A Summer Job

I had just turned 18 and was desperately seeking a summer job to put some money in the bank for college. I had been doing some yard work for our neighbor, Mrs. Carlson, but as I explained to her, I really needed more than the occasional mowing and weeding she could provide me with.

"You know," she said, "I know someone who might be able to give you a few weeks of steady work. My boss just bought on an old house that needs a lot of clean up work. No one has lived in it for years and she needs someone to shovel all the junk out of the house and clean up the yard." As it turned out, I was fully occupied (and well compensated) for the rest of the summer.

The next day I went down to the real estate office where Mrs. Carlson worked and she introduced me to her boss, Mrs. Gibson. Mrs. Gibson was probably in her early-forties, which, at 18, seemed terribly old to me. She had green eyes and a thick mane of dark chestnut hair that fell to her shoulders. I thought she was perhaps a bit plump, at least by comparison to the cheerleader types I had been lusting after for the last four years. As the head of the office, she dressed professionally, although since it was the mid-1970s the penchant for short skirts had even crept into standard business attire. She stepped out from behind her desk to greet me and shake my hand and I immediately noticed that her skirt came just to mid-thigh, revealing a very shapely pair of legs.

"So Jimmy, Linda tells me that you are looking for some work?"

"Yes, Mrs. Carlson told me you've bought an old house that needs some cleanup?"

"Boy does it," she said. As she spoke she turned away from me and walked to a couch on the far side of her large office. I couldn't help but notice that her tight skirt covered a very attractive round ass. It wasn't lean and tight like the girls I had been running around with in high school, but it was very attractive. My mind, which like that of any 18 year old male was perpetually in the gutter, immediately begin to fantasize about standing behind her and pulling her nice round ass back against my hips. I didn't get all the way to an overt fucking fantasy. I was just imaging myself dry humping her. Even that was enough to make my ever-ready cock begin to stir.

She soon reached the far end of the couch where she turned back to face me and sank into the couch, crossing her deliciously long legs as she sat. I noticed that this caused her tight skirt to ride even further up her thighs. My fantasy about her ass faded, only to be replaced by one about her legs and the stiletto heels she was wearing. I was imagining them wrapped around my hips while I furiously fucked her. "Where do these lewd thoughts come from?" I silently asked myself.

"Come over and sit down, and I'll tell you about the job," she said, patting the couch next to her.

As I looked at her legs I could feel my cock continuing to stir beneath my jeans. Damn it I need this job, I thought. "Focus!" I told myself.

I sat carefully at the end of the couch—not where she had been patting her hand. She seemed to smile as I took the far end of the couch. She was silent for a moment as her eyes wandered from my face toward my mid-section. Was she noticing the growing bulge in my jeans?

As she looked me over I did my best to pull my eyes away from her sexy legs, but unfortunately they only got as far as a large pair of breasts that seemed to be straining against her tight blouse. I also noticed that the thin fabric of her bra and blouse readily disclosed the shape of her nipples. Now my fantasy was focused on sucking on those very large nipples so poorly concealed by her clothing.

My god! What was I doing? My dick was at least half erect by now. I needed this job, and all I could do was lust after my neighbor's boss. Even worse she seemed to be doing the same thing.

Finally, after a long moment of dangerous silence, I managed to speak up. "I understand that you want a lot of old trash cleaned out of a house and some general cleanup done in the yard?"

There was an additional moment of silence as Mrs. Gibson re-focused. "Ahh, . . . Yes. That's correct. I'll also need to have you haul the trash and yard waste to the dump. I have an old pick-up that you can use."

"Oh good."

"I'm afraid it's more than just a little bit of trash," she continued. "This is the old Henderson mansion we're talking about. It's been sitting up there on the hill unoccupied ever since old man Henderson passed away twenty five years ago, and it's pretty clear that he hadn't taken care of it for years before he died, so it's really a mess. I bought it at an auction without really looking at it. My plan then was to just raze it and build a condo project up there on the hill it sits on."

She shook her head and laughed. "Lordy, lordy was I shocked when I took possession and saw what I mess I had bought." I could see her big tits bouncing beneath her blouse as she shook her head and laughed. Not much, since the blouse was tight, but enough to keep my mind in the gutter and make my still half hard cock stir. I longed for the ability to adjust its cramped position in my pants.

