He had to be watching. I’d made enough noise scraping the garden furniture around on the patio to attract his attention, and I made doubly sure I placed the sun-lounger in a spot where it would be just out of his sight from that upstairs window. If he was going to watch me in the garden I knew it would have to be from the top floor window of his house; no other room overlooked my patio, which I knew that from when Lydia, my previous next-door-neighbour, had owned the place. It was an odd feeling, a paradoxical divide between a desire for privacy and yet wanting, almost needing to flaunt myself in front of him. My heart hammered in my chest, and my stomach felt weak and watery whenever I thought about what I was doing. On a logical level I was appalled, but that still didn’t stop my pussy from juicing with anticipation as I laid the groundwork.
After pouring a chilled glass of White Grenache I paused at the patio doors and took a deep breath before sauntering out into the garden.
Was he watching? I wondered as I moved slowly across the lawn. I hoped he was; I hoped he was up there now, studying me, his eyes moving over my body as I pretended to inspect the summer roses and other blooms. Was he looking at me right now? Were his eyes on my buttocks as I leaned forward, the brief bikini bottoms stretching tight?
I turned and paused again, sipping wine while I gave him a good, long look at my breasts. I knew, if he was there, that he’d be looking at my tits; he’d not been able to stop himself ogling my boobs when he’d helped me with my supermarket shopping from the car the day before.
“Settled in all right?” I’d asked as he dumped the last bag onto the kitchen counter.
“Yep,” Sam had replied, grinning and showing me his white, even teeth. That was when I’d felt my pussy clench; while he stood there, hands on denim-clad hips, his tee-shirt flat against the slabs of pectoral muscle and tight stomach. He’d replied, looking all sexy: “All unpacked, got the Sky hooked up, and even have a fridge full of beer for the house-warming party …” He’d looked at me and, as he turned those blue eyes on me, I was sure my cunt growled. “I’m having a few of the boys over tomorrow night,” he said. “It might get a little noisy …” Then, while I was just dreaming about Sam’s lean-muscled arms and potentially clitoris-diddling, dexterous fingers, he added, “But I wondered if you might like to come around for a few drinks too? If you wanted to … If you weren’t busy …”
So I agreed to the house-warming, and why not? How could I turn down a chance to ogle fit men half my age and get sloshed into the bargain? I couldn’t let an opportunity like that go by, and besides, when I’d noticed Sam glancing surreptitiously down my cleavage every time he thought I wouldn’t notice, I had to suppress a real urge to just kiss his mouth and rub the palm of my hand over the bulge in his jeans.
The idea to exhibit myself came in bed later that night. With a rubber cock jammed inside me and a small vibrator buzzing on my clit, I came up with the idea to tease Sam. I thought I’d be clever and seduce my sexy young neighbour at his party, but first I’d give him an eyeful of the goods – which was why I was out in the garden, drinking White Grenache and wearing the briefest bikini I owned at midday on a Saturday.
I sipped at the wine and resisted the urge to look up at Sam’s upstairs window. Instead I nonchalantly, or so I hoped it appeared, strolled around the garden while my pussy clenched and siped desire into my bikini bottoms.
“You randy old tart,” I muttered to myself. “Why don’t you just knock on his front door and tell him you’re going to fuck his brains out?” I chuckled and shook my head. The answer was simple. “Because,” I continued my monologue, “this is turning you on so much. It’s so much more fun to tease the poor boy.” Is he up there? I wondered. Is he watching me now?
When I reached the edge of the lawn I stopped. I knew that, if Sam was there, I’d now be right on the periphery of his view. Another two steps onto the patio and he wouldn’t be able to see me. I placed the long-stemmed goblet carefully onto the flagstones, and then, facing the window, I gave a slow, languid, feline stretch. After lowering my arms and making a bit of a show pretending to check around for potential voyeurs, I reached up to the nape of my neck and undid the bow that secured the bikini bra.
My face burned but my cunt felt hotter as I eased my boobs out and felt the sun caress my flesh.
“Oh that’s nice,” I muttered as my nipples thickened and grew in response to the sensual caress of the sun’s warming rays, as well as the knowledge – the hope – that Sam was up there staring at my tits.
I couldn’t resist lifting my breasts in my palms and allowing the balls of my thumbs to slide over my erect teats; and then I gave him two more seconds before I picked up the glass and moved onto the patio out of his sight.
“Alexa,” I admonished myself in a low voice. “You’re forty-five, way too old to be playing such puerile games. “Just drink your wine, have a shower and go next door and fuck him. Or,” I continued, my voice questioning, “you could just go round in your bikini and shower with Sam … And then fuck him.” I laughed and, calling myself a slut, went into the kitchen and poured more wine.
