Authors note: Now that enough years have passed, I can safely and affectionately share this story. For purposes and requirements, all characters in the story are over the age of 18. I have made every attempt to recollect this story as accurately as possible, preferring to leave out anything I am not sure of as opposed to including it just for the sake of trying to write an erotic story. I hope you enjoy it. Obviously, the names have likewise been changed to protect identities.
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We called her Mrs. Blake, or at least I did anyway. She was also known as the quiet lady, primarily because she was a bit of a recluse. I knew very little about her, and most of that coming from my parents when I had actually been required to apply for the privilege of mowing and trimming her yard. And don't laugh, every year she reviewed potential candidates for the spring-summer-fall long job of doing that. So it was, just because you mowed her yard one year, didn't mean you'd get to do so again the next year. I am sure that the fact she paid extremely well, well above the normal, is why my friends and I, amongst others, actually went through the yearly routine. Age didn't really matter, if you could do the job, and do it correctly according to her standards; she was willing to pay for it.
I knew only that her husband had been killed many years before. Though I never learned how that had come about. I also knew she didn't have any children, and after the death of her husband, never wanted any...and never remarried either. And I honestly found that sad as she was a very attractive woman, at the time...somewhere in her early to mid fifties back then. I remember she had just a touch of grey to her dark auburn hair and made no attempt to color it, content to let it turn naturally. She wore it in a small ponytail most of the time, and I rarely recall seeing her wear her hair in any other style. I also remember we were pretty close to the same height, and though I eventually grew another inch or so, at the time I'd guess she was about five foot seven or so. Mrs. Blake (though in time I would come to know her as Helen) was what I guess you would call a medium built woman. Far from slim, and equally far from being over weight, though an obvious telltale bit of extra in her frame, depending on whatever clothes she was wearing at the time. I'll save the description for the more intimate and personal stuff later.
This was actually my second year mowing and trimming for her, though there had been a year in between that, when someone else actually did it besides me. I often wondered if she did that on purpose to keep any one person from thinking they had the job locked up. Though I seriously believe, I did a better job of it than anyone else did. It even got to the point that I went out of my way (and time) to go the extra bit, which I now know, she appreciated very much.
It was well into the late spring, early summer when things took a really interesting turn, and in many ways, had a significant impact on my life.
I had as usual gone over early to begin mowing long before it would get very hot. Already the skies were promising a bit of rain, so I was likewise in hopes of getting the yard mowed before the expected downpour came. I had barely gotten finished with the mowing when the rain came. Promising Mrs. Blake to return later in the day to finish up with the trimming because of it. She told me not to bother until it was totally dry, even if that meant coming back the following day. I soon after headed home, which was about three or four blocks away by bike, and no more than a good ten or fifteen minute distance between us. Although the rain was already starting to let up some by the time I arrived home, it promised to be a daylong drizzle at the very least, accompanied by some fairly serious thunder and lightening. I had actually changed into dry clothes when it hit me. I had left out the trimmer in the rain, forgetting to put it away before I left. Something like that was apt to blackball me if I hadn't been already, from returning again the next year. Once more, I headed back to her place as fast as I could in the hopes that perhaps she wouldn't have noticed that yet. I could even safely park my bike on the side of the garage, and then enter in that way (as the door was always unlocked) and then grab the trimmer which I'd left leaning against the work shed, put it away inside, and hopefully leave without ever being found out.
Everything went according to plan until I walked around the backside of the garage and the attached work shed. I froze in place, disbelief of what I was currently looking at, turning me into stone. And there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it.
There was a small L-shaped porch that ran along the backside of the house. The awning was just enough to protect from most of the rain, which is why I guess I had made a major mistake in coming back when I did. Mrs. Blake was sitting in one of her lawn chairs watching the storm, in particular the sound of thunder and lightning (as she'd explain later to me) which was something she had always been fascinated with. The problem was...she was entirely naked, sitting there while doing so. And maybe that would have been bad enough, actually walking around the corner not expecting to find her sitting there like that, but it just so happened, that she had her legs propped up in the chair, spread pretty widely, and one hand busy between her legs, the other at the moment cupping one of her rather full pendulous looking breasts.
