Gardening at Mrs Chesters - Sex Stories

Gardening at Mrs Chesters

... fast becoming. He slipped inside, his boots had been quickly tossed in the kitchen. He locked the door and yanking down his tight shorts released a veritable tower of power. Peeling back the plum head on his penis, it twanged into view. He gasped at its stiffness, an effect, for which Dorothy was solely responsible. God, he did not know what was turning him on, but he thought it must be something to do with Mrs. Chester. It was something he hadn’t, as a younger boy, noticed before. She was hot, but he couldn’t work out how. He heard her at the front door, as he slowly stretched his foreskin, hard, back and forth, as quietly as he could. He tried not to breath loudly, even though all he wanted to do was to moan with the tension. Then he noticed she had left her watch by the basin in the cloakroom where he was standing. He felt sure it would help. He grabbed it, wrapped the dark brown leather strap around his cock and balls and did it up, tight. His cock swelled as it fought the constriction of the strap, something that had so recently been around her left wrist. Nine or ten slow firm tugs later, and he was squirting cum into the basin, and shooting a couple of gobs on to the mirror, above. No more than six feet away, on the other side of a thin door, Dorothy had been greeting Collett. He was gasping and heaving, but trying so hard to be quiet in doing so. It was one of the biggest orgasms he had had for some months. He could hear the women chatting in the kitchen as he started ...

... mopping up. Finally, easing the last of the cream from his tip, he went back to the garden, through the kitchen, to work. Later that day he felt something odd when he was cycling back home, but thought no more of it. When he went to take a shower, he felt the constricting band again around his shaft and balls. He looked down and saw that it was Dorothy’s wristwatch. He had forgotten to take it off. It felt snug, but as an old wind up one, he doubted it could survive in the shower. He therefore unbuckled and eased it off. It was only later, when he was lathering up, did he wonder how he would be able to explain its absence from her home. He showered on. His thoughts came back to the woman herself. Old enough to be his real aunt, he tried to work out the clear effect she had on him. As he washed himself, he thought back to a couple of times when he had chanced to be sat behind her, in club meetings, over the last year. As the speaker droned on he had taken to studying her back, the back of her head, and her neck. She had a very fine neck, not fat, with quite delicate lightly toned skin, with a crop of fair hairs. Above, was her close, bobbed, dark hairline, flowing down to a loose necked top. It had been hot in the room, during that boring meeting, and his eyes dropped to her shoulders, and then in turn to each armpit, just visible under the shoulder line. When she bent to pick up a book, he noted the tangle of dark hair sprouting, and remembered wondering idly whether she had ...