I noticed changes in Stephanie almost immediately. The next day was a Friday, and we both came home from work exhausted. She walked in from the gym with a bottle of diet soda in her hand. She seemed a little dreamy while she was watching television and I made dinner, and I think I noticed her rubbing her chest absently as she relaxed on the couch, but she didn't do anything incredibly different. We both turned in early, and when I grabbed the outside of her thigh and pulled it toward me when we kissed goodnight, she pulled it off and said, "Be a good boy."
Stephanie likes to wake up early on Saturday mornings and work in the garden. She lets me sleep in and puts on her gardening clothes as quietly as possible. I usually wake up when I hear her humming to herself while she's pulling weeds and spraying leaves.
That Saturday she was out in the garden by the time I woke up. I could hear her singing to herself through the window as I pulled on my bathrobe. I smelled the coffee as soon as I walked into the kitchen. When I sat down at the counter I saw why she'd woken up early: she had set out a chocolate croissant with a fresh pot of coffee and the sports page overlooking the garden. The chair was even pulled out to watch her working. But the curtain was drawn; the entire kitchen was bathed in morning sunlight except for my seat. Stephanie knew I liked to watch her work. I pulled back the curtain.
In a relationship that's more than a decade old, it is a rare sight that takes one's breath away. Stephanie doesn't tan, so she wears a sun hat when she works in the garden. She had pinned her hair under the crown of the hat with just a couple strands of her auburn hair framing her face. Her elbows were dirty with soil and in her hands she held a spade and water bottle in canvas gloves. She was wearing a tank top that was tight cross her chest and back, the black straps of her bra angled out over her shoulders. She was wearing denim shorts cut off so that the bottoms of the front pockets spilled out under the fraying hem. Her long legs looked longer still stemming from the high-heeled cork wedges shaping her calves, thighs, and ass. Her knees were dirty, too.
She was bending over a tomato plant with her feet spread wider than her shoulders and her ass sticking out above her head like a model on the cover of some auto parts calendar. She knew that I was coming downstairs and must have seen me sit down. Didn't look up, although I knew she was trying not to smile; the effort had pursed her lips into a pout.
Usually Stephanie gardens in long-legged overalls and one of my old college t-shirts. It would have been difficult to stand as I looked out the window, my cock was so hard from just looking at her. Then she started to put on a show for me.
She must have saved the hardest work until I was downstairs and watching through the window. She pulled weeds from the dark soil, flexing her thighs and calves in her high-heeled sandals. She squatted, spreading her knees wide and inspecting the leaves of the plants as she sprayed their roots. At the same time, I pulled my shaft from my boxers and started rubbing it where she could see through the window as I watched her. Sweat clarified her tank top and the fabric clung transparent to her stomach and waist. Her transparent undershirt and alabaster skin highlighted the lace ruffles of her black bra as well as the curves of her body.
Finally she knelt in front of a rose bush blooming pink, her knees sank into the dirt along with the tips of her toes. Her back was flat and tall and her face was pressed against a bloom. She looked the the window and held my eyes and she plucked a wilting petal and placed it on top of her tongue. She broke our shared stare when she closed her eyes to take in the texture and the fragrance of the blossom.
I stood up and walked to the back door, following my prick. I found it locked from the outside and a note taped to the window where I saw her again on her hands and knees rooting in the dirt, the skin of her back, shoulders, and neck shimmering in the morning light.
"DIRTY BOYS HAVE TO GET CLEAN," the note read. An arrow pointed back upstairs. She saw me reading the note and waved her finger at me and pursed her lips. She arched her back putting her arms behind her head to give me another pinup image to think about during what felt like a very long walk to the shower.
I was already on edge as the water poured over me. I hadn't calmed down a bit, although I didn't really want to, either. I turned the shower up as hot as I could stand and scrubbed my arms and legs with one hand while gently rubbing the shaft of my cock with the other. Stephanie had never before been an exhibitionist, and never given an erotic charge to any of the small daily activities of her life. She was always a girl who liked to keep our sex life confined to the bedroom. I knew that our sessions were having some effect on her, and I was really excited to see where they would go. I allowed my mind to wander--in a couple of weeks we were planning to go out of town to her parents' new house, where there was a hot tub and a whole separate guest house.
The smell of sweat and soil, and the touch of hands on my body, awoke me from my reverie. Stephanie had climbed into the shower behind me and was pressing her breasts into my back and kissing the tops of my shoulders.
"Why do you feel so tense, baby? You need to relax," she said. Her hands wandered down my arms and rubbed soap into my chest and stomach. Even under the hot water I felt her nipples hard against the flesh of my back. I reached behind me and grabbed her ass. It was taught from the effort of her standing on her tiptoes to press her lips to my neck and nibble on my ear.
She reached further down and grabbed my cock in both her hands. The water and soap made her palms and fingers slick as she rubbed down my shaft and cupped my balls. "Mmm... maybe you don't need to relax everything." I could feel the curve of her smile between my shoulder blades.
