Watch Me

byMany Feathers©

Authors note: Now that enough years have passed, I can safely and affectionately share this story. For purposes and requirements, all characters in the story are over the age of 18. I have made every attempt to recollect this story as accurately as possible, preferring to leave out anything I am not sure of as opposed to including it just for the sake of trying to write an erotic story. I hope you enjoy it. Obviously, the names have likewise been changed to protect identities.

*

We called her Mrs. Blake, or at least I did anyway. She was also known as the quiet lady, primarily because she was a bit of a recluse. I knew very little about her, and most of that coming from my parents when I had actually been required to apply for the privilege of mowing and trimming her yard. And don't laugh, every year she reviewed potential candidates for the spring-summer-fall long job of doing that. So it was, just because you mowed her yard one year, didn't mean you'd get to do so again the next year. I am sure that the fact she paid extremely well, well above the normal, is why my friends and I, amongst others, actually went through the yearly routine. Age didn't really matter, if you could do the job, and do it correctly according to her standards; she was willing to pay for it.

I knew only that her husband had been killed many years before. Though I never learned how that had come about. I also knew she didn't have any children, and after the death of her husband, never wanted any...and never remarried either. And I honestly found that sad as she was a very attractive woman, at the time...somewhere in her early to mid fifties back then. I remember she had just a touch of grey to her dark auburn hair and made no attempt to color it, content to let it turn naturally. She wore it in a small ponytail most of the time, and I rarely recall seeing her wear her hair in any other style. I also remember we were pretty close to the same height, and though I eventually grew another inch or so, at the time I'd guess she was about five foot seven or so. Mrs. Blake (though in time I would come to know her as Helen) was what I guess you would call a medium built woman. Far from slim, and equally far from being over weight, though an obvious telltale bit of extra in her frame, depending on whatever clothes she was wearing at the time. I'll save the description for the more intimate and personal stuff later.

This was actually my second year mowing and trimming for her, though there had been a year in between that, when someone else actually did it besides me. I often wondered if she did that on purpose to keep any one person from thinking they had the job locked up. Though I seriously believe, I did a better job of it than anyone else did. It even got to the point that I went out of my way (and time) to go the extra bit, which I now know, she appreciated very much.

It was well into the late spring, early summer when things took a really interesting turn, and in many ways, had a significant impact on my life.

I had as usual gone over early to begin mowing long before it would get very hot. Already the skies were promising a bit of rain, so I was likewise in hopes of getting the yard mowed before the expected downpour came. I had barely gotten finished with the mowing when the rain came. Promising Mrs. Blake to return later in the day to finish up with the trimming because of it. She told me not to bother until it was totally dry, even if that meant coming back the following day. I soon after headed home, which was about three or four blocks away by bike, and no more than a good ten or fifteen minute distance between us. Although the rain was already starting to let up some by the time I arrived home, it promised to be a daylong drizzle at the very least, accompanied by some fairly serious thunder and lightening. I had actually changed into dry clothes when it hit me. I had left out the trimmer in the rain, forgetting to put it away before I left. Something like that was apt to blackball me if I hadn't been already, from returning again the next year. Once more, I headed back to her place as fast as I could in the hopes that perhaps she wouldn't have noticed that yet. I could even safely park my bike on the side of the garage, and then enter in that way (as the door was always unlocked) and then grab the trimmer which I'd left leaning against the work shed, put it away inside, and hopefully leave without ever being found out.

Everything went according to plan until I walked around the backside of the garage and the attached work shed. I froze in place, disbelief of what I was currently looking at, turning me into stone. And there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it.

There was a small L-shaped porch that ran along the backside of the house. The awning was just enough to protect from most of the rain, which is why I guess I had made a major mistake in coming back when I did. Mrs. Blake was sitting in one of her lawn chairs watching the storm, in particular the sound of thunder and lightning (as she'd explain later to me) which was something she had always been fascinated with. The problem was...she was entirely naked, sitting there while doing so. And maybe that would have been bad enough, actually walking around the corner not expecting to find her sitting there like that, but it just so happened, that she had her legs propped up in the chair, spread pretty widely, and one hand busy between her legs, the other at the moment cupping one of her rather full pendulous looking breasts.

