An assignment

 "I'm heading outside"

"It's windy - Don't let it hit your clothes"

"I'm going to be taking them off."

"Too bad I have the kids today."

"Yep, too bad."

"What else you gunna do?"

"Watch and see."

"Maybe 😊"

"2 min"

She was right, it was windy, but warm.  The gods haven't decided if it's still spring or summer, so we get a confusing bit of both.

I stepped outside, leaving the door open so I could hear my work phone ring, just in case.

Hanah looked great our our phone call today.  I stayed silent, of course, no need for an HR call this early in the assignment.

The breeze was light, brushing to tops of my trees, making my neighbor's sycamore's sway gently, until a gust swirled around the backyard, ruffling my roses and flapping the tarp covering my weight set.

It felt good to pull of my casual Friday golf shirt and toss it on the lounge chairs, but she was right, it was windy enough that I wanted to avoid the splash, so I kicked off my sandals and pulled down my pants.

The wind felt good and I faced the sun, spread my stance,  and took a deep breath, and let it flow.

It's not a fetish, just a nice feeling, to be naked and outside, warmed by the sun and washed by the wind.  It was a good flow, one to brag about to my urologist, and one that would have been good to share.

I laughed to myself, shook it twice, and reached over to the grass for my pants.

"What's the rush?"  I heard her voice and looked up.  She was standing in the back corner of her yard, under the pepper tree where the fence followed the curve of the hill, and, if you stood next to the fence, we could see into each other's backyard. 

Facing her, I walked a few feet toward her.

"I thought you had the kids."

"Oh," she smiled, "I do, right now they think I'm looking for toys in the backyard."

"What are you really doing?" I turned to face her so she could see me fully.

"I'm looking for a toy I can play with." 

"To bad you have kids and I have work."

I tried not to think about it, but I could feel my blood flowing and my cock getting harder. It stretched and yawned and began to grow.

She laughed, "So, you are glad to see me."

I stopped fighting it and closed my eyes and soaked in the sun and felt it get bigger and bigger.  My hands played with my nipples and my fingertips drifted over my skin.  I could feel my heartbeat through my erection and it felt wonderful.  It felt even better knowing that she was watching.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked.

"You," I said.

"And?"

"What you are going to do to your husband tonight."  I didn't touch myself at all, just let it grow and bounce in time with my heartbeat.

She cleared her throat and stuttered, "Uhmm, what,  I mean, I mean, " she could barely breath, "What do you mean?"

"I'm thinking about what you are going to do to your husband and what he's going to do to you, and it makes me hard."

"And what might that be?

I walked closer so I could whisper.

"After the kids are in bed, you are going to tell him to watch TV for 30 min, time it around Sports Center.  You will shower, shave, and get out your favorite toy and lube."

 She nodded and stared at my fully erect cock.

 "You are going to strip naked and get on your bed, and text him the word, 'Now' and you will wait on your hands and knees. Facing away from the door. Exposed."

I stroked my cock once and she groaned.

"When he comes in you will squeeze a dollop of lube on your fingers, rest your chest on the bed, reach between your legs, and begin masturbating."

"Can I touch myself now?" she asked quietly over my fence.

"No."

"You will continue to touch yourself until he enters you, from behind, and you are not allowed so say a single word, except, 'Please'."

She gave out a little yelp.

"He is to cum inside you.  After that you will lay on your back and ask him to eat you out, again, the only word you are allowed to say, is..." I paused and she filled in the rest.

"Please."

I stroked by cock and took a large drop of pre-cum from the tip and stepped over to her.

Without a word, she opened her mouth, extended her tongue, and took my gift.

I could see her swirl it around her mouth before she swallowed.

"Good Girl"

I turned and walked away without another word.

 

 

 

 

Shower

 I had 15 minutes

She had to shower.

Why is that such a difficult choice?

I get what I want.

She gets clean.

We are both on time.

Why not?

The Golden Sun

I am not a summer person.  The extra pounds I carry on my belly make clothes feel snug and the sweat has nowhere to go.  I love shorts, I look good in them, but I'd rather stay inside when it's 20f than go outside when it is 100F, but today, was about perfect.

