"No, I don't suppose it will." He said, smiling as much to himself as to her. He watched her slide the door shut again and disappear into the house.
He'd been Mrs. Hooper's gardener for the best part of eighteen months now, ever since her husband of thirty-six years had up and left her. That was all he knew about their separation - she never spoke about it and he never enquired. But he did know that she had lived alone ever since. As for his relationship with her? Well, they got on just fine. They discussed the weather, the black spot on the roses and the price of petrol. She made him coffee in the same old Union Jack mug and occasionally helped him tidy up the greenhouse. She'd once asked if he would change a light bulb in the hallway and had laid a trail of newspapers throughout the house for him to stand on. Mostly, however, she just left him alone to get on with his work.
"Better take a look at these then." He said to himself, as he knelt beside the pot of geraniums.
From his position he could see the interior of both the summer room and the adjoining living room beyond. Both rooms were absolutely immaculate. Spotless. Not a single thing seemed out of place. He wondered what on earth there was for Mrs. Hooper to do. And then, as if on cue, the door from the hallway to the living room opened and in she came pushing an upright vacuum cleaner, wearing nothing but her headscarf.
For a few moments he was absolutely transfixed. He simply could not believe his eyes. In a single instant, the old Mrs. Hooper had vanished and been replaced by an entirely different Mrs. Hooper - a daring, sexy, completely naked Mrs. Hooper. A woman who's every move now set his pulse racing.
He watched her breasts sway and her buttocks flex as she moved the vacuum back and forth in long, deliberate sweeps. And he watched her turn and push it towards him, giving him an unfettered view between her legs. It was inconceivable that she hadn't noticed him - she must have known he was watching her - yet, she didn't look at him or acknowledge his presence once. Not even when, to his utter amazement and delight, she continued her housework in the summer room.
He watched her reach up on tip-toes to clean the tops of shelves. He watched her push her bottom out and bend over in front of him and straighten already neat seat covers and cushions. And he watched her get down on her hands and knees and wipe the gleaming skirting boards. He saw every one of her wrinkles, creases and folds. He saw every goose bump, every freckle and every mole. He marveled at every single inch of her smooth, pale, wonderful body.
He wasn't entirely sure what was going on. It all seemed so surreal. And he certainly never saw it coming. Not in a million years. Did she want him to respond, or did she just want him to watch her? Did she want him at all?
His cock had responded sure enough - a few seconds after she'd walked into the living room. And it had stiffened and twitched in his trousers ever since. He looked down at his lap and gave it a long, firm squeeze through the fabric. He hoped she wanted a response. He'd love to wank and come for her. It was all he could think about doing. Whether she knew it or not, she had seen to it that it was going to happen. It was just a matter of when and where.
He looked up to find Mrs. Hooper standing directly in front of him on the other side of the glass door. She had one hand on her belly and the other on her hip and was staring down at him with her mouth slightly open. His heart pounded in his chest as he saw that only a few short inches and a thin pane of glass separated him from her fabulous pussy.
The truth be told, his recollection from this point on was a bit sketchy. Not only because of his continuing incredulity at the situation he found himself embroiled in, but also because Mrs. Hooper had aroused him to such an extent that his mind had quickly turned to nonsensical mush. There'd been no previous indication that she possessed either the potential or the inclination to act in such a way and, as such, he'd been caught completely off guard. If Mrs. Hooper had desired a natural, uncontrived response from him, then she'd gone about it in exactly the right way.
He did, however, remember a few things quite clearly. He remembered the look on her face when she'd narrowed her eyes and chewed the corner of her lip as her breasts heaved in tandem with him stroking his cock. He remembered how he'd all but come when he'd been utterly mesmerized by the mouthwatering sight of her thick, pouting labia glistening with syrupy wetness. And he couldn't forget the moment she'd gasped and her entire body had trembled and shook as she watched him finally come. And, oh, how he'd come.
He'd been gripped by a brain-scrambling climax as he sprayed out jet after jet of milky spunk. Her hands had clawed her breasts and her eyes had grown wider and wider with each fresh spurt. And it had seemed to go on forever.
