The first time Mrs. Toner came onto my radar screen, I was fifteen years old, and I was in a tree house.
The Toners lived next door to my family, in an upscale suburb of Washington, D.C. Mr. Toner was some kind of political type on Capitol Hill. He was never home, as his son, Brian – my best friend for a time - always complained. Brian hated his dad.
Anyway, years earlier, my dad had built me a cool tree house in the crook of a big oak tree right at the edge of our yard. Brian and I used to hang out there all the time. From up there, we could see over the big tall fence that separated our yards, right into Brian’s back yard. We used to shoot acorns at his mom with a slingshot while she was gardening. We aimed for her bum when she was bent over, but she was too far away.
One summer, the Toners put in a swimming pool, and that fall Brian went away to some college prep course, and was off doing stuff somewhere else the next summer, so it was just me and the tree house when I turned eighteen. Me and the tree house, and Mrs. Toner.
I was hanging out in the tree house one hot afternoon, with a joint and a Hustler magazine. I was freshly stoned and had a wicked boner, which I was about to flog, when I saw Mrs. Toner come out to the pool. I hadn’t really paid that close attention to her before, but that day, she had on a smokin’ hot bikini that didn’t leave much to my fertile imagination. I closed the Hustler, and she became the new object of my raging lust.
***
The summer my only son left the house was the loneliest of my life. I had just turned forty, my husband hadn’t touched me in a year, the last time only because I had begged him to take care of my needs before I took matters into my own hands. He didn’t heed my pleas, however, and although I hadn’t quite yet determined to act on my impulses, by the time that summer rolled around, I was at my breaking point, as he was no doubt out on the town mining the rich pool of Capitol Hill interns who learn fast how to fuck their way to a career in politics.
While I hadn’t yet taken that step to adulterous conduct, I had done plenty to satisfy myself. The internet brought me a whole new world of consequence-free erotic activity. I had created profiles on several “hook-up” sites, where I’d expressed an interest in erotic emails and chat. I’d learned the art of taking “selfies,” and filled my profile with naughty pictures of me sunbathing nude at the poolside. These profiles generated a flood of email from all kinds of weirdos, who for some reason thought they had the most awesome equipment God had ever endowed on any man, just look at that thing filling the picture.
Still, there were a few men good looking enough – pictures that were plenty suggestive but not anatomically focused – and my contact with these men progressed to phone sex, camera-to-camera masturbation, and eventually, discussion about the possibility of meeting “IRL.” I wanted it so bad, but I didn’t have the courage to take that terrifying last step. Still, my fantasies of how these adventures would play out consumed me, and I sometimes could not resist the urge to play with myself while I was naked by the pool. The feel of the sun on my breasts, the hot air on my skin, and the thought of a naked man excited to be with me drove me to glorious orgasms with increasing frequency.
It was the morning of one such occasion, when a hint of pot smoke reached my nose, that I discovered that I had an admirer. I had just slid my hand under my bikini bottom when I detected the scent. With my sunglasses on, I peered casually up into the trees above the fence, and spied the face of Brian’s best friend in the opening of his tree house. I curtailed my planned activity, but remained topless on my chaise, occasionally slipping my hand beneath the bikini lip to give myself – and my admirer – a little thrill.
***
By the second week, we practically had it down to a schedule. She’d come out to the pool about 10:30 in her bikini, take a swim, lie down on her back, take off her top. I’d wake up with a boner already, and scamper up the ladder to wait for her. When she took off her top, I took off my shorts. The first time she slid her hand down toward her pussy, I thought she was gonna finger herself right there, and I quickly blew a load in a puddle on the tree house floor. She’d finish her sunbathing by noon, and the show was over.
Her routine got progressively nastier, though, until she didn’t even bother with the bathing suit – she just sauntered out of the house bareass, swam bareass, sunbathed bareass, and then fingered her pussy and squeezed her tits until she began this weird, awkward twitching. The first time, I thought she was having a stroke or something. No girl I ever fucked did that, not that there were too many, just one who laid there like she was paralyzed and another who couldn’t stop screaming. Then I checked out some free porn and figured out she was coming like a freight train. When she started that routine, I was jackin’ off three, four, maybe five times.
Even after the show ended, though, all I could think about was Mrs. T and that sweet pussy. I laid in bed at night with a bottle of lotion and a towel, pounding my pud until it was sore. Maybe I could get a job as her pool boy or something.
***
I came to anticipate the presence of my spectator with such excitement that I wondered if I had become a full-fledged exhibitionist. I had never done such a thing before, or even felt any interest in having my intimacy watched by anyone. Not even my husband knew about my toys, although if he’d have asked, I’d have gladly shared, or even asked him to get involved. Maybe that would have saved me.
