0466308512 53YO MOUTHY GRANNY – SWEATY SOGGY N READY FOR A GOOD HARD GO, Morwell –:

Yeah, you – hand already driftin’ down ya pants like it’s got a mind of its own. Listen up, cos Tilly ain’t gonna say it twice. I’m 53. Saggy tits, soft belly, arse that still likes a smack. I smoke, I swear, I sweat, I leak. I ain’t some shiny little princess. I’m a mouthy older woman who knows what she wants n ain’t shy about sayin’ it.

You want tea n biscuits? Piss off. You want a sweaty, sloppy, noisy bit of fun with a granny who’ll talk dirty n ride you till ya forget ya own name? Then keep readin’, champ.

So picture this. I’m home, fan’s buggered, robe hangin’ open, knickers stuck to me like wet paper. I’m bored n horny n itchin’ for trouble. Some chunky bloke turns up to fix somethin’ – dirty boots, beer gut, sweaty shirt. I open the door leanin’ on the frame, nips pokin’ out, wet patch clear as day. He stares. I grin. “You gonna stand there gawkin’ or come in n earn ya keep?”

He steps in. I bend over to pick up me phone. Then again. Then again. Robe slips. He gets a long eyeful of my soggy old garden. He drops his tool bag. I laugh. “That’s it, love. Look all ya want. Then do somethin’ about it.”

He grabs me by the hips, pulls me close, n I feel him hard through his work pants. I shove him on the couch, climb on top, grind down slow. He groans. I slap his chest. “Make some noise for Tilly.” Then it’s all hands n mouths n nasty talk. He bites me neck, sucks me tits, grabs me arse. I pull his shirt up, scratch his hairy belly, rub myself on his thigh till I’m drippin’ down me leg.

He flips me over, smacks me arse, spreads me wide. I tell him, “Go on then, give it a good hard go.” He does. Fast n rough n sweaty. Table bangin’. Couch squeakin’. My tits slappin’. I’m screamin’ filth, callin’ him names, pullin’ his hair. He growls n speeds up. We go from couch to floor to hallway. My knees get sore. I don’t care. I’m 53, not made of glass. I want it rough n sloppy n fun.

Later I get on top again, ride him slow, then fast, then slow. He’s sweatin’ buckets. I’m leakin’ all over him. I lean down n whisper nasty things in his ear. He twitches n moans. I keep goin’ till me legs shake n I see stars. Then I finish him with me hand, quick n tight, till he’s shakin’ n gaspin’ n makin’ a right mess. He’s wrecked. I’m sweaty, satisfied, n leakin’ me own juices. I pat his cheek n tell him he done alright.

Maybe he wants round two. Maybe I let him. Maybe I send him home with a grin. But if you want a turn, you better text first. Don’t call. I’m busy. I don’t check SecretHostess messages. I don’t do boring. I don’t do drama. I don’t do tidy. I do filthy, sweaty, mouthy fun with a bloke who knows how to handle a mouthy granny.

No SecretHostess messages. I don’t check them. Don’t call, just text. I’ll reply when I ain’t busy gettin’ wrecked by some other bloke.

Cash in hand – notes only. Or PAYID instant only – delayed or pending transfers will not be accepted.

--Tilly