Looking for a charming Older man who is detailed wordsmith for a roleplay …

[MrsIndianPeach]

“My husband hired an Older man to do some maintenance on our house. Things he should have been doing himself. The Older charmer has been at our place for a week, as he continues to find "honey do" projects that my husband must have felt beneath him. I see how hard and smart he works, how efficiently, and I get talkative. Coffee and breaks become reasons to chat. After lunch on a hot day, he is up a ladder cleaning gutters. I come out of the house, bored, to check and see if he can join in for some iced tea. As I come under the ladder,he looks down and ask “did you need something?”

 

[NC_FlyTyer1]

Well, thank you for asking and right now I am good except for the ice tea. I do appreciate the offer. Would you site with me while I have a sip?

 

[OldSoldier96]

“My husband hired an Older man to do some maintenance on our house. Things he should have been doing himself. The Older charmer has been at our place for a week, as he continues to find "honey do" projects that my husband must have felt beneath him. I see how hard and smart he works, how efficiently, and I get talkative. Coffee and breaks become reasons to chat. After lunch on a hot day, he is up a ladder cleaning gutters. I come out of the house, bored, to check and see if he can join in for some iced tea. As I come under the ladder,he looks down and ask “did you need something?”

I could definitely go for some sweet tea. Gutters are cleared as you asked. After this break I can jump on any other tasks you need done.

 

[flameinsidesoul]

“did you need something?”

He would have found a lot of things if you were up the ladder

 

[Rodlicker57]

It looks like you need a Handyman like me.

 

[KeenVoyeur]

Why do I never find anything you post? I guess I'll have to add you to my "Following" folder

That's a fabulous pic BTW ... just wish I was a lot nearer so I could get my tool(s) out and fix anything you needed fixing

 

[N8V1]

How may be of service it's no bother sweetie I aim to please am pleased to do so for pretty lady all she needs to ask and I'll do as you wish

 

[Brijraj]

you need a fixer

 

[Tangledskein]

“My husband hired an Older man to do some maintenance on our house. Things he should have been doing himself. The Older charmer has been at our place for a week, as he continues to find "honey do" projects that my husband must have felt beneath him. I see how hard and smart he works, how efficiently, and I get talkative. Coffee and breaks become reasons to chat. After lunch on a hot day, he is up a ladder cleaning gutters. I come out of the house, bored, to check and see if he can join in for some iced tea. As I come under the ladder,he looks down and ask “did you need something?”

Trouble is you don't respond.

 

[MrsIndianPeach]

I’m just a homemaker, married for years, my days filled with the quiet rhythm of keeping a home—cooking, cleaning, tending to my husband and kids. But at the gym, where I go to feel alive, I met Clara, a vibrant woman in her late fifties who became my friend. Through her, I met her husband, Edward—a refined man, over 55, with a calm, artistic air. He paints, sculpts, and carries himself with this quiet intensity that’s hard to ignore. There’s always been this… pull between us. A glance that lingers too long, a brush of hands when passing a coffee cup, a spark that hums beneath the surface, unspoken but electric.
Clara’s out of town this week, and she asked me to stop by their house to feed their fish. It felt simple enough—pop in, sprinkle some flakes, leave. But being alone in their home, with its warm, eclectic charm, stirred something in me. Curiosity, maybe. Or something deeper. I wandered past the living room, down the hall, until I found myself at the door to Edward’s studio. I hesitated, but the pull was too strong. I stepped inside.
The room smelled of paint and wood, canvases leaning against walls, sculptures half-formed on tables. His work was breathtaking—vivid, intimate, alive in a way that made my heart skip. I moved closer, tracing the edges of a painting with my eyes, when I saw it. A figure on the canvas, soft curves, the slope of a shoulder, the tilt of a head. It was me. My breath caught. Another piece, a sketch this time—my eyes, my lips, rendered with such care it felt like he’d memorized every detail. My heart pounded, a mix of shock and something else—wonder, maybe, or thrill. To be seen like this, captured in secret, desired in a way I hadn’t felt in years… it set my skin on fire.
Then I heard it—footsteps, heavy and slow, coming down to the basement. Edward.

