Mariel Gets Dirty

Mariel Archer stared out the front window of her attractive two-story home as her husband, William (not "Bill", too informal) slowly walked down the manicured sidewalk to his car.

He was 65 years old now and really didn't need to work any longer (house was paid for, kids all off on their own) but he didn't believe a person should take up space on the planet without working to pay for the privilege. That was William.

Mariel gave a half-hearted wave as he backed out of the driveway, and she ran her hands along the sides of her ankle-length skirt as she often did when she was nervous. She didn't know why she felt this way, but there it was.

William was a good man and she loved him. They had been married, lord, how long? It would be 40 years in a couple of months. 40 years. She refused to spend any more time wondering where the time went. She did that often enough. Instead, she just sighed. She'd been sighing a lot lately.

There was a simmering fire in Mariel, although the casual observer wouldn't notice it. She was just a 62-year old mother and grandmother who hadn't worked outside the home since she married William. She was a good housekeeper and mother, good-tempered and usually good-natured too. She liked to garden. She volunteered at the church on cleaning day and sang in the choir, made casseroles for the sick or dying and entertained neighbors from time to time. Nothing unusual for a Midwest wife.

But that fire . . . well, it worried her some. And it titillated her at the same time. She recognized this fact and she sometimes stoked that little naughty flame – and that titillated her even more.

Oh, she didn't do anything about it. She just, well, thought about . . . things. Sexual things.

She was thinking about them now and was surprised and a little amused to see her left hand had settled on her ample belly and was drifting toward her womanhood. She pulled it away quickly and ran her hands along the side of her skirt again. She stood in front of the mirror, primped a little, then tightened the belt around her waist and looked out on the neighborhood this warm summer morning to see if he was there yet.

David Strawhorn had just rolled out of bed. Home from college for the summer, the 20-year old young man was just over 6-feet tall and carried a pleasant muscle tone, the result of doing yard work to make some money for school.

He threw on some shorts, a t-shirt and old running shoes then headed out the door after grabbing a glass of juice and a piece of toast from his mother. He wasn't much for breakfast.

He had a job with the Silver family that should take all morning and he was in a hurry to get started before the heat of midday kicked in. He grabbed the hedge clippers, the lawn mower and the edger before starting off down the street. It was going to be another great day and he smiled. Life was good.

Mariel looked at herself in the mirror a little more closely. She was doing that more and more often these days.

Her hair was silver and brown but she was carefully coiffed thanks to regular visits to her beautician. She noted her broad shoulders which people used to say made her look like Linda Evans on the old Dynasty program on television. She was amply endowed, always had been, although she didn't "advertise", as William would put it. Instead, she wore blousy tops that didn't say much about the package underneath.

She was pleased to note she still had a waist even though her belly was full and, well, matronly. Wide hips. Big rear end. Her legs, she noticed as she lifted her skirt, were not unattractive although they were a little heavier than she would have liked.

There was a clattering sound outside. Mariel dropped her skirt, ran her hands along the fabric again and stepped briskly to the window.

She was surprised to discover her heart was pounding.

David saw Mariel before she saw him. He was looking for her but he turned his gaze away from the window before she saw him looking up.

He stopped and leaned against an old oak in clear view of Mariel's window, then he pulled off his t-shirt and jammed it into the back of his shorts. This was the ritual he had been performing for the last 2 weeks and every time, Mariel was there to watch it.

The first time had been innocent enough. He caught a movement in the window and quickly looked up and saw Mariel moving away from the window. The first time, he smiled. Then he saw her the next day. And the next. And the next.

He never looked up at her, but he knew she was there. It was clear she enjoyed watching him and with every performance David found, to his surprise, that he was more and more aroused by the exercise. He would rest there for about five minutes or so, stretching, yawning and increasingly, pulling at his crotch as his cock would begin expanding somewhat uncomfortably inside his tight shorts.

Then he would push his yard equipment down the street and fantasize about the fat old woman who had been watching him. What did he know about her?

He knew Mariel was a housewife who did all her own lawn work, including the mowing. He knew she had a good reputation and that she did a lot of volunteer work. He didn't know much else though.

