Captivating Calves of Mrs. O’Ryan

Big Tits

Author’s note: This is a story of consensual sex between a woman of 68 and man of 22. It centers around her sexy legs, particularly her calves, a fetish of mine and pervasive theme in my stories. There’s a slight domination edge to this tale, which I trust will appeal to the likeminded. Thank you.


It was only a sliver. A hint. A tease. A tiny glimpse of promise, and what drove him mad.

She stood on the walkway, he on the steps. She wore the tightest black sweatpants he could imagine, hugging every delicious curve and sweep of her incredible body. Her incredible old body.

Maureen O’Ryan was a lovely women, beautiful really, at least in Jason’s eyes. She was 68 – the same age as his grandmother, who was Mrs. O’Ryan’s best friend – small, at 5-foot-4, wiry and lean at 120 or so pounds, with hair so blonde it was practically white, and looked it under the right light.

She was always under the right light to Jason. He’d been smitten with her for years, drawn by her charm and grace and beauty when he was a boy, and after he’d turned 18, keenly noticing her sexual attractiveness as well.

And now she stood there, in the walkway, looking up at him, a handsome young man of 22. He was at his grandmother’s house, who was away. Maureen had stopped by to drop off a tablecloth she’d borrowed, not knowing he’d be there.

He saw the sliver, the hint, the tease. Her very tight sweatpants came to the very top of her short white socks, sneakers below. It revealed the tiniest glimpse of her sexy legs, no more than a teasing reveal of shin and calf, an inch or two at most.

It drove him mad. Her legs always did, he knew. He had noticed them before, really noticed them four years early. Her legs were a dream to him, and he recalled the occasion of his 18th birthday, when his grandmother had some friends over to celebrate. Mrs. O’Ryan was there, sipping wine late in the afternoon, wearing a short print skirt, legs crossed, one sandal playfully dangling off her foot, working the tendons and muscles in them and the shin and calf rising above into a fluid, maddening dance under the soft tanned flesh.

It overcame him, as he stood, watching them talk, an innocent bystander. He felt his cock stir and harden, surprising him, as he watched Mrs. O’Ryan’s superbly shaped leg, with a touch of supple thigh showing above and under her hugging skirt. He left the room, went to the toilet and indulged the magic of self touch, stroking himself and cumming quickly. With the image of the comely Mrs. O’Ryan’s wonderful legs firmly and forever etched in his mind.

Over the next few years, it only got worse, in a way that the best things often do, a frustrating blend of right and wrong, of hope and disappointment. He’d go to his grandmother’s more often, wishing Mrs. O’Ryan would be there, disappointed when she was not. But when she was, it was always, it seemed, with a bit of those marvelous, captivating calves on display.

She’d wear Capri pants, that end at the knee, accentuating those beautiful lower legs and feet, or skirts or better yet, shorts. Shorts that revealed the full sweep of her slightly wrinkled old thighs, but firm and hard when she moved, the muscles beneath that sweet, saggy skin pressing the flesh above into life.

And she noticed. Mrs. O’Ryan, a widow by that point in her life, noticed the young man’s stares. She was embarrassed by it, and for him, at first, but soon felt flattered as the boy aged into his 20s, sprouting into a handsome lad, tall and lean, an athlete with firm, smooth muscles and a great curly mane of bright blonde hair.

They’d go to the beach near his grandmother’s house often, the three of them, and that was the best of all. Mrs. O’Ryan’s amazing body, amazing for her age, amazing because she was a grandmother of three, was on nearly full display then. She’d wear modest “old-lady” bathing suits, one-piece outfits, but ones that pushed her ample tits up and out. Jason would marvel at her legs, of course, tanned and rugged and shaped to perfection, but her chest as well, a delicious patch of wrinkled cleavage rippling to her tits below, and above, the most succulent neck he’d ever seen, folded flesh he longed to bury his face in.

She felt more self-conscious about his stares as he got older, but at the same time happy for the attention of a handsome young man. And aroused someone 46 years her junior found her so attractive.

There were indications of the attraction both felt for one another but never spoke of. Stolen glances, innuendoes, and as Jason became more emboldened, snapshots taken of her incredible legs with his cell phone.

She’d noticed. He’d be at the beach, next to her, she and his grandmother chatting away, and he’d pretend to be texting. But he’d be taking photos, or videos, of her legs and feet as she sat crossing them in her chair.

She was flattered. She was frightened.

