olive was at her counter checking the Warburtons delivery notes, yet again, tidying as always and she and I exchanged glances, which were wary, understanding, yet alert as the door bell tinkled,. The weather was very warm and I had my Pettifer uniform on, a tee-shirt over jeans and trainers. The boss wore a frilly necked all enveloping blouse and ankle length twill dark blue skirt - phew! - these old ladies. The one new customer, less than five feet tall had quietly entered, viewing things with no real interest and at least in this weather, why should I bother about it? she didn't have her usual several woolly jumpers under a anorak, heavy braided gaberdine ankle length skirt. Today she wore a green cheesecloth skirt under a dark green and maroon patterned shirt outside the waistband. No Big Issues either.

I leafed through a local church magazine, there'd be no pin-ups to ogle in there and the morning had been dead on the mummy sightings so far. I thought about having a wank at lunchtime, gone are the days when I would meet Verity in the grounds and give her one, while she scoffed her bacon buttie. I realised I didn't have jerk material with me - fuucckk. Olive had explained earlier she didn't expect much business today as the Farmers Market was in town and anyone who was anyone would be there. Tonight I would gorge myself on Babe Station or similar on TV after ten and dad was in bed.

Ugly customer, wandered around the small shop, until I spotted her examining greeting cards with badges affixed, little bags of sparkly girlie stuff, cheap bracelets, hair spray and other silly bits. I couldn't keep my eyes on her all the time, she seemed harmless and I was at the back of the shop when Olive cried out.

"Fred, she's got stuff - stop her."

I whirled round just to hear the bell tinkle shut and caught a glimpse of Mrs Ugly's head going left past the window.

"I'll get her Olive, don't panic."

Through the back, cut her off, but no, she was scuttling away at pace for an old woman. I'm no slouch but had to negotiate round crates and waste. The track wasn't a good sprint surface and she was very sure footed. She ran, more like high speed shuffling, her cheesecloth skirt flapping loose, glimpses of chunky bare legs and brown boots below. From the distance she looked heavy below, a big pear shape. I had a slow start but needed to catch her to reserve Olive's business dignity, I don't she'd lose much money, but just her thought of being safe, so I quickened my pace. The path was little walked, a dog exercise area most likely and at this time of the morning there was no sign of any dogs, owners or shit. I had an inkling of where it would lead - nowhere of any significance but had the woman a clue of a short cut - to where? The undergrowth overgrew the gravel, clay path in some places and roots criss crossed it. I didn't think she was one the diddy coy family, but more as I had thought, one of the regular folk collecting money in exchange for the Big Issue all over the country. Some places tolerated them, others moved them on.

She veered off into even what I deemed to be treacherous undergrowth, full of ankle snatching and blooding brambles, vines, ferns and most of all roots. I heard her yelp then saw her fall away to the right. There was a gully alongside, just normal in this area, part of an enormous conservation zone. I got alongside where she must have tripped and could see her about five feet down. She lay worryingly still in the mass of foliage she landed in. I thought of my duty, my job and justice, then dismissed those and a minute business loss, in favour of trying to help what was in a sense a poor defenceless, obviously injured old woman. Ignoring the few shoplifted items she'd dropped, I scrambled down to kneel at her feet and came face to face with her fat, bare, bleeding legs, entangled wide apart, exposing her crotch. Lifting her head, I felt her pulse, thankfully a strong beat, her ugly scratched now uglier face hanging to one side. Back to her crotch, a magnet to me on any female.

My shame, my remorse, my intended abuse knew no vindication so I pulled at the leg of her big black knickers. A mass of black mangy pubes sprang out and the smell hit me first, it was dreadful as I delved further. Her cunt looked crusty, red and purple and wet. Had adrenaline kicked in with the urgency of her minor crime and the chase? I was desperate for a fuck and in my case very desperate, I mean I hadn't seen a bare fanny for weeks. Fuck it I thought, undoing my jeans buckle.

Mrs Really Ugly moaned, groaned, shook her her head and stared at me, then at where my hands were busy sorting my cock from my CKs. She yelped, her eyes wide, her mouth jabbering some oath in a language I didn't understand. I glanced around to check the surroundings. I thought safe. Go for it Fred, just fuck her and hefted my meat, not thinking about repercussions.

"Oh yeah Mr little cock," she challenged with substantial intensity but also in very good English with a trace of somewhere. "Going to fuck a helpless little old lady. How clever, how good of you - with that silly little thing - pah!" she spat. Much vehemence in the snarl and gaze.

Little cock - silly little thing?? Who the fuck's she calling that, I'll show...

"Can't find a girl friend,"she snickered. "Any cunt will do eh? Come on then, fuck your granny then. I've got grandsons four year olds with bigger cocks than that...Come on."

She pulled her knickers to one side as I had and with her other hand pulled her old snatch wide. Fuck Fred that looks inviting, after all it's an open fanny and she wants you to do it.

"Come on Mr little cock give me it and let me get back home you waste of time," she chuckled.

Sick of the insults, I climbed over her and guided my todger to her gash and thrust. She jolted - with pain? Haven't a clue or care and I shagged her violently.

"Hey you're not bad, come on harder, do it properly if you're going to do it. I think I can feel it," she goaded me. "Not bad for an old biddy from Mongolia eh? Like us foreign oldies do you? You're never going to make me cum with that little prick but I like your effort."

I wasn't making allowances for her age - she seemed sturdy enough and as for her pussy it welcomed and served a purpose. As for what she looked like - who the fuck cared. It reminded me of time in my early teens when we lived in a village which had a stream running down the middle and linked by three bridges. The central one was where me and the gang of lads met every night to chat, take the piss and grab, feel and try to fuck any of the talent that were daft enough to come that way, often they had to cum that way too. We would grab the girls and fumble for whatever - tits, arse and cunt. We never got caught or told on. I usually went for tits, always been tit man and there were something five hands up their skirts. In the case of ugly ones, they were often ignored but I went for them too and then other lads joined in, but I got tits and cunt first.

Mrs Very Very Ugly was now actually yelping, ooing and aaghing with pleasure, I guessed on the basis she hadn't been shagged for a while and she still liked it. She was certainly reacting pleasurably in this case, actually grasping my arms and pulling me on. Not a looker of course and well past childbearing, so in her world useless now and only fit for carrying heavy loads, digging and harvesting. Did I feel guilty using her so despicably? Fuck no - and I came and emptied a full load up her raddled old snatch, the first for me in one, for what to me seemed like a decade. I dropped heavily onto her and she actually cooed and stroked the back of my head.

I knelt away from her stuffing my cock away while she grabbed my shoulder to help her rise to sit. The old shag nasty woman smiled and then lifted her shirt, grinning, to show me her tiny tits. Fuck, they were small and flabby little paps topped by small stubs of frail nipples, separated by a flat bony chest and below, down to the waistband of her ripped skirt were a series of ripples and folds of ancient skin.

"You want to suck boy?" she chuckled.

I shook my head grimacing distaste and stood, so she rose, looked disappointed and sorted her clothing. I did help her with a nasty snag of brambles mired in the cheesecloth garment, then I thought what next. She gave me the answer.

"Fair trade? You get a fuck, you don't shop me?"

I nodded and showed her an easier route out of the gully and we went our separate ways. I noticed she didn't return to the stolen bits, neither did I, telling Olive I narrowly missed her when she jumped into a waiting car.

"Well at least she would scared with a big chap like you chasing her and we got the car number yeah?"

I lied and wrote one down and she stuck it on the post office wall.