A few days ago David was raking the Caterelli's lawn when he heard a lawnmower running at Mariel's house and he decided to take a look at Mariel at work.

She was wearing a modest pair of shorts that nevertheless pulled tight over her large but curvaceous ass and a large tee that was tucked into the shorts. She didn't see David watching her but once when she leaned over to move a stick off the lawn, he could see up the shirt to a pair of huge bra-covered tits dangling deliciously from her chest.

Despite himself, David gulped audibly and his erection grew in an instant. He calmed himself, waited until the boner had retreated somewhat, then walked over to Mariel just as she turned off the lawn mower.

He smiled broadly at her. "Good morning, Mrs. Archer," he said. "The lawn looks great."

Mariel was more than startled. She was almost in shock. There was David Strawhorn, shirtless, smiling and, yes, she admitted it, gorgeous, looking right at her. What was he doing here?

When she looked around the yard to see if anyone else had seen them, David knew what thoughts were bouncing around inside her matronly, housewife-ly little head and he was more than pleased.

"You know, I can do that work for you," he said, walking toward her boldly. She looked around uncomfortably again. He smiled broadly. "If all the other ladies in the neighborhood are as energetic as you are, I'll be out of work."

"Oh, well, . . ." Mariel stammered. "I just always liked doing it myself . . . ."

David laughed. "I'm just playing with you," he said. He consciously made the decision to say 'playing with you' to note her reaction. As expected, she blushed and he laughed again.

"Here," he said. "Let me push that back to the shed for you. No charge."

David touched her hand as he grabbed the mower and she pulled it away in an instant as though it were a hot poker. "Thank you," she said.

Mariel Archer was looking down on David Strawhorn. She was titillated and a little ashamed of herself – but she wasn't dumb. She knew what David was doing and it excited her that he willingly participated in this little charade, this dance.

She touched herself – there. It was okay. She was just sort of calming the waters, as it were, so there was nothing wrong with doing this. David was grabbing at his crotch, as he had been doing more and more recently and she started stroking herself until she could feel a little flush in her cheeks.

Oh, God, this felt good! And she wasn't doing anything wrong. A wave came through her and she shuddered briefly, raised her eyes skyward and exhaled with a rush. When she looked toward the street, David was gone.

Her husband William was not only a good provider, he was still active sexually. There would be a little foreplay, maybe a kiss, caressing her breasts for a few minutes then he would enter her and do his business. It was more than his way. It was tradition. A ceremony.

But what William didn't know – and what she would never tell him -- is that she longed to have him rip off her flannel nightdress, bite her nipples until they were red and ravish her unmercifully. She wanted him to smack her ample bottom with a heavy hand until she would bite her lip.

Mariel wanted him to take her from behind and to whisper darkly obscene things to her while pummeling her body with his manhood. That's what she wanted. That's what, secretly and increasingly, she longed for.

Of course, she could never tell William. And this was her shame.

But David. He could take her there and never even know he was doing it. That's what was happening now.

In the last week, she would rub herself while he stretched his naked torso against the oak tree outside until she would come to a gentle climax in a way she hadn't come in years.

Mariel would look at the young, hard flesh and run a tentative index finger along her vagina while imagining David's hot breath on her neck, biting her hair and pulling at it, feeling his lean body against her backside, his great penis probing her, penetrating her and finally spilling itself in her while he mangled her breasts and chided her for her weakness. And that would carry Mariel to climax every day.

She no longer merely looked forward to these visits. It was the only thing she looked forward to.

When he had spoken to her last week, she thought she would faint. If she only knew he was coming, she would have, well, worn something more . . . cheerful. She was thinking something more REVEALING but couldn't quite bring herself to think the words.

All she knew for sure is that she wanted to look more attractive than she did.

When David touched her hand, she had almost swooned again. His hand was hot and hard but smoother than she would have expected. Even though she turned her head away while he pushed her lawnmower to the shed, she was able to watch him walking and took notice of his tight rear end and muscled legs. In that moment, she developed new, darker fantasies she would explore the next morning.

