Alright, deep breath. This is my first time doing anything like this. Proper writing, I mean. I've wanked to enough stories over the year, but I've never written one myself until now. I'm sat here on my couch completely naked, legs wide open like the dirty fucking whore I am. My fingers still smell like my fat tight pussy, the couch is soaked from the second orgasm I gave myself before I even opened the laptop. I've got the blinds open wide, I want to feel seen, even if no one's watching. But if you're reading it, I feel like you're watching and that's making me horny as fuck.
It's been six months since the divorce went through, but Mick and I were separated a year before that. He was well-off but god he got boring quick. Eighteen years of boring fucking missionary sex and honestly the bare minimum of pussy eating. Every time I tried to get kinky with him, to do something wild, or even something simple as anal or having him fuck my big fullsome tits, he'd shy away like I was some kind of pervert. He left me for a woman ten years younger with smaller tits, and I bet she's not even half as filthy as I am and I wish him the best and hope she gets fucked on the side as often as she can. I honestly haven't stopped touching myself since. I've been gagging for it. Everything turns me on. Porn. Strangers. Fruit aisles. The breeze on my nipples. I'm dripping fucking wet all day my loves, like getting rid of my husband opened me up to a new world of erotic sensations.
Anyway, that's where I am, and that's where the good stuff begins. It was last April. Stupidly hot for the time of year. I was out in the garden we've got behind the semi-detached houses that I share with my neighbour Marie. Oh Marie's lovely, sexy, in her early fifties with tits she says aren't fake but we all know they are, and I reckon I'd shag her at the drop of my knickers. Only now, Marie was off down south, off on some dirty weekend with her new fancy man and she'd left her house empty. Well... mostly empty.
Liam was still there. Her son. Nineteen years old, a joiners apprentice. Big shoulders. Strong hands. Always smells like sweat and wood shavings when he walks past. Always polite and shy and nervous, but always looking at my tits. He didn't know I'd clocked him before. He thought he was subtle. He'd make excuses to be working out in the garden without a shirt on while I was gardening, or I'd see him at his bedroom window, obviously naked, sneaking a peek at me if I was sunbathing, his strong arm moving just out of sight and I imagined him wanking off to me.
So when that heatwave hit, I didn't waste time. I dug out the red bikini I bought for a holiday to Marbella we never took, and had never worn. It barely fit. Tiny triangle cups that didn't even try to hold my tits in. The bottoms were thinner than dental floss, and my fat juicy cunt lips made a mockery of the fabric. I got it Hollywood waxed on the regular, especially since the divorce.
I was stretched out on the sun lounger with a cold drink, oil glistening all over my tits and stomach and legs, practically naked, and waited. It didn't take long. I spotted him in the corner of my eye, leaning up against the back wall of his mum's house, phone in hand. Pretending to scroll, but he wasn't. He was looking, his phone subtly pointed my way and I could tell he was filming me or taking pictures. And fuck me, he was hard. You could see it, clear as day. His grey shorts did nothing to hide it. Vest stuck to his chest with sweat. Hair damp. One leg bent like he was trying to look casual, but his cock was pressing out like it was trying to escape.
And I just lay there. Pretending not to notice. Acting like I was reading a book while my nipples stabbed through the bikini top and the gusset of my bottoms soaked right through. I shifted my hips, like I was getting comfy. All it did was spread my thighs wider for him to give him a better view. I arched my back, stretched my arms over my head, tits lifting and jiggling with every breath. I ran my fingers over my belly like I was absentminded, and down to the crease of my thigh, trailing close to the wet heat beneath.
I could feel Liam's eyes on me. Felt him dragging them over every inch of me, drinking in the curve of my tits, the way my bikini stuck to my cunt, the sheen of sweat that ran down between my breasts and disappeared beneath the thin band of red fabric. I didn't say a word. Didn't look at him. Just let the show go on, like it wasn't all for him.
Inside, I was throbbing. My clit was twitching like mad. I could feel my pulse between my legs, every beat sending another wave of wetness into the tiny triangle of fabric that was supposed to keep me decent. It didn't. I wanted him to see. I wanted him to pull his cock out right there and start wanking it while I watched through my sunglasses, pretending to read.
I was so fucking close to sliding my hand into my bottoms and rubbing one out right there, knowing he was watching. His knuckles were white around that phone, like he was trying not to wank right there and then. Poor lad. But I wanted to see him squirm. I wanted to see that sweet, nervous twitch in his jaw, the one he gets when he's flustered. Wanted to watch that cock of his bounce inside those thin little shorts as soon as he heard my voice.
So I turned my head slowly, one arm propped under my tits, sunglasses still on.
"Liam, love," I said, soft and lazy, like I hadn't just caught him red-handed. "Do us a favour, will you?"
He flinched like I'd caught him nicking biscuits. Eyes wide. Throat bobbing. "Uh yeah?"
"I'm worried about burning on my back," I said, running a hand across the top of my shoulder, slick with sweat and oil. "Can't reach. Gimme a hand?"
He stood there, frozen. A fucking statue with a rock-hard cock. His mouth opened once, then shut again. Bless him.
"Come on," I purred. "I'm not gonna bite."
That got him moving. He stepped off the wall and made his way over slowly, trying to adjust himself in his shorts like I hadn't noticed. Like I wasn't staring at the big, obvious bulge bouncing with every step. He smelled like heat and sweat. He knelt down beside me, unsure what to do. Still holding his phone like it'd protect him.
"There's oil on the table," I said, flicking my fingers vaguely toward the tanning oil on the little side table. "Help yourself."
He grabbed it like it might explode in his hand. Poured way too much into his palm. Thick, glistening slick, running down his wrists before he even touched me. His hands hovered over my body, unsure, and that made me grin.
"You scared?" I asked, not bothering to hide the smirk.
He chuckled, nervous. "No, just don't wanna mess it up."
I rolled onto my front, slow and deliberate. My arse shifted beneath the thong, fat and firm and round, sweat glistening in the creases. My tits flattened under me, nipples rock hard.
"Just rub it in, Liam," I said, letting my voice drop a little. "Make sure you get everywhere."
He started at the shoulders. Light, tentative strokes, like I was glass. I sighed loud, letting it carry, stretching my arms above my head so the side of my breast spilled out further.
"Bit firmer," I murmured. "I don't bruise easy."
He pressed harder, hands sliding over the curve of my back. I moaned under my breath, just enough for him to hear. His fingers trembled as they reached my waist.
"You're sweating," he said, voice cracking.
"Mmm. So are you," I said. "Hot, innit? Why don't you take that vest off?"
He swallowed audibly. "Go on! It's nothing I haven't seen before love."
He slid off his vest, revealing his slender but muscled torso, shiny with sweat. His chest rose and fell in deep, rapid breaths. I gave him a sweet smile, then I reached behind me, nice and slow, and untied the string at the back of my bikini top. The cups slumped forward under me, tits freed and pressed against the towel, nipples throbbing from the heat and friction.
