Twilight is my favorite time of day. I like to watch the day settle into night. If you are looking for me I will almost always be on my back veranda around dusk, laying on the big outdoor day bed. With a cool drink in one hand and a vibrating toy in the other, I'll be enjoying the sunset and an orgasm before my bath.
Yesterday afternoon started out just like that.
I was sipping my gin and tonic when the last rays of sunlight silhouetted a figure walking through my garden. He was bent over like a soldier avoiding gunfire, sneaking through the rhododendrons.
When he stepped into the open his pajamas gave him away. I instantly recognized Malcolm, the handsome young man with the massive cock, sneaking towards me like in a dream. A delicious cramping tightness formed in my abdomen. Horny wet anticipation began to leak out between my legs.
His pajamas were perfect for the warm evening. Baggy blue sleep shorts and a tight white t-shirt top - the sort with that silly breast pocket that never has anything in it. It clung to his sexy slim body provocatively outlining his muscular chest and abdomen.
How very sexy my gorgeous little Peeping Tom looked.
Trusting that I was hidden in the shadows I flipped my long satin bathrobe open and turned the dial on the bottom of my big electric dildo. Six inches long and as thick as a flashlight it's the one I carry everywhere.
The gentle hum sounded loud in that quiet evening but my dream boy didn't notice. He looked back the way he'd come and made a 'come here' motion. Out of the shadows came somebody else, also bent over, evading the invisible bullets.
They stood together a few yards away, heads together, whispering urgently.
Where Malcolm was handsome his companion was beautiful. They were both slim and athletic but this new one had long blond hair down over his shoulders.
He was also wearing pajamas. A red one-piece affair with short sleeves and knee length shorts that had a drop flap at the back - an old fashioned way for the user to go to the toilet without having to take the whole thing off.
Malcolm was pointing towards my house but the blond one was gesturing towards Mrs. Giordano's place next door. It was an intense conversation in hushed tones. It appeared that Malcolm wanted to see what was happening in my bedroom window but his friend thought the grass next door would be greener.
Their discussion continued as I rocked my vibrator up and down over my clit. If Malcolm had got his way this would be a very short tale. As it was blondie got his way. He led Malcolm across my yard from bush to bush and tree to tree until they disappeared into the shadow near my neighbors' house.
I lay there savoring the pulsing sensation in my pussy until I decided I was going to follow them.
Getting to my feet I dropped my vibrator into the pocket of my wrap and put my feet into my fluffy white scuffs, the ones with the big white baubles. I tied my long white shimmery gown tight under my boobs and, downing my drink for courage, stepped down off the deck onto the soft grass and out into the night.
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SYLVIA GIORDANO
They were just ahead near the palling fence that separates my yard from next door. The moon caught them like a pair of performers under a spotlight, casting their shadows onto the white painted timber.
Like a magic trick they stepped behind a big Grevillia bush that was growing up against the fence and were gone. I counted to ten and then followed them.
Enough moonlight filtered through the leaves to show a space behind the bush where three fence palings had been removed. On the other side was the Giordano's garden and a gravel path leading to a rough stone staircase.
I took a deep breath and, lifting my gown up high so as not to catch the delicate material, stepped through.
And just like that I was trespassing.
The illicit heady feeling that voyeurs crave washed over me. If I was caught it would be more then embarrassing. I'd never be able to explain myself. They might even call the police...
Tingling with excitement I followed the path and climbed the stairs. At the top I saw my boys skirting around the edge of big blue swimming pool, the pool lights lighting their way. When they disappeared into the shadows at the far end I followed as fast as I could, dodging around deckchairs and pool toys.
A paved garden path wound past flowerbeds towards the rear of a big brick home. Lights from the house filtered through to me.
Shaking with anticipation I looked through a lattice screen into a paved courtyard like a little outdoor room. A canopy of grapevines tangled around the wooden roof beams and wound up mock Corinthian columns. Everywhere was furniture. Masses of garden pots full of colorful flowers, chairs and tables and bright patterned throw rugs were scattered around on big white tiles.
I'd stumbled on the perfect vantage point. I could see everything from where I was.
Right in front of me, framed by big glass sliding doors, was the interior of Sylvia Giordano's home, a picture of domestic bliss.
To the right was a bright comfortable looking room with a red leather sofa facing me. There was a long timber dining table behind, big enough for a large family. On my left was a kitchen, and there was Sylvia cooking, bent over pots and pans that were simmering on a gas cook-top.
The boys were right in front of me, close enough to touch. They were hiding behind a big cane lounge chair, kneeling side-by-side watching Sylvia's every move. I could already see big bulges in their pajama pants that they were gripping and rubbing. Teenage boys are the best.
