Lacey and the Id

A piece I did six or seven years ago, and had forgotten about!... I thought I was worth a little editing; and putting there.

... Enjoy!!

Lacey and the Kid

She had needed some help with the garden; the landscaping garden.

"Call this number," a friend told her. "He's home from school; needs the money... understands 'work'."

She had already placed red flags, when he arrived, where she where she wanted the just arrived plants placed. She explained the process; the width and depth of the holes: could tell that he understood the concept.

She left him with the task at hand; went back to her own self-appointed activity: training the vines on the grape arbor.

Two hours later.

He wasn't embarrassed, she noticed, to reach for the fifty she held in her hand; extended in his direction. She liked that. Marc was his name, he told her.

She watched him drink his lemonade. Sweat on his forehead, his face, running down his arms and his chest between the partly unbuttoned halves of his khaki shirt.

She was aware the she was sweating a bit herself.

"You can come by again tomorrow?" she asked. "Carlos won't be here until Friday."

"Yes, ma'am," Marc said. "Five-thirty?... And thanks for the lemonade."

"That would be great," she said

Lacey always had goals when gardening, '... don't stop until the job is completed.' The time got away from her. She was still weeding and delineating hostas beds when she heard the crunch of tires on the gravel driveway, a silver extended cab Ford Ranger: Marc.

She showed him were the tools were. For the most part he had his own. It would take most of a hour, he told her.

"You want a beer later?" she asked. Thinking, 'surely I'm not contributing to the delinquency of a minor.'

"Sure," he said. "That would be great."

She took a shower, and, drying off, watched him from the upstairs window. He had taken off his shirt. He was an athlete, just watching him she could tell. I wonder what sport he played? An annoying tingle moved into her groin.

'For god's sake,' Lacey, she told herself, '... he's a common laborer, a gardener!... A kid!'

She squeezed her legs together.

She took three beers from the garage fridge, two for Marc, one for herself. Normally she wasn't a beer drinker.

He saw her coming, the walk across the lawn, the lower part of the garden. He picked up the shirt, wiped sweat from his face and chest, slipped the shirt over his head and shoulders.

"Thanks," he said, reached for the beer, studied the label. "Ah... Life Is Too Short... the bumper sticker says. Got get me one of those.

She gave him a blank look.

"To Drink Cheap Beer." He finished out the bumper sticker quote; drank down half the beer without coming up for air.

It turned out that he was studying horticulture, down in Raleigh. He was working at the local landscaping place for the summer, seemed to know his stuff. Wanted to have his own nursery in ten years and maybe a retail outlet sometime in the future.

He finished the second beer, Lacey still had half hers. He looked at her straight on. Not cocky like some kids, just self-assured. "If you need help, Miss Lacey," he handed her a folded over sticky-note with just a phone number, hand written. "I'm here 'til school starts, a month or so yet."

Lacey looked at the note. "Thanks," she said. Then: "... You don't have to call me Miss Lacey."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, with a touch of a grin.

She gave him three twenties.

Lacey knew she was going to call him. Woke up in the middle of the night. 'I'm not gonna call him', she told herself. She took off the bottoms of her shortie pajamas, touched herself, felt the relief flood through her body. 'I'm not gonna call him.' But, she knew she would.

"Marc?... This is Ms. Lockwood."

"Yes, ma'am."

"You delivered a golden chain tree for me last week, planted it."

"Yes, ma'am. I remember. The lady with the good beer."

"Ah.... I need a couple of things moved. They are too close together."

"Yes, ma'am."

"You have an afternoon?... Several hours maybe, you could help."

He came on Tuesday. She meet him still sweaty, grubby from the day, got him started.

"A beer?" she asked.

"Not yet," he said. "... Later for sure." He shucked the shirt, started digging.

She watched from the shower, the way he moved. Like he was charging the net to return a lob, or moving to his left to field a hit toward second base,... or cutting back against the grain once he had broken through the line of scrimmage and into the secondary. He would be fun. 'Then: Lacey, don't do that!... You are not going to do that. But she knew she was going to.

She ate salads for a week, covered her body with self-tanning lotion. Did sit-ups, adductor and abductor exercises at the gym. She slept with no pajama bottoms, pushed the tops up above her breast. She tweaked her nipples and inserted her finger deep inside herself, stroked her G-spot. She orgasmed with waves of release and pleasure

"Marc. This is..."

"Hey, Miss Lacey," he said.

"Oh!..." she said. He knew it was she. The fist in her gut clenched. "Those tree peonies we moved aren't looking good. Could you come by and check?"

"It's the heat, Miss Lacey. Did you water 'em?"

"I did," Lacey told him.

"I'll come by," he said. "Five-thirty."

"Too much water," Marc told her. "Soil might 'a been dry on top, was still wet down below. Too much water suffocates the roots."