She imagined her arms around that tight rear end, feeling David's sweet sweat against her own cool body and squeezing at his hardness until he moaned and took her eagerly without any thought to her own needs.

If he only knew . . . those were her own needs.

Mariel sighed heavily the next morning as she got up from bed. William had gone to work an hour ago and as she absently fingered her hardening right nipple, she thought it was pretty sad how much she looked forward to the little dance with David. She wondered how much longer it would go on.

Nevertheless, she got herself cleaned up, put on a pretty coral-colored blouse and squeezed into some tight pants, then sat near the window and awaited the clattering of David's lawn equipment down the street.

But nothing happened.

Mariel was horribly depressed, more than she would have expected. Where was he? She almost started to cry – over missing him, over needing to see him, over the sadness of the silly, stupid drama.

Suddenly she realized she heard a lawnmower outside. It had been running for some minutes but she had ignored it in reverie. She went to the front window.

David was mowing her lawn!

Mariel practically flew downstairs and was both happy and shocked. For reasons she didn't quite understand even later, she threw open the front door and beamed widely at David who had just about finished the front lawn. He looked over at her. He was shirtless and glistening with sweat. He smiled back and let the mower come to a throaty stop.

"Hello, Mrs. Archer," David said as he pulled his shirt out of his back pocket and wiped his forehead with it. "My other jobs were all done and I thought it was too hot to have you outside today. I hope you don't mind."

Mariel could feel herself flush, awash not only with the usual lust but also genuine affection for this thoughtful young man. She beamed again, widely. She was feeling quite comfortable now and swung the door to her home open widely.

"That's so kind," she said. "Thank you so much. I made some fresh lemonade yesterday and I think there's still some left. It's very sweet."

David decided he was going to blow off his obligation to do the Stewart's lawn today. He had other plans.

Last night he had a vision he simply couldn't get out of his head. After a while, he began to nurture it until he felt his erection straining against his shorts.

The vision was Mrs. Archer's hand wrapped around his hard cock, eagerly stroking it without lifting her eyes, mumbling something unintelligible, until he finally sprayed her face and hair with his exploding jism and she fell on his limp dick, cleaning it up with an elongated tongue.

It was just an erotic dream but when he got up this morning, David could think of nothing else.

Just Mrs. Archer. And her wide hips. The pendulous tits. The good little girl look in her eyes that suggested . . . more.

So instead of his morning "exercises" by the oak tree, he decided to mow the Archer lawn and see what happened next. He was not disappointed.

David was surprised at the joy in Mrs. Archer's face when she opened the door after he finished the lawn. He was shocked and a little amused at the way she filled a tall glass with lemonade and ice until the glass overflowed onto the floor.

And he audibly groaned with a fearful passion when she leaned over to wipe the floor clean and the great ass filled out her slacks so that David had to fight off the overwhelming desire to stroke her backside as she wiggled it before him.

He emptied the lemonade with one, long gulp so that some of it spilled down his cheeks and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Mrs. Archer was squatting down on the floor now, wiping up the last of the sticky beverage from the floor.

David wadded up some paper towels and squatted down next to her, helping her clean up the mess. He looked up into her face and she looked into his briefly, then she turned away a little uncomfortably and continued to clean up.

For his part, David looked down to her chest. In her current posture, her pink blouse had opened between the buttons and he could see a lacy beige bra that excited him again, this time past controlling.

He dropped the sticky wet paper towel. "Mrs. Archer?" he said. Mariel looked up.

David crawled over next to her and kissed her full on the mouth. Her teeth were briefly barring the way, then she opened them and his tongue probed for hers. He put his right hand behind her head and forcefully grabbed a ball of hair and pulled her face tight to his and at that, her tongue found his. She didn't participate exactly, David thought, but she was letting him flick at her and he could feel her breath increasing as he slobbered kisses and licks along her mouth and her face, her exposed neck.

This is a 60-something year old woman I am ravishing, he thought, and she is letting me. And this aroused him more.

