Chapter 3
Jane felt "that feeling" moving in on her again, in the early afternoon, two days later. She knew what had started her thinking in that direction. It was the young boy doing the gardening outside her window. She tried to remember his name. She knew that he had worked for the Japanese gardener that Bill had contracted with a year before to keep their hedges trimmed, the roses pruned, and that sort of thing. The boy had been coming around once a week since school closed for summer vacation, so she knew he couldn't be more than sixteen, probably a junior at Preston High.
What was his name? She searched her memory. She stared out at him, the wonder of his youth exciting her.
The itch between her legs was a beautiful itch. If she could only take the time to explore it, her fingers would emerge from the wetness of it, warm with her juices. Oh, why was she like this! But she didn't have time to think of that now. He would be through with the hedges within the hour. No, no time now, but very soon though, she was confident she would have something much more gratifying than her fingers to make that itch swell and finally burst. Jerry! That was his name. Jerry Nelson. She remembered now, and had to plan quickly, not really knowing why she was doing all this.
The drapes in the living room were open. She raised her skirt and went about the business of adjusting a garter strap that was already taut and straight. She was hot, and her hands were atremble in their deliberate work. Throughout her body, warm and delicious anticipation was mounting.
She ran her fingers up under the white garter and into the smooth nylon of her white panties, slipping them just inside the elastic to snap the flimsy material better over her full, womanly crotch. She drew the panties up tighter and smoothed her hand over the cloth, drum-tight over her bulging pubic mound, and she traced a circular pattern there while she continued to hold her skirt at her waist.
She knew Jerry Nelson was looking at her, and it took an effort on her part not to look back through the big window at the boy. Mustn't hurry things. He was there, numbly and dumbly going through the motions of running the electric hedges over the tops of the bushes, while he gaped at Jane's living room window, and at the woman carelessly exposing herself through it.
He was hot and this would show in his face, in the adolescent discomfiture that he was feeling in his loins. If she looked up now, she would see a full, lovely bulge in his cutoffs -- not one so large as the boy's in the ghetto -- but for some reason infinitely more exciting to her. More exciting, perhaps, because she was maneuvering this scene, and the boy in the slums of San Francisco had maneuvered his own scene, taking her instead of being taken.
It was understandable. Any sixteen-year-old boy would be shakily aroused by the forbidden sight of a mature woman like her, exposing herself to him so very accidentally. But whatever his arousal was, it could not match hers then, for she had full knowledge of what was to come.
She made a half turn, still looking down at herself, presenting a fine view of lushly curved, thinly clad female buttocks. Jane felt giddy with excitement, wet and swollen and wonderfully alive with a warmth and tingling that only this sort of sex seemed to bring to her lately. Her tits felt full and engorged with her lust, even larger than they actually were. Her fine, long tapered legs felt powerful, even as they quaked with the instinct-compulsion to spread themselves for the young cock out there in the back yard that she had decided soon would be hers. Her clothing felt terribly restrictive, and she had the impulse to strip herself nude, then and there, to expose herself entirely to the boy outside her window.
But that would ruin it all. That would end it too quickly and deprive her of the sweetest, most deliriously exciting moments of the game she was coming to treasure.
She went on with it.
She turned slowly, her left hand still holding her skirt up, her right hand still cupping her cunt and moving about in her crotch until she was facing where young Jerry stood. And then she froze, looking at him with anger as she allowed the skirt to fall and cover her thickly moistening snatch.
It was a signal for the boy, Jerry, to perk up to life, and he presented a beautiful picture to Jane in all his innocence and consternation. His eyes were wide beneath the tousled blond hair, and his mouth hung open, gawking. It was a good mouth, Jane thought, a mouth that was surely almost totally unaware of the softness of a woman. Jane smiled, but only to herself. She would change that.
His sturdy young chest, not yet that of a man, was heaving with his breathing, and she could clearly discern that this was not the only sign of the boy's excitement. In his fashionably threadbare cutoffs could be seen the bulge of his young cock, thoroughly thrilling to Jane. And then he snapped completely rigid, as Jane turned her face directly toward him, letting him know she'd seen him, and then raised one hand to slowly beckon him to come into the house.
He reacted by pointing dumbly to himself, all innocence, and Jane nodded to him. The sight of him barefooted, his head hung, so docilely coming to her, stirred her deeply. She continued to stare at him until he'd entered through the sliding glass doors and stood with hands clasped before him, trying to hide his erect cock, staring down at his feet.
"You were watching me, weren't you, Jerry," she said.
"No... no... I mean... I couldn't help it. Sorry." His voice was strained, but even this delighted Jane, knowing he was at her mercy now.
"You didn't mean to! Oh, come now, Jerry. You meant to. You're a perfectly natural young man. It would be an insult to me if I thought you didn't want to see my body." She came a step closer, her hands on her hips.
