The first thing I did was to pull up the blinds in my bedroom window. I then opened the window maybe one-third of the way up. Not only did I think it would be nice to have to warm late-spring air filling the house, but I also wanted to let the boys know where I was. I decided that I’d show off just a bit for them but do so in such a manner that they’d think it was unintentional. I live in a very nice home but I was well aware that if one does not raise the bedroom window almost perfectly level that it will catch on the sides and a clunking ratcheting sound. Oops! I accidentally raised the window not level and it made that sound! I was rewarded by seeing all three of them glance up to my window. Mission accomplished.
I have looked into my bedroom window from my garden myriad times. I know exactly how far back one can see in good light as well as in the darkness. Slowly turning I smiled broadly as I faced away from the window. Feeling the heat begin to rise within me I let the silky robe fall from my shoulders. I slowly removed it allowing them to see my bare back. The heat in my body was matched by the sensation of goosebumps all over my skin as I thought of their eyes devouring my innocent nudity. My nipples reacted immediately, standing out so proud and high that they almost hurt. I felt my juices begin to gush. I used to feel so embarrassed over the way my pussy gets so dripping wet so quickly. I soon discovered that most men, as well as the few women I’ve played with, find that to be a huge turn on. Now I realize that my wetness gushing out and running down my thighs is a natural and sexy part of who I am, and I welcome that feeling.
All sounds of them unloading and talking amongst themselves had ceased, so I knew I had their undivided attention. Pausing only briefly to give my hot wetness a few caresses and to tweak my nipples into even more hardness I went into the master bath and quickly put on some makeup. I chose light makeup; a light stormy sky gray shadow to accentuate my green eyes, eyeliner perhaps a little bold but not over the top, pale lipstick to show off my pale skin. I was feeling very hot in both the literal and figurative sense. Still nude I went to the bath window and opened it fully. You cannot really see into that window at all, just shadows and hints of figures moving about. But I could see them perfectly.
They were all three standing there scanning for any sight of me. I stifled a laugh as they suddenly seemed to be engrossed in discussing the terrain upon hearing me open the window.
I couldn’t help myself as I walked back to my makeup center giggling at seeing grown young men reduced to bashful little boys at the mere thought of me in the house naked. I couldn’t help myself and quickly grabbed my ‘bath buddy’ vibrating toy. I crept up to the window and watched them, now working, as I turned on the vibrator and ran it over my inner lips. My plan of showing off to them coupled with their appreciation had me ready to orgasm in almost no time. Watching them bend and stretch and seeing their muscles bulge as they carried the heavy wood to its resting spot added great visuals to my already perverted thoughts. It took only a few seconds until my stomach was quivering as the passion inside of me burst out. I kept the buzzing on my clit until my breasts were heaving and my breath was coming in long ragged gasps. My legs started shaking and every fiber in my being was on the brink of release.
Just before an intense orgasm overwhelmed me, I forced myself to pull the vibrator away. I had to put one hand against the wall to steady myself. Very slowly the torture of almost cumming subsided, leaving me with bonfires burning through every centimeter of my skin and leaving my entire body tingling inside with the yearning for release. I then closed the window half way and strutted out of the bathroom, dropping my toy in the bath tub for later pleasure. Wondering if they heard it clattering in the tub I walked past the bedroom window at the exact spot where I knew my nude body would be seen as a somewhat darkened figure. I imagined the view they were receiving was akin to those nude woman silhouettes that one sees on t-shirts and mud flaps.
Walking across my bedroom I found that I was humming to myself. Looking hopefully at my bed I envisioned all three of them taking me. I wondered if it might come to that. As I mentioned before, I have severe trepidation about playing at home because it might cause problems later. It wasn’t in my devious plan, for sure, but if they played their cards right they’d be here all night. Then I thought about my landscaper and his young son who is friends with Matt. I shouldn’t do anything, I decided.
I, however, fall victim to my own womanhood and free spirit. Some women, like myself, for example, will find any sort of convoluted logic to justify their desires. As soon as I made that decision a little choir inside my head was already justifying that if I were discreet and they promised to be as well that it would be alright. Furthermore, while some people have those imaginary angels on one shoulder saying “No, don’t do it," and a little devil on the other giving them peer pressure; I have a little devil on one shoulder saying “Go for it, you always wanted to try out the landscapers anyway. A father-son threesome would be good for you!” and a Succubus on the other shoulder giving my ideas on how to make it all happen. My final resistance to giving in to my desires was totally destroyed when I discovered my choice of outfit would simply not work.
