The Fowler and His Net - Chapter 2 - Sex Stories

The Fowler and His Net - Chapter 2

Wilf Lyons, the Gardener to Sir Roderick and Lady Billingham, unlocked the side door to the main lawn at the Grange. Gary entered with his tools and material at 5 o’clock prompt. His mind had been a hurricane of anticipation all day and his workmates had noticed and tormented him. His father too, had noticed, warned him off any funny business on this irregular, out of hours job, and had hoped that some of his concern had lodged.

‘Your ‘ere then young Fowler.' Wilf grunted. He was sent here from the estate one day a week to try to contain Lady Billingham’s daughter’s large garden and was grumpy about the task. He’d probably get a hamper for all of his efforts at Christmas.

‘Ayup Wilf,’ smiled Gary, ‘are you by yersen.'

‘Aye, tha' knows it' the old man replied, ‘and ‘bout to go woam.' He looked over to the swimming pool. ‘I ain’t got a cushy number like yous.'

Gary laughed. ‘I’ll be here till eight you old codger, and I started bloody early an’ all.'

‘Don’t know what she wants with smashin’ up perfectly good tiles,' he grimaced, ‘could be spending that money on gettin’ some help for me.'

‘Wilf, you do't work a' ten.' Gary paused and asked a question that was on his mind. ‘What do you know about her Wilf?'

‘Ha!’ Wilf laughed, ‘thinkin’ about walzin’ arm in arm in’t lounge for some sausage and mash eh lad? She ain’t been seen within half a mile of the village she han’t, so don’t go gettin’ them daft ideas.’

‘Bloody hell, slow down, yer old codger,' Gary ...

... retorted, ‘I’m just worried about me custom, some posh folks like to pay, some don’t, you know?'

Wilf scrunched up his face and laughed. ‘Ah, she’s good for it, and you can always tap her Dad. There’s money lad.'

Gary pretended to be reassured as Wilf disappeared through the gate and toward the village. He unloaded his kit, removed his shirt, lay his sheeting and began work.

Half an hour later he heard the crunch of a car on the gravel drive and the soft thumps of two luxury vehicle doors closing. Three minutes later he saw the same curtain twitching in the upstairs bedroom that he had noticed the day before. He stood and performed an unnecessary stretch, puffing out his chest and giving his best catalogue pose. ‘That’ll give the lass something to frig about’ he thought.

Another half hour later and there was still no sign of the mother. He was working on the first of the tricky shapes around the spill-over when he heard a soft familiar voice.

‘Hello Gary, how is the work coming along?'

He turned and worked his eyes up her body. She wore flip flops, a short skirt, and a blouse, knotted beneath her lovely big bust. She had tied her hair back and he barely recognized her. The thick make up was gone, and replaced with none; or at least with a more subtle application. She was pretty. She had freckles.

‘Hello Mrs. Barton. Aye. It’s going well. Just need to get past this bit and we’re cooking.'

‘I’ve brought you some lemonade. I hope that’s alright.' She stood ...