Like I said. Our eyes locked for a brief second as my mind tried to retake control over my body and signal me to flee. And I would have done so, had she not called out to me when she did.

"Jason? Come here," she said firmly, though I don't recall there being an edge of anger in her tone of voice. Surprise, maybe even a little embarrassment perhaps, but she certainly wasn't angry with me. To my own surprise, I cross the few steps, now entering the protection of the awning, though I still stood several feet away, unsure of what to do next, let alone expect. "Closer," I remember her saying, and then indicating for me to stand right in front of her chair. I did as she asked until I was actually standing there no more than a foot or so away from her, looking at her, unable not to, as the internal struggle of having to face her in the eye, was actually worse than keeping my eyes lowered, though I was looking at this totally nude woman while doing that. And it was at that very moment that I realized...she hadn't removed her hand from between her legs!

And as I realized that, I also realized, she was still finger-fucking herself, slowly perhaps, and maybe trying to be a bit imperceptible while doing so? But the reality was, she was doing that...still teasing herself as I only then looked up into her eyes again, now tilting the other way in my confusion as to knowing just exactly where in hell I should be looking at this point. Once again, our eyes locked, but this time I also saw her mouth move. I heard no words, for if she spoke any, they were far too quiet for me to have done so. But the shape of her words as she spoke them, were beyond question.

"Watch me."

The way I saw it, I didn't really have any other choice. Sure...I could have turned and ran, left anyway. But I also figured that I'd be fucked for the rest of the summer as far as the job went. And besides, it wasn't her fault that I had come back and found her masturbating in the privacy of her own backyard, that one was definitely on me. And the only thing she had said was that. Nothing else. Nothing about me doing anything, or doing anything to her. Just, "Watch me," so the way I saw it...I had nothing to lose, and everything in the world to gain.

And so I stood, watching her. Saying nothing, doing nothing. Just watching. And I was more turned on than I had ever been in my entire life. When Mrs. Blake realized I was actually going to stay, she smiled. It was one of the very rare times I had ever seen her do so. And then after that, she proceeded to pleasure herself quite openly, quite uninhibitedly sitting there right in front of me as I watched her. And though times perhaps have changed since then as styles and preferences seem to do, I recall that she didn't really have a thick hairy bush. In fact, what I recall and even now see just as clearly as then, was this very fine layer of pubic hair, that was actually more straight than curly perhaps. It was also a light brown, and looked almost as though it had been combed that way, both sides meeting towards the middle, where her finger lay. Still pressing against herself, occasionally dipping inside before reemerging again. I also remember the color of her inner lips, for they appeared almost red inside as opposed to the outer, more pinkish flesh of her labia. And though actually watching her finger-fucking herself was erotic enough, I was then (and have always been) a bonafide card-carrying breast man. All shapes, all sizes...mattered not. So here to I was being treated to another stimulating pleasure as well. With one hand still between her legs, the other she used to caress and tease her own breast and nipple with.

Mrs. Blake had what I can only say were fairly heavy looking, somewhat pendulous breasts. I mean they weren't exactly saggy or anything, just heavy and fell a bit more down her chest perhaps. I honestly thought they were beautiful, and provided me many evenings of pleasure after that just when thinking about them. But I digress here. I remember too that her nipples were fairly large, some call them "pancake" nipples for lack of a better description. They were a light tan, not quite pink, and colored enough to clearly define the area as they sat on the tip of her breasts. She had amazing nipples too as I remember. Fairly thick, and I actually remember comparing them in size to "Dots" though even bigger than that, and certainly longer too. Mrs. Blake could scissor her nipple between two fingers, and you'd still see a goodly portion of it poking up and through whenever she did that.