Since it was such a sunny day I decided to take the opportunity for a little sunbathing. I lay a towel over the chair and settled into it still bare-breasted. I think I dozed for a little while and, as I did I day-dreamed about Sam, and how I would seduce him that night. I fantasised about the bold approach, just being obvious and basically dragging him to bed; as well as the slow, subtle scene where I teased him and made him work for me. After all the anticipation was half the fun.
I was just thinking about what I would wear to the party, something to show off my boobs and legs and tan, when I heard a sound from next door. I caught my breath, the shock of realisation jolting me upright. The noise, whatever it was, had come from just over the fence. I lsat still, my mouth having suddenly gone dry and my heart lub-lubbing frantically.
Someone was there!
Sam was there, not three feet away on the other side of the fence. Was he looking at me right now? Could he see me through a gap in the planking?
Very likely, I decided. He could be there now, an eye pressed to the wood, looking at me.
My mind whirred while I struggled to decide what to do. In the end I thought that more wine was the answer and, when I rose to my feet, something devilish within me, some perversion or need to exhibit myself. Or perhaps it was White Grenache and sunshine that made me stand facing the fence and stretch and yawn. I knew my breasts would jiggle and sway with that movement and, as they did, I was sure I heard the sound of clandestine shuffling from next door.
“What are you going to do now?” I asked myself as I poured more wine. “Are you just going to lie there and let him look at your tits …?”
The plan was forming even as I walked back out onto the patio. I stood where I thought Sam would be looking at me, flaunting my body as I sipped my drink. Then, after placing the goblet on the flagstones next to the sun-bed I turned and presented my backside to the fence. Next I very deliberately hooked my thumbs into the waistband of the bikini bottoms and pulled them over my buttocks. Did I hear a sigh or a gasp when the elastic material slid over the cheeks of my arse? I think I did, and that sound prompted me to bend at the waist a little and thrust my buttocks towards the noise as I slowly peeled my bikini bottoms down.
My face burned as I stripped. I knew that Sam would be able to see the clam of my pussy nestled in that little concavity at the top of my thighs. I felt so vulnerable like that, knowing he could see all of me, and I wondered if my labia were pouting, all sticky and swollen with lust. I hoped so, I wanted Sam to see the desire trickling out of me.
I moved the position of the lounger as though I were just allowing for the sun’s parabolic track across the high blue sky, but what I was in fact doing was just altering the location of seat so that Sam could see my body full frontal as I lay there.
I swallowed the wine and, thus emboldened, lifted my feet onto the bed and just let my legs fall apart.
“You’re going to hell, Alexa,” I muttered to myself as, with a pink wine buzz, I slid a forefinger between my labia. “Oh, fuck,” I gasped in an involuntary reaction to the tingling pleasure my finger elicited from my excited clit. “Oh, fuck … That feels so good.”
And I fingered my pussy unashamedly, one hand mauling my wobbling tits as I brought myself to a red-faced, teeth-clenching climax. When I came I grunted and groaned and swore with my legs clamped tight around my wrist as I pushed three fingers into my clenching cunt, knuckle-deep and squelching.
“Oh, fuck,” I groaned. “Sam … Please, Sam … Fuck me tonight. Lick my cunt and fuck me. Make me come like this again … later … Please.”
There was no response from over the fence as I staggered into my kitchen and poured water into a glass.
“Oh, you dirty old bitch,” I chuckled to myself. “What have you done?” My face reddened again and I winced at the memory of making such an obscene show of myself. Would I be able to face my young neighbour later on?
Another bottle of Grenache later, after I’d showered and pampered myself, shaving and plucking and oiling and powdering … I was ready.
I dressed provocatively, my boobs almost hanging out of my dress as I tottered across the drive to next door on killer heels.
“Come in,” Sam smirked after he opened the door. “Boys,” he said to four gorgeous young men who posed like models in his kitchen. “This is Alexa, my neighbour.”
“Hello, boys,” I trilled and finger-waggled a wave to the assembled beef-cake.
“Although,” Sam said and waved a bottle of lager at the grinning men, “the lads have already been introduced to you.”
Someone dropped a lead brick into the pit of my stomach.
“Oh God …” I moaned. “All of you …?”
“You all saw me … This afternoon …?”
Another nod from Sam.
“Yes, Alexa,” he said. “We did.”
“Fuck it,” I sighed, shrugging my shoulders as I slid the bootlace straps of my dress over my shoulders. “Who’s first?”