She handed him a beer. He ran the cold bottle across his forehead.

"Boy, it was a burner out there today," he said. Took a long swallow.

"Jump in the pool," Lacey said. "Cool off."

Marc took another pull on the beer. "Tempting," he said. "I didn't bring trunks." He looked across the garden toward the pool.

"There's always extra in the pool house," Lacey told him. "Surely something there will fit."

"It's a deal, Miss Lacey," he said. "I won't even charge you for the trip."

She watched him walk across the way to the pool house.

Lacey fought the clinch in her abdomen. She gave him forty seconds inside the little building, pulled the door open and walked in. Marc stood, naked, a pair of white and blue trunks in his hands. His cock hung, dangled, between his thighs. It grew perceptibly with her watching him.

"What if somebody comes, Miss Lacey? Shows up."

"Nobody's coming, Marc," she said. "They are all gone. Away."

She lifted the thin summer dress over her head, dropped it onto the floor. Her breast swung full and pendulous, nipples erect, eager. She crossed the room, took him, hard now, in her hand. She took a deep breath, squeezed him.

"Do you know how to do this?" she asked. "Have you done this before?"

He grinned. "Yes, ma'am. A time or two." She knew, could tell, that he was speaking rhetorically.

He reached for her boobs.

"You can't call me Miss Lacey and say yes, ma'am and then fuck me," Lacey said, then asked. "College girls?"

"Yes, ah... college girls. A couple of college girls."

"All night long?" she asked. "Did you sleep with them all night?"

"No.... They got scared. Had to go back to the dorm."

"Good," Lacey said. There would be lots she could teach him. "Now, touch me. Touch my pussy; feel me.... What do you want to do first?"

"Take off your panties." He looked at her eyes, did not look away.

"In a minute," she said. "Play with me a little first.... Do you kiss good? I like to kiss, be kissed."

Lacey knew, minutes later, to let him have his go without coaching from her. There would be time for that later. On her back, knees spread, she opened herself with her fingers, guided him in. She watched him sink himself into her, felt the hardness of him, felt his pelvic bone against her clitoris. She watched his glazed over eyes, he was hardly aware that she was there... except for her pussy! He came inside her in less than two minute, great gushes of fluid.

She pulled him down from his hands and knees stance onto her body, wrapped him close with arms and legs. She stroked his back, his haunches. He made moves to get up, extricate himself.

"No, no," she said. "Don't move." She moved her legs inside his, squeezed tight with her upper thighs, preventing his softening penis from slipping out. Squeezed his semi-hard cock with her pussy muscles. Watched his eyes go wide.

She laughed. "You like that?" she asked. "Those college girls do that?"

Lacey clinched the muscles deep inside her lower abdomen, did not move any other body parts. Clinched and released, clinched again.

"Roll over," she told him, feeling the hardness return. "My turn."

She straddled him, lowered her open and hungry pussy onto him. Her body upright, she moved her hips back and forth. Marc watched in disbelief her begin to stroke with two fingers her clitoris while she moved on him.

"Play with my tits," she told him, them swaying to the established rhythm of her body, petulant nipples in the line of sight from her eyes to his.

Lacey's breathing became ragged, the movement of her fingers frantic. The attract of her cunt on his cock was insistent and relentless.

"Stay hard," she said, not being aware she was saying anything. "I need you hard... stay hard!"

She worked her hips on him, drove herself hard against his pelvic. In short, she used him. Fucking: it wasn't love making; it was fucking. He had never been fucked like this. Those college girls just didn't 'know' fuckin'! This woman used him, fucked him.

"It's been so long," she said to the walls, the concrete floor, the air mattress underneath themselves, even to Marc. "So long; it's been so long! It's so good, you so good."

She slammed down onto him, fucked him. She was hardly aware of him, except for his cock and his hand holding her tits, tweaking her nipples.

"So good!" Her orgasm was primal.

Marc stopped by daily at 5:30, even 5:20. After the third day there was no longer any pretense: "... We need to check on those dianthus, Miss Lacey. See if they are taking root." On the fourth day he came directly onto the raised veranda, stood in the open French doors. Lacey stood against the granite bar top, held an open beer in her extended hand.

Marc took the beer, a long swallow. He lifted, with the his hand, the hem of her sundress. Ran the other hand up the back of her leg to her ass, felt the smooth skin under his fingers. She moved the bottle aside, bit his upper lip, stuck her tongue in his mouth.

He took her first with her seated on the granite. There was no time to shed clothes, only her panties. He dropped his jeans onto the floor. She wrapped her legs around him, pulled him tight. Later they climbed the stairs, went to her bed.

Marc did kiss good. He licked the line of her jaw, bit the lobe of her ear, kissed the hollow just above her breast bone. He sucked her upper lip into his mouth.