We've had several weeks of rain but finally the sun has broken through, and we have settled into a week of 70 to 80° days with light cloud cover, foggy mornings, and wonderfully sunny afternoons. I'm working from home again, working is the key part, I go into the office a couple of days a week to pick up assignments and shake hands and do the meet and greet routine, but the middle of the week is blissfully mine as I clean my office and setup for earning a paycheck.

I have a new neighbor next door, I have thought about them a lot, a sweet young wife with her husband who has all the right woodworking tools but is gone longer than he should be with the wife as cute as he has. Today, I'm fighting a little bit of a head cold, so I have been drinking lots of water, sipping on scalding hot chocolate, and stepping outside to my backyard for fresh air. My wife is gone on a two-day work assignment far enough away that we got her a hotel. This is irrelevant to the story because since I am fighting a cold, she will not kiss me anyway. She is flying to New York in two weeks to see a college friend so the risk of getting sick overwhelms any, albeit rare, amorous intentions. No kissing is the rule until she gets back healthy from the Big Apple.

The offshoot of my health regime is, “Drink a lot, pee a lot” which means that I have taken several breaks to relieve myself in the hot sun, watering a little spot in our backyard each time.

I haven't spoken with Holly since our last conversation through the fence a couple of weeks ago. I saw her in the driveway with her kids, packing up for it looked like a soccer game, I waved to her and smiled, and she blushed and smiled back. I'm not sure if she's admitted to herself what happened the other day, but I certainly have not forgotten it.

With the end of the spring break her kids are back in school so I imagine that her days are quiet at home. The noise of the sliding glass door might have alerted her to my presence because I heard her call over the fence. She said hello and I smiled and said hello back as I unzipped my pants to relieve myself from the last round of water.

What are you doing today? She asked.

“Just getting through work,” I said, “writing a presentation for next week’s staff meeting.

“No,” she said, “I mean what are you doing right now.”

“Well, I'm not laying naked on my lounge chair if that's what you're asking.”

I heard her laugh through the fence and imagined that she blushed a little.

Seriously, she asked, “What are you doing?”

“To be honest,” I said, “I'm taking advantage of the privacy and savings some money on my plumbing bill at the same time.”

“What?” Her voice raised a little, “Are you seriously peeing in your backyard?”

“Why not?” I said, “our esteemed governor has told us to save water so I'm doing my part, one flush at a time.”

“Can you wait for a minute?” She asked quietly.

“Yes,” I replied, “but why?”

“Just wait,” she said.

While I waited, I rearranged the weights to my infrequently used weight set, stacking the rusted plates into piles based on the numbers molded into the side. 25, 10, 5, 2.5, 1.5 and 1, were in neat little stacks by the time I heard my side gate open, then close with the click.

She walked into my backyard for the first time and looked around. She saw the rarely used trampoline, a relic of years of little kids and parties and sleepovers. She looked at the Playhouse I had built years ago and smiled. She looked at my dying flowers and my overgrown pomegranate tree and a dwarf orange that never grew. It remains a dwarf to this day.

“You're looking lovely today.” I said and meant it.  She was in a white T-shirt, a flowy linen skirt, and had her hair in a scrunchy, gathered at nape of her neck.

“I don't have a lot of time.” she said. “I have to go to the grocery store before I pick up the kids from school.”

“Why are you here, Holly?” I looked at her and waited for an answer.

“I want to watch.”

Her eyes darted around the backyard, trying to avoid my gaze, but eventually they returned so I can ask the inevitable question, “What do you want to watch?”

“Are we going to play this game every time?” She asked, “making me say the words I don't want to say.”

“Yes, Holly,” I stepped closer to her and took her by the left hand. “Every time.”

She held my hand as I walked out from under the shaded awning and into the bright sunlight. I slipped my feet out of my sandals and felt the cool grass and wet dirt under my toes. I knew what she wanted. I would gladly give it to her. But, she needed to be trained and there were rules to be followed.

I knelt down and felt the wet dirt the moisture of the wet dirt soaked through the denim of my jeans at the knee. I tapped the back of her calf and she lifted her foot and I slipped off her expensive loafers in the small ankle socks, on first her left, and then her right foot.

