She Was Old Enough to Be My Mum - But Talked Like a Slut

She sounded warm. Polite. Even friendly. For a second, I thought maybe I’d misdialled and got someone’s actual mum by mistake.

But then she said, “Got your cock out yet, or do I have to ask twice?” And I nearly exploded on the spot.

Why I Dialled in the First Place

I wasn’t planning to get off that night. Just scrolling around, bit bored, half-curious.

Clicked into the mature phone fantasy section as a laugh. “Naughty older women” - sounded like safe, slow-burn stuff. A bit of soft-spoken chat. Some teasing. Maybe a voice like Nigella.

Instead? I got domination in a dressing gown.

She didn’t flirt. She took over.

“Let me hear your breathing. Now.”

The way she spoke made me clench. Like she already knew exactly how far to push. No shame. No hesitation. Just full, glorious filth - like she’d been storing it up for years and I was the lucky bastard she chose to unleash it on.

She Didn’t Flirt - She Owned Me

There’s no small talk with women like her.

She doesn’t ask what you like. She tells you what you want. And by the time you realise she’s right, you’re already stroking - slowly, exactly how she says, like a schoolboy who wants to be caught.

“Grip it properly.”
“Stroke slow - no, slower.”
“Don’t talk. Just breathe.”

Her voice was smooth but firm – like leather across skin.

You can’t fake that tone — it’s built from years of saying what she wants and getting it.

This wasn’t just phone sex with mature ladies. This was control. Real, raw, dominant control.

That First “Good Boy” Made Me Cum Instantly

I lasted five minutes. Maybe.

She had me panting, desperate, dripping – just from her voice. No cam. No video. Nothing but her and that filthy mouth.

And then it happened.

“Good boy.”

That’s it. Two little words.
But they hit like a truck.

I came hard. Harder than I had in months. My whole body stiff, legs shaking, hand sticky, breath gone. She didn’t even pause – just kept whispering, calling me “messy” and “my perfect little plaything.”

I should’ve been embarrassed. I wasn’t. I was hers.

You Know You Want It

You’ve thought about it.

That firm voice. That filthy mouth. That older woman who doesn’t play games – she just takes.

She won’t ask. She’ll tell.

So go on. Stop hovering. Pick up the phone and call a mature vixen who’ll make you her next good boy.