Betty Gets Her Big Mac

I have always thought that Betty had a lot of balls to do what she did. Big brass ones. I was at least 20 years younger than Betty and I don't think I had ever exhibited any attraction toward her. She was just another pleasant acquaintance in the workplace. But, like so many of the remarkable women who have graced my life, she knew what she wanted and she had the inner confidence to go for it.

I had known her for about two years prior to that fateful evening. Betty was the court reporter for all general courts-martial (or felony cases) in my military district and, as the senior defense counsel in the jurisdiction, that was where I practiced my art most often.

It was in the nature of her job to be practically invisible during the trials and I fear that she was almost like a piece of furniture, seated to the side of the Judge's bench quietly transcribing the testimony. She always wore pants and loose fitting conservative clothes as befits a silent court player, so I knew nothing of her physical attributes other than that she was slender and petite. That she wore little or no makeup, with her hair pulled back in a bun, added to her relative anonymity.

She was a judicial employee, which meant that we really didn't socialize outside the courtroom. If she had not been a smoker, I would not have known her at all but she frequently joined me outside for a smoke during court recesses. The extent of our conversation was usually the weather. I did come to realize that she heard content as well as words, so she had a good idea of the personalities and skills of the advocates who appeared in her court. I guess that is how she got to know me better than I her. It also helps that the military uniform that I wore carried the various badges and medals that distinguish the members of that community.

The day that she became something more to me was the end of a grueling two-week murder trial that had occupied my undivided attention for some six weeks. My client was charged with a death penalty homicide that presented gruesome evidence followed by extensive psychiatric testimony as I presented an insanity defense. After a trial that had everything from tense cross-examination and high drama to some very unusual laughter, the jury came in late on Friday afternoon with a verdict of involuntary manslaughter.

It was a great victory for my defense and I was justifiably proud of the skillful craft I had brought to bear during the trial. But my exhilaration occurred in a relative vacuum. My wife was traveling back East visiting family during the second week of the trial and I had no one to share my triumph with at 6 PM on a Friday, when all of my companion attorneys back at my office had already gone home.

So the high quickly gave way to exhaustion as the long mental strain subsided. And that is when Betty made her move.

"Can I buy you a congratulatory drink?"

I was alone on the court balcony, savoring a second cigarette, when I turned to see Betty standing behind me with a smoke in her hand. I had thought I was the last one still at the courthouse and was a little startled to see her standing there.

"That would be nice, but I think I'll just go home and unwind," I replied with a smile.

"A verdict like that deserves a suitable celebration, Mac. That was a hell of a piece of work. The best I've seen in 15 years recording this court," she admonished me.

"Thank you, Betty. I used to think you just tracked the words, but that is high praise indeed coming from an old pro like you."

"I mean it. You were great. And I know you don't have anyone to share it with at home, so why don't you let me buy you that drink?" she said with a twinkle in her eyes.

"No thanks, but I appreciate the offer. It would be nice to share the victory with someone who knows what was involved but I think I'll just soak in my hot tub for a while before packing for my early flight to Boston tomorrow," I explained.

"Is that an invitation?" she prompted. "I have a new bottle of Jack Daniels that needs to be christened."

For probably the first time ever, I really looked at Betty as the thought of seeing her naked, or nearly so, in my hot tub made this much more personal. I guessed her age to be almost 50, although she looked younger. I tried to imagine her with makeup and without her hair pulled back, and decided that she just might be very attractive away from her job. She had high cheekbones, dark eyes, a cute nose and a very inviting smile when she allowed it to appear.

And she knew I liked Jack!

"I am beginning to think you are serious about that drink," I chuckled. "Tell you what. Give me a little time to grab something to eat and pack for my trip tomorrow, and then you can join me for that drink around eight."

"You're on. I have never been in a hot tub before, so this should be a real treat. And I'll bring the Jack!" she replied, with that cute smile.

I gave her instructions to my bungalow in the small seaside community nearby and finished packing my trial materials. With a wave in the parking lot, I headed home after grabbing a Big Mac on the way.

