sunbathing

“Spring has sprung so late this year.”



I heard the words from the other side of the fence, recognizing the voice as belonging to my nubile female neighbour. I barely knew her, except to say hello to if we were checking the mail or getting into our cars at the same time. I figured she was roughly twenty years younger than my mid-fifties.



“Barely worth planting a garden,” I replied, though I thought ‘still lots of time for sunbathing.’



When I had bought my house a few years before, she had been half of an ambitious young couple – two high end cars in the driveway, in ground pool AND hot tub, seemingly continual home improvements. That first summer, there were regular joyous garden parties filling their yard with pretty young people.



Being an inveterate voyeur, I had spent many a pleasant night watching from my darkened second floor bedroom. Though no orgies had ever broken out, at least not in or around the hot tub or pool, there was lots of nude hot tubbing. That was topped however, late one night – or actually, more early one morning, since a faint hint of dawn breaking could be seen on the far horizon. It happened just about this time last year, but spring had come much earlier, and the nights were warm.



The last party guest had just left, a bit after 4 a.m.



About midnight, I had watched my neighbour drop her itsy bitsy bikini top; unwrap her sarong, and slide into the hot tub wearing only a bottom that barely hid her tasty bits. Her apple sized tits, with long dusky nipples,that I could see without binoculars were fully engorged, floated teasingly just breaking the surface of the water as she allowed her hips to lift off the seat, her toes stretched toward the opposite edge.



My hand dropped below my waist, hefting my already twitching cock as I admired, not for the first time, her powerful body – not too skinny like a model, in fact but for her broad shoulders, she might be called pear shaped, with a long lean torso but an ass that you could only call a “booty”- round, full, with just a bit of jiggle, but lots of muscle.



“Spectacular” I had muttered to myself the first time I saw that ass in just a thong bikini. I learned much later that she was a former competitive swimmer.



The rest of the party was over in the pool, tossing a beach ball around. I wondered why one of the men did not just accidentally toss the ball into the hot tub, to have an excuse to join her. Or, I thought, momentarily closing my eyes to imagine it, one of the other attractive women, each wearing a different exciting swim outfit, each sexually alluring in that way each woman uniquely is – from the boyish tom-girls to the voluptuous Rubenesque plus sized women whose every jiggle screamed ‘I have lust for life/I have huge appetites/fuck me’, and had the mammaries for titty fucking and other fun games. The contrast that would exist if my neighbor buried her face between a set of those giant jugs, her thighs straining around an oversized waist, as she and a friend fingered each other to orgasm in the hot tub fueled my fantasy.



Nothing like that had happened. After a few minutes, one of the people in the pool must have called for more drinks, because my neighbour hopped smoothly from the water and, without bothering to dress, vanished into her kitchen, emerging with a bucket filled with beer and ice, which she placed by the pool.



My eyes followed every graceful motion, and, at the moment she bent low to put the bucket on the deck, her perfect ass poked upwards toward me, silently beckoning. With my breath caught in my throat, I squeezed the head of my cock with one hand as I kneaded my balls with the other. Great gobs of goo painted the inside of my window. I sank back, falling onto my bed, my deflating organ still cupped in my palm, and must have fallen asleep.



So maybe I had missed an orgy, though more likely the party had simply petered out. I woke just in time to see her escorting that last guest as far as the side gate, and then she turned, surveyed her yard strewn with paper plates and plastic glasses, and sighed, which caused her tits to rise and fall slowly, making the blood flow back into my cock, which in turn brought a grin to my face. I was re-energized, pleased to know that I was not too old to rise to even a simple occasion.



I rubbed the sleep out of my tired crusty eyes in time to watch her slide back into the hot tub after exchanging words with her hubby, who I could not see at first, but who wandered into view from inside the house. He joined her in the warm relaxing water. My old aching muscles vicariously shared the comfort they must be feeling as much as my old cock surged in empathy for hubby’s perceived excitement.



She was still topless, and as soon as hubby hit the tub, she began to untied one side of the scrap of her bikini bottom. Hubby slid across and got busy untying the other side. His lips brushed against her left nipple as he worked. I think I held my breath out of concern that he would distract her from stripping, but in a moment, the fabric floated to the surface. I could almost hear her giggle as she tossed it onto the deck.