"My nipples," she told him. "Kiss my nipples." Pushed his mouth in that direction.

She instructed him on the fine art of taking a nipple between his teeth, stroking the tip with his tongue.

"My other two pussies,'" she said; holding his head, his face, his mouth down again her tits.

"I got three pussies. All crying for attention!"

He took whole mouths full of her tits. One, then the other.

'There is,' he realized, was discovering, 'there is a difference between girls and women!'

She took the length of his cock in her hand, showed him the pleasure of rolling the head against her clitoris, driving both of them crazy.

"Now put him in," she said with sudden urgency. Lifted her hips off the bed to meet him. "Now... hurry!"

Lacey sent the girls to Wild Dunes with their friends whose parents had a beach house there. She agreed that it would be okay for George to stay in Argentina another two weeks, do some skiing while he was there.

It was hard to tell who was most urgent, who wanted it, needed it more: Lacey or Marc.

The second week Marc appeared sometimes in the morning. At just daylight, the sun not yet above the horizon, he opened the balcony door, crossed the room to Lacey's bed. He had earlier texted her... three minutes. She pushed the single sheet down with her feet, spread her legs even before he could unbutton and drop his khaki shorts. She was exposed to him, available to him.

He had her first with his mouth.

"Lick me, suck me," she said. "... eat me. Eat my pussy!

His tongue was on her, licking her cunt; bathing the already the held-open wet and glistening folds of her. Tracing the labia, nipping her clit between his teeth. Her screams of pleasure shattered the morning stillness.

He had, earlier, been an eager student, like he was the first nineteen year old in the world to be allowed to lick his lover's pussy! He put his face between her legs and licked the deep and wet groove of her, tasting the taste of her. He moved his face against the wetness of her, his chin, his cheek bones. Wanting to have the smell of her on him all day. She moaned female sounds, pulled his face deeper into the opening. She raised her hips, splayed her legs.

Finally his tongue went inside her; he sucked with his pursed lips. She wrapped her legs around his head, capturing him between her thighs.

The third week they made love eleven times, always with him inside her twice on each of the eleven occasions.... He fucked her, she fucked him. Sometimes it was hard to tell who was fucking whom!... And, when they had several hours, three times.

Lacey introduced him to the lake house.

She jumped, naked, from the pier into the cool lake water, the dark surrounding them, lights twinkling across the way. Coming up, wiping the water from her eyes, she saw him in mid-air, his cock rigid. 'God!... how does he do it? Recover so quickly, she thought. She caught him re-emerging from the water, reached between his legs with her hand, thrust her tongue into his mouth.

They took long rides after dark on country roads.

"I'll pick you behind the church," Lacey told him one morning in her kitchen. Him leaving, on his way to work, her in just an unbuttoned white linen shirt. "We're going for a ride."

Marc lay across the front seat of her vintage Oldsmobile 442, his head on her right thigh, feet partly out the open window of the passenger side door. He was naked. She held his erection in her right hand, navigated the gravel roads with her left. Beach music pounded out of the speakers.

She stopped the car in the middle of a field, a low hilltop. "Over six hundred acres," she said. "My daddy's."

He chased her across the crest of the little hill, caught her.... Her effort to escape not sincere!.... Carried her back to the Oldsmobile, her arms around his neck, legs circling his waist. He used her, took his pleasure on the hood of the motorcar. Her moans, her satisfied cries touched the soft summer night.

The following morning she ran the car through the car wash, was a little sad to see the night-before's evidence float away with the suds.

The girls came home from Mount Pleasant. Robert fell, twisted a knee, had to forego a final week of skiing in South America. Eleven times a week faded down to three: one of those a mid-day quickie.

"School starts next week, Miss Lacey," Marc told her. He dropped the Miss only when they were having sex.

She managed a long Sunday afternoon at the lake house. They made love two times in rapid succession. Recovering, he lay between her legs. Lacey was propped against the headboard, almost sitting up. She ran her fingers through his hair, his face just inches from her wet and gapping opening.

He studied the soft folds of her labia, touched them from time to time with the tips of his finger, then with his tongue.

"What will I do without you?" she asked. Maybe it was a rhetorical question, not one directed at him.

"Without," she said, answering her own question.. "That's what I'll do... without."

Then: "Maybe I'll come to Raleigh once in a while. There are always reasons for one going to Raleigh."

He was almost startled, as if that possibility had not occurred to him. He lifted himself onto hands and knees, away from the coming-together at the top of her legs.

"Call me first," he said; looked away from her eyes.

They made love again with the sun dying over the waters of the lake, the reflections playing on the bedroom walls. She drove the 442 home to the girls and Robert, her garden. Marc went home in the Ranger, packed and headed off to Raleigh. Back to school; back to a campus filled with young and nubile girls, women.