My Summer With The Church Lady

I woke up to voices outside. Glancing out my window, I saw Mrs. Miller, my fifty-six year old lake house neighbor, standing in her yard talking to her husband.

Damn! I was hoping to have a repeat of the night before. Rubbing and massaging Mrs. Miller's bare ass cheeks exposed in the thong bikini bottoms I'd bought her. My dick hardened when I remembered pulling that thin strip of fabric to the side and seeing the pink star of her asshole.

Mrs. Miller buried her face in the couch and refused to acknowledge that I had briefly checked out her asshole.

But, damn, there she was next door talking to her husband. No thong today. No massaging her big, round ass. And, no checking out her tight, pink asshole.

I played it cool. I wasn't interested in upsetting Mrs. Miller's marriage or making her husband suspicious of the college-aged stud next door who planned to fuck his wife's asshole.

* * *

A few weeks before, I had rolled up to my family's lake house. It had taken some convincing, but my parents had finally agreed to let me spend a couple of months at the lake house by myself.

I'd been at the lake house only a day, getting everything set up, cleaning and planning what I'd do for the summer, when I heard the crunch of gravel and the sound of a car next door.

When I walked out on the porch, Mrs. Miller had waved at me. I returned the wave and said hello.

I remembered Mrs. Miller. She attended my parents church. My parents - and Mrs. Miller - were evangelicals, holy rollers. When I was 12 or so, I flat out refused to keep going to church. After a lot of arguing, my parents backed down.

And, now, here was Mrs. Miller, one of my parents' church-going friends waving at me from next door.

"Are you here by yourself?" she asked.

I nodded.

"Yep, and I was about to ask you the same question."

"Yes," she said. "Guess we're neighbors for the next few weeks."

"Yep, I guess we are," I said with a smile.

About four hours later, I climbed out of the lake. I was breathing hard after a vigorous swim.

"Hey you."

I looked up, swiping my wet hair out of my face.

Mrs. Miller was standing on the end of the dock.

"I've got some great burgers I'm going to throw on the grill in an hour or so. Would you like to join me?"

"I sure would. Can I bring something?"

"Nope. I've got everything covered. See you soon."

When Mrs. Miller turned and walked away, I couldn't help but stare at her juicy round ass. She wore a humdrum pair of plain ole shorts, but the shorts couldn't hide her sizable, curvy ass.

My parents taught me well, so after I toweled off and got dressed, I drove into town. I used my fake ID to buy four or five bottles of red wine.

When I walked over, Mrs. Miller was on the back porch grilling.

"I know that you said not to bring anything, but I couldn't come over without bringing something," I said, handing her a bottle of wine.

"You didn't have to do that Jim," she said, taking the bottle I offered. She had an odd look on her face.

"You should know my husband and I don't drink alcohol," she whispered.

"Well, they've been drinking wine for centuries. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings or anything."

"Oh you didn't. Grab those burgers. I think they're ready."

She walked inside, carrying the bottle of wine, and I followed her. Again, I couldn't keep my eyes off her big, round ass.

Dinner was great. Sitting at their kitchen island, eating burgers and home cut fries.

Despite the difference in our ages, I felt completely at ease. I soon had Mrs. Miller smiling and chuckling at my jokes. I told her about my first year of college.

Mrs. Miller is 56 years old. You could describe her as curvy or rubenesque. I've mentioned her ass, but the curves didn't stop there. She had a pair of huge, natural breasts that she kept hidden under oversized blouses.

Her blonde hair was cut in a short bob. She looked like the Mom on that old TV show the Brady Bunch, if you added about 20 years or so.

I helped her wash the dishes after we ate.

"Jim, it has really been fun talking to you. Honestly, I feel a little awkward. Just being here alone with you. You're a proper, young gentleman, but I rarely spend time alone with a man who isn't my husband. And, you know how judgey our church can be. One little piece of gossip can spread like wildfire.

But you're really funny and really easy to talk to. I'm sure you've got a girlfriend."

"Nope. No steady girlfriend."

"No?"

"Oh, I've had a few girls at my college that I've hung out with this year."

"Hung out with?" She asked with a chuckle. "Is that what they're calling it these days?"

"Would you like to sit a minute and talk?" she asked.

"Of course," I responded. "But I'm going to get a glass of wine."

I walked into the kitchen and grabbed the bottle off the counter.

"Would you like a glass?"

"If you insist," she muttered behind me.

