The idea for this story was inspired by memories of another story I read a long time ago, the title and author of which I cannot remember. But at least some credit should go to that forgotten writer, and so to him/her, thank you.
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'Oakland Drive'. Becky's heart sank as she heard the words and as a sheet of paper bearing the names and house numbers, and any known political affiliations, of the residents, was thrust into her hand.
'But the houses there are massive and they're all miles apart.' She had protested without success.
'You've got young legs, you'll survive.' She had been told, wondering morosely how young her legs would feel after having slogged up and down the long winding drives in the heat of a summer's day. She already did as much exercise in the gym as she needed to keep her lithe frame fit and healthy without that.
Oakland Drive was not natural territory for her party. Wealthy and conservative, the residents were almost inevitably right wing and were not shy of making their feelings known to what they considered left wing softies. Never mind, everyone had to be canvassed if her candidate was to stand a chance of being elected and, having volunteered, she could hardly complain about being given a job that she knew somebody would have to do. It was her first election, having only reached eighteen a few months before, and she was determined to do her bit for democracy, and so she had forced a smile and set about what she expected would be a thankless task.
Now she stood at the start of a winding drive while contemplating calling on the sprawling single story edifice that stood at the other end of it. She already knew who lived here, the sheet in her hand informed her that it was Brian and Janet Ellison, and that information did nothing to put her at ease. She also knew that Mr Ellison was away, his business visit to China in search of sales had been trumpeted by the local newspaper, but Mrs Ellison was a daunting prospect in her own right.
Becky had never met her, but she had seen her on the television news, a tall, slim, elegant lady of indeterminate middle age, her long prematurely silver hair at odds with an upright carriage and unlined face. In the program she had been putting news reporters, local business men and the chairman of the local council, all firmly in their place over the need for better car parking facilities in the city centre. She was not a woman to be approached lightly with opposing views and so it seemed likely to Becky that she'd be sent away with a flea well and truly buried in her ear.
Oh well, she might as well get it over with. Becky trudged up the seemingly endless drive with some apprehension, blaming the heat and the sun for the sweat that she could feel breaking out but knowing the fault really lay with her nerves. But at least the effort was not to be all for nothing, for the red 'E' Type Jaguar that Mrs Ellison was famous for driving was parked in front of the house, confirming that at least she was at home and a second call would not be necessary.
She pushed the doorbell, hearing it ring somewhere in the depths of the house, and waited. Nothing. She pushed it again, listening for any sign of life and hearing none. Perhaps whoever was at home was sunbathing out by the pool; it was the right sort of day for it and there just had to be a pool. Becky hesitated, then plucked up her courage and began the trek around the side of the house, hoping that she would not be castigated for disturbing them.
The pool was large and deep, a genuine swimming pool rather than a show piece, but again nobody was to be seen, although an abandoned half empty glass beside a sunlounger and towel showed that someone had been there very recently. Becky looked around, her eyes taking in a sweep of empty lawn behind the pool that ran up the slope, ending in a flowering hedge and a gate onto a small orchard. In for a penny, in for a pound, Becky set off across the lawn, determined not to abandon her quest and thinking maybe that Mrs Ellison could be in the orchard. It was just the place to get out of the sun if swimming in the pool wasn't inviting enough.
She was right. As she got nearer she could make out a mass of tumbling silver hair through a thin part of the hedge. Mrs Ellison was indeed taking refuge under a tree; leaning back and relaxing with her eyes closed in sleep. Becky now faced a dilemma, should she leave her resting target and slink away undetected, or take the risk and disturb her? She'd got a job to do and she'd come this far, and so she took her life in her hands and decided to wake the sleeper if she could do it ostensibly by accident.
But then, as soon as she reached the gateway and got her first clear view she realised she'd got it very wrong. Janet Ellison was only a few yards away against the first apple tree, but she was naked and her eyes weren't closed in sleep but rather in passion. Becky stood at the gateway and watched, one hand over her mouth in total shock, the other gripping the top of the gatepost for support, unable to move, scared to continue but equally powerless to turn away. Here was probably the most erotic and sensual sight she had ever seen, a woman gently masturbating in front of her, carried away on a sea of pleasure and totally unaware that she had company, and Becky hadn't a clue what to do except stand and stare.
Mrs Ellison was beautiful and somehow contrived still to be elegant even at such a moment. She was leaning back against the wide trunk of the old apple tree, soft, blemish free skin against rough bark, her knees raised a little and parted just enough. The pale hair falling over her shoulders framed a small face with high cheek bones and a finely sculptured nose above full pink lips and a gently pointed chin. Tiny lines around her eyes the only giveaway for her age other than her hair. Her body was slim and well defined, her breasts, although small, were full enough to be interesting with only the very first sign of sag, and they were tipped with the most beautiful long pink nipples. She was teasing them with one hand, caressing them with tender fingertips, gently circling and stroking, coaxing them into hard little peaks and making tiny pleasure noises as she played.
Her other hand lay over the gentle curve of her mature stomach to dip between her legs, unhurriedly rubbing and fondling her smoothly shaven mound. Long slim fingers touched and caressed her labia, parting them to stroke either side of her opening as if keeping the final goal until later.
Becky couldn't help it, she felt her body begin to respond, her own nipples hardening inside her top, then, as she saw the fingers sink between the labia, delving and searching, she gasped, quietly but audibly, freezing instantly in alarm at the prospect of discovery. But it seemed she had escaped detection for Mrs Ellison, her eyes still closed, played on, two of her fingers now rubbing at the little button of her clitoris, pressing her labia open and showing the rest of her slit, pink and moist.
Then the busy fingers ventured down, creeping steadily towards their objective before sinking together into the cleft of her pussy, one finding the entrance and disappearing inside her vagina, only to emerge again, slick and shining, before returning into her depths, pushing, playing, her legs parting further, her hips thrusting in counterplay, inviting the finger ever deeper. At first the thrusts were slow and gentle, but soon they became urgent and forceful, the second finger joining the first and showing wet and slippery as her juices flowed, trickling from her in a discernable little rivulet. Her hand became smeared in wetness, passing some of it on to the soft skin of her inner thighs, making her excitement all the more obvious. There was no way that Becky could move now. She was riveted to the spot, scared and breathless but aroused and held by a sight such as she had never seen before; careless now of discovery if that was the price to pay for her voyeurism.
The other hand now left the little breasts with their hardened nipples and crept down, over the abdomen, resting briefly on a hip before tracing the path where leg met body until it joined its partner between the two limbs. Mrs Ellison sighed, a long soft sigh of pure ecstasy as fingers joined fingers, exploring and probing her cleft so that a third finger could play with her clitoris as the others thrust into her. Her lips parted and her tongue darted out to wipe along each lip in such a lascivious movement that it had Becky's pussy throbbing in its turn.