"But since I bought it I've spent some time up there and rethought my plans. There's something about that house . . . Well lets just say I've changed my mind about tearing it down and developing the real estate. It has some . . ." she paused as she sought for a word to express herself. Her eyes had a kind of faraway look in them for just a moment. Then she snapped back to reality and smiled. "Well let's just say it has some qualities I want to preserve and enjoy."

"Okay," I responded. I was mystified. No clue what she was talking about.

"So," she said. "How does $4.00 an hour sound?"

Since it was 1975, $4.00 an hour sounded just great. "Sure. That's fine Mrs. Gibson," I said. "When can I start?"

"How about right now? We can drive up there and I'll walk you through the place and show you what I want done. Come on. We'll take my car." As she spoke she leaned forward a bit to get to her feet. That was when I noticed that at some point during our conversation a couple of buttons on her blouse had been released. As she leaned forward, I got a brief glimpse of a generous amount of cleavage between her big tits. My cock twitched again. "Oh and one more thing," she said, as she stood. "Please call me June. We try not to be too formal around here."

"Okay, sure. I can do that," I said, immediately forgetting it as she turned and walked out of the office. The only thing I got out of that exchange was an impression of how good she looked as she walked away.

As we walked to her car, a big beige Mercedes sedan, I tried my best not to stare at her nice round ass—and failed miserably. Once we got past the receptionist so she was no longer watching me, I discreetly adjusted my jeans to relieve the pressure on my cock. It sorta helped.

Mrs. Gibson walked to the passenger side of the car and used her key to open the lock, saying as she walked, "Oh, let me get these multiple listing service books into the trunk so you have a place to sit." She opened the door and leaned into the car pulling her skirt up in the process so I could see the tops of her nylons. Oh I so wanted to step forward, grab her at the waist, and pull her round luscious ass back into my hips.

"What's the matter with you?" I asked myself. "She's old enough to be your mother!" My cock twitched again in response to my stupid question. It knew the answer.

Mrs. Gibson backed out of the open door holding the books smashed against her chest. Instead of waiting for me to move from the cramped space between her car and the one parked next to hit, she attempted to slide by me as she said, "I'll just put these in the trunk. As she slid by she dragged her round soft ass over my half erect cock. Fuck! I wanted her, even if she was my mother's age.

"Oops!" she said, with a flirting tone. "Guess there wasn't as much room there as I thought. Come on back here Jimmy and help me get these in the trunk." I pulled the key from the car door where she had left it and stepped up to the latch on the trunk. Mrs. Gibson was standing close beside it clutching the stack of books so I kind of had to lean against her, our hips and shoulders touching, to get to the latch.

When the trunk lid opened there was quite a bit of stuff in the way, and Mrs. Gibson was still clutching the books she had taken from the front. "Jimmy, be a dear and move those things in the middle to the sides so I have a place to put these." I leaned forward to move things and as I did so I had to move in front of her. She moved back, but not far, and I soon found my ass pressed against her. She made no effort to step back, letting my ass press firmly against her.

When I finished clearing a space she said, "That's it thank you." She slid to one side of me, rubbing my ass with her thighs as she moved. I wasn't sure, but I thought I also felt her fingers drift lightly across my ass. My dick was now fully erect. I stepped quickly away to let her put the books in the trunk. She dropped them in the space I had made and turned back towards me. As she stepped away from the trunk, she moved closer to me. She wasn't pressed up against me, but she was still close, well inside what most people considerable their personal space. I'm about a head taller than Mrs. Gibson, and I found myself looking straight down at her cleavage that was poorly covered by her marginally buttoned blouse. Now my fantasy was about sliding my dick between those two tasty looking breasts until I came all over them.

Mrs. Gibson smiled up at me and said, "Okay, now we're ready to go. That is if you'll just give me the keys."

I was so busy staring at her tits I had completely forgotten I had left the keys in the latch. "Oh I'll get them. They're in the latch," I said. Mrs. Gibson turned to reach for them just as I did and her big soft tits brushed against my chest. I jumped back like I had been shocked, and she retrieved the keys, both of us pretending that nothing had happened.