I walked into the living room carrying two full glasses of red wine.

She sat on the couch, and I handed her a glass, and I sat in a chair next to the couch.

She tentatively sipped at the wine, and within 45 minutes, she was giggling and laughing, and her face was turning red.

Despite the differences in our ages, and despite the fact that I was young and single, and she was 56, conservative, and married, my cock was throbbing in my jeans.

I ignored my cock, and I wrapped up my visit and headed home. I could see her brow furrow in a little bit of frustration as I left abruptly. Good. I'd never set out to seduce someone before, but I had my ideas on how I should try to do it. And, I wanted to leave before I wore out my welcome, and leaving her curious and wanting more.

The next afternoon, she called to me from her back porch as I sat sunning myself on the dock.

"Hey neighbor. Would you like to join me for dinner again?"

I cupped my hand over my eyes blocking the sun.

"That sounds wonderful."

That night I took over another bottle of wine. This time she didn't complain or scold me, and she started drinking over dinner.

We sat talking after dinner, and again her face was red and she grinned and laughed.

And, again, I left on the early side, and I noticed the small look of frustration on her face.

This repeated itself over the next couple of nights, but she also came and swam off my dock in the afternoon. She wore a frumpy one-piece bathing suit - the fabric stretched to cover her curves, big tits, and big round ass. The first day I saw her in the swimsuit, a wild idea formed in my head.

That Friday, I drove into town in the morning. I picked up a few more bottles of wine, and I looked through several of the shops in town until I found what I was looking for.

That night, I walked next door to have dinner with Mrs. Miller. I carried a bottle of wine and a small bag. When she took the wine bottle from me, she glanced at the bag.

"Something for you to open after dinner," I said. I saw her eyebrows shoot up, but I ignored her.

I put the bag on the coffee table in the living room. After dinner, when we sat down in the living room, I saw her eyeing the bag.

I took a couple of sips of wine.

"Why don't you open your present?" 

Her face glowed.

"A present? Jim you shouldn't have done that. That's not right."

I shrugged my shoulders.

"Open it."

She tore the paper bag open and unfolded the paper inside. A two-piece bikini fell out. The bottoms were a thong. She held both of them up. Looked at me and shook her head.

"I can't wear this... " she said, her voice shaking.

"Of course you can."

"No... no, look at this Jim. You know I can't wear this! If someone saw me in this, I'd never live it down."

"Well if you insist and you refuse to wear it outside, then how about... you wear it in here... for me."

Mrs. Miller looked up at me. Her cheeks were pink from drinking the wine. A mixture of emotions flickered across her face. Intrigue, sexiness, and also wariness and a little fear.

"You don't have to do anything this minute - or tonight. Just think about it..."

Again, I didn't want to wear out my welcome. I wanted her to sit in that house, sip on some forbidden wine, and think about wearing that two-piece bikini that would showcase her huge tits and her big juicy ass.

The next day she invited me for dinner again. And, again, we sat and sipped on wine after dinner, and I had her giggling and laughing.

She didn't say a word about the swimsuit I'd bought her. And I didn't bring it up.

Then, the following day, yet again, she hollered over and invited me for dinner. It was our evening ritual by then.

I headed over later with a bottle of wine. It was an amazing meal. She was a great cook. And, again, we ended up sitting in the living room, sipping wine, laughing.

"Mrs. Miller?"

"Yes."

"Can I see you wearing that swimsuit."

I looked up. Her cheeks were bright red, and I saw fear in her eyes.

"Oh, I shouldn't. It's indecent. I'm a married woman... and that swimsuit... it shows tooooo much."

"Mrs. Miller, I have a question for you."

"Yes?"

"Do you think someone can see inside this house? I've noticed that when we eat dinner together, the blinds and curtains are all drawn. So, I'll ask you again, do you think someone can see inside this house?"

"Nooooo, but Jim. That suit... it's, it's indecent. I'm old enough to be your mother, hell even your grandmother. And, and, you're, you're not my husband. That swim suit..."

"Mrs. Miller. No one can see inside here. I will never tell a soul. But, I want to see you in that swimsuit. I bought it for you"

Mrs. Miller's hand was shaking. I could see the wine glass shaking. She reached over, put the wine glass on the coffee table and slowly stood up.

"I'll be back," she whispered.