The more I thought about it, the more intrigued I became by Betty and the possibilities of the evening. I had not said anything about bathing suits in the hot tub but figured she would set the tone when the time came. I didn't wear one unless my guests insisted, so Betty could bring one -- or not. I felt a modest excitement at the prospect of seeing what she looked like under those conservative court clothes.

At 29, I had been with an "older woman" once before, a buxom blonde nurse who was about 15 years my senior. But Krista had been a beautiful 40 year-old and she was divorced. I assumed Betty was married from the ring she wore on her wedding finger but I really knew nothing of her personal life other than vaguely recalling that she lived about 15 miles from my home. If Betty were anything like Krista, she would be a responsive lover.

But I was getting ahead of myself. I was amazed at Betty's persistence about that drink but that may be all it would be. Before that night I had absolutely no reason to believe that she was romantically interested in me, or me in her, for that matter. It promised to be an interesting evening nonetheless, if for no other reason than to get to know a pleasant woman whose professional work I had admired for a long time.

At home, I showered and did the necessary packing for my weeklong seminar in Cambridge. I had an early flight and a friend was picking me up at 7 AM to take me to the airport, so I didn't want to worry later about those preparations. Then I checked the hot tub to insure that it was hot and balanced.

My redwood hot tub was outside on a wooden deck off my bedroom. We had very small lots in that seaside city, but I had built the deck for maximum privacy from the neighbors who were right up to the fences dividing our property. The deck had been built around a large oak tree that rose next to the tub, giving it a sense of seclusion despite the nearness of the neighbors. They could see into the tub area, but they had to get up on a stool to do so. Consequently, I had never been concerned about lack of privacy for various party activities that had taken place there, as long as we kept the noise down.

I was dressed just in a light robe when I saw Betty at the door a little after eight. The string of pleasant surprises continued as I welcomed her into my home.

She wore a short black cocktail dress that complimented her dark coloring and petite stature - tasteful, with a high bodice in front showing only a delicate neck and clavicle. I was almost stunned to see her shoulder length black hair, nicely swept to one side to show dangle gold earrings and very tasteful makeup. The change from her business look was startling and very becoming. Capped off with black stockings and open toed black high heels, I was quite taken by this attractive woman who had inexplicably attached herself to me for the evening.

"You clean up real nice, Betty," I said with a chuckle.

"I know, you probably think of me as an old matron lady who is bolted down to the floor like the rest of the furniture in the courtroom. But I do have a life, you know," she replied with a grin.

"Not a piece of furniture, but definitely not the beautiful lady who has presented herself at my door," I said with a hint of embarrassment at my previous inattention to this lovely woman. "It is so nice to meet the real Betty!"

"Flattery will get you everywhere, Mac," she said as she gazed into my eyes and reached up to feel the lapel of my robe. "I hope I'm not overdressed. But I heard you had a lovely home and I didn't want to dress too casually."

"Whatever it took, I love you all dressed up. Ready for that drink?"

In retrospect, I probably should have welcomed her with a kiss on the cheek but I was still sufficiently reserved to think that I didn't know her well enough to greet her with such familiarity. Ever the gentleman (albeit one who was naked under his robe), I pointed her toward the counter between the kitchen and dining room, where I offered her a stool while I moved to fix the drinks. In doing so, I was able to surreptitiously observe that her dress and heels showed off a very nice ass that had escaped my notice all these months. When seated she handed me the Jack and a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon with an impressive vintage.

"I thought you wouldn't want to drink too much Jack tonight, so I brought a nice bottle of wine for the hot tub. I don't want you traveling with a hangover tomorrow," Betty explained.

"How thoughtful," I smiled. "Now I really am impressed. A beautiful woman AND a wine connoisseur. The hot tub will appreciate your good taste."

We laughed at my little funny as I fixed her Jack and ginger. We began to talk about our lives in a give and take of mutual discovery, made the more interesting by the preconceptions we had both derived from a long association that had been uninformed by actual knowledge. She told me of an adult daughter by a first marriage, and a second marriage of some 16 years. I spoke of my marriage without children thus far and confirmed that she had met my blond-haired wife at court on at least one occasion.