So, watching her doing both, playing with her breasts, caressing them, tugging and eventually pulling hard on her nipples...more so when she actually came, in conjunction with the sound of her fingers now sliding in and out of her very wet cunt, not to mention the vision of her while doing so, was almost more than I could emotionally stand. And stand I still did. Like a statue with hard-on.

When it was over, she asked me to sit at the patio table, which I did. She stood up, now slipping on a bathrobe, which she'd, had sitting nearby, and simply informed me she was going inside to get us something to drink while we talked.

She'd made it clear, and very obvious I wasn't going anywhere until we had. Though I also had no intention of going anywhere either, especially not after what had just happened. Maybe I was more curious now than anything else, (though I was still horny as hell too) but I remained sitting there until she came out again. She placed a poured Coke in front of me, as well as one for herself. And though I knew she smoked, I'd never seen her actually doing so. In addition to our drinks, she had also brought her smokes along with an ashtray outside. She lit one, drawing the smoke in, looking at me, and then blowing it out as she actually spoke.

"Obviously, it was NOT my intent for you to see me doing that. However, you did. And we will discuss that at greater length momentarily, but I want you to listen to what else I have to tell you before doing that." She drew in another lung full of smoke, and I took a large sip of my Coke, still waiting on her.

She confirmed then the story I'd already heard from my parents about the loss of her husband, and her reasoning for never getting married again. It was a time when some women, for whatever reason, just never did so if someone they truly loved, actually died. And according to what Mrs. Blake told me, that was the main reason, and also why she'd never had any children either. Since her husband's death, she had in fact not had sex, or rather intercourse, with any other man. She went on to explain to me, that it didn't make her some sort of a Spinster or anything even close to that. (I actually had to look that one up back then to see what she meant by that). But she went on to explain that almost the reverse was true. Maybe she wasn't physically having sexual relations with anyone, but it hadn't kept her from thinking about it, nor from masturbating, which she actually shared with me, she did very often. Needless to say, I had walked in on her while doing so. And the reason behind that had been, because thunder and lightning storms always aroused her, for some odd reason.

To this day...every time I hear the peel of thunder or see lightning, I think of her name.

And that was when she told me to call her Helen. Though she also told me a few other things as well. For one, she said that if I ever said anything to anyone about what I had seen her doing, then I would of course be out of a job for starters...permanently. And secondly, if I had any desire to see her do so again, then I'd also have to promise not to say anything to anyone about her doing that either. She also informed me, there would be no expectations about anything else. (Though as I would later learn, that was sort of open to interpretation as it turned out.) She soon after sent me home again to think about it, and return the following day with an answer as to what my decision was. Though not before putting the trimmer back in the work-shed again before I left. Which I did.

And of course, I already knew what my answer was going to be before I even arrived back home again. Anxious to return the following day, now more so, than ever.

**

I was a little surprised to find the trimmer leaning against the garage again, waiting for me. Along with a small note which she'd taped to the handle. Saying simply, "Come inside when you're done here."

At least trimming was the easier part, and it took me less than an hour to finish up. I put the trimmer back into the shed again, and then as she asked, stepped up to the back door porch way, knocking of course before letting myself in. Doing that wasn't new, pretty much standard routine whenever I'd been invited inside before, usually to get a drink or in using the restroom. And usually too, she met me coming just then into the kitchen area, but not today. I called out. "Mrs. Blake?" And then amended that, taking a chance, and then saying "Helen?" Instead. I'm pretty sure she heard me the first time, though only when I'd used the name Helen did I hear the sound of her voice calling me from somewhere ahead. Her home was just one level, though spacious enough, with at least two or more bedrooms down a rather long hallway leading off the main living room. I heard her voice calling out to me from there.

"Down the hall Jason, turn right at the end of the hallway." I passed by the bathroom I had actually been in before, so I was deeper now into her home than I had ever been before. And though I am sure the hallway wasn't nearly as long as I sort of see it and imagine it now, I know it felt like it. Though I am sure it was only seconds before actually reaching it, turning...and then once again stopping dead in my tracks when I did.

