This story is a fantasy based loosely on a one-night encounter with a friend's landlord. The night occurred when I was a teenager, and the woman was about thirty. There is a lot of teasing and story build-up so if you are looking for sex on page one you will be disappointed.
She stood over me in her white string bikini, all curves, soft and womanly, tanned and mostly toned. I tried to avoid looking at the parts of her covered by the bathing suit but I wasn't doing a very good job. Because she sort of smirked and grinned suggestively, it seemed.
"Do you want some?" she asked, lowering a plate of cut strawberries close to my face. I couldn't see her eyes, hidden behind dark sun shades, but the toying curl of her full lips and the teasing tone suggested, hinted, that she might be talking about something besides strawberries.
"No thanks, Mrs. White," I replied, kicking my feet gently in the pool and looking away quickly—quickly, before my eyes bored a hole thru the flimsy material covering her privates.
"David, I told you to call me Ashley," she scolded. "It makes me feel so old when you call me Mrs. White." She straightened, raising her head to look off towards the hot tub for her kids, Jason and his sister Rachel.
"Okay," I said, not knowing what other response would be appropriate. I was kind of inexperienced with grown-up women. Pretty much inexperienced with girls my own age, too. Mrs. White was looking away across the pool so I stole a glance up at her crotch, only inches from my face. The thin triangle of white fabric was stretched tightly over the curve of her pubic mound, outlining her puffy pussy lips, riding up the longitudinal dimple between them. There were no prickly spots behind the fabric and I imagined she must have her pubes shaved pretty close. From the triangle, thin spaghetti straps hung over her curving hips to the slightly larger patch covering her bouncy rump. Glancing farther up, I admired her flat stomach and bulbous breasts, although they were somewhat obscured under her long dark hair. Her thick hair was so pretty, cascading off her dainty tanned shoulders over the strings of her bikini top. Jason's Mom was hot; there were no two ways about it. Surprise! How had I missed that? I guess most of the times we had met she was always dressed in baggy sweats and over-sized t-shirts, cleaning up their apartment, or cooking, or some other adult-type thing. Don't get me wrong, I had always thought she was pretty, especially her hair—but I had no idea just how hot she was until she was standing over me there in that white bikini on the first day of our beach vacation.
Craning her neck, she looked off towards the hot tub for Jason and Rachel. She walked several steps away with her plate of strawberries to get a better view and I continued my assessment, scanning her jiggly bottom. The white suit appeared to be a shade or two smaller than whatever she had been sunbathing in last and there was that line of pale flesh at its margins, then the tan of her taut butt cheeks. I ogled her bouncing ass, a little turned on but also somewhat embarrassed with myself. She was as old as my Mom, in her forties or something, I didn't know exactly. I didn't even know how old my Mom was. I just knew that Jason's Mom was hot. All of the other people at the pool were looking at her too—the teenage boys throwing the ball back and forth, the guys lying around on the lounge chairs, even the teenage girl sunbathers. She bounced down the stairs towards the hot tub and I sighed, my shoulders relaxing as she disappeared from view.
-
"How old is your Mom, Jason?" I asked, trying to appear totally unconcerned and nonchalant.
"I don't know, man," he replied. "Forty-four? Something like that." He was relaxing against the edge of the hot tub, leaning back, his arms spread wide over the sides. "Why?"
Rachel giggled, and I felt a burning in my cheeks and neck, hotter than the water covering me to my shoulders. Rachel was just seventeen, a rising senior, but I was only a year older and still not totally sure of my popularity and coolness. Just a big gangly teen-ager, growing into manhood.
"Shut up, Rachel. What's so funny?" I splashed her but she continued smiling smugly.
"Why do you want to know how old our Mom is, David?"
"Uhhh ..." There was no good reason. "I just wanted to see if she was as old as my Mom." Rachel gave me the yeah, sure look.
"Yeah, sure."
"No, really."
She tilted her head, peering at me intently. Jason raised his head—he was also looking at me funny. My good buddy, who had invited me to go to the beach for a week with his family.
"How old is your Mom?" Rachel was checking.
"Uhhh ..." I was afraid they were going to ask that. "C'mon, guys. I was just kind of, like, comparing your family to my family."
Jason's family was way cooler than my family. My parents were, like, boring and square. And Jason's Mom was super-hot, parading around in that white string bikini that was, like, less than ten square centimeters in total area. It was so thin her nipples were practically poking through it. She was sitting up there by the pool right now, heating up the atmosphere, speeding up global climate change with her supreme hotness. Plus, my parents would never bring us to a cool beach vacation like this one. They liked that stupid old golf resort where everybody was dressed in polo shirts. But not Mrs. White. She wasn't so hoighty-toighty like that—she couldn't afford it, I don't think. It was just her—there was no Mr. White, he had left a long time ago. The condominium we were in for the week was only two bedrooms and one bath—and kind of run down. But that's cool. If Mrs. White ... Ashley ... was going to be parading around in that bikini all week ... well, I could tolerate staying in just about any old dump.
-
Mrs. White was cleaning up after dinner ... in a flimsy white cotton pajama outfit so thin and loose that every supple movement of her body was amplified to the point of lightning strikes and galloping hurricanes. I was mesmerized.
"David, would you like some more tater tots?"
"No thank you, Mrs. White."
She flicked those smoldering brown eyes with a sizzling flash. "Ashley," she commanded.