She made sure never to be alone with him – just in case her sexual urges got the better of her. But one day when he was about 20, she Maltepe Escort was at his grandmother’s house, in the pantry, reaching for a bottle of wine on a mid-level shelf. It necessitated her standing on tiptoes, and in her knee-length, very snug black Spandex exercise pants, resulted in her majestic calves swelling into diamond-shaped ridges above her short white socks.

Jason came in at that precise moment. The pantry door was open and directly before him past the short entryway. The sight of those calves, flexed hard and rolling under her sexy, tanned flesh, made him gasp.

“Oh, Jason, didn’t see you there,” she said shyly, dropping down to her feet, the bubbles of muscle gone smooth. “I was just…uh getting…”

“Can I help you, Mrs. O’Ryan?” he said eagerly, walking into the pantry.

It was a tight space, narrow, both sides with shelves stacked with food, dry goods and wine. She turned to face the shelf, pointing above at the wanted bottle. Jason reached for it, the motion in the confining pantry putting him in breathtakingly close proximity to her ass, which was pressed tightly against her Spandex-covered bottom.

He’d gone slightly hard just seeing her calves seconds before but now, as he was agonizingly close to her butt, went fully erect. As he reached, he stumbled and fell against her. They stood like that, he pressed against her bottom, bottle in hand, silent and stunned. Both aware of the feeling overcoming them. Both fighting it. Jason less so.

He moaned and gulped, backing away, crashing into a stack of dishes on a shelf, the top one toppling to the floor and shattering.

“Oh shit!” he cried out. “Mrs. O’Ryan, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“To bump into me, of course not, Jason, don’t be silly!” she completed, fully aware of the heat she was feeling in her loins, the slight dampness there as a result of their millisecond of contact. “Here, let’s clean this up before your grandma gets back.”

“Back?” he said. “Where is she?”

“Oh, she walked down the street to drop off some candy at Irene McCormick’s house, she’s always doing nice things for people, you know, it’s…”

She stopped as she squatted down to pick up the large pieces of shattered plate and looked up: Right into Jason’s crotch. There was no mistaking his excitement as his cock, thick and full and alluring, pressed outward in a sexy outline against his tight jeans.

Jason quickly squatted, too, helping her pick up the pieces. He looked away, to the side, at the floor, at the pieces of dish, anywhere but her eyes. And at one point, below her squatting thighs were those maddeningly well-muscled calves, folded out as her thighs pressed down onto them, thick pads of alluring flesh flaring from her shinbones, meaty and smooth. He stared at the tanned meat of them, freckled and tight.

He felt his cock twitch, despite his willing it down. They worked quietly, quickly, sweeping up the remnants, she walking out of the pantry ahead of him, his eyes down drinking in the flexing calves. She felt them on him, and smiled.

She tossed the debris in the trash, facing away as he walked toward her. She turned and he was close, too close.

“Mrs. O’Ryan, I’m sorry I…in there…I tripped…” he stammered.

“Jason, please, don’t be silly!” she said, her hands cupping his biceps reflexively, the way she and many people did when talking to others, marveling at the steely feel of his young flesh, tingling her. “It’s…no big…”

Neither was sure who leaned in, he down, she up, but they kissed. Their lips met, and they kissed. Until awkwardness and embarrassment kicked in and overrode it, the feeling was instant and encompassing as their lips melted to each other’s, no shame, no revulsion, just two people kissing. Bodies joining. Emotions combining. That he was 20, she 66 was the furthest thing from their immediate mind.

It didn’t last long, a second, maybe a bit more. But it was enough, just enough to moisten Mrs. O’Ryan’s pussy, a pussy long untouched in her widow world. And to make Jason moan and ejaculate in his pants.

She knew it, of course, as their lips parted and faces separated and she still held fast to his biceps. She felt the tremble there, a tremble sweeping his young body. She saw the fluttering eyelids, the gulping, the follow-up widening of the eyes, the shame on his face. It lasted seconds, long, painful, sexy, energizing seconds.

“Mrs…oh, God…,” he groaned, stepping back and turning away.

“Jason, Jason!” she cried out, stepping to him, putting her hands on his shoulders. “Please…I’m so sorry, I never should have…kissed…it’s silly, I’m sorry, I’m a silly, stupid old woman, and I…”

“You’re not silly and stupid and you’re not old!” he gasped, still facing away.

“I’m…you…it’s nothing…it…it happens…I’m…” she said, struggling for coherence. “I’m flattered.”

He stood straight, slowly turning, astonishment on his face.

