Dancer

My great grandfather was quite elderly when he died. Ninety eight, to be precise. I used to visit him weekly, playing chess with him. He was a grand-master when he was in his prime and he taught me a lot about the game. Just because I was only twenty and not very experienced was no reason, in his opinion, to give me a break. If I wanted to win I had to really work at my game.

His other passion was his garden. He had a large house and a very large yard. Once he reached an age where his grandchildren didn't come to play in the yard he converted both front and back yards into gardens. The front yard had a number of different flower beds, some flowers in blossom all the year round. It's quite surprising the number of plants that blossom in winter.

His back yard he took a different tack. He planted bushes all over the place, carefully clipping them for topiary. Quite an interesting sight, those bushes.

He personally maintained both yards until he was well into his eighties, the work finally getting too much for him. After that he hired a gardening service to just maintain the place. He could afford it so why not?

His death came as a sudden surprise. He didn't drive anymore so I'd taken him to his doctor for a regular check-up. His doctor checked him over and assured him he didn't look a day over ninety and would live to be a hundred. He proved the doctor wrong by dropping dead as he walked out of the clinic. Sudden massive heart failure.

To my dismay I was named executor of his estate. I just naturally reached for my phone and called my lawyer, dumping the whole schmozzle on him. This didn't get me out of all the work. One thing I had to do was go through the house and itemise everything that was in it. That was going to be a long and tedious job.

So there I was on a Saturday afternoon going through the house when I heard the sound of music playing. This puzzled me a little as I shouldn't have been hearing music. There was nothing playing in the house and no neighbours were close enough for me to hear music coming from their places. It was just gentle music, classical from what I could tell.

Seeing that I had windows open I strolled over to one to see if I could detect the source of the music. I was in one of the upstairs rooms that overlooked the back yard. I spotted the source of the music and it was rather a surprising source.

There was a bit of a clear area in the middle of the yard and I was assuming that the source was the radio I could see sitting there. The radio wasn't the surprise as I'd already assumed that some device was making the noise. The surprise was the reason the radio was playing.

There was a young lady in the yard, dancing to the music. I estimated her age as about the same as mine, twentyish. The really surprising thing was her attire, or lack thereof. I was prepared to swear that she was dancing nude.

You'll understand that I had to check this out. I was the executor, after all, and if young women were dancing naked in the yard I'm sure it fell within my purview.

I headed out into the back yard and immediately encountered a problem. I could spot the girl from upstairs but at ground level she could have been anywhere. There was all that topiary, with no straight lines of sight anywhere. I headed into the yard, wandering amongst the bushes, searching.

I came around a lion and there she was. My eyes had not deceived me as she was also gloriously naked. Not nude, which indicates artistically nude, but naked, an open invitation to lust. I took a deep breath and counted to ten. I then took an even deeper breath and counted to ten again. It didn't help.

"Good afternoon," I said.

She continued with the pirouette. Let me tell you now, doing a nude pirouette with one leg outstretched puts everything you've got on display. It was obvious that I should have had my camera out and running.

"Good morning," I said for a second time, speaking louder this time.

"What the hell? Who are you and what are you doing here?" she demanded, sounding indignant. Not embarrassed, just indignant.

"More to the point, who are you?" I asked. "I wasn't exactly expecting to find a ballet dancer in the old man's back yard."

"I have permission to be here," she said huffily. "The old man, as you call him, lets me practice out here. It's the only place I can get both privacy and peace to do my practice. Please note the word privacy."

"You're saying that he knew you practised out in the altogether?"

That was a bit of a shocker. I always thought the old man was a bit of a puritan.

Apparently pointing it out suddenly reminded her of the state of her attire. She blushed, her hands fluttering as she started to cover herself, then she got a look of defiance and her hands dropped away. Understandable. I'd already seen everything so why bother hiding it?

"He wouldn't care what I wear," she said, a touch defiantly. "It's not as though he's going to come out here and his eyesight is too bad to make out anything from the windows. You still haven't said why you're here."

"I could hear the music and came to see what was going on."

"Well, now you know. Feel free to leave. Unlike some, I have permission."

"I don't think you do," I said regretfully. "The old man died a few days ago. Have you spoken to his executor about permission?"

"Died!?" she exclaimed. "Oh, that's terrible. He was such a nice old man. When's the funeral? I want to go."

"Monday," I told her, telling her the time and place.

"Thank you, now go away. I want to finish my dancing."

"About that, have you bothered to consider the dangers of running around naked? Not the wisest decision."

"It's fine. Like I said, I'm totally private here. No-one comes."

"Do I look like a stray kitten or something?" I asked. "It seems to me that I'm proof that people do come here. Including the gardeners," I added. "These bushes don't trim themselves."

"Is that who you are? One of the gardeners? Shouldn't you be trimming bushes instead of annoying me?"

"Ah, no. I'm actually the executor of the estate. As such I'm quite willing to have you continue dancing, but you have been warned."