 

[flameinsidesoul]

You know… it wasn’t the kiss that got me.
Or the footsteps. It was that moment in front of the painting when you saw yourself truly seen… and you burned.

Part of me wonders what happened when he opened that door.

 

[SparkyWalter]

I’m just a homemaker, married for years, my days filled with the quiet rhythm of keeping a home—cooking, cleaning, tending to my husband and kids. But at the gym, where I go to feel alive, I met Clara, a vibrant woman in her late fifties who became my friend. Through her, I met her husband, Edward—a refined man, over 55, with a calm, artistic air. He paints, sculpts, and carries himself with this quiet intensity that’s hard to ignore. There’s always been this… pull between us. A glance that lingers too long, a brush of hands when passing a coffee cup, a spark that hums beneath the surface, unspoken but electric.
Clara’s out of town this week, and she asked me to stop by their house to feed their fish. It felt simple enough—pop in, sprinkle some flakes, leave. But being alone in their home, with its warm, eclectic charm, stirred something in me. Curiosity, maybe. Or something deeper. I wandered past the living room, down the hall, until I found myself at the door to Edward’s studio. I hesitated, but the pull was too strong. I stepped inside.
The room smelled of paint and wood, canvases leaning against walls, sculptures half-formed on tables. His work was breathtaking—vivid, intimate, alive in a way that made my heart skip. I moved closer, tracing the edges of a painting with my eyes, when I saw it. A figure on the canvas, soft curves, the slope of a shoulder, the tilt of a head. It was me. My breath caught. Another piece, a sketch this time—my eyes, my lips, rendered with such care it felt like he’d memorized every detail. My heart pounded, a mix of shock and something else—wonder, maybe, or thrill. To be seen like this, captured in secret, desired in a way I hadn’t felt in years… it set my skin on fire.
Then I heard it—footsteps, heavy and slow, coming down to the basement. Edward.

I love this story. Your adrenaline had to be running through your body. I know you like older men, and this all sounds very erotic. It's so intimate that you saw his work, and then it was you.

 

[Tangledskein]

I’m just a homemaker, married for years, my days filled with the quiet rhythm of keeping a home—cooking, cleaning, tending to my husband and kids. But at the gym, where I go to feel alive, I met Clara, a vibrant woman in her late fifties who became my friend. Through her, I met her husband, Edward—a refined man, over 55, with a calm, artistic air. He paints, sculpts, and carries himself with this quiet intensity that’s hard to ignore. There’s always been this… pull between us. A glance that lingers too long, a brush of hands when passing a coffee cup, a spark that hums beneath the surface, unspoken but electric.
Clara’s out of town this week, and she asked me to stop by their house to feed their fish. It felt simple enough—pop in, sprinkle some flakes, leave. But being alone in their home, with its warm, eclectic charm, stirred something in me. Curiosity, maybe. Or something deeper. I wandered past the living room, down the hall, until I found myself at the door to Edward’s studio. I hesitated, but the pull was too strong. I stepped inside.
The room smelled of paint and wood, canvases leaning against walls, sculptures half-formed on tables. His work was breathtaking—vivid, intimate, alive in a way that made my heart skip. I moved closer, tracing the edges of a painting with my eyes, when I saw it. A figure on the canvas, soft curves, the slope of a shoulder, the tilt of a head. It was me. My breath caught. Another piece, a sketch this time—my eyes, my lips, rendered with such care it felt like he’d memorized every detail. My heart pounded, a mix of shock and something else—wonder, maybe, or thrill. To be seen like this, captured in secret, desired in a way I hadn’t felt in years… it set my skin on fire.
Then I heard it—footsteps, heavy and slow, coming down to the basement. Edward.

I could carry on, but would you play?

So good to see that you have put some of your pictures back up. I love your legs as much as you like showing them, as for your rounded bottom....well, you know how I feel about that too...