I had initially planned on wearing a pair of black spandex yoga shorts. I thought that it would show off my figure quite well while still giving it the appearance of being unintentional. You can go anywhere in public these days and women of all shapes and sizes are wearing leggings, yoga pants, or yoga shorts. But as soon as I put them on and the tight fabric brushes up against my nude pussy my juices soaked right through. I’d need to either choose something else to wear or calm myself down several notches. Given that I was so worked up and it had been so long since I’ve had a nice hard cock fucking me into a stupor, there was no way I’d be able to calm down. So discarding plan A, I grabbed a very old and very worn pair of ragged blue jeans that I’ve had since college. These are so worn and threadbare that lots of the spots on them are just tattered white thread. The original blue has faded to the lightest of blues that you can imagine. The cuffs are torn and ragged and there are holes all through the knees, on the thighs, the back of the thighs, and just below my ass. One of the pockets in the rear is ripped about halfway off and there is a quarter-sized hole on the top part of the rear where the pocket tore in the first place. Over the years either they’ve shrunk a bit, or I’ve put on a few pounds. They’ve shrunk, I decided.
I shimmied into my old pants. They are still very comfortable but now so tight that if I had on a piece of dental floss beneath them you’d be able to see it. However fifteen plus years of wearing them has made the fabric stretch to my contours, so I didn’t feel constricted our bound. Being comfortable is always important to me. If I were to feel as if my clothes were binding, or too tight, not fitting well, etc I would become very self-conscious, and that always sours my mood. Bending over to see how much skin was showing I was very pleased to note that the holes couldn’t have been better placed if I were to have put them there myself. If I bent over just enough and had my legs parted ever so slightly, my mound would bulge out from behind as well. I could feel the denim draw itself taught into my slit as I did this and decided that today would be a day of bending over quite a bit. Just a hint of the crease where my upper thighs ran up into my buttocks could be seen through the worn spots on the back thighs. The holes and ragged spots on the front showed just enough skin to make me seem ‘effortlessly enticing’. If men really knew how much effort goes into looking casually sexy they would appreciate it much more. Besides, what could be better to go work in the dirt and mud than an old worn out pair of jeans? One could easily surmise that I merely didn’t want to ruin any of my clothing. While this was true I also desired the attention and lusty intentions of those well-sculpted college boys in my garden.
I stuck to my original plan for my top. Over my bare breasts, I shrugged into a black ribbed tank top. I wear a size small everywhere but my chest. My tits are just a little on the large size for my frame. At least I was blessed with my mother’s genes in the breast department. She’s in her late 40’s (she had me very young) and has ZERO sag in her breasts. I am also likewise blessed, but do lots of pull ups and other exercises to ensure that I remain so. Usually, I’ll need to get a medium size to accommodate my ample bosom, this was a size small. It hugged by breasts like a thin coat of spray paint; the perfect effect. Overtop that I donned a loose fitting white burn-out pattern t-shirt. I don’t know why, but that quasi-transparent, threadbare look of the burnout fabric shirts is one of my favorite looks. I don’t get the opportunity to wear them that often, but the thin, factory worn fabric adds sex appeal and excitement in my opinion. The holes and bare spots in the fabric showed just the perfect amount of skin and the tanks top, while hugging my figure gave me enough modesty that it looked more like I was attempting to be comfortable in yard-work clothing rather than trying to entice those young studs to use their cocks to pound me into a stupor.
I checked myself out in the mirror. The shape of my legs showed well, my ass looked amazing. The tank top molded my breasts quite well and the darkness of the tank top under the t-shirt showed the swell of them quite nicely without screaming trashy whore. I thought about a ponytail but decided against it. If I got too hot or sweaty I’d just tie it back then and make a big show of it.
By the time I was finished with touching myself and choosing my outfit they had unloaded the rest of the materials from the trailer. With the load that Matt had dropped off previously and this one combined, it looked more like they were going to build a giant fortress than a gazebo. They were already sorting thing into 6 piles when I strolled out. I made sure to cross one foot over the over as I walked. That’s my, ‘I’m a model’ walk.