But at this point, he was dead to me, and Kevin in the treehouse was the closest thing to intimacy within my grasp. And so, day after day, I went to my secret spot, each day becoming just a bit more daring, more uninhibited in what I would do for him.
And as I lay on my chaise stroking myself, caressing my breasts, burying three fingers deep inside myself, I tried hard to envision Kevin, up in the treehouse, working his lovely young tool, spewing his semen. I wanted to see it. I had to.
One day, I went to the camera store and bought a small telescope and tripod, and set it up in my bedroom on the second floor, focused directly on the treehouse entrance. Instead of going out to the pool at the usual time, I stayed by the telescope. I watched him come to the yard in his cut-off jeans, no shirt. He was a good looking boy, and well built. He got to the top of the ladder and slid inside, his face appearing in the window opening. He moved around and I saw his shorts kicked off by the entrance, so I could see his feet, splayed out in front of the entrance, his face in the window. Not good enough. I ran down to the pool so I wouldn’t disappoint him. Something else would have to be done.
***
I couldn’t believe it when mom told me Mrs. T had asked if I could do some yard work for her.
“You’re not doing anything all day long,” mom complained for the bazillionth time. “You might as well do some hard work, get some exercise, and make a little money.”
She was a little surprised how quickly I agreed. I spent the rest of the day fantasizing all the different ways it would happen, when all of the images I had made up would turn into reality.
But the first few days were a real disappointment. Mrs. T was sweet to me as she showed me all the weeding and trimming she wanted me to do, but the whole time I was working in the yard, she never once came out to sun herself. She wore a kind of silk robe or something over her suit, and stayed in the house. It was wicked hot outside and all, and she prolly had the A/C cranked, but that hadn’t stopped her before.
Still, it didn’t stop me from dreaming of that magic moment while I was working, and I spent those two days sweating my ass off, with a permanent hard-on bulging in my cut-off jeans. At least twice during those days, I took a break to go behind the tool shed, where I jacked off to the image of Mrs. T standing in her kitchen window with that blank look on her face.
***
I was so excited the day Kevin first appeared at the door, I almost felt nauseous. I had already given myself a crashing orgasm in the shower, hoping to quell my raging lust, but as soon as I saw his bare chest and those skimpy cut-offs, I wanted to do it all over again. Was I out of control? How incredibly reckless and predatory could I be? This was all a huge mistake, and I had better turn back before it was too late.
I led him to the back yard, showed him the tool shed, explained all of the things I needed done, and told him to holler any time if he preferred ice water to drinking from the hose. He looked crestfallen when I returned to the safety of my kitchen.
But my efforts at salvation were not so effective. As I watched through the kitchen window, his young, strong, sweaty body bending and twisting and kneeling and lifting, my lust blossomed anew. Then I saw him unzipping his shorts as he walked behind the tool shed. I slipped one hand under my bikini bra, the other inside the bottoms, and brought myself to another blinding orgasm.
This I did the next day and the next, finally dispensing with the bikini at all, greeting him at the door wrapped in the kimono alone. I’m quite sure he noticed, as I noticed, too, the lovely, vigorous bulge in his jeans. Would I ever hold it in my hands? Taste it? Feel it inside of me? These thoughts consumed me each time I stood at that window, until the scent of my sex filled the room.
***
It was crazy of me, working up a boner before I knocked on the door, but I had to take matters into my own hands.
And she noticed it, too. How could she miss it? Every morning when she opened the door, she scanned me from head to toe. That morning, her eyes hesitated, just as I noticed her nipples against the silk of her robe. I almost came in my pants right then.
In the middle of that day, it was hotter than hell, and squirting myself with the garden hose didn’t cool me off like a jump in the pool would. So I knocked on the back door and asked Mrs. T if it was okay for me to take a quick dip.
“Why of course you can, Kevin. Do you need a towel?”
I said no thanks, I could drip dry, keep me cool longer. Then, choking through a tennis ball in my throat, I said, “if it’s okay though, can I take my shorts off?”
The sight of her blushing, the instant shock on her face, scared me that I’d just stepped in shit. What an idiot!
“Uhhh, well…” she stammered. “I suppose that would be okay. I’ll keep busy at the front of the house for a while. Go ahead, but be quick, okay?”