We got in the car, and I noticed that Mrs. Gibson had let her short skirt ride well up on her thighs so that not only the tops of her nylons were visible, but also a couple of inches of the straps from her garter belt. While I was noticing her legs, she seemed to be noticing the now large bulge in my trousers. Goddamn, I was horny and I was beginning to think she was too.

During the ride up the hill to the old Henderson mansion Mrs. Gibson gave me a brief history of the place. It had been built in the 1860s by Alvin Henderson, a minor railroad baron. His son, Derrick had inherited the mansion in the 1890's when the old man died. He also inherited the railroad, which he promptly sold for a boatload of cash that allowed him to live out his life with no visible gainful employment.

Derrick was known throughout his life as a ladies man. He never married but had, beginning even before his father's death, a string of high profile affairs with various socially significant women in our town, both single and married. In addition it was rumored that he also routinely bedded the female members of the domestic staff he maintained at the family home. It was well known that in addition to a few long-term key retainers (chef, chief maid, butler, gardener, chauffer, etc.) he included a bevy of attractive young women on his staff. Ostensibly they all had jobs, but the rumor was that they mostly satisfied the master's sexual needs, beyond what he got from his external affairs.

When Derrick died in the mid-nineteen forties his extensive estate was willed to a trust that benefitted a number of major charities in town and provided in some undisclosed degree for his domestic staff still engaged at the time of his death. Their identities and benefits were a closely held secret. None of his money went to any of the women he had bedded beyond the walls of his mansion. The key retainers all moved to other occupations in town, but the young women rumored to live there were never seen. Either they left town or something else occurred. The employees who stayed in town all denied the others ever existed.

The mansion and the surrounding grounds were included in the trust, but explicit instructions were included in the documentation that precluded the use of any trust assets for its upkeep beyond payment of property taxes. It was simply to be preserved as it was on the day he died and that was the way Mrs. Gibson had found it when she finally succeeded in buying it from the trust. Of course none of the charitable beneficiaries ever volunteered any of their share of the trust proceeds for maintenance of the old house.

We were stopped at the entrance to the estate by a locked gate. Mrs. Gibson reached in her purse and handed me a large, old fashioned, skeleton key and told me to use it to open the padlock and move the gate to let her through. I was also instructed to close and lock the gate behind her. When I returned to the car I noticed that yet another button on Mrs. Gibson's shirt had yielded, allowing me to see a good deal of her left bra cup and the portions of her breast that spilled over it. She said nothing and drove up the path to the front of the mansion, where she got out and led me up to the front door. My fantasy about a titty-fuck returned in force.

Inside things were pretty much as I had expected—a lot of furniture covered with sheets and everything coated with a heavy layer of dust. The light was dim as all of the curtains were drawn.

Mrs. Gibson led me up a flight of stairs and then down a long dark hallway towards the back of the house. When we got to the end of the hallway she said, without further explanation, "Wait here," as she stepped through a door on the right and closed it behind her.

I stood in the darkened hall waiting for at least ten minutes. Shortly I began to hear sounds from the other side of the door. The longer I listened the more I became convinced I was hearing the sounds of a woman in the grip of sexual ecstasy. What was Mrs. Gibson doing in there? Actually it sounded like two different women's voices. Some of it sounded like Mrs. Gibson's voice, or at least what I thought her voice would sound like if she were approaching a sexual climax, but there was another, higher voice that didn't sound like Mrs. Gibson at all. Both voices sounded like women in the throes of sexual ecstasy. There were no sounds of a man.

Regardless of the identity of the persons I was listening to, their moans and cries were very arousing. My dick was fully erect and I was slowly and softly massaging it through my jeans.

Eventually the women, whoever they were, reached a climax or climaxes and then there was silence again. Perhaps, I thought, soft mumblings, but then again maybe not. Shortly after that, Mrs. Gibson re-emerged from the door. Her hair was disheveled, her blouse, no longer tucked into her skirt, was closed by only one button and as she stepped towards me it was obvious that she was no longer wearing a bra. Also there was no sign of her nylons. As someone slowly closed the door from inside, Mrs. Gibson looked back into the room and said, "Meet us downstairs."

I heard a voice respond, "Yes Mum."