Hubby knelt between her legs, the water just covering his shoulders. I started to slowly stroke my cock, thinking about how he must be rigid, ready to fuck her tight pussy – though I had no real way to know how she was built inside, I assumed that like the rest of her, it was in fine fighting shape.



Her legs rose above the surface, and she hooked them over his shoulders, crossing her ankles and drawing his face to her groin, which was floating just at the top of the water. He’d have to be careful not to get a nose full of water.



“But what a fun way to drown,” I heard myself chuckle in my empty bedroom, with just my erection for company.



His hands cupped her ass, steadying her body in place as his mouth lowered to her thighs. He seemed to enjoy the time he took to explore her outer labia, which I pictured in my mind as swollen with anticipation. Closing my eyes for an instant, I imagined a rock hard clit upright, begging to be nibbled, to have a practiced tongue flick across it; to be drawn deep between lips. She held hubby’s head in place with one hand while with the other, she exercised her own nipples, at first just rubbing them; then rolling them between her fingers; and, as hubby worked his magic on her clit; she tugged on them, at first gently, but with increased enthusiasm as hubby’s tongue seemed to dance more vigorously and she fought to keep up.



I continued stroking my throbbing cock as I watched, not wanting to come too soon, trying to last for the whole show. As I thought the word ‘show’ I wondered whether her eyes were open, and if so, whether she would notice me spying on them. If so, she certainly did not seem to mind.



Why would she mind, when hubby had slid a couple of fingers inside her, fucking her slit while he nibbled her clit? Her body was quivering, bobbing up and down in the warm water. She must have been fully focussed on their lust, and could not have noticed or cared about mine.



Suddenly, she tossed her head back, her body tensed, and then shook. Her face bore the evidence of the orgasmic scream I could imagine but not hear. Hubby kept up his efforts while she convulsed, her hands slapping at the water. I felt the seed rolling in my balls, ready to explode, but realized that hubby probably would want to have his release, and the biggest payoff for me would come in imaging that it was me that was experiencing that pleasure. So I slowed my stroking to a gentle pace, just maintaining my hardness, a droplet of precum dangling from my slit.



Sure enough, hubby did not wait long. He did not move her. He just rose up between her legs, shifting his grip from her buttocks to the side of her hips, leaning forward as he pulled her cunt to meet his cock. I saw her gap at the sudden violence of the penetration, leaving no doubt that he had plunged his manhood to the hilt, right into her womb. I imagined her muscles clenching tightly around his shaft, and then relaxing just enough that he could pull back until just his tip remained between her labia.



His hips moved, his ass flexing as he established a rhythm. It looked as if he was now moving slowly, perhaps easing into her gradually after that initial almost brutal invasion. I pictured his cock sinking an inch more into her vault with each stroke. I watched how his arm shifted slightly, and wondered whether, under the water, his fingers were opening up her ass, shifting towards her dainty rosebud, and entering her most forbidden passage.



I watched her face as she moved against him. Whatever he was doing seemed to please her. Her eyes were locked on his face. Her lust was plain in the way her grin gave way to a slackening of the jaw that had to be accompanied by deep moaning. Soon, that was replaced by yelling.



“Oh fuck, oh fuck, fuck me harder, you know that I love it rough. I love your big hard meat in my hungry cunt,” I imagined hearing, just as much as I wished that it was my hard lonely meat that she craved, the head of my cock that she was grinding her pelvic bone against.



Suddenly, neither of them seemed to be able to hold back any longer. I saw her body shake with tremors as her climax exploded through her body, her head tossed back and her eyes shut tight, her mouth screaming, no doubt his name. I gave less notice to him, but was aware that he stiffened, pausing, his own explosion pumping buckets of baby makers into her womb.



What exactly happened next I could not swear to, because I shut my eyes for a moment as my own seed spilled into my palm. Eventually, the tremors stopped, and I opened my eyes, envy flooding my heart and sinking hard as a rock into my stomach as they cuddled contentedly on the bench, the hot water bubbling around them.



