I came that night. As I got out of my car, I heard Marie's mother calling me. I looked around and saw her standing by the fence to the backyard.
"Hello there, Mrs. Fleet" I said politely. As I approached her, I saw that she was wearing her black one piece bathing suit and an open, white button-down shirt over it. In the darkness, I let my eyes wander to her chest. She had bigger breasts than her daughter (I knew well that Marie was a 36d) and had her daughter's curly blonde hair. In short, she looked great for a woman in her late 40s.
"You've just missed Marie. She went to the store for a few things for her trip," Mrs. Fleet said pleasantly, and I returned my eyes to her face. I told her I was just dropping off the sleeping bag, and she smiled. "I'll make sure Marie gets it. Well, I'm heading to take a shower. Good night!"
I wished her a good evening and headed back to my car. Halfway, she turned out the lights in the backyard and I realized it was pitch dark back there. As I got into my car, I had an idea, and it was too tempting not to try. I drove my car around the corner and parked it, then quickly walked back to Marie's house. Marie's dad travelled and wouldn't be home for a week, and Marie herself surely would be gone for a while. I quietly let myself into the pitch dark backyard. As I closed the fence door, I immediately felt self conscious. What was I doing? What if I was caught? I still couldn't be seen; I could just back out, head back to my car, and....
I saw a reflection on the pool change, and I figured that Mrs. Fleet had just left the kitchen and had turned its light off. I went for it: I walked into the dark yard, realizing that it was dark enough for me to be safe. I walked around the far side of the pool and had just sat down when the bathroom light went on.
Mrs. Fleet entered, humming to herself and holding a pile of her clothes. She was still wearing her bathing suit, though she didn't have on the white shirt anymore. She put down the clothes, then reached for the curtains. Her humming stopped as she saw that there were no curtains--then she tapped her head, evidently remembering that Marie had taken them down, ostensibly because they were dirty. Mrs. Fleet paused for a moment, seemingly unsure to do. She glanced out the window, and I froze with fear... but she didn't see me and shrugged her shoulders.
My breathing was short as I watched her pull off her bathing suit. Her breasts were magnificent: while perhaps a little saggy, they were wonderfully plump, with light brown aureolas and hard, medium sized light brown nipples--certainly nicer than her daughter's paler chest. Her head ducked beneath the window sill, then reappeared, and I realized that she was now naked. I stood, as silently as possible, and started to walk closer. I could see the box of light coming out of the bathroom window and figured that as long as I stayed away from it, I was safe.
Mrs. Fleet stepped back and looked in the mirror. She patted her somewhat plump tummy and sighed somewhat sadly. I was now a good 15 feet closer, and didn't dare a step more. I watched her turn and look at her butt in the mirror. She ran her hand over it once, then again a second time, slower. Her hips were wide and lovely, and I couldn't believe I was watching this naked woman. She faced the mirror again, this time running a hand over her breasts. I thought I saw her tough linger as her fingertips ran over her nipples, and I was sure of it when she started to softly touch them. Staring at herself in the mirror, she let one hand slide down her breasts, down her tummy, and in between her legs.
With a smirk on my face, I decided what was good for her was good for me. I slowly unzipped my shorts and pulled my penis out. Mrs. Fleet was pinching one of her nipples as I started to touch myself. She looked flushed and red, and I wondered if she was embarrassed to be masturbating. I started to go faster as she moaned a bit, the hand between her legs moving around while her other hand pinched back and forth on her nipples. I could tell from the way she was standing that she had spread her legs some, and I noticed that she kept looking in the mirror. It looked like she was looking herself in the eye. Suddenly she started to say, "Yes" slowly, over and over. She started to cup her breasts, squeezing them harder and hard while the fingers of her other hand looked to be inside her. Faster and faster we both went, and I realized that I wasn't far off. I looked around and realized that I was standing next to a chair--a chair with her white shirt on it. I put my hand on the back of the chair, feeling the cotton on my fingers.
I looked back to Mrs. Fleet, who had just put her second hand to her pussy, so that both were down there now. She was moving up and down a bit, her big, wonderful breasts jiggling, her nipples very hard. Her eyes were closed now, and she was concentrating. She started to say, "Yes, fuck me... yes..." and her hands went very fast. Her breathing became shallow and I was happy that we would cum together. She scrunched up her face, and I knew from experiences with her daughter that this was a sign that orgasm was seconds away. Then Mrs. Fleet did something that surprised me: she lifted up her left hand and plunged her middle finger into her mouth. I came, holding her white shirt close to me. Just then Mrs. Fleet started to loudly moan, her body shaking with pleasure, and her lips still wrapped around her wet finger. We both stood for a few moments, happy in our secrets.
There was the sound of Marie's car pulling into the driveway, and I saw Mrs. Fleet jump and look towards the bathroom door. She hurriedly stepped into the shower, and once the shower curtain was pulled, she was gone. I then realized that I had to make my exit too. I looked down at the white shirt, unsure what to do with it. I saw a light go on inside the house and realized Marie was now inside. I quickly threw the cum-filled shirt into the pool and moved to the side of the house. I waited a few seconds, then stepped out of the backyard. Thirty seconds later, I was in my car, driving away, and wondering if Mrs. Fleet would ever guess at what we shared.