Her bedroom door was wide open. And the way her bed sat inside the room, she was facing me. Facing me while laying on it, once again fully naked. This time she didn't need to beckon me to come forward, I just sort of automatically did so, though stopping short just inside the door as I entered the room. She already had one hand working her pussy, and as she (I think) had guessed, the other already playing with and manipulating her tit.

"You can sit down this time, if you want to Jason," she indicated, now pointing towards one of two matching chairs she had in her bedroom. I took the closest one to me of course, though in truth, the other would have provided a better angle perhaps had I taken it instead.

"So, tell me Jason...truthfully. What did you do when you arrived home yesterday after leaving here?"

Was she actually asking me if I'd jerked off? Which of course I had done, though not until much later after everyone had gone to bed.

"Well, I first picked up and cleaned my room..." I began, receiving then a look from her upon saying that.

"You know what I mean Jason." And of course I did. "Did you...play with yourself?" She pressed, her fingers suddenly worming around a bit more than they had been, along with the fingers now pinching and pulling on one of those amazingly hard nipples of hers.

"Yes. Yes I did," I managed to confirm, swallowing a bit, and once more feeling the erection inside my pants growing again. There was no way from stopping it, but apparently, she hadn't meant for me to.

"And what did you think about while you were touching yourself?" She asked again, her tone of voice suddenly a bit softer, a bit husky perhaps as her level of arousal climbed.

"About you," I offered, though again receiving another 'look' from her. And as I did, seeing both of her hands stopping, moving away as she actually sat up.

"I figured that much," she said with totally different tone of voice. "Maybe I need to be a little clearer here," she told me. "If you want to see more of what you saw yesterday, then you need to be as candid with me vocally, as I'm being with you visually. So when I ask you what you were thinking about, I'm talking specifics here. I want you to tell me what you were imagining while you were jacking off. There...that a little clearer for you?"

I don't know if I merely nodded my head, or actually said yes, but she lay back in the bed once again, this time bending her legs at the knee, spreading herself even more obscenely than I'd seen the day before.

"I was thinking about your tits, and what I'd like to be doing to them," I began.

"Go on," she moaned. "Tell me more...specifically."

"How I wish I could suck them, and pull on them with my fingers the way you were doing."

"You mean like this?" She asked, now using both hands to pull on her nipples with simultaneously. "So you liked that huh? You like watching the way I play with my nipples then."

"Yes...yes I do," I confirmed, once again swallowing, feeling the almost painful press of my erection inside my pants.

"And what about my pussy? Did you think about that?"

I knew a one word answer wasn't what she was looking for. And I think I scored a few points with her when I answered.

"I thought about what it might feel like to put my own fingers there. What it might feel like, sensing your juices, hearing the sounds I would make as I fingered you."

"Just fingered? Or finger-fucked me?" She asked, her raspy tone of voice once more alerting me that she was really getting off on this.

Sure, I'd used the word Fuck around my friends a few times before, but never in front of an actual adult person. So saying it now, felt weirdly odd, yet exciting at the same time.

"Finger fucking you."

"My cunt?"

"Yes, your cunt." And to be honest here, that is a word I think I had thought, but had never actually said out loud before, until now anyway. And once again, it seemed wonderfully nasty and wicked...and dirty all at once. It was a delicious feeling.

"And what else would you like to do to my cunt?" She asked. "What else did you think about doing to it?"

"Licking it. That's what I thought about," I told her honestly. "Yesterday, watching you in the chair, I thought about...imagined actually dropping down onto my knees, and then licking you."

That one surprised her. I could see it by the look of her eyes. "So you didn't actually think about fucking me?"

"Last night? No. I didn't. I thought about sucking your tits, even rubbing the head of my cock against your nipples, but then after that...licking you."

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