Yard Work — Jean Plaisir

Yard work is a bitch.  Especially if you’ve got a husband who’d rather sit and read a book than help you rake leaves, trim trees or move heavy flower pots.  But I think I had a brainstorm last weekend. 

We were having a party that night and I wanted the house to look perfect.  And I wanted Bill to help, considering it was his boss coming to the party, and anyway, isn’t lugging tree limbs supposed to be men’s work?  So I fussed and nagged until he put down his book and moped out back, grumbling every step of the way.  He stood with his hands crammed in tight jeans pockets and said,  “Looks fine to me.”

A man with muscles out to here, and all he wants to lift is a book.  I got him to start hosing the patio while I knelt down to pull weeds.  I do enjoy that part, the thick smell of the earth, the cool greenery.  The sun beat warm on my back, and after awhile I realized it was plenty warm on my backside too.  I could feel the warm rays tickling in nether parts below and almost without thinking about it, began to spread my knees on the dirt, letting the hot sun work its way in.  With every yank of a handful of weeds, my T-shirt stretched and pulled against my bra-less breasts.  I glanced over to see how Bill was doing.  He was waving the hose fairly expertly, but his eyes weren’t on the patio or the leaves.  He was watching me with a look I hadn’t seen in broad daylight for a long time.  I smiled.

“Sooner we get done here, sooner we can go get a shower.”  I waggled my eyebrows.

“I got a shower for you right here.”  He put the hose between his legs and rubbed it against his crotch.  He waved it at me, almost hitting me with the spray.  Some of the cool mist brushed my arms and I shivered.

He flipped the hose a bit more and water droplets fell on hot skin below my rolled up shorts.  A stronger flip sent a stream across the front of my shirt.

“Cut it out,”  I said, only half meaning it.  My nipples tightened as the cold water soaked through the hot cotton.

He grinned and doused me with another big gush from the hose.

“Okay, that’s it, mister.”  I dropped my tools and made a dash for the hose.  He hit me with another icy blast and I shrieked from the shock. 

“You’ve soaked my clothes!”

“So take ‘em off!”

I was suddenly aware of a silence on the other side of the fence.  I hadn’t consciously heard our neighbors, but now I realized they had been talking and had suddenly stopped.  It was as though I could hear their ears growing.

I pointed in the direction of the fence and hissed,  “They’re listening!”

“So what?  What do you care?”

“I don’t like people I can’t see, listening in on what I’m doing.”

“ Invite ‘em over.  Make it a foursome.”

I made a face.  The Johnsons were old enough to be our parents.  They had a good-looking young son who sometimes cleaned their pool in nothing but trunks that stretched tight over a bulging crotch.  He’d made gross gestures at me that were anything but a turn-on.  And their big-breasted daughter had invited Bill over for a swim until she caught the look I was giving her.  None of them were foursome material, and anyway, I don’t share.

“Let’s go inside,”  I whispered.

“I like it out here,”  he whispered back and made a grab for me.

I giggled and dodged.  He dropped the hose and came after me. 

There’s a big oak tree right in the corner of our yard, and I tried to dodge behind it, but there was too much debris from our last wind storm.  Bill backed me into the corner between the tree and the fence.  He started to unbutton his jeans.  I pointed frantically in the direction of the big-eared neighbors.  He grinned.  I made a dash for freedom, but he grabbed me with both arms.  My cold nipples were smashed against his chest and I felt the hard knot of flesh that he was trying to release from behind his fly.  He tugged at my shorts.

“Are you crazy!”  I hissed in his ear.  “We can’t do that here!”

“Are you going to yell for help?”  he asked as he yanked my pants down.  “You better be quiet, or they’ll hear you!”

I tried to protest, but he had pulled his own pants down and was using his beautiful big cock to press me up against the tree.  For one last desperate moment I tried to hear anything from the other side of the fence that said they were still listening.  And then I felt his knob gobbling at my exposed lips, suddenly I just didn’t care.  He shoved my knees so far apart that I could only stay upright by hanging on to his shoulders.  My cunt was throbbing with wet heat and in spite of myself, I started getting excited at the thought that they could hear our grunts and gasps, as he thrust first that big knob and then the rest of him up into me, stretching my cunt until I wanted to cry out in deep moans.  Some remembrance of privacy made me bite my lips and swallow my cries as his cock shoved in and out.  I ground my cunt lips against him.  Bill smothered his groans in my hair and murmured things, dirty things, that made my body vibrate and heat up hotter than any sunburn.  I barely felt the rough bark of the tree against my butt as I kicked the entangling shorts completely off and threw my legs around his bare hips.  He braced his hands on the tree behind me and started shoving again.  When he began to moan a little too loud, I pressed my hand against his mouth.  In return, he shoved his cock even deeper and, before I could cry out, he pressed his hand over my mouth.  It was somehow exciting to be forced to hold in my usual loud cries as we moved faster and faster, rubbing the heat higher, plunging up and down on each other.  I nearly burst from holding it in until right there in the blazing sunlight, in the open air, as silent as his hand over my mouth would allow, we both came and creamed, and came and creamed until we finally hung limp against the tree, trying to bring our breathing back under control.  Then we smothered our giggles as we grabbed our clothes and ran bare-assed into the house for that shower.

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This is Jean’s third sexy story published here on Every Night Erotica read, Something New Under the Moon and Storm Lover.

Bill says he can’t wait for our next bout of yard work.