"Oh, I'd never insult you! I just... "
She arched an eyebrow and contemplated him coolly. "Don't be ashamed of being yourself, Jerry. I understand. Frankly, I'd love to watch you undressing, myself. I guess we're both peeping Toms, eh?" His eyes widened in disbelief. "Would you undress for me to watch. Jerry?"
Minutes later, Jane had the frightened boy on the couch. She was fondling his neck, and finally dropping her hand to the zipper of his cut-offs, while still "scolding" him for being "such a naughty boy." Her two delicate fingers ran the zipper open, and the boy's erection snapped out abruptly.
"You just relax, honey," she soothed, as she stroked his cock, paying particular attention to the sensitive skin at the top. She worked it now with only two fingers -- a thumb and a forefinger -- working the stalk of it, slowly, in long, light strokes, all the way from the testes to the head. "Now stop trembling," she said. "Feel nice?"
He made an incoherent sound. Now Jane was stroking it steadily with her full hand, full strokes. She could smell the wonderful, meaty, aromatic aroma that her cunny always emitted when it got this worked up, this juiced for action. She wondered if the boy was inhaling the woman-smell too. Juices were flowing every which way inside Jane, all the way up to her kidneys, with the very thought of having this virgin-boy inside her. She couldn't resist a slight up-and-down motion of her hips. She moved her face closer to him, knowing he'd have to drink in that beauty that had helped her to win the lusty stares of men in the days before her marriage to Bill. "Kiss me," she whispered. She mashed her breasts against his chest, feeling her lips flatten against his, her tongue worming its way into his trembling mouth. She then flicked her tongue into his ear, making the boy groan. She kissed him on the mouth again, using her tongue to prod his to life. She teased it out until it was between her lips, then closed her mouth on it and sucked it gently.
Jane was almost dizzy with her mounting passion; his erect and pulsing penis was still being worked in her fist.
Jane slid down away from the kiss and knelt on the carpet. She pushed his legs apart and took his penis slowly, sip by sip, gulp by gulp, into her warm mouth. She twisted her lips around on the thermos-tube flesh. She could feel the wetness between her own legs, rolling down her thighs. She moaned on her mouthful of meat and closed her hand around the thick base of it She trembled, panting her pleasure, letting her tongue quickly seek out that humid slit that was already leaking its first white and sticky emissions.
"Ohhh... the feel of it in my mouth... on my tongue... oooh... " she moaned on it again.
Even as she bobbed up and down on his lap lewdly, running the full length of him in and out of her saliva'd mouth, she wondered at the strange, wonderful lust building in the nipples of her breasts. The boy strained upwards at the wet, warm feel of her soft lips slipping easily up and down over his staff. He trembled as her tongue swirled over the satin plum, polishing it, loving it. Then her hollowed cheeks pulled more of the throbbing bar of meat into her throat, as she mewled with her lust. He was starting his orgasm, and she increased her motions of mouth and tongue and hands before the first of his gush of sperm sprang, hot and pure and good in her mouth.
"Aagghhh!" the boy screamed, grabbing at the back of Jane's head.
The doorbell rang!
The boy scrambled off the couch, fell on the floor, half crawled, half ran toward the back door.
"No... no!" Jane screamed, come dripping from her lips. "Come back! It's all right!"
But he was gone, halfway across the back lawn by now, zipping his dampened jeans closed.
Jane sat on the floor and ran the back of her hand over her drenched mouth. The doorbell rang again.
"Special Delivery!" came a voice from outside.
She tried to stand, tried to wipe her mouth dry with a hanky. At the door, trembling, she opened it just a crack, just enough to permit the mailman's hand to slip in and hand her the letter. She was thankful she didn't have to sign for it. She couldn't have managed that, her hands were trembling so.
Two hours later Jane was still sitting on the couch, wondering if she should do it. The letter had been a long one, six pages, from her old schooldays' chum, Madeleine. Jane had not seen her in years, but had heard from previous letters that Madeleine had married a rich Englishman. This letter described a vacation resort they owned in Haiti, near Port-au-Prince. Madeleine, in her letter, went on and on about how she had missed Jane, and practically insisted that Jane come and visit her and her husband for a couple of weeks. Just to make the offer stronger, there was an airline ticket enclosed in the pages. Of course, Jane could send the ticket back with a letter explaining that she just couldn't leave her family... but... the thought of getting away, just as Madeleine had suggested, grew more and more attractive by the moment. Perhaps it was just what she needed to break this pattern of madness she had been living these past few months.
By the time Bill arrived home from work, she had decided. She'd do it!
Bill offered only slight resistance, acting as if he really didn't give a damn.
And so it was that three days later, after two long-distance phone calls to Madeleine accepting and verifying the offer, Jane found herself on Eastern Airlines flight six-twenty-three, on her way.
The first hour of the trip was misery, for Jane was seated next to a boozed-up salesman who lost no time in propositioning her. But after the stewardess changed her seat, Jane settled down to napping... and dreaming of the wonderful adventure ahead of her.