I was studying to become a landscaper and as part of the course I had to work for a gardening firm for six months. My mentor at the firm was a guy called Bob, generally known as Big Bob.
I was nineteen, six foot tall, and weighed around two hundred pounds, and it was honest muscle, not fat. I was reasonable looking with fair hair and hazel eyes and, despite all these pluses, not very confidant where women were concerned. It didn't really worry me as I was sure once I got started my confidence would pick up.
Bob, on the other hand, measured up to his title of Big Bob. He was inches taller than me, somewhat broader, and probably outweighed me by fifty pounds. If I ever got into a fight with him I would depend on my speed, basically taking to my heels and running like crazy. Hitting his fists with my face wasn't going to win any fights.
He was a surprisingly good mentor, teaching me a lot. For such a big man he had a delicate touch where plants were concerned and he loved to talk, telling me why he was doing things and what he expected the outcome to be.
Three months into my work experience we were at this place that had a very large yard with a lot of flower beds. With the prolific spring growth under way we had to get the place tidied up and we hopped to. After we'd completed the front yard we moved around the back. Big Bob said he was going to start trimming some bushes. I, he announced, was going to go into the conservatory and take notes, deciding what had to be done in there. I was not, he added, going to touch a single thing in the conservatory. Just take notes, which he would examine and mark.
I wandered over to the house, opened the conservatory door, and barged in. As soon as that door banged closed behind me I became aware of several things. First, I'd entered the wrong door. How did I know? Well the first clue was that I was standing in the kitchen. The second clue was the fact that the owner of the house, or at least his wife, was home and in the kitchen. She was a thirtyish, blue eyed, blonde, and that blonde was her natural colour, not something out of a bottle. Again, how did I know? The woman was standing there starkers, and her little tuft down there was on display.
So was everything else. Her breasts were white with pink tips. Her mons was white, with that touch of fur blending in. She had a slight tan and I wondered where she found enough sun to get it. I also noticed that the bikini she wore was a little on the small side, not that I would have complained. I was surprised to notice that her breasts stood proud with no sag; surprised because they weren't the smallest pair of breasts around. A proper handful there.
I'd come to a screeching halt as soon as I saw her, just staring, frozen to the spot.
"That's right," she said. "Take a good look. Enjoying what you see?"
In hindsight I guess she was being sarcastic but the sarcasm flew straight past without touching me. I just nodded.
"Oh, yes," I said most earnestly. "You are absolutely marvellous."
She laughed. Apparently she found my reaction amusing. She strolled closer to me while I found myself blushing, getting redder with every step she took. And it wasn't only my face that had blood rushing to it.
When she was close enough she took the pen and notepad I was holding and tossed them onto the table. Then she took my hands and placed them on her breasts.
"So how do they feel?" she asked. "I'm curious as you were looking so hard I could actually feel your eyes touching me."
Suave, sophisticated, me just babbled, saying absolutely nothing that made sense.
"You know, that's just what I thought you'd say," she said with a smirk. "What do you say now?"
Even as she was speaking she was taking one of my hands and moving it down so it was against her pussy. What I was saying was nothing, even though my hand closed over her and started rubbing her.
"Struck dumb, are we?" she asked me.
I opened my mouth to reply but found I didn't have the faintest idea of what to say. It was plain that I'd totally lost my wits. (Not so lost that I took my hands off her, mind you.)
"I thought from the dumbfounded way you looked at me that you might be a virgin. Do you have any idea of how to use this?"
Just like that her hand closed over my erection, apparently checking the size of it. I gave a startled yelp and she laughed. She seemed to be really enjoying herself.
I was relieved when she released me (and a little disappointed). I wasn't quite so relieved when she yanked my shorts down and my erection sprang into sight.
She took a step back, resulting in my hands finally dropping away from her, while she looked me over.
"I think we can do something with that," she assured me. "As a matter of fact I think we'll probably have to because if it gets any bigger it might explode."
The kitchen had one of those island benches in it and she backed up to it, drawing me along with her. I'll give you one guess as to what she was holding to draw me along, not that I was in any condition, or had any desire, to protest.
"Young men like you have a tendency to go berserk once you get your cock into place," she told me. "I'll give you fair warning. Don't. If you do I'll slap you silly and that will be the end of it. Just take it nice and easy and listen to what I'm telling you. That way we can both have a bit of fun."
With that she was positioning my cock and telling me to push, slowly. I found out right away what she meant about wanting to go berserk. I wanted to drive my cock into her just as hard and as fast as I could and then to keep on doing it. Instead I applied enough pressure to start sliding into place. She was hot and wet and I found myself entering her quite smoothly, despite the relative tightness of her passage.
Then I was balls deep inside her and she had a smug look on her face.
"OK, hands on my breasts and start sliding, but remember to keep it slow for now. I'll tell you when to speed it up."
I was having trouble believing that this was happening. The proof, of course, was my cock dipping in and out, feeling her pushing to meet me as I pushed in and relaxing to let me pull back.
I hadn't realised that it would be so hard to keep going so slowly. I was chewing on my lips and sweating and all my common sense was being eroded by the feeling of my cock sliding into her.
After a while I was reaching a point where I was going to speed up, being slapped silly no longer seeming to be a consequence to worry about. Possibly she could tell this from the way my hands were opening and closing rather spasmodically on her breasts, squeezing them and releasing them.