A few minutes later I heard a swishing noise. I looked up and Mrs. Miller was standing in the doorway. She was wearing what looked like a shower robe - plush, white. Her hands twisted the robe at her neck. Her eyes were wide, and she looked as if she were a deer in the headlight.

"Let me see it," I finally said after a very long silent minute of watching her stand there nervously.

"Oh Jim," she said, her eyes darted down to the floor as she parted the robe and pulled it open.

The black bikini top had two large cups, but Mrs. Miller's tits spilled out. The bottoms were actually cut very conservatively, yet short, in the front. My cock did throb at the mound in between her legs.

"With that robe, I can't see the back."

"Jim... I just can't. You know that. What... what were you thinking? It's a thong bikini. It shows way too much. It's indecent! I'm a Christian woman. I'm married."

"Let me see it," I said, my voice firm.

"Oh... if you insist."

She dropped the robe and it puddled at her feet. With her eyes half-shut, and her gaze focused on the floor, she put her hands on her hips and slowly turned around. And, then, then... there she was. This 56-year-old, married, church lady was standing in front of me. The thong was buried in the crack of her ass. And, I could see everything - those, big, round, juicy asscheeks. I was looking at Mrs. Miller's naked ass.

She turned around, facing me again, and then did an odd little curtsy, then she grabbed her robe, pulled it around her, and belted it.

She scurried away, but she came back only a few minutes later. Still wearing the robe, she sat down on the sofa and picked up her glass of wine. She took several large gulps of wine.

I didn't want to spook her. I felt like she was right on the knife edge of what I hoped to do. I wanted to proceed with caution.

I asked her about a popular TV show, and we picked up our conversation from before with zero mention of the swimsuit.

Not long after, I decided to call it a night. That's not what I wanted to do. What I wanted to do was rub my big hard cock all over Mrs. Miller's juicy ass, and do a lot, lot more to her.

I was playing the long game here.

Again, I spent the next day doing my own thing, keeping my distance, until she invited me over for dinner. After she put the food on the table, she excused herself. When she returned to the kitchen, she was wearing her white robe. She grabbed a glass of wine and took a big gulp.

We sat and ate and talked as if nothing was amiss. She kept the robe belted tight, and I didn't comment on what she was wearing. I tried to keep everything completely normal.

After dinner, we cleaned the dishes together, and then ended up sitting on her couch talking and sipping wine as usual. At some point, she loosened the robe, I could see her shoulders and her cleavage. And the more we talked, the robe slid down until she was sitting on the couch wearing her bikini top. Those huge breasts were about to spill out. The robe was around her waist. I couldn't see her bikini bottoms, but I didn't mention that. I didn't want to spook her.

After 25-30 minutes of conversation and laughter, I called it a night. Again, a flicker of frustration and even longing crossed her face.

"Same time tomorrow night?" I asked. "Dinner."

"Absolutely," she said.

The next night when I came over she was already wearing her robe, and when we walked into the living room after dinner, she slipped out of the robe and sat on the couch in her bikini. Again, my eyes were drawn to the plump mound underneath those bikini bottoms, but I said nothing.

The following night, as we were sitting on the couch, I mentioned to Mrs. Miller that I had taken some massage classes at college. A total lie, but it was part of my plan. She turned her back towards me and I massaged her shoulders for several minutes, using my fingers and hands like I'd seen on several online massage videos.

Over the next several nights, I spent more and more time after dinner each night massaging Mrs. Miller.

Then, I suggested that I use some coconut oil. She seemed very hesitant, as if I was crossing some line, but when I rubbed the coconut oil over her back and shoulders, she agreed that it felt amazing.

"Jim, that feels so good. But, I hesitate to say this, but you know you can't tell a single soul about what you're doing. They wouldn't understand," she said.

"I know that. Relax. Just concentrate on the massage, don't worry about any of that. This will be our secret."

Over the next few nights, the massages got longer and longer and covered more territory of her body. I was very careful to keep my hands away from her breasts as I massaged her from her head to her toes.

But, finally, I couldn't stand it a second longer. The next night I pulled out all the stops. I massaged Mrs. Miller's front, skirting her breasts again. Then I turned her over onto her stomach. Mrs. Miller weakly protested, but I shushed her as I massaged her shoulders.

She lay face down on the couch, and I couldn't help it. I'd been wanting this for days. I looked down her body, past her shoulders, past her lower back. Those two big round ass cheeks were there, naked in all their juicy glory. Those big cheeks split by the narrow strip of black cloth from the thong bikini bottoms.