"Warned of what?" she demanded. She was certainly a bit slow at times.

"The dangers of running around naked," I reminded her. "Consider. What would you do if this happened?"

It only took a step and I was standing next to her. I took her arm and turned her to face away from me, which she didn't seem to mind as it meant that she wasn't so fully on display. She probably had second thoughts when my arm went around her, cupping her breast.

She had a nice breast. It fitted my hand very nicely. Apparently she didn't agree as she was trying to push my hand away. Politely, if you can believe it. I, of course took advantage of that politeness, my other hand reaching around and cupping her other breast.

"Get your hands off me," she snapped, sounding somewhat offended that I would do such a thing.

"Why would I want to do that?" I asked her. "They feel marvellous. Especially when I do this."

I gently massaged her breasts, enjoying the feel of them. Also, sadist that I am, enjoying that she was still trying to push my hands away without offending me.

"My name's Robert," I told her. "And you are?"

"Debra," she gasped out. "Look, would you mind letting me go?"

"Yes, I think I would," I told her. "I like the way you feel. Have you noticed that your nipples are puckering? It seems that they like this, too."

"No they don't," she denied.

I dropped one hand, letting her see for herself that she lied. I used my spare hand to roam across her bottom, something else that brought an indignant protest from her.

She was standing fairly heavily on her right foot, leaning away from the hand on her breast. It was almost a crime when I gently nudged my knee into the back of hers. Her leg buckled and she was falling before she could do anything to stop it. Being a natural gentleman I guided her fall so that she landed gently, crouching on her hands and knees, me maintaining my grip on her breast with my other hand sliding off her bottom and between her legs, starting to massage her mound.

Debra was starting to protest quite firmly. She wanted my hands off her and she wanted them off now.

"But why?" I asked, my voice redolent with puzzlement. "You're reacting so nicely to what I'm doing."

"I'm doing no such thing," she snapped. "Leave me alone."

In answer two fingers slipped quite naturally into her passage. She gave a startled squeal, trying to lift away from them. I couldn't help but laugh.

"This is no laughing matter," she yelled. "Just stop that."

My hand withdrew, not because I wanted it to but because I needed it to undo my trousers and push them down. That done I cupped her breast again, once more holding both of them, rubbing them gently.

"This more to your liking?" I suggested.

"No."

"Oh. Maybe something like this?"

I pulled her towards me, her buttocks pressing against my erection. She just stayed still for a moment, trying to work out what was happening, I think. I could tell when it registered with her from the gasp she suddenly gave.

"You wouldn't dare," she said, not sounding if she believed that in the slightest.

"If you say so," I said. "Ah, mind lifting your bottom a little higher?"

"Yes!"

"Ah, well. I guess I can do it for you."

My hands left her breasts and closed over her hips. I lifted them. Her bottom rising until she was on her knees properly. A much more advantageous position as my erection was now pressing against her vulva, and with just a minor adjustment it was pressing into her passage.

"You stop that," she gasped. "Don't."

I just gently leaned against her, my cock starting to push into her. It moved in quite easily, she being aroused enough to take me with no problems, willing or not. I kept pushing and she kept protesting, saying she most definitely didn't want this.

That may have been true but she certainly wasn't doing anything to prevent it happening. I slid in up to the hilt, my hands once more on her breasts, squeezing them lightly. I started moving, pulling back and sliding home again.

Her complaints didn't stop but her actions quickly started giving the lie to her words. It took no time at all to establish a rhythm that she moved to, pushing back to meet me as I thrust into her. It was rather odd how her complaints also kept time to the same tempo as our movements. I'd pull back while she complained but as I thrust forward the complaint would be replaced by a pleasured gasp, only to be followed by pullback and complaint then thrust and gasp.

I was willing to lay odds that I could go for longer than she could complain. It was plain to me that she was already half captured by her body's responses to what I was doing. All I had to do was keep going long enough that she was fully taken with it, her complaints dying away and genuine enthusiasm taking their place.

I kept up my nice slow rhythm, increasing the pace for a bit and then slowing down once more. At the same time I kept on teasing her breasts, tormenting her nipples, feeling her reaction from the restless way she reacted.

The next time I increased the pace I could tell she was ready. Her complaints stopped, but her little moans of delight kept coming at a steady rate. I didn't actually increase the pace again, per se. I just changed my style slightly. I started pulling right back, almost disengaging, only to thrust fully back into her, her cry echoing in my ears.

A bit more of that and she was gone, finally giving a proper scream as she climaxed, shuddering as she did so. Also clamping down on me, forcing me to climax at the same time.

We both collapsed onto the grass, breathing hard.

"Bastard," she said, sounding very sincere.

"True," I agreed. "Fair warning. If I catch you cavorting in the nude again the same thing will probably happen."

"Don't worry. You won't catch me."

Who was worried? If I catch her fully dressed I'll just take off her panties and we'll see what happens.