***
As soon as Kevin went toward the pool, I ran upstairs to my bedroom, where a sliding glass door led to a deck overlooking the pool. The door was covered by a thin, white sheer curtain. I shrugged off my kimono and stood naked where I could see between the curtain and the door frame. There was about an inch of an opening, and I watched as Kevin surveyed the back of the house as though he might be being watched. His eyes scanned the bottom floor, then went up and scanned the second floor. I froze, and thought perhaps he hesitated where I stood, but he didn’t hesitate for long.
Facing the house like he wanted to be seen, he unbuttoned his shorts, pulled the zipper, and dropped them on the deck. There was no question that Kevin had more on his mind than a quick dip in the pool.
How would I get him to take a dip in mine?
***
Holy shit! I knew where Mrs. T’s bedroom was, I’d watched her a million times from the treehouse. She had no idea how useless that stupid curtain was, especially at night with the lights on. Or maybe she did. But I sure didn’t expect to see her standing there, inches from the glass, in her birthday suit. I couldn’t see really great, but she had a fine set of tits and was in damn good shape for forty.
It was a real turn-on, knowing she was watching, and my dick sure wanted me to show him off, so I dropped my shorts to give her a good view, gave it a few strokes for good luck, and dove into the pool. I made a point of floating on my back, letting Mr. Johnson float on the surface, hoping the image would spur her to take care of business. I liked that idea, her standing in the window, stroking her kitty.
***
I couldn’t take my eyes off him. The lean, muscular body, and so well-endowed. I skipped to the drawer of my bedside table and grabbed a toy, returned to the window and went to work right there, my eyes glued him and his hard cock while I filled myself with rubber love. When I came, I almost pulled the curtains down as my legs quivered.
***
The day after my first skinny dip in the Toner pool, Mrs. T greeted me at the door holding a bathing suit. Instead of her kimono, she wore shorts and a blouse. What the hell was going on here?
“You are welcome to use the pool to cool off any time, Kevin, but I think it’d be better if you wore something. If you don’t want to get your shorts wet, you can use these.”
She did not seem to be the same lady who I watched jamming a dildo into herself while Mr. Johnson frolicked in her pool. She seemed, like… upset.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. T. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” I said.
She loosened up a little. “Don’t be silly, Kevin. It’s not your fault. I think it’s more about appearances than anything else. Mr. Toner is a very important man. I can’t have the Washington Post finding a naked teenager in his pool.”
“So I didn’t make you uncomfortable, I hope?”
“Not at all, Kevin."
I gulped. “Good, cuz I saw you in the window.” The blood rushed to my face, my ears hissed. Nothing moved. Her face was frozen in that dull gaze she had at the kitchen window. Her face and neck flushed crimson over her tan.
“I… I’m sorry, Kevin… I shouldn’t have violated your privacy like that. We should never speak of this again.” She drew one arm across her middle and put a hand to her throat.
“When I saw what you were doing, I wanted to jack off for you.” What the hell was I saying? Where did I get the balls to do that? Holy shit, I was in trouble.
She gasped at this, staring below my chin. I waited for her to say something, or maybe just drop to her knees and give Mr. Johnson some love.
“Uhh..” she stammered, “you should be with girls your own age, Kevin. And I’m a married woman.”
“Girls my own age suck. They say stupid stuff and don’t know what they’re doing, and they get pissed when you don’t call them right away. You’re a real woman, Mrs. T. I’ve been hot for you for weeks. All I think about is sex with you.”
She was frozen in place, hand to throat like she might want to choke herself, eyes glued to the floor. She suddenly turned and walked away from me, toward the kitchen.
I stood there for a minute, wondering what the hell to do. I should probably have just left. But instead, I went to the kitchen, and found her standing at the kitchen window, running cold water over her hand, patting her neck and face.
“I saw you watching me from this window,” I said. “I saw what you were doing.”
She turned around and leaned against the counter. She was crying. “Kevin, this is all my fault, and I think maybe it’s more complicated than I can explain, but it’s not a good idea to take this any further.”
“Why not?”
“It’s just not. You’re so young, and your mother is a friend. My husband is a powerful man. I’m…”
“You want to.”
“I do, Kevin. I can’t. I’m a lonely, over-sexed, middle-aged woman, and my lust overcomes my reason. It’s one thing to make up fantasies, to masturbate. It’s another to move beyond that.”
“I want to lick your pussy.”
“Stop it, Kevin.”
I unbuttoned my shorts. “Let me jack off for you.”
“Not a good idea,” she said, but her eyes were fixed on my shorts.
I unzipped the shorts. My cock was stuck sideways, but she could see my pubes. Her eyes came up to mine.
“Please don’t.”
I slid the shorts to release my cock, and they dropped to the floor. My boner reached my belly button. I heard her breathing. I took my cock in my hand and slowly started to stroke it.