“You…you are?”

“Jason, a handsome young man like Anadolu Yakası Escort you, a young man with…these urgencies, well I…honestly, it’s all right, you made me feel…attractive, wanted,” she smiled softly.

“You are!” he gasped, reaching for her, stopped by her palms on his chest.

“Now, this goes no further, Jason, I’m sorry, it’s just…well, it’s not right, and we’ll say no more about it,” she said firmly, the woman in her not meaning a word of it but the granny in her feeling it was the right thing to say. “OK? It’s OK, really, it’s OK…”

He sighed, looking away, walking away, feeling the cum cool in his pants.

“OK, you’re right, you’re right,” he said softly. “I…uh…I have clothes here, I just…”

“Of course, of course,” she said, watching his sad walk down the hall.

She leaned back against the counter, thinking. She looked down at her feet, her shins, her calves. She smiled thinking how they must have pleased him so, shaking the feeling threatening to overtake her. But she felt her groin ache, and knew the truth.

They did say no more about it in the coming months, seeing each other only occasionally at the beach or Jason’s grandmother’s house or in a store in town. They’d exchange pleasantries, pretending it would suffice. Neither said a word about that day.

And then on this cool summery day a couple years later, a couple years of painfully ignoring their spark, they found each other alone again. Jason on the steps of his grandmother’s house, coming by on his bike from his home across town to get her mail and check on things. Maureen clutching the tablecloth to her chest, her whitish-blonde hair pulled into a ponytail.

The sliver caught his eye, that sweet hint, the teasing glimpse of calf and shin. It held promise. It was driving him mad.

“I, uh, I uh…was just getting the mail, checking things…she’s away, you know, Grandma, she’s away,” he stammered.

“I know, I know,” Maureen said with equal nervousness. “This tablecloth…Was just going to leave it between the doors or something…”

They stared at each other, that day in the pantry screaming in their memories.

“I’ll just go, here, here you take it,” she finally said, walking to the steps, reaching and handing it to him.

Their fingers touched. The surge was there, palpable and unavoidable. She smiled, pulling away as he held the tablecloth.

“Do you…know where it goes?” she asked.

“No, not really,” he said. “A drawer somewhere I guess?”

She laughed, “Silly boy, here, I’ll put it away, no problem.”

She waltzed in confidently, convincing herself nothing would happen, taking the tablecloth from him and walking down the hall to the dining room and tucking it into a credenza there. Jason watched her every step of the way, his eyes fixed on that alluring hint of leg.

She walked back down the hall, and instead of branching out toward the front door, went left, to the kitchen. Where two years ago, Jason had cum in his pants from kissing her.

It was a conscious choice, she thought, but not really. Now there in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, she had no idea what to say. But always being a rather straightforward type, which came in handy in her previous life as a real estate agent, she firmed her resolve to slay the elephant in the room.

She had to. She didn’t want their relationship, always friendly and loving, to be soured by what had happened.

“Jason,” she said, arms folded across her chest, “I’ve always believed in honesty. Honesty is the best policy. And I want us to be honest. Unafraid. Of what happened. I want to talk about it, get to the root of it.”

He blushed crimson, looking down. Stealing a glimpse of that sliver of leg.

“I…guess…OK…Mrs. O’Ryan,” he groaned.

“Now this is what I mean!” she said, arms out to the side for emphasis. “You’re looking now, you’re looking at my legs! What’s visible anyway! You’ve long looked at them haven’t you? It’s OK, Jason, let’s talk about it, let’s get this out in the open and be done with it, please, for our sake, the sake of our friendship!”

He looked up at her. She never looked more beautiful.

“Come, come on, sit down,” she said, scooping his arm in hers, guiding him to the airy living room and plopping him down on the couch as she took a seat in a nearby cushioned chair, crossing her legs. “Please, Jason, don’t be shy, there’s nothing to be gained by being shy, withholding. It’s OK, just tell me: What is it…”

She pointed to her crossed leg. And then, on impulse, pulled up that pant leg. The sliver was now a gaping, lovely view of her incredible shin, freckled and tanned, and supple, meaty calf in the back. He gulped.

“Jason, I am absolutely flattered you find my legs…me, I guess, so attractive!” she said brightly. “It’s perfectly all right! Just tell me. What do you like? About these? My legs?”

He was stunned into silence. She was giving him license to talk about the İstanbul Escort objects of his affection, those solid, strong legs.

