Gardening at Mrs Chesters - Sex Stories

Gardening at Mrs Chesters

... the bathroom.” Jonathan downed his drink, and picking up the clothes, went upstairs. He couldn’t find the bathroom so went into the parents’ bedroom. There was a nice perfumed smell. He started to strip off and glanced around the room. There were two large framed pictures of her and her husband, on the wall. They looked as though they had been taken on a romantic weekend. Both were in black and white, with stark lighting. He found himself drawn to the individual picture of Dorothy. She was leaning on a low chair. Forearms straight, breasts pinched between her upper arms, she was leaning over and looking up directly at the photographer, directly at Jonathan. Her arms were half bared, but her breasts were fully covered, apart from a pear drop opening in her fluffy wool top. The space revealed a smooth round pair of breasts. She had a thin leather strap around one wrist ,with a lady’s watch on it, and a pair of loose metal bangles around the other. He looked down a little, and caught the faintest trace of a rise towards the end of each breast, just a tiny hillock in the fluff of her pullover top. He assumed it indicated an erect nipple underneath. He realized then that in the picture she can’t have been wearing any support, but that by even the modest size of the hill in such a fluffy top, she must have some bullet pointed boobs. He looked down at himself and saw that he was getting hard. God, that was the last thing he had ever thought about his mum’s friend, Mrs. Chester. She ...

... must be in her middle forties, and he was not long eighteen. He dismissed the thought and dressed in the clothes she had left for him. The shorts were a twenty-eight inch waist and the shirt medium sized, but it seemed shrunken. About the only thing that was big enough was the pair of socks. These he pulled up to his knees to protect his legs from any nettles or thorns, in the garden. He realized then that he couldn’t fit his underwear under the shorts and still move, if he was working, so he simply pulled the shorts on alone. They were simple shorts, with no internal 'net' to catch any stray elements, if he happened to get aroused. As he left the room he fought the temptation to glance again up at the photograph. He lost. He glanced, and in his shorts, he felt a short rush of blood. He descended the stairs and discovered that Dorothy was already in the garden. She was gloved and digging, and wearing a pair of close fitting jeans, an old mans shirt, and rubber boots. “Ah there you are, did you find the bathroom alright, it’s a bit of a maze up there?” “No sorry, I went in your room and changed as you suggested.” “Oh that’s fine too,” she replied smiling at him. He looked over at her digging, saw the same leather strap, and heard the same jangling bracelets as he had seen in the photograph. Then he noticed first one, then the other nipple straining against her top. She was clearly wearing a brassiere, but such was their poke, he could still see their outline. He suddenly had a ...