Gardening is somewhat of a hobby for my wife Paula; she loves working in the yard tending to her flowers. Her typical attire is a sleeveless denim shirt tied at the midriff and maybe two buttons closed and short cutoff jeans. This, she says, lets her benefit from the sun and get some tanning. She usually braids her long blond hair in a ponytail to keep if from getting in the dirt.
Our older neighbor Bob, who likes to refer to himself as a "seasoned citizen," always wants to help Paula when she is gardening. I think it's more his love of tits than his horticulture leanings. Bob seems to notice that every time Paula is bending over to pull weeds, her shirt falls away enough for him to see her firm titties. If I can see them, then for sure, I know that know Bob can. As Bob "helps" I notice that he always seems to point out a weed or something to Paula that makes her bend over more.
The exercise helps keep Paula in nice shape, her ass is still tight and her tits, while small, are amazing with large dark nipples. Paula has never had children so her body is trim and tight as a teenager's, even though she is in her late thirties. She knows it because every time she comes out of the shower, she preens herself in front of a full-length bedroom mirror.
Bob has a friend who is starting to hang around in the afternoon with him. I suspect for the "Paula show." It seems harmless enough and Paula now has two helpers in the garden. The new friend, Phil, is more a talker than a gardener. Phil doesn't look like an athlete, he is somewhat short, bald and a little pudgy. Paula is learning Phil's whole life history, it is as if Phil hasn't talked in years or at least to someone who will listen.
For a reward for the successful gardening day, Bob brings over a pitcher of "sangria" he has made up. It turns out that Phil has a small winery outside of town and has supplied the wine.
Bob says, "Nothing is more refreshing than a pitcher of cold sangria on a hot afternoon."
Paula complements Phil on his wine, Phil replies, "I am going to be bottling a new batch of my award winning vintage and I'll bring over some for you to taste."
The following week, the Bob and Phil team added another "seasoned citizen", Sam. Now Paula has three admirers to help her in the garden. Sam is a photographer and has a large SLR camera dangling from his neck.
Sam looks like Woody Allen, short, wiry, disheveled hair and complete with black horn-rimmed glasses. Sam keeps taking photos of Paula's flowers while he is in the backyard. He makes sure to include her in a few shots and even has her doing some modeling poses next to her flowers.
Paula is really enjoying the "team" and their attention and help with the weeding is a bonus. Several days later, Sam brings over a framed 8X10" picture of Paula kneeling by her flowers. By the cropping, composition and editing, you can tell Sam is a professional. The picture is a huge hit with Paula, and he asks if he can take some more some time. Paula agrees and Sam says, "Your husband might like some "glamor shots" of you sometime."
Paula smiles and says, "I'm sure he would."
I figured that the gardening team was all in good fun and Paula likes the extra attention and help. Little did I know how it was going to change in the future. If these were three testosterone enriched teenage boys, I might be worried that things could get out of hand. These three "seasoned citizens" combined probably didn't have a smidgen of testosterone. Boy, was I going to be proved wrong.
One hot and sunny afternoon, Phil brings over a case of assorted wines and he has the whole team with him.
Phil says, "These are an assortment of the wines I create. However, I especially want you to try the one that one that won the "2013 Silver Medal" at Finger Lakes."
Paula accepts the first glass and she exclaims as she takes a sip, "Wow that's good. ... I just want you to know that I am not a wine connoisseur or anything."
"Just give me your honest opinion," as Phil pours another glass.
"It's fantastic, it's like drinking grape juice, and you can really taste the grapes," saying as she finishes another glass.
All three of the "team" then decide to toast Paula and then Paula's garden. This is when Paula's memory goes fuzzy. She doesn't remember how they got to the next part, but only has flashbacks of the events.
I am about to enter the kitchen when I hear cheers and Paula is bent over the table with her tits in a large stainless steel bowl with all three "team members" exclaiming, "This is going to be a winner!"
What the fuck is going on? I pause to see what is happening, without interrupting the "team's" activities."
Paula stands up with her tits covered in a multitude of bright colors, almost as if they are tie-dyed. Sam is taking pictures and the rest of the team is preparing a fresh batch of coloring. After Sam photographs her, one team member wipes off her tits with a towel and the other sucking the color off her nipples. You can see multiple colors around their mouths; obviously, they were taking turns making sure her nipples were especially clean.
Somehow, the idea of coloring Easter eggs came up; from there it's not a straight line to "let's color Paula's tits." Once they found the Easter egg coloring in the kitchen cabinet, it just seems like a good idea.
Paula, topless with brightly colored tits is quite a sight, her long nipples hard and standing straight out and egg coloring dripping down her chest to her shorts.
I enter the kitchen and say, "What the fuck are you doing?"
Paula points to her tits and in a slurred speech says, "Don, don't they look great in blue?"
The "team" suddenly looks like a puppy dog that just piddled in the corner. They are just waiting for me to beat the hell out of them with a newspaper.
They are all stammering and looking like they are going to shit their pants, when I say, "Let's add some red"
"Yea: Let's add more red," they chanted, "Add more red, add more red."
Bob our resident tit guy, made sure Paula's tits were properly cleaned off so she could dunk them again. Sam was ready with his camera and Paula proudly display her new design. I am so glad they did this in the kitchen, because this would have really made a mess on the carpet.
After the next round, the wine and the activities apparently caught up with Paula, because she says," I think I am going to be sick." She made it to the kitchen sink just in time to puke out deep purple liquid with little specks of red humus and crackers.
It's amazing what a comment like that does to a party. Everyone just scatters afraid they are going to be "hurled on." The guys apparently don't like listening to the sounds of Paula wrenching her guts out, they quietly leave.
Bob comes over the next day and says, "I'm sorry, I think it got out of hand."
"Really Bob, that's all you have to say?"
"How did it happen that you all decided to color Paula's tits?"
Bob stammers out the whole story, but blames it on Phil and his wine. He said, "I'm really sorry, we're old enough to know better."
"Bob, did you guys enjoy yourselves?"
Bob gets this "shit eating grin" and says, "It was the best "fucking thing" I have ever done in my life. I'll never forget it."
"Bob, you have to promise me one thing."
"What?"
"You have to promise, to get me the complete collection of Sam's pictures."
"Of course, that's what friends do."