David undid one button on the pink blouse and it popped open, revealing the brassiere-covered tits, larger even than he expected. He reached for the right one and touched it only tentatively and he felt Mariel shiver. The nipple hardened in the instant as he gently massaged the tip with his thumb.

"Oh, we shouldn't be doing this," Mariel managed to croak. "Please don't. This is so wrong."

David started kneading her breast more firmly. "Oh . . . ." was all she could say as he kissed her mouth, bit on her ear. Almost by accident, he pulled on her hair as he tried to free his hand to grab the other tit and her reaction was electric. He tugged on her hair again, nipped at the fleshy lobe of her ear and boldly slipped his right hand inside the bra to feel the warmth, heft and softness of her huge breast.

"David, David, I'm a married woman," she said in a plaintive way that made David smile through his lust. "Do you think we should do this?" And for the first time she gave a timid peck at his mouth and he knew she was his.

"You're right," he said, smiling to himself. "I'm so sorry." And he reluctantly pulled his hand away from that warm, erotic titflesh and brushed it firmly against her crotch which responded with warmth, wetness and a slight buck.

"I'm so sorry," he said again, struggling to keep from laughing out loud. "Please forgive me." And he rushed out the door.

Mariel was breathless. And stunned.

What had happened? Had David actually been here?

But, yes. She could feel his sweet sweat on her cheek. Her coral blouse was open and, when she closed her eyes, she could feel the soft, yet insistent touch of David's thumb against her nipple, still hard.

She felt tentatively for her crotch. Warm. Hot, even. And wet with desire.

Mariel licked her lip absently and reached over her belly and into her panties where she fingered her clit. In a moment – and for the first time in years – she experienced a thunderous, body-shaking orgasm and it was only the bracing of a shaking arm that prevented her from collapsing to the linoleum floor.

David ignored Mariel for the next few days. It wasn't easy.

He now hungered for her in a way he had never felt hunger for a woman before. Her great tit beneath the heavy-duty bra was like something from another world. He wanted more than anything to possess it, to feel its warmth under his bare hand again, to consume it with his open mouth, to flick at the nipple with his tongue and watch again the way Mariel's eyes rolled back in their sockets as he toyed with her, the way her tongue played with her bottom lip as he felt her up, the way her breath increased in intensity and to listen again to the soft, mewing protestations that inflamed him more than anything else.

But he had a plan and this morning, finally, he would carry it out.

He was up early, even before his mother had started breakfast. He brushed his teeth, combed his hair and pulled on the tightest shorts he could get into and a muscle shirt, then was out the door.

The summer morning was clear and cool. Not a cloud in the sky. He could smell eggs and bacon from dozens of kitchens in the neighborhood.

But he was only interested in one.

David knocked on the door of the Archer house and, as he expected, a surprised Mariel Archer, wearing a robe and a long nightgown beneath and holding a spatula, opened the door and he pushed his way in.

Mariel looked panicked. She looked quickly over her shoulder into the kitchen. "William is having breakfast in the kitchen..." she managed to say and David placed his arm around her wide waist and kissed her on the lips, then slipped his hand down to massage, finally, the great ass he had dreamt about and lusted over, through the robe. It was round and deliciously soft. She tasted like butter and strawberry, no, it was raspberry, jam.

He looked directly into Mariel's terrified eyes as he pushed open her robe and placed the palm of his hand against her crotch and lightly fingered the fold there.

"Who is it Mariel?" William called from the kitchen.

Mariel couldn't answer at that particular moment. Her eyes rolled back as she let the young invader touch her in a most intimate way.

"Mariel?"

She came back to Earth in the instant and, while not pushing David away, moved away from him but her hand lingered on his probing fingers for a moment.

"Oh, it's David, young David Strawhorn from down the street," she said with some difficulty.

They could hear a chair move and William walked into the foyer, wearing a big smile on his face and holding out an outstretched hand. He was a big man, with a ruddy complexion. "Thank you," he said. "Thank you for mowing our lawn earlier in the week. We really should hire a lawn boy but Mariel, well, she likes doing it herself."