 

[Happyfun1]

I’m just a homemaker, married for years, my days filled with the quiet rhythm of keeping a home—cooking, cleaning, tending to my husband and kids. But at the gym, where I go to feel alive, I met Clara, a vibrant woman in her late fifties who became my friend. Through her, I met her husband, Edward—a refined man, over 55, with a calm, artistic air. He paints, sculpts, and carries himself with this quiet intensity that’s hard to ignore. There’s always been this… pull between us. A glance that lingers too long, a brush of hands when passing a coffee cup, a spark that hums beneath the surface, unspoken but electric.
Clara’s out of town this week, and she asked me to stop by their house to feed their fish. It felt simple enough—pop in, sprinkle some flakes, leave. But being alone in their home, with its warm, eclectic charm, stirred something in me. Curiosity, maybe. Or something deeper. I wandered past the living room, down the hall, until I found myself at the door to Edward’s studio. I hesitated, but the pull was too strong. I stepped inside.
The room smelled of paint and wood, canvases leaning against walls, sculptures half-formed on tables. His work was breathtaking—vivid, intimate, alive in a way that made my heart skip. I moved closer, tracing the edges of a painting with my eyes, when I saw it. A figure on the canvas, soft curves, the slope of a shoulder, the tilt of a head. It was me. My breath caught. Another piece, a sketch this time—my eyes, my lips, rendered with such care it felt like he’d memorized every detail. My heart pounded, a mix of shock and something else—wonder, maybe, or thrill. To be seen like this, captured in secret, desired in a way I hadn’t felt in years… it set my skin on fire.
Then I heard it—footsteps, heavy and slow, coming down to the basement. Edward.

beautiful pics, great story mmmm

 

[JohnMobley]

I’m just a homemaker, married for years, my days filled with the quiet rhythm of keeping a home—cooking, cleaning, tending to my husband and kids. But at the gym, where I go to feel alive, I met Clara, a vibrant woman in her late fifties who became my friend. Through her, I met her husband, Edward—a refined man, over 55, with a calm, artistic air. He paints, sculpts, and carries himself with this quiet intensity that’s hard to ignore. There’s always been this… pull between us. A glance that lingers too long, a brush of hands when passing a coffee cup, a spark that hums beneath the surface, unspoken but electric.
Clara’s out of town this week, and she asked me to stop by their house to feed their fish. It felt simple enough—pop in, sprinkle some flakes, leave. But being alone in their home, with its warm, eclectic charm, stirred something in me. Curiosity, maybe. Or something deeper. I wandered past the living room, down the hall, until I found myself at the door to Edward’s studio. I hesitated, but the pull was too strong. I stepped inside.
The room smelled of paint and wood, canvases leaning against walls, sculptures half-formed on tables. His work was breathtaking—vivid, intimate, alive in a way that made my heart skip. I moved closer, tracing the edges of a painting with my eyes, when I saw it. A figure on the canvas, soft curves, the slope of a shoulder, the tilt of a head. It was me. My breath caught. Another piece, a sketch this time—my eyes, my lips, rendered with such care it felt like he’d memorized every detail. My heart pounded, a mix of shock and something else—wonder, maybe, or thrill. To be seen like this, captured in secret, desired in a way I hadn’t felt in years… it set my skin on fire.
Then I heard it—footsteps, heavy and slow, coming down to the basement. Edward.

LOL.. 100% CHAT GPT

 

[Worzel550]

“My husband hired an Older man to do some maintenance on our house. Things he should have been doing himself. The Older charmer has been at our place for a week, as he continues to find "honey do" projects that my husband must have felt beneath him. I see how hard and smart he works, how efficiently, and I get talkative. Coffee and breaks become reasons to chat. After lunch on a hot day, he is up a ladder cleaning gutters. I come out of the house, bored, to check and see if he can join in for some iced tea. As I come under the ladder,he looks down and ask “did you need something?”