“That feels nice,” she said I stood back up and looked down at her, I can tell now that she was not wearing a bra under the white T-shirt, and nipples had hardened and I could see the gentle bumps.

“I make you say the words out loud so we both know what's going to happen, what you want to have happen, and most importantly, things that will not happen. Saying it out loud becomes my contract, our bond. I know what you want, you just have to admit it.”

A gentle breeze made the fabric of her skirt flutter in the wind.

“Tell me what you want.”

“I want to watch you pee,” it was a whisper

I unbuckled my pants and unzipped the zipper

“Tell me again and tell me why.”

“I want to watch you pee in the backyard, the bright sun on your naked cock. I want to see it flow out of you and I want to hear it hit the ground. Why? I don't know, I've always liked it, I've always liked to watch.”

With a light touch on her shoulders, I had her sit down on the low cinder block wall the defined my planter space.

“Pull up your skirt.” I said, “You are going to join me.”

“What?” The question came out louder than she expected her head spun back and forth as if some unseen observer would react. “I've never done that before.”

“I know,” I said, “that's really why you wanted to come over here. You wanted to get away from your husband's security cameras and you wanted to feel this sun on your skin and you wanted me to give permission for you to do something new.”

“Perhaps,” was her reply. She stood up and gathered the soft fabric of her skirt up around her waist. She was wearing simple panties, not of the grandma variety, but not intentionally sexy either. They were clean and thin and white, and I could see the folds of her flesh through the gusset as she sat back down

“The key,” I said, “is to not make a mess come on to keep everything dry except the grass.”

“But I still have my panties on.”

“I know, but not for long.”

She smiled up at me as she sat on the wall. She leaned back and rested her body weight on one hand and allowed her legs to spread further.

“Take my panties off.” She said.

Without a word I knelt in front of her, brought her legs together, and grabbed the waistband and pulled them down.

Standing again, I gave the fabric a kiss as she watched.

“Are you ready?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said, “but I'm nervous, and I don't know how it will happen.”

“You just have to relax, feel the sun out of your skin, And let it flow.  You can close your eyes if you want to.”

With those instructions, she allowed her legs to spread open, and I saw her lips for the first time. Her bush was trimmed tight but not shaved, her lips were exposed and pink and full as I stared at them. My God I was tempted to do more than just our agreed upon action.

“Just relax,” I said, “can you feel the pressure building?”

“Yes”, she replied.

“Can you feel it building up, can you feel the need,”

“Yes.”

I slipped out of my pants and boxers and stood half naked before her.

“Then let it go.”

She whimpered a little bit as I think she strained to push out the deep golden fluid while trying to relax at the same time. I kneeled down in front of her and put my hands on the inside of her thighs and pushed them wider.

“Let it go,” I said.

I saw a little dribble, and she whimpered.

“All of it,” I said with a more commanding tone.

“She took quick breaths, nervous breaths, and I pressed more firmly on her thighs.

“Please”, I asked, “I want to see you pee.”

With that encouragement she gasped, and a full golden stream flowed out from between the folds of her body.

“Don't stop”, I begged.

She seemed to shiver at the words and the stream continued, I felt it hit my skin, I held felt it to run down my stomach, I scooted closer to her and felt the warm stream cover my cock with golden fluid. She opened her eyes and gasped again as she saw her own stream covering my body.

With her free hand she began rubbing her clit, and I asked her if she wanted to cum.

“Yes please! I want to cum.”

I stood up, my cock fully hard, my bladder pulsing just below the skin, I took a deep breath and let it go

Her fingers circled her tight clit and she watched me twitch as my stream started, hesitant at first, fighting its way through the hard shaft, but as I cleared my head and closed my eyes, the flow was steady and strong.

It didn't take long for her to sit up, one hand furiously rubbing between her legs, the other hand coming into my shaft to guide the golden stream to her chest, soaking the thin white T-shirt until it was translucent, her nipples dark and round showing through the fabric. As my stream slowed, she looked up at the and said please, and she opened her mouth and guided the last few drops in.

“May I cum now Holly?” I asked.

She nodded and said “Yes.”