“Is it the what…the shape? The size? The what, musculature?” she added helpfully, hitting every chord with resounding accuracy. “They are pretty muscular, I admit, I walk a lot…”

She looked at him looking at them. Mischievously, she stood, turning, standing on tiptoes after pulling up the other pant leg. From behind her, she smiled at the audible gasp that resulted.

“The muscles, I guess,” she giggled. “Do they look muscular, Jason? What do they look like when I do this?”

“They look…they’re so…smooth…so firm…they they they…bulge up like that…” he groaned.

“Bulge up, I like that,” she said.

She turned, sat down, crossing her other leg, flashing that flared muscle around shinbone at him, his eyes riveted to it.

“How long?” she asked quizzically. “Have you been so…I guess smitten with these…my legs?”

It was jarring, the honesty, the freedom of discussion, in Jason’s mind. He couldn’t believe this dark secret of his, this fascination with this sexy older granny’s curved and hard legs, was right there, out in the open. He felt energized by it. And told her, haltingly at first, the details of his first fascination with her, and her legs. That time in this very same living room when he was 18 and the sight of her sexy legs caused him to go into the bathroom and take matters in hand.

“Wow,” Maureen gushed, sitting back, arms tapping the arms of the chair. “Wow. Amazing. I cannot believe I did that to you, Jason. I feel like I should be sorry…but hell, I’m so flattered, really.”

“You are?” he asked, astonished, making no effort now to hide his gawking at that amazing leg of hers, bouncing as it crossed over the other, a flexing and relaxing crease of calf muscle flaring alongside her shiny tanned shin. “Really?”

She looked at him, smiling.

“Really,” she said with a tone of seduction that surprised her.

That was, she would realize later, the tipping point. When passion overcame reason. When curiosity caved in to caution. When propriety crashed under the weight of need.

Need. She needed it. She needed him. She needed the pure, raw romance of fucking. The thought overcame her. She blushed thinking of possibility.

“Come here, young man,” she said with a hint of dominance to her tone, a voice sultry and low. “Right here.”

She pointed to the floor. He gulped, knelt, crawled to her. She felt suddenly alive in a way she’d never had. She was in control. She’d never been in control, sexually. With her late husband, sex was customary and accustomed. Missionary style. Quick, easy, done with.

This was something else. This was something in her unrealized.

He knelt, inches from her shin. His breath, he realized, was in short supply. What came out of his mouth washed over her hot leg.

“I think you should kiss it,” she found herself saying. “Kiss it. Kiss my shin. Go on. It’s the only way to get through this fascination…this addiction you seem to have…”

She looked down at his innocent, pure face as it dipped forward, moaning, kissing just below the knee, then down the shin, down to the little white sock. Her pussy was electrified by the touch.

“Lick,” she groaned with a throaty growl. “Now lick it. Lick them both.”

She uncrossed her legs, pressing the calves into the seat, the meat of them flaring even wider now alongside the shins Jason licked like a frantic dog, up and down, digging into the flesh.

“Oh my,” she gasped at the feel of wet tongue slithering up and down her shins. “Oh my!”

She pushed him back slightly, lifting her legs, plunking them on his shoulders. His eyes frantically darted from side to side, ingesting the hallowed vision of them, far closer than he’d ever had before. They were firm and meaty, tight and hard as she tensed them. She moved them in, pushing on his neck. He felt the steel beneath the flesh ripple and harden. His cock was threatening eruption from the touch.

“They’re very, very strong you know, my calves, Mrs. O’Ryan’s…big…nasty…calves!” she said seductively, one finger at her lips, playfully sucking the tip. “Very strong…”

She squeezed. Jason groaned at the pain and pleasure of the crimping of the blood flow to his brain, making him dizzy. His extremities tingled as she scissored his neck in the long-held objects of his affection. His cock was wet, dripping pre-cum in his pants. He gulped, holding the explosion back.

She was in full control now, she knew it, and it overpowered her, like a new drug, an opiate, strong and pure and urgent. This dominant side pleased her. She’d never explored it before, not even a little. And now she wanted nothing more than to explore it completely.

She giggled as he moaned in her scissoring calf flesh, easing the pressure. She pulled one away from his face, turning it, offering him the swell of muscle as she tensed it up.

“Lick it,” she growled. “Lick my calf.”

He was a goner now, lost in her leg world, moaning and madly lapping the salty flesh of her calf, sucking the meat of it, tasting her, ingesting every inch. She watched in rapt fascination as this man-boy worshipped at the temple of her captivating calves.

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