I look down at your cleavage thinking god yes.
Iced tea is perfect. Thinking drenched over your top, nipples succumbing to the cold as they perk and point.
You make sure your titties are on offer, as you answer.
"Yes, a fuck, hubby is away all day, and I'm horny"

 

[MrMikelobe1952]

I’m just a homemaker, married for years, my days filled with the quiet rhythm of keeping a home—cooking, cleaning, tending to my husband and kids. But at the gym, where I go to feel alive, I met Clara, a vibrant woman in her late fifties who became my friend. Through her, I met her husband, Edward—a refined man, over 55, with a calm, artistic air. He paints, sculpts, and carries himself with this quiet intensity that’s hard to ignore. There’s always been this… pull between us. A glance that lingers too long, a brush of hands when passing a coffee cup, a spark that hums beneath the surface, unspoken but electric.
Clara’s out of town this week, and she asked me to stop by their house to feed their fish. It felt simple enough—pop in, sprinkle some flakes, leave. But being alone in their home, with its warm, eclectic charm, stirred something in me. Curiosity, maybe. Or something deeper. I wandered past the living room, down the hall, until I found myself at the door to Edward’s studio. I hesitated, but the pull was too strong. I stepped inside.
The room smelled of paint and wood, canvases leaning against walls, sculptures half-formed on tables. His work was breathtaking—vivid, intimate, alive in a way that made my heart skip. I moved closer, tracing the edges of a painting with my eyes, when I saw it. A figure on the canvas, soft curves, the slope of a shoulder, the tilt of a head. It was me. My breath caught. Another piece, a sketch this time—my eyes, my lips, rendered with such care it felt like he’d memorized every detail. My heart pounded, a mix of shock and something else—wonder, maybe, or thrill. To be seen like this, captured in secret, desired in a way I hadn’t felt in years… it set my skin on fire.
Then I heard it—footsteps, heavy and slow, coming down to the basement. Edward.

This is a delightful scenario.
I am tempted to respond somewhat along the lines of

Mrs. Peach. I suppose I should be angry with you for invading my privacy in this fashion. But, I see that you have discovered that I find your figure to be an..
intriguing subject.
The classic curves of your body are ideal for a certain type of figure work. As you can see, I have had to work from memory. I have tried to do justice to your beauty
but
well, you can see how far short I have fallen.
Perhaps, if you would consider posing for me.
I don't think Priya would mind, but
well she is away.
We could start right now, if you are willing. I would be delighted and honored if you would consent.

But, I see from your profile that you have no interest in role play. So
Where do you seek to go with this?

 

[MrsIndianPeach]

View attachment 2551876

 

[MerWilh]

I’m just a homemaker, married for years, my days filled with the quiet rhythm of keeping a home—cooking, cleaning, tending to my husband and kids. But at the gym, where I go to feel alive, I met Clara, a vibrant woman in her late fifties who became my friend. Through her, I met her husband, Edward—a refined man, over 55, with a calm, artistic air. He paints, sculpts, and carries himself with this quiet intensity that’s hard to ignore. There’s always been this… pull between us. A glance that lingers too long, a brush of hands when passing a coffee cup, a spark that hums beneath the surface, unspoken but electric.
Clara’s out of town this week, and she asked me to stop by their house to feed their fish. It felt simple enough—pop in, sprinkle some flakes, leave. But being alone in their home, with its warm, eclectic charm, stirred something in me. Curiosity, maybe. Or something deeper. I wandered past the living room, down the hall, until I found myself at the door to Edward’s studio. I hesitated, but the pull was too strong. I stepped inside.
The room smelled of paint and wood, canvases leaning against walls, sculptures half-formed on tables. His work was breathtaking—vivid, intimate, alive in a way that made my heart skip. I moved closer, tracing the edges of a painting with my eyes, when I saw it. A figure on the canvas, soft curves, the slope of a shoulder, the tilt of a head. It was me. My breath caught. Another piece, a sketch this time—my eyes, my lips, rendered with such care it felt like he’d memorized every detail. My heart pounded, a mix of shock and something else—wonder, maybe, or thrill. To be seen like this, captured in secret, desired in a way I hadn’t felt in years… it set my skin on fire.
Then I heard it—footsteps, heavy and slow, coming down to the basement. Edward.

Nice story and beautiful photos

 

[Tangledskein]

View attachment 2551876

I have certainly visualised this very scenario with you riding and me supplying the source of your pleasure.

 

[MrsIndianPeach]

That was …

 

[Tangledskein]

That was …

Cannot open?

 

[luvzmature]

That was …

Same with this one...

 

[Pad_Foot]

I tried joining
Still no go

 

[Spike204]

Love to chat if you’re interested?