After slowly working my way down to her lower back, massaging and kneading her body, I skipped down to her feet. Then, I slowly worked my way back up her legs until my fingers were rubbing the flesh just below her ass cheeks.

Without a word, I reached into the bottle of coconut oil, scooped out some oil and rubbed it onto both of Mrs. Miller's ass cheeks.

She grunted and burrowed her head into the couch cushions. She didn't say a word.

As I massaged, squeezed, and kneaded those two big juicy ass cheeks, Mrs. Miller gasped or let out a low moan several times. She didn't tell me to stop.

Throwing caution to the wind and hoping beyond hope that I had played my cards right over an almost two-week seduction, I slipped my finger under the thong and slid it to the side.

I stared down at Mrs. Miller's pink asshole. Mmm, I wanted so badly to kiss it, to finger it.

Instead, after staring at her asshole for several long minutes, I slipped the thong back into place.

"Okay, Mrs Miller," I said, lightly touching her shoulder. "Your massage is done."

She rolled her head sideways. "Wow. That was amazing. Thank you."

"You're certainly, very welcome. I'll see you tomorrow."

I went to bed thinking about seeing Mrs. Miller's asshole. There was sooo many things I wanted to do to her.

* * *

But when I woke up the next morning, as I said way back at the beginning of this story, Mrs. Miller's husband had arrived and was spending the weekend next door. I prowled around the cabin, went kayaking, sat on my dock taking in the sun. Occasionally, I heard the Millers talking or I waved at them in passing as they sat on their back porch.

After what seemed like an eternity, but was really only a Saturday and Sunday, Mr. Miller headed back to his job and home on Monday morning.

No, I didn't rush right over and offer to give Mrs. Miller a massage within minutes of him leaving. I continued to play it cool.

Late that afternoon, I sat on my dock, enjoying the sun when I heard Mrs. Miller.

"Hey neighbor, would you like to join me later for dinner?" She yelled.

"I'd love that!"

After the door closed behind me a couple of hours later, hiding us from the eyes of any prying neighbors, Mrs. Miller gave me a quick peck on the cheek. She was delighted at the two bottles of red wine in my hands.

She giggled as she poured us both a tall glass of wine.

"Don't you dare tell your parents that I served you wine. I see them at church all the time, and I don't think they'd be happy."

"I won't tell my parents about the wine as long as you don't tell your husband about the swimsuit that I bought you," I said.

She shook her head and grinned as she playfully punched my arm. Her face was red.

After a delicious meal, we walked into her living room with glasses of wine. With her back to me, Mrs. Miller pulled her blouse over her head and tossed it aside. Underneath, she was wearing the swimsuit. Then her skirt dropped to the floor.

There was that big, round ass of hers. The thong bottoms of the bathing suit buried in the crack of her juicy ass. Rolling her hips, she swayed her ass back and forth as she walked to the couch and laid face down.

"Grab that coconut oil," she said. "I took a long walk today, and your massages are just amazing. I think you should consider massage school and a career."

I grabbed the coconut oil and several towels off an end table. After I positioned the towels underneath her, I slipped my fingers into the silky oil.

As I massaged her feet, and the backs of her legs, she sighed aloud.

"That feels soooo good."

I slowly, slowly worked my way up her legs, massaging every inch of her legs. Finally, I was rubbing my fingers along the bottom edge of her ass cheeks. Then, I dipped my fingers once again into the coconut oil and smeared it over her two big round ass cheeks. Mrs. Miller moaned.

"Jim, I'm not sure you should be doing that."

"Uh-huh," I murmured as I squeezed and rubbed her big ass. Her ass cheeks wobbled and rolled underneath my hands. Mrs. Miller let out a deep sigh.

I slid my finger underneath the thin strip of thong fabric and pulled it to the side. Goddamn, I had been thinking about nothing else for the last three days. I wanted to see this again. Slipping my fingers into the crack of her ass, I pulled her ass cheeks open.

There it was.

The tiny pink star of her asshole.

I dipped my finger into the coconut oil and dripped a big dollop right onto her asshole.

"Oh... Jim. No. You shouldn't... That's, that's not right."

I rubbed my fingertip in small circles around her asshole spreading the coconut oil, and then I pressed my fingertip in the center of that tight pink hole.

The flesh gave underneath the pressure and my fingertip eased inside her asshole.

"Oh god!" she squeaked and let out a deep breath. "Oh lord!"