As I was about to finish she said, “Be sure to get my ass crack, hate to have a tan line there.”
“That would be mortifying,” I quipped back, as I coated my finger and put lotion between her ass cheeks. I was so tempted to slide my fingers further between her ass cheeks, all the way to her back door, or to attempt to slide my fingers to her pussy in the small window that existed between her legs…I couldn’t see her pussy, but I did have access to it if I could just get the nerve to take the risk.
As I contemplated all the things I could do to my best friend’s mother, she ended the brief moment of teenage fantasy, “Thanks, sweetie.”
I stammered, drawn back to reality, “N-n-no problem.”
I stood up, stared at her naked beauty briefly, and returned to work, adjusting my cock as I walked.
The next hour, I worked and tried not to spend too much time staring at the naked perfection lying nearby.
Around eleven, she put her bikini top and bottom back on, and wordlessly went back in the house. I was frustrated that I never got a full look at her rack or her pussy. I assumed a woman like her kept it trimmed or shaved, but inquiring minds want to know.
The sexual tension already high in just the first morning, it seemed obvious we both wanted the same thing. I worked the next hour relentlessly, beating my sexual frustrations away, and was just getting ready to go and pick something up for lunch when she came back out, now dressed in a sun dress, five inch heels and, shocking in today’s heat, pantyhose…which is my fetish. Although she is a beautiful woman, I always loved how she often wore pantyhose while in the house, even under her jeans.
“I’m heading out for a while,” she announced.
“I see,” I nodded, asking, “Isn’t it a little hot for pantyhose?”
“Isn’t a little too hot to be wearing a shirt?” She countered.
I laughed, “I just put it on a couple of minutes ago. I was about to go and get a bite to eat and most restaurants have that whole no shirt, no service rule.”
“Such a pity,” she shrugged. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours, I left my cell number on the kitchen table in case you need anything.”
“I should be all right,” I shrugged.
“I do mean anything,” she repeated, stressing the word ‘anything’.
“Good to know,” I nodded back, the chess game of sexual seduction continuing.
I watched her leave and followed a couple of minutes later.
I didn’t see her again all afternoon until I was finishing up at around five. I went inside and saw she was on her couch, her stocking-clad feet on the table, her toenails painted purple which was hot, as she watched CNN.
She turned around, hearing me, and asked, “Done for the day?”
“I think so,” I answered, still focusing on her long legs and pretty feet.
“Why don’t you take a seat and visit for a bit?” She offered.
“I’m all dirty and sweaty,” I replied, not wanting to wreck her white furniture.
“I bet you are,” she quipped, the words dripping with sexual implication.
“I need a shower,” I admitted.
“I think I have one of those upstairs,” she smiled playfully.