Gardening at Mrs Chesters - Sex Stories

Gardening at Mrs Chesters

... funny feeling between his thighs, and realized that blood was again rushing to the area! “Here give me a hand with this, I could do with some muscle.” She smiled, leaned back, and allowed Jonathan in to the space to tussle with one of several rocks in an old rockery. Now it was her turn to notice. Without realizing it she had chosen clothes for him that were highly suitable. This was not so much for the job in hand, but rather to show off his nice little smooth hard cyclist’s body, something she had never noticed before. She had only ever seen him in the background of conversations with his mother, and rarely spent any time with him, let alone on his own. While he heaved, she glanced down at his young developing arm muscles, and those of his thighs. Those shorts were unfairly small. She smiled to herself as she noticed the back seam bury itself between the tight cheeks of his firm bottom. The top was equally small, more in terms of its length, giving her views of his smooth midriff. This was quite an unexpected side to the job in hand, and one Dorothy had never envisaged. She was in the kitchen, when her friend called. It was Collett from the College. “Why don’t you pop over later,” suggested Dorothy. “I am rather tied up in the garden at the moment.” “Sounds fun,” said Collett, smiling at her end. “Oh nothing that exciting, I just have some help today. The son of a friend of mine, at the golf club, is earning some holiday money.” “I see Dorothy. I will be round later to ...

... make sure that he has earned his day’s wages!” Dorothy looked up from the sink where she was putting away her washing up. Jon was leaning back on his spade. He had got a lot done and looked a little hot and bothered, a little red, a little sweaty. His golden downy forearms were exposed, bared socks were now slipped down to his ankles and his wet hair was plastered over his face. She tapped the window. “Would you like a drink?” she mouthed. He nodded. She wondered whether he would get hot enough to take his top off. She slipped upstairs and put away some washing and noticed that Jon had left his little heap of cycling gear. “Typical untidy boy,” she thought and picked them up. She noticed that his underpants were also in the pile. She picked them up too, and quickly sniffed the crotch out of curiosity. She could smell sweaty boy, mixed up with some cheap teenage body deodorant in it somewhere. They looked fairly new. They were briefs, but that was all she could tell. She couldn’t see any sticky residues, not that she was looking for them of course. Jon was heaving at another pile of rocks when she came back into the garden. The sun was out, and it was hot. He had taken his top off. She had difficulty not staring at his smooth, firm, but coltish upper body. Small crisp nipples topped off a flawless chest and abs. She felt a flutter between her legs. “Gosh he was rather well turned out,” she thought. “I wonder, can I use your bathroom?” he said, looking at his borrowed boots. ...