When I subtly probed to suggest that she should have brought her husband with her to celebrate tonight, Betty revealed that he was out-of-town for a few days. Hmm. We talked about the trial and I was once again impressed by the questions she asked about tactics and the intuitive grasp she had for the action. All the while, I watched her dancing eyes and gesturing hands as I gained a greater appreciation for her charisma.

As we moved on to more mundane discussions, I began to imagine her as a sex object and romantic partner. I was still too tied to my professional role and reticence to imagine making a first move, but I now wondered whether she would. If she did, I knew I would respond with an interest I had not known before she came to my door.

She seemed to be very aware of my gaze upon her stocking encased legs and was not bashful about crossing and re-crossing them. Finally, a hint of stocking top was revealed. No pantyhose!

"Gee, Betty, I didn't know you had legs," I said with a grin. "It is probably well that you keep them covered in the courtroom or they would be quite a distraction."

I felt silly as soon as I said that, but she was soaking it up.

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Mac. That's why it is so nice to get to know you on a more personal level after all this time. Are you going to show me this hot tub?"

"Let's get our wine and I'll take you back, M'am," I chuckled, imagining I was the spider to the fly.

After pouring us both a glass, I led her back to the bedroom and opened the sliding glass door leading onto the deck. Walking out with her to show her the layout, I removed the cover to emit the steam into the cool night air. I placed our glasses on the deck next to the controls and led the way back into the bedroom.

"You can change in the bathroom," I explained, nodding my head toward the door. "I'll get some bath towels and be right back."

Neither of us said anything about bathing suits. She had brought her purse back, which could have contained a suit. But I was going to let her take the lead on nudity. It was up to her -- I was not going to try to talk her into anything.

When I returned, she was standing between the sliding glass door and the bed, her hands crossing her chest to grasp the shoulders of her dress. She had an enigmatic smile on her face.

"Here's a towel," I offered. "Don't you want to undress in the bathroom?"

"If I did that, you wouldn't get to see this sexy underwear," Betty whispered as she dropped her dress to the floor from her shoulders. "When a lady buys expensive lingerie, she wants it to be seen and appreciated." Shock and awe. There she stood in a black and red lace bustier with straps holding her stockings and demi-cups lifting her brown, erect nipples to my gaze. A black bikini with string bows at the hips, stockings and heels completed the vision.

I was speechless. And breathless. Had she been standing there naked, I would have handed her a towel and led her to the tub while trying to conceal my stare. Nudity expresses freedom but is not necessarily an invitation. But her guileless display of sexual allure left no doubt as to her intention. This delightful woman, who had never entered my imagination as a sex partner until an hour ago, wanted to fuck me.

And in an instant, I knew I was desperate to fuck her. Did she have any doubts that I would? How had she known that I would drop my reserve like a hotplate, totally smitten by a woman twenty years my senior?

Nothing was said as we gazed into one another's eyes but my grin almost hurt. I don't think I have ever gotten that hard, that rapidly. Then, after a long pause, she stepped over her dress to stand in front of me. Pulling the towels from my hands to throw them on the bed, she reached inside my robe to spread her hands over my chest.

"You know, I've wanted you for a long, long time, Mac," she whispered in my ear and then tilted her head up to kiss me ever so softly on my lips.

My heart was surging as I felt her warm tongue and smelled her essence in my nostrils. I reached for her ass to pull her to me but she held herself away from my chest. Taking a step back, she reached for the bowstrings at her hips.

"Did you notice this convenient little tie? When I bought them, I wanted to be sure you would have no problem getting into my panties," she whispered as the gossamer thin bikini floated to the floor, baring her thick black bush.

It had been a number of years since I had been tongue-tied in front of a woman, but my silver tongue quite deserted me at that moment. All I could think of was that muff and her pussy. I suppose she must have read some confusion on my face.

"You do want me, don't you Mac?" Betty said softly as she untied my robe and pulled it from my body to bare my rigid penis.

"I knew you'd have a nice one," she cooed as she grasped my dick with both hands.