“Just the right amount of boob bounce,” I told myself. “You don’t want to come across as too slutty,” my inner voice kept telling myself as my inner succubus was screaming for me to lose the t shirt and just flat out ask them to take me right then and there. My inner voice won out, just barely. Besides, if anything was going to happen, it would seem better if I played miss little demure and innocent. I could feel their eyes on me. Matt didn’t hide his glances but the others tried to look as if they were looking at, or for, something else while stealing glances at me as I swaggered up to them. I looked them over; already a little sweaty, already a little dirty, muscles enhanced by the physical labor they were just doing. I had three young, handsome, muscular, musician college men captive until they finished their work. Yummy!
“What would you like me to do,” I asked them giving my voice just enough lilt and sex that they could take it as a come on.
“We were discussing that we might need to move those plants right there, “one of them, Jerry, said as he pointed to my Lilacs. “Where would you like them?”
I laughed little. I felt like telling him exactly where I want them…not the bushes…”Right here between my legs with one of you in my mouth and the other in my hands,” was what rolled into my mind. Already the wetness started flowing again due to my perverted dirty mind.
Instead, I said, “You boys get to work and I’ll transplant my lilacs. They’re very fragile and if you don’t treat them right they’ll wither and die.” Jerry shrugged and said, “You’re the boss.”
I retreated to the shed trying to hear them as I walked away. I was still humming and whistling. It was a beautiful day. I grabbed my shovels and tools and walked past them smiling as they all stopped working to let me through so I could transplant my lilacs. I dumped my tools on the ground and got down on my hands and knees, by ass pointing right at them. Forgetting them for the moment, I set to work, digging out the perimeter of my bushes and making sure everything was right for transplanting.
Every now and then I’d catch one of them staring at me. I would always smile if they were brave enough to hold my glance. While the transplanting on the bushes took maybe an hour or so, we were all chatting merrily like old friends by the time I was done with that. They already had the main posts set and were working on the base.
The rest of the time was very much like that. They occasionally talked about their band and whatever songs they were working on and topics that only good friends would talk about. I helped when I could and stayed out of the way otherwise. While they were polite and professional the entire time, the topics skirted sex and sexuality with me chiming in as if I were one of the boys whenever I could. More than once I helped with some of the heavy lifting or holding of this or that piece. Sometimes it was close quarters and I did my best to innocently rub up against them.
They might all be in their lower twenties, but I’m proud to say that I got each and every one of them almost fighting to stand behind or beside me during those times. Not too old, indeed! A push of my breast into a strong arm as we tilted up a newly assembled side panel, pushing my ass back against a crotch as we pushed, or just bending over seemed to have the desired effect. It came out, as I again steered the conversation towards sex that none of them had any serious girlfriends or none at all.
I won’t bore you with all the details, just some of the highlights, and only say that by lunch time they I had them all slavering over my body. I loved it! More than once I had to go and hose the dirt off my clothes. While I don’t usually do this, I was so wet that I was masking the growing damp spots in my crotch. More than once their work, or my own tittering about the garden, brought my face level with one or more their crotches. I would allow my gaze to linger there just long enough that they would wonder if I was staring. My body was aching with desire and every time one of them would accidentally touch me or brush up against me it felt like a mild electric shock. Their well-toned bodies working away didn’t help either. Knowing that they were into me and seeing them try to be manlier than the next to show off for me was quite an enjoyable show. I’ll admit that I appreciate eye candy. So many women pretend that they ‘don’t think like that’. Some are even hypocritical about it; that’s why Cosmopolitan magazine has an article titled “Why men who objectify women are pigs” on the cover one issue and then do the same thing with an article titled “The best swimsuit bulges of the summer Olympics” the very next issue!
I, however, am not ashamed to admit that I enjoy a nice muscular tapered figure on a man as well as the curves on a lady. I make no bones about admiring a nice package or a taut ass on a man. Today though, I was being demure. Of course my version of demure would probably get me slut-shamed by other women! They loved it, I loved it. More than once I had to restrain myself from begging them to take me hard. Barely a minute went by that I didn’t catch one of them checking me out. Every time I’d bend over all conversation would cease.