She eased back onto the seat, as if she wanted to snuggle, but hubby spoke briskly, never realizing, and hopped out of the tub, starting to clean up the mess. After a moment he paused, turned and barked at her. Slowly, she rose naked out of the water, and in spite of the sad marital theatre playing out, I enjoyed my first clear view of her totally nude.



For a brief instant, she stood with water streaming off her, her nipples hard, this time from the cool spring air. Her tits stood firm and proud, just the tiniest hint of jiggling as she moved. Her belly had just the slightest hint of pouch, not enough to distract from her shaved pussy, nestled between strong thighs. As she climbed out of the tub, and mechanically started gathering trash, I was treated to several angles from which to admire her plush ass, exquisite flesh flexing over strong muscles. If I had not come just a few minutes before, I would have climaxed again as she bent over by the pool to pick up plastic cups, feet a shoulder width apart, her buttocks spread, her pudendum tiled as if winking up at me. I certainly had plenty of orgasms on other evenings replaying that vision in my mind, hand around my cock.



Afterward, I would recall the scene on many slow summer evenings. One of the advantages of living alone was the opportunity to relieve my hormones pretty much whenever the urge struck. Sometimes I would vary the memory, morphing it into a fantasy where instead of wondering if she was fertile, as I had that night, I would picture her already pregnant, her swollen belly proclaiming her lust, forcing him to fuck her from behind, using her swollen tits as handles, her still shapely arse bucking hard against his athletic thighs, her grunts almost audible through my window.



I heard them playing in that hot tub a few more times that summer, and each time, I crept to my window and watched, trying to time my orgasm with theirs, storing fresh memories to add to my solo sessions. They seemed to have mastered the art of simultaneous climax, which amazed me slightly, because they varied their play so much. Sometimes he ate her tender shaved cunt to climax first, as if saving his own orgasm as an offering, a gift to share when she had a second, always larger and louder consummation.



On other nights, she would take his cock in her mouth to begin. I saw her do this both when he was already erect, or starting from a more relaxed condition that I always thought of as a ‘chubbie’ – somewhat swollen with anticipation, acknowledging his desire for her sensuous beauty, but not yet even semi-erect. She was an able, inventive and enthusiastic fellatrix, the art of using not just lips and tongue but also teeth, fingers, cheeks exhibiting her mastery of her subject. Her blow-jobs never seemed rushed. She would explore every inch of his cock, often starting with butterfly kisses inside his thighs. She never neglected his scrotum, licking, suckling, and teasing that weight with her fingers while she licked his shaft like a popsicle, or bobbed up and down like a little girl with a lollipop.



I took to anticipating her tricks, speaking aloud in the privacy of my bedroom, muttering “Oh, you are such a hungry little cocksucker. Now take just his helmet in your mouth, roll your tongue around, pay extra attention to the ridge. Then take him out of your mouth and tease his glans with your teeth.”



It did not matter whether I predicted her actions correctly. I never failed to climax, often before they did, though I tried to restrain myself.



One thing I never did see was a 69 in the hot tub. Also, in spite of that early spring party, I never again saw public nudity or topless bathing, and certainly nothing that made me anticipate that an orgy would break out, not even a threesome. Nonetheless, I fantasized often about joining in.



She still went topless, just not when she had guests, and I liked to think she sometimes did it when she knew I was watching, positioning herself to give me the best possible view. On occasion, when hubby was not there to satisfy her, she would take matters into her own hands, practiced fingers touching her sensitive bits. Each time, her routine varied slightly, so really I guess she had no routine at all.



My favourite variation was when she was sunbathing. Sometimes she wore a skimpy thong, but most days, either thinking she was alone, or wanting to give me a better show, she was totally naked. Because I work at home, doing technical writing when I could get contracts not outsourced overseas, I was a regular beneficiary of the experience.



“For my viewing pleasure,” I muttered when she appeared that way, walking out with just her towel in one hand, lotion in the other.