Like I said. Our eyes locked for a brief second as my mind tried to retake control over my body and signal me to flee. And I would have done so, had she not called out to me when she did.
"Jason? Come here," she said firmly, though I don't recall there being an edge of anger in her tone of voice. Surprise, maybe even a little embarrassment perhaps, but she certainly wasn't angry with me. To my own surprise, I cross the few steps, now entering the protection of the awning, though I still stood several feet away, unsure of what to do next, let alone expect. "Closer," I remember her saying, and then indicating for me to stand right in front of her chair. I did as she asked until I was actually standing there no more than a foot or so away from her, looking at her, unable not to, as the internal struggle of having to face her in the eye, was actually worse than keeping my eyes lowered, though I was looking at this totally nude woman while doing that. And it was at that very moment that I realized...she hadn't removed her hand from between her legs!
And as I realized that, I also realized, she was still finger-fucking herself, slowly perhaps, and maybe trying to be a bit imperceptible while doing so? But the reality was, she was doing that...still teasing herself as I only then looked up into her eyes again, now tilting the other way in my confusion as to knowing just exactly where in hell I should be looking at this point. Once again, our eyes locked, but this time I also saw her mouth move. I heard no words, for if she spoke any, they were far too quiet for me to have done so. But the shape of her words as she spoke them, were beyond question.
"Watch me."
The way I saw it, I didn't really have any other choice. Sure...I could have turned and ran, left anyway. But I also figured that I'd be fucked for the rest of the summer as far as the job went. And besides, it wasn't her fault that I had come back and found her masturbating in the privacy of her own backyard, that one was definitely on me. And the only thing she had said was that. Nothing else. Nothing about me doing anything, or doing anything to her. Just, "Watch me," so the way I saw it...I had nothing to lose, and everything in the world to gain.
And so I stood, watching her. Saying nothing, doing nothing. Just watching. And I was more turned on than I had ever been in my entire life. When Mrs. Blake realized I was actually going to stay, she smiled. It was one of the very rare times I had ever seen her do so. And then after that, she proceeded to pleasure herself quite openly, quite uninhibitedly sitting there right in front of me as I watched her. And though times perhaps have changed since then as styles and preferences seem to do, I recall that she didn't really have a thick hairy bush. In fact, what I recall and even now see just as clearly as then, was this very fine layer of pubic hair, that was actually more straight than curly perhaps. It was also a light brown, and looked almost as though it had been combed that way, both sides meeting towards the middle, where her finger lay. Still pressing against herself, occasionally dipping inside before reemerging again. I also remember the color of her inner lips, for they appeared almost red inside as opposed to the outer, more pinkish flesh of her labia. And though actually watching her finger-fucking herself was erotic enough, I was then (and have always been) a bonafide card-carrying breast man. All shapes, all sizes...mattered not. So here to I was being treated to another stimulating pleasure as well. With one hand still between her legs, the other she used to caress and tease her own breast and nipple with.
Mrs. Blake had what I can only say were fairly heavy looking, somewhat pendulous breasts. I mean they weren't exactly saggy or anything, just heavy and fell a bit more down her chest perhaps. I honestly thought they were beautiful, and provided me many evenings of pleasure after that just when thinking about them. But I digress here. I remember too that her nipples were fairly large, some call them "pancake" nipples for lack of a better description. They were a light tan, not quite pink, and colored enough to clearly define the area as they sat on the tip of her breasts. She had amazing nipples too as I remember. Fairly thick, and I actually remember comparing them in size to "Dots" though even bigger than that, and certainly longer too. Mrs. Blake could scissor her nipple between two fingers, and you'd still see a goodly portion of it poking up and through whenever she did that.
So, watching her doing both, playing with her breasts, caressing them, tugging and eventually pulling hard on her nipples...more so when she actually came, in conjunction with the sound of her fingers now sliding in and out of her very wet cunt, not to mention the vision of her while doing so, was almost more than I could emotionally stand. And stand I still did. Like a statue with hard-on.
When it was over, she asked me to sit at the patio table, which I did. She stood up, now slipping on a bathrobe, which she'd, had sitting nearby, and simply informed me she was going inside to get us something to drink while we talked.