Her touch finally snapped me out of a seeming trance and I crushed her to me in a passionate embrace. I couldn't get enough of her lips and her tongue as I tried to possess her mouth just as she now possessed my soaring passion. Her lips were incredibly soft, loose and wet. For long, long moments, my lips and tongue played with hers as we breathed through our nostrils like we were running a race. My cock was trapped between us and began to ache.

"God, Betty, you are something else," I breathed into her ear as I kissed her neck and squeezed her tiny butt.

"I'm all yours," she moaned back.

I lifted her onto the bed and lay beside her petite frame. She maintained her grip on my rod with one hand while caressing my neck to pull my lips to hers. Running my hand up and down her thighs, I lightly massaged the soft, naked junctures at the top. With my middle finger, I dipped into the furrow of her pussy, gently separating her labia to encounter the heat and wetness that were waiting for my pleasure.

Every passionate woman has a signature uniquely her own when she invites a man to love her body. Betty turned out to have several, but the first was the most delightful juice coating my finger. She was positively gooey, like running my finger through béarnaise sauce. I soon discovered that it flowed profusely from her, following my finger in a short string as I withdrew. The tactile sensation and visual stimulation were extreme. Her outer lips engorged as I slowly slipped my soaking digit up and down and around her opening. I don't know that I have ever found a woman more wet and welcoming, nor a pussy so responsive.

She raised and spread her knees to give me greater access, softly groaning as she practically sucked the breath from my mouth, "Yeeessssssss!"

I was in no hurry, loving the sounds she was making and utterly enjoying her pleasure. I pulled her bodice down to expose her thick nipples and began to suck, marveling at the thickness and length adorning her small breasts. Lightly nipping her with my teeth, she began to squirm, letting me know that she liked the pinch on her thimble-like nipples.

I went back to her neck and ears when my finger found her opening after circling it for moments. As I carefully slid one finger into her vagina, her hips began to undulate and her breath quickened. Time seemed to stand still as I worked my second finger into her, massaging the top of her cunt with languid strokes. She raised her hips to impale herself further, adding her hand over the top of mine to push. When I raised my thumb to circle her clitoris, her response, and my excitement, soared.

I don't think I had spent so much time finger fucking a woman since my high school days (when that was all I was going to get). In fact, I forgot about my dick, so intent was I on giving her pleasure. Ten minutes must have passed, my hand covered with her delightful goo up to my wrist, when she suddenly stopped breathing and slammed her thighs shut.

I leaned back to watch. Straining her hips toward the ceiling, eyes closed and face flushed, she jerked to a breathless, silent orgasm in the grandest way. The bones of my wrist gave an audible crack as she came with thighs clenched.

Wow!! I couldn't remember when I had given a woman an orgasm with just my hand. I guess I was usually too anxious to get my dick in action. But with Betty, her pleasure was intoxicating. The more pleasure you gave her, the more she responded. And the more pleasure you wanted to give her.

"That was sooo nice," she sighed as she relaxed her thighs and reached up to kiss me.

"That may be the most fun I've ever had with a still dry dingus," I smiled, pulling her tightly against my chest. "Speaking of which, you need to loosen your grip if you want this thing to function for the purpose for which it is intended."

"Oh! Sorry," she giggled. "It is so nice and hard, and soft to the touch. I think it's about time we got it wet, don't you?"

I kissed her with unabated passion and dropped my hand to caress her back and butt. After massaging her mound and belly below her corset-like garment, I began to lower my head to taste her sweetly dripping juice. But she pulled my head back to her eyes.

"No, I want you in me now. No more teasing. Please," she whispered as she lay back, spreading her legs and pulling me over her.

I had been almost painfully hard since she dropped her dress some fifteen minutes before. I moved between her gaping thighs and we both watched as she grasped my shaft to slide the knob up and down her furrow. After a few shuddering pokes at her clit, she nestled my cock at her wet opening.

The first time entering a woman is always a memorable moment to be savored but rarely, it is almost overwhelming. It is as though my cock knows before my heart does that this woman is special, that being inside her will involve more than just physical sensations, that fucking this woman will never be "just sex." It was that way with Betty and my animal instinct was right on.