I stared at my lap. "No thank you, Ashley."
"That's much better." Her smile dripped honey as she hustled the left-over taters into a plastic storage container. She was doing a good job, taking care of us, feeding us, cleaning up after us, reminding us to put on sunscreen. She bustled off into the kitchen. Then suddenly the sky fell, the moon spinning by in a flashing swirl. She was back, leaning over the table directly in front of me, wiping it clean with a sponge, her thin spaghetti strap pajama top falling open, displaying an amazing heaven on earth. Her natural breasts were fully exposed, from the freckles deep in her tanned cleavage to the milky white melon tips dangling towards the table. Her beautiful orbs shook slightly, trembling under their own weight as she swabbed the table. I held my breath, praying that the moment would never end. Time stood still. The textured edges of her aureole were just visible, pointed directly downwards. The pinkish irritated skin at the edges of her tan lines. Even the wrinkly lines of stretch marks were apparent, beauty marks extending directly down towards those nipples which were just beyond view. Oh. My. God. I could imagine those heavy breasts in my hands, could imagine those nipples in my mouth ... testosterone-driven thoughts that had never before appeared suddenly started racing from my hypothalamus. There was a twinge in my boxers—I wouldn't be able to get up for a while.
Way too soon she was finished and rinsing the sponge under the sink in the narrow condominium kitchen. Captivated, I watched her behind shake and jiggle under the short pajama bottoms. The shorts slid loosely across her bottom, coming down only as far as the white line between her tanned buttocks and the tops of her rippling hamstrings.
"Can I get you anything else, David?" she smiled, feeling my eyes.
I shook my head no, quickly looking towards the television. Jason was sprawled out across the pull-out sleeper sofa watching some mindless situation comedy and Rachel lounged near him in a reclining chair. We were all a little sunburned and tired, especially me, after a long day at the pool and the beach.
It was growing dark outside and I only wanted to lie down and close my eyes. Jason and I were sharing the bedroom with twin full beds while Rachel and her Mom slept together in a queen in the other bedroom. A small bathroom separated the two bedrooms—from my spot at the table I could see almost every square inch of the condominium. And almost every inch of Jason's Mom as she fussed around in the kitchen. She must go to the gym a lot or something. She was kind of small, about the same size as Rachel, but there was more meat on her body. In all the right places, where it jiggled and rippled nicely. Her breasts bounced around under a thin line of lace at the neck of her pajama top and I could make out the textured outline of her nipples. They were soft now, not like the little bullets that were poking out of her bathing suit earlier.
She cleared a few more things off the table, then she was at it with the sponge again, clucking about the table manners of teenagers. Her breasts wobbled around pendulously and I couldn't avert my eyes. Then I looked up and she was looking directly at me! She smiled coyly and there were crinkles at the corners of her dark brown eyes. She hovered another second before rising.
"I think I got it all that time," she said, walking back into the kitchen. My eyes followed her. But this time she peeped quickly over her shoulder, catching me. I hurriedly turned toward the television, reddening, I'm sure.
"David." Her soft voice was calm, expectant. I turned back towards her in the kitchen where she stood facing me, hands on hips. She was smiling, with a playful disapproving gaze.
"How does it look?" She nodded towards the table. Oh, my God! She was flirting with me, daring me to say she missed a spot. My eyes flicked over the table.
"Um, I think you missed a spot?" I surprised myself. Where I did get those balls from?
She hesitated for a moment, pretending to pout. But, playing along, she came back, stalking, looking at me hard. I was trembling, my heart fluttering. This time she bent over to wipe the table right next to me, leaning in low and close. So close her long brown hair brushed against my bare thigh. I could smell the clean scent of her shampoo and soap. Her breasts were only a foot from my eyes. She wasn't bending over deeply enough that I could see over the thin strip of lace to heaven—but she was so close to me that I could feel the heat of her body, could hear her breath. For only a moment, until she began to straighten.
"How's that now?" She smiled suggestively, winking. Rachel and Jason were oblivious, engrossed in the television.
I found my voice, barely. "That is good," I croaked in a just audible gasp. "Ashley," I added.
She touched my shoulder lightly, pressing with all her fingers. Then she was gone, leaving the remembrance of her body heat and scent, and a tingling spot on my shoulder. The door to her bedroom shut and I sat alone at the table with my hard-on aching in my boxers.
-
I stirred in the small bed, my lanky frame almost spilling over the edges. Sunlight was pouring through the blinds—it would be another beautiful day for vacationing. Sweet memories of Mrs. White literally filled my head as soon as my eyes opened—toying with me, playful in her sexy pajamas, intentionally bending down low to show me her breasts, flirting, leaning in close. I reached under the covers, feeling my flat and muscular youthful stomach, my hand sliding lower to my long thin penis, passing over my sparse pubic hair.
"Jason?" I whispered.
No answer.
Jason? Are you awake?"
No answer. Lying still, I watched his sheets rise and fall evenly—still sleeping. I stroked my semi-rigid cock to full hardness, trying to be quiet. Usually, I masturbated at least once a day, sometimes twice—I was good at it, able to get myself off as quickly or slowly as the situation demanded. This was going to be a quick one, and I wouldn't be able to enjoy it as much, trying to be quiet, but images of Mrs. White in her sexy pajamas would not stop flashing through my mind.