“This is not right, Kevin.” She watched my hand.
“I know, but your pussy’s wet, isn’t it.” I worked it a little faster.
“Yes it is,” she breathed, and kind of grabbed the counter to keep her balance.
“Play with your pussy for me.” I had no idea where my words were coming from. Not like I was an expert at seducing women. I felt like I was acting out a dream, playing the part of the experienced stud who women can’t say no to.
***
I so wanted to. I wanted to take two steps to him and grab that beautiful thing myself. I wanted to stroke it and rub it and play with it, take the head in my mouth, feel his hot semen spraying my face. I couldn’t do that. I would not.
But I could not stop my hand from moving to the button of my shorts. I watched my fingers flick it free, and proceed to the next button, and the next, as Kevin slowly stroked his cock and watched. The fly open now, Kevin would see the edge of my red thong, the thin line of my landing strip peeking out.
He groaned and worked himself faster.
“Take your time,” I whispered. “Wait for me.”
I was beyond gone.
***
I was pretty sure I could have blown a load right then and not lost my hard-on, but I wanted to learn what she had in mind.
“Teach me,” I whispered back.
She wiggled the shorts past her hips and let them drop, then kicked them aside. Her tanned tummy and thighs framed a tiny red triangle covering her pussy, and the thong strings hugged her hips.
“Take off your blouse,” I said.
She watched her fingers flick the buttons, and opened the shirt to show me her full, lovely tits. Big, dark circles with nipples like pencil erasers. Her hands slid the blouse over her shoulders, and when she dropped her arms, the blouse fell away. A cuff stuck on one wrist. She turned the button and flicked her arm, and the shirt landed on top of her shorts.
She leaned back against the counter, moved her feet out, separating them beyond shoulder’s width. She stared at my eyes like she was hypnotized. Her hands slid up her tummy, cupped her tits. She rolled her nipples between her fingers. She bent her legs, sliding down on the counter a little, and slid a hand down her tummy until it disappeared in the red triangle. I watched her finger move the silk as it worked.
“I wanna come,” I croaked.
“Be patient,” she said. “You have to come with me.”
“I can’t help it.”
“Yes you can. Stop stroking yourself. Watch me, and I’ll tell you when.”
***
It might have killed him to watch me give him a show like that and not be able to touch himself. I knew I wouldn’t keep him waiting long.
I slipped my thong down, left it hanging around an ankle, squatted against the counter and gave him a lesson in female masturbation that he’d never forget. I took my time, keeping one hand busy on my body while my fingers probed and stroked. I showed him how we strum the clitoris, in circles, or press hard or even lightly slap. He gulped a few times when I moaned, and once wiped the precum off his tip and licked it.
“I’m ready, Kevin.” I felt the build as my fingers trust in and out, letting him hear the wet flup sound of my palm on my pussy. “Come close. We can’t touch, but I want you to come on my tummy.”
Kevin shuffled to me, never letting go of his tool.
“Straddle my leg,” I said, my hand never relenting.
He moved closer, feet on either side of my knee, back hunched, hips thrust forward, knees bent, arm working like a piston, his scrotum flopping against his legs.
The building crested and my body began to spasm. “Now,” I gasped.
Kevin grunted and groaned, his jerking became irregular. Bolts of electricity wracked my twitching body, as I watched Kevin’s magnificent cock spurting, one, two, three beautiful skeins of hot cum on my chest, my breasts, my tummy. My legs weakened and I slid down to the floor, finger still playing, watching Kevin’s cum flirting with my nipple, filling my belly button, running down to my landing strip.
I wanted nothing more than to lick him clean, but I knew what that would lead to.
***
My mom asked me a few times how the Toners could possibly have so much yard work to do, but I told her I worked slow and took a lot of breaks. I wasn’t exaggerating.
Mrs. T never budged on the no-touch rule, but we did our ritual pretty much every day. Even when we moved it outside to the pool deck, where the sun and outdoors makes things so sexy, I couldn’t get her to even give me a blow job or jack me off. But I sure did put a lot of cum on that chest of hers.
Then one day, there was no one home. The house was empty, locked. I went back to my house, wondering what the hell to do with one of the last days of the summer.
My mother was sitting in the kitchen, ashen-faced, a copy of the Washington Post on the table.
“What’s wrong, mom?” I asked.
She looked at me the way only a mother can, when a son has done something really, really wrong. She slid the paper around to face me.
The front page headline read:
SECRETARY TONER RESIGNS AMID NEIGHBORHOOD SEX SCANDAL