I loved how she lay there, eyes hidden behind sunglasses, the warm sun soaking into her flesh. Just lying there with her eyes closed, no doubt thinking about fucking, or maybe imagining hubby sneaking home early, creeping up on her and silently planting his lips on her pussy. Those mental images would always start a steady increase in my excitement that would require me to fondle my cock.



She would always take care to apply lots of lotion, squirting a dab on her exposed chest, working it all across her tits, rubbing it with extra care onto each nipple. It must have been extra special touching those sensitive places, because her nipples would extend, growing until they were fully erect and hard. By then she would be grinning, using just the tip of the baby finger of each hand to gently massage the lotion onto her nubbins, smiling as she flicked her nail across the very tip. I could see her sigh from the wave of pleasure.



Once she was fully lathered up, one hand might return to her breast, to lightly brush her nipples. Her other hand could just caress her soft flesh, maybe that dewy zone between her navel and mound. Who better than her to know the exact spots which were especially sensitive. Lightly caressing there with her fingertips as I watched, my cock throbbing in my fist.



I learned to be careful not to come too soon, because she liked to take her time pleasuring herself once she fully committed to masturbating there in the fresh air and sunshine. Her feet would move far apart, knees raised slightly off the lounge chair to give her fingers better access to her cunt.



She would squirt some lotion onto the first two fingers of her dominant right hand. I could almost hear her cooing as the cool lotion hit the warmth of her outer labia as she worked just the tips of her fingers along her cleft, from bottom to top, and then pausing to tease her own clit before fingering down the other side of her labia, repeating this until her petals were open like a midday flower and her little man was standing upright in the boat. I could see the moment of regret flit across her face when she had to remove her left hand from her nipples and use those fingers to pull her twat wide open, starting to thrust first two, and then either three or four fingers deep into her slit.



Sometimes she just kept fucking herself like that. Other times, she would focus attention with the fingers of her other hand on her throbbing button, two fingers flicking it back and forth, up and down, then in a circular motion. Or she might start stroking along the inner edge of her labia, no doubt the notorious “G-spot”.



Her nipples would grow so swollen that they seemed to be reaching up, begging me to suck them. Her clit had to be getting just as swollen, rising completely out of its hood, so much so that I imagined that I could feel it throbbing, also crying out hungrily for my lips and teeth. The tingle building inside her had to be so intense that it begged for release. Even before she came, I’d reach the point of no return. Knowing I could not go back, though not quite there yet, seed suspended rising from my balls into my shaft, perhaps a drop forming, dangling from the slit, tingling with delayed orgasm. The shudders flowing visibly through her body, starting with rolling shoulders; flowing through her rotating hips down to her curled toes, told me she felt much the same.



I came to know that she was compelled to continue until she climaxed, and that realization added to my excitement as I watched, barely able to breathe, panting and holding my breath as I tried to time my orgasm with hers. She liked to delay her climax, teasing herself by stroking her clit with varying intensity as if trying to see how close she could get to an orgasm without losing control. It was wonderful to watch, and no doubt even better for her, but it always almost drove me crazy trying to stay at the brink.



Finally, she would orgasm. I could neither see nor feel it, but knew that her muscular vaginal walls must be involuntarily clenching and relaxing in rhythmic contractions around her fingers, no doubt wishing that she had a hard cock to squeeze instead. Her orgasms lasted a long time when she created them for herself, way longer than when it was hubby fucking or licking her. Ten, nay, one hundred times longer than my explosion. Even if I timed it to begin simultaneously, and included my last gasping spurt of gism, I came with nothing like her intensity. We might both know how to get ourselves off, but she had special secrets to prolong her pleasure.



She would press her fingers wrist deep into her soggy cunt, stretching her opening wider, while at the same time tweaking her clit faster and harder. Her mouth would be moving, her lips squealing, not just moaning or groaning, as if her brain was on fire. I liked to imagine that she accompanied this mental visions of my cock bursting in orgasm inside her, gushing great gobs of goo.



Finally, satisfied, she would usually fall asleep, napping in the sun. Only then would I tear myself away from my window, wondering if that was the day I would notice that she slept so long she started to burn, and force myself to go and wake her up, confessing my voyeurism, but being forgiven for my kindness, and rewarded with the mind-blowing sex I so desired.

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