Hopelessly delusional

 I had only texted with her.  I "met" her through a job-seeking group, she was a contact at a company I interviewed with, but I was not hired. She gave me a glowing review based on the words of my career coach, who later betrayed me, but that is a story for another day, after the litigious dust settles.

She was pretty in her LinkedIn profile.  Professionally dressed, shoulder length brown hair, a beautiful smile, nice teeth, wonderful eyes.  Her texts were friendly, helpful, encouraging as only another job seeker can be, and completely devoid of any hint of flirting.

But that doesn't matter, does it.  To the terminally lonely that doesn't matter.  You see, lonely people are romantics, we have to be, we have to build up a fantasy world that is worth living in, otherwise reality crushes us under the jack-heeled boot of daily life.

After a futile set of interviews and the discouragement that comes along with "the hunt," she told me that she had gotten a job and would be relocating to Oklahoma, of all places.  I told her I would buy her a surrey with fringe on top and she laughed at the reference, and we "chatted" about Broadway for a while.

She said she was leaving in three weeks and that she wanted to meet in person for a "hug and a handshake" before she left.  Her office wasn't far from my house, so we arranged lunch on a day when I wouldn't be missed (all of them) and I drove through the canyon to meet her.

She looked great, a light linen jacket, tight jeans, tall boots, and oversize belt and a dark blouse that hid the curves and the fabric of her underwear.  As she exited her building, I caught my breath and had to remind myself that it was all in my head, this fantasy, these wishful naughty thoughts.  

True to her word, she was a hugger.  She wrapped me in a deep embrace, and I felt her breasts against my chest, her small waist in my arms, and for a moment, her breath on my neck.  We let go of each other and she squealed in delight, but not from the hug, but because she made eye contact with her friend, emerging from the parking lot and running over, as fast as her spike heels would let her.

"Clarisa!!" she screamed, in that high pitched girl scream that could mean joy or Spider!!

Another hug, longer, deeper, full of joy and sadness.

She turned around, holding her friend's hand, "This is Clarisa," she said, smiling.  "She is my work wife, my friend, and confidant. And, she's joining us for lunch."

'Clarisa.'  I thought, 'I'm 3rd wheel.  Fuck.'

 

Clarisa had a firm handshake, a nice smile, not very pretty, foreign born, but I'm not supposed to notice that, I guess.  

 

"Let's go!" she said, and I followed.  They chatted about work, she explained why her husband wasn't coming to the planned happy hour after work, and they commiserated about the latest clusterfuck brought on by their boss's latest cost cutting measure.

 

"That's why you're here," she said to me, "but you're under an NDA so you can't say.  Right?"

 

"I can neither confirm, nor deny, my assignment."

 

She laughed a bumped her shoulder into mine as we walked along the path.  She already knew about the "top secret" project I was working on.  When she asked me to confirm it, I told her should could whisper it in my ear over lunch.  That was before I knew I was just a tag along.

 

She picked her favorite salad place across the street at the mall that on its last legs.  The only thing driving traffic to the mall was a Costco and a Best Buy, but their clientele didn't shop at the $20 salad place my friend picked. 

We were seated quickly and I arranged to sit next to her, and this brings me back to my thesis. Lonely people are hopeless, insane, delusional romantics, and nothing good comes of it.

Lunch was delicious.  Tender chicken with perfectly crispy fingerling potatoes and a Cesar salad and a delightful chocolate chunk cookie to eat as we walked through the parking lot back to my desk, and back to her desk for the very last time. Off to Kentucky.  One and done.

Sitting next to her, chatting, did our hands brush against each other as we reached for the salt? No.  Did I feel her shift her position on the bench just slightly so our hips would touch, and, if she relaxed, her body would fall against mine? No.  Did she offer to split the cookie and then ask me to feed her a piece? No. As we got up to leave, did she hug Clarissa goodbye and then ask me to walk with her on "one more errand" which really was an excuse to be alone behind the Eyeglasses Hut for a stolen kiss in the one area where there were no security cameras.  No.

Just lunch, a goodbye, and insincere "keep in touch," and an already unfulfilled promise to invite me to her happy hour.

Lonely people are romantics, hopelessly delusional romantics, and it is misery.