I'd never visited Mrs. Giordano at home but we had chatted over the years. I knew that she lived here with her son and that her husband had left or was traveling or something like that. I knew her as a beautiful warm Italian woman, always friendly and happy to make small talk even though she struggles with English.
She was carrying a lot more weight then I remembered. The beautiful Italian mamma was more full-bodied and rounder then the last time we'd met.
Her thick black hair was wound up in a tall, tiered coiffe. There must have been a hundred bobby pins in there holding it all up. Outlandish on anyone else it looked perfect on her. Wispy dark strands were framing her beautiful high cheekbones like Sophia Loren. Her eyes were dark and sultry with big thick lashes and she had that lovely radiant glow and olive skin that only Italian women seem to have.
Her off-the-shoulder white blouse had big puffy sleeves, gathered in ruffles on her thick forearms. It was very very low cut and showed off a deep cleavage. Big hard nipples poking through the white linen revealed no bra was holding up that massive bulk.
When she started whipping something in a bowl everything giggled - her plump upper arms, her belly, those enormous breasts and her magnificent huge ass.
Voluptuous and beautiful, Sylvia looked like a stereotypical mature Italian peasant.
The gypsy skirt she wore just barely covered her colossal ass. The hem was below her knees at the front but, because her ass was so prominent, it rode up behind her like a miniskirt at the back. I could see where the tops of her thick fleshy thighs met and a hint of white knickers on the arc of her lovely big bum.
The boys saw it too.
To my delight I saw Malcolm and the other boy pull their pants down around their knees to let their huge hard cocks spring up. Two great big penises like extra arms. God I love teen boys. In a wink they were jerking off gazing at Sylvia's big lush body as she cooked.
The new boy wasn't quite as big as Malcolm's ten-inch monster cock, maybe an inch or so shorter and not quite as thick but it was still bigger then most I'd seen.
Sylvia was cooking, chopping and grating and adding to a stew or sauce that was simmering on the stovetop. Steam rose seductively as she sprinkled herbs or spices, tasting the results from the wooden spoon she was using to stir.
Suddenly a handsome young man came into the lounge room and walked through to the kitchen.
He was a brunette Apollo. With tight black curly hair and the body of an athlete he was wearing nothing but white ankle length socks and a pair of white wide-front briefs. His dark muscular body had me reaching for the vibrator in my bathrobe pocket.
"There's Franky," said the blonde one to Malcolm. "I told you he'd come through..."
"I can't believe it," murmured Malcolm. "Is he really going to do his mom?"
"That's what he said," blonde responded. "He told me to come and watch if I don't believe it, and I said I don't, so we will and here we are..."
"I just don't fucking believe it Liam," Malcolm hissed back.
Liam. The blond one was Liam.
Franky was saying something and his mother responded, waving a ladle to emphasis a point, but we couldn't hear anything. It was all muffled behind the glass doors.
The young man put his arm around her waist and kissed her cheek as any son would.
She offered him a taste of what was in the big black pot, blowing on the big silver serving spoon and then holding it up for him so he could taste the hot contents.
I noticed his hand on her hip as he sipped his tasty treat. In another moment it had slid down and finished its journey resting on the prominent shelf of her bottom. His hand was working its way into the cleft of her cavernous butt crack and pushing the bright floral print skirt in along with it. Soon he was groping a massive ass cheek through her dress,
All three of us voyeurs watched Franky getting a hardon in his underpants as he fondled his mamma's huge behind.
"Jeeesus Liam," groaned Malcolm as he pounded he huge cock. "He's rubbing his mom's ass..."
Sylvia kept on cooking while Franky took a dinning chair from the head of the big table and sat down behind his mother. Their conversation continued while he studied her big bum swaying from side to side as she chopped and diced.
She didn't flinch when he put his hands on her wide hips, gliding them up to her waist and then down over her plump curvy thighs. I couldn't believe it. Surely this was too much even for an affectionate Latin family.
When she allowed his hands under her skirt I knew I was witnessing more then normal maternal affection.
His hands slid slowly up from her knees, over her thighs and delved under the hem of her peasant dress. She visibly shivered.
I took a moment to switch on my toy and then played the throbbing barrel over my big hard clitoris.
The boys had also noted the significance of Franky's movements.
When he lifted the thin satiny fabric of his mothers skirt up to reveal Sylvia's big blousy white knickers they were ecstatic.
"Fuckkk Mal," moaned Liam. "Look at her lovely big ass..."
Big as her panties were they were still snug over her big wide bum. The acres of silky fabric were insufficient to cover it and her ass crack peeked over the elastic top.
I could hear some mumbled conversation between mother and son as he rubbed his mothers ass through the satiny material of her knickers. Somehow I imagined it was just idle chitchat. She held her skirt up for her son, holding it bunched on her hip as if it was the most normal thing in the world.