"Who was that?" I asked.

"I'll explain in a minute." She brushed by me and led the way back down the hall and the stairs and then into a kitchen. Unlike the rest of the house, the kitchen was brightly lit and I could now see that not only was Mrs. Gibson disheveled but she was also flushed in her face and down on to her chest, the way people get when they have just had good sex. Also the last button on her blouse had now been released and her large soft tits were mostly exposed.

"I suppose you want to know what that was all about?"

"Ah . . ." I couldn't figure out how to ask what I wanted to know which was who had Mrs. Gibson been fucking behind the door. Besides, what I really wanted was to suck on those big hard nipples that crowned her tits.

"It sounded like someone was . . ." but I didn't get to finish the sentence. In my peripheral vision to the right I sensed motion where I was sure there had only a blank wall before. I looked to my right and found Mrs. Gibson and I were no longer alone in the room. A young woman stood holding a tray with a silver tea service on it. She was quite beautiful and essentially naked. She had long legs, encased in dark thigh high silk stockings, and wore a pair of spiked heel pumps. Her only garment was a black bustier that stopped just at the top of her hips and below her breasts. The bustier held her firm, medium sized tits out for all to see, and her sex, lightly haired and neatly trimmed was fully exposed. Her pussy lips were red and swollen as though she had recently been aroused—no, fucked. Her long blonde hair, more than a bit disheveled from whatever she had been doing, hung down either side of her face and her eyes were a sparkling, almost surreal, glacial blue.

"Elsa, this is Jimmy. Jimmy, this is Elsa, and Jimmy, if as I suspect, you want to know who was with me behind the door upstairs, it was Elsa. I believe I told you Jimmy that the house has some unusual qualities that I have come to enjoy. Well, Elsa is one of them. As you may have heard upstairs Elsa and I were thoroughly enjoying each other while you waited for me. You should understand however, that Elsa is not alive. She is a ghost. But notwithstanding the fact she has been dead since sometime in the 1940s, she is extraordinarily good at sex."

"Elsa, Jimmy here has been horny all afternoon. Could you give him a sample of just how good at sex you are?"

"Yes mum," she responded setting the tea service on the chopping block between us. As she walked around it, her high heels clicked on the tile floor. She stood closely before me looking up into my eyes as though studying me to divine my sexual preferences. Then she dropped to her knees before me, leaned forward, and rubbed my very erect prick through the Levis I was wearing, first with her hands and then with her face, all the while maintaining eye contact with me. Next she began to slowly release the buttons on the fly of my Levis. Once the fly was open she snaked her hand inside and resumed her fondling of my erection, this time through the thin cloth of my jockey shorts. Still she stared up at me watching every twitch or blink of my eyes in response to her actions.

I finally broke eye contact and looked over at Mrs. Gibson. She was sitting on a simple wooden kitchen chair, her blouse open and pushed aside, slowly massaging her tits with a smile on her face as she watched Elsa release my belt and the last remaining button on my Levis. Elsa gave my pants a tug and they dropped to my ankles. She resumed her stroking of my cock, now through the tightly stretched thin cloth of my jockey shorts.

Oh Fuck! That felt so good. When she slowly dragged the fingernails of one hand from the base of my prick up to the base of its head and then over the top, I pulled my attention back from Mrs. Gibson's masturbatory play with her tits and looked down at Elsa. I could see that the cloth covering the end of my prick was now darkened by the precum soaking through it. Elsa was looking straight up at me as she continued her message of my thinly covered cock.

"Suck him Elsa," I heard Mrs. Gibson say. "You know you want to."

"Yes Mum."

I looked back at Mrs. Gibson. She was leaning back in the chair still massaging her tits, pulling on each nipple occasionally. Her shapely legs were carelessly separated, not so that I could see all the way to her pussy, but still hardly what one would call proper.

I felt Elsa hook her fingers into the waistband of my jockeys and begin to pull down. They hung up on the head of my engorged cock, but she remedied that problem by grabbing the waistband next to my prick with her teeth and pulling it quickly over the end of my prick. There was enough slippery precum under the cloth so that it slid quickly and easily over my knob, but I still felt the friction on the sensitive end of my prick. My cock jumped in response.