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She was 42, about 5'7, Blonde, blue eyes, a nice pair of deep cleavaged tits and the best pert arse you could wish for. She was slim and had long legs, made more so by high heels. She was a true fantasy. In years to come, alcohol paid its toll and she piled the weight on, but even now in her mid 70s she turns the odd head.Back to my story. One such Friday, she finished work early, and started her routine getting ready. She would pop over to say hi to my Mum, and would smile and flirt with me. She was always very tactile and open about her womanhood. She loved guys looking. I certainly was one of them."Out tonight Auntie Dawn?" I asked her." Yes sweetheart, I'm out with the Girlies, it's gonna end up bad I think!" she said laughing.She looked amazing even in her work clothes - a white upturned collared white shirt, deeply opened at the front showing off her tanned cleavage, black pencil line skirt and black high heels, skirt being finished with a thick patent leather belt, such as. Only this time it was different although I didn’t notice at the time. He stopped stroking my cock and stood up straight with his cock and balls hanging out of the front of his pants flicking it back and forth. I also didn’t realize how long I was mesmerized and staring at his cock. It was beautiful, the perfect looking specimen, just like the kind I like to watch in the movies. It wasn’t anywhere near hard, still hanging down a little but mostly pushed straight out. Even in this state the head was quite I bit bigger around than the shaft. His balls were shaved but there was still some trimmed pubes above his cock. His nut sack looked so good completely clean like that, I could even see his balls moving around in there.I guess I was staring for quite awhile as he stroked it, because I think he got the wrong idea. What happened next shocked me back to reality real fast. He reached out with his left hand tried to ease my head towards his cock. I thought no, I don’t do that and turned.
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Anger he could deal with. Anger at the MacPhearsons’ and his bastard cousin Alex. They had been beating her. As far as he could tell, they were trying to beat her into submission, not to death, or she would already be dead. He stood and looked down at her for a moment. He heart sang that she was alive, and that he had found her. His Rose, or Regan, what did that matter, she was alive! Anger burned a hole deep in his gut. He ground his teeth together and yelled for Hamish. Hamish appeared at the door a moment later, wringing his hands together as if he had known he had been summoned to his own demise. ‘She has been beaten.’ ‘Aye, Cien.’ ‘Why?’ That seemed to catch Hamish off guard. He stared at Cien as if waiting for him to answer the question for him. After a minute, he blinked and looked away, down to Regan. ‘We were trying to get her to confess, Laird. Confess to dancing with Lucifer himself.’ He nodded as he spoke as if trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to.

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