The Director's Wife

The summer of my junior in high school, when I had just turned 18, I had a job at a wildlife sanctuary in Massachusetts. I and two other guys from different schools boarded at the director's house and worked to maintain the trails and gardens, clear brush, mow lawns, build a boardwalk through a swamp -- that kind of thing. It was fairly hard work. I also took photographs to document the activities of the sanctuary and developed them myself back in my darkroom at home about half an hour away. We all went home on Saturday after closing and came back Monday morning.

Tom was the director, a naturalist in his early 30s, friendly, slightly built, handsome but with thinning hair. Susan was his wife, younger, pretty, fresh looking, with a ponytail and two young children. My fellow boarders were Dave and Brian. Dave had just finished high school, and Brian had just begun college. They shared a room; I had a room of my own in an ell of the house. We all had dinner together every day on the porch, family style.

There were several ponds on the sanctuary, and one of them was good for swimming. It was spring-fed and deep enough to be clear of pond weeds except at the edges. We often took a swim there after work. Sometimes Tom, Susan, and the kids came, sometimes just us three guys, and sometimes Susan took the three of us. It was her time to be away from the kids for an hour, and they stayed at the house with Tom. I knew the pond well. There was a family of wood ducks, and I had set up a blind to photograph them.

The first time we came only with Susan she asked us to help get the raft in. It had just been repainted. It was the usual kind of square wooden raft on barrels, rather heavy, and it took the four of us to move it, one on each side. Susan was on the high side. I can still see her there in her one-piece black suit. Or rather, I can still see her when she bent over to move the raft, because the top of her suit had lost its elasticity and hung down and allowed a full view of her breasts. I remember being stunned and going weak in the knees, that view was so unexpected and sexy. Susan had a fine pair of conical titties, white from lack of sun with conical, rosy areolae. Dave and Brian also had a full view, though from the side, as I was just opposite her. We took our time getting the raft to the shore. My heart was pounding and my head swimming when we finally arrived. Susan was unaware (wasn't she?) of what she had been showing us.

We swam out with the raft and anchored it, then dove off it. The raft had a small ladder. Dave, Brian and I watched Susan climb up from below. She had a sweet round ass, but she didn't seem to realize the effect she was having on us. She was the director's wife and ten years older than us. We were just the hired help. Strangely, we had never paid much attention to her before. She was always dealing with her kids, for one thing. But now she was just here with us.

I also remember standing on the raft when Susan pulled herself up. I got another view of her breasts, though briefer than before. But this time I was looking for it, for that flash of swelling white flesh tipped with pink. It churned up my stomach to see her breasts. At one point we all lay on the raft together. I was furthest from Susan, but I propped myself up to look at her. Her eyes were closed. I could see the outline of her nipples and areolae against the worn fabric of her suit. Her wet white thighs glistened. A prominent mons rose from between them. I felt warm blood flowing to my cock. I stared at her until I was fully erect in my suit. Strangely, I didn't feel like hiding it, but when she turned toward me I turned away. My head turned more than my body, though, and if she'd looked at my suit, she would have seen her effect on me pitching a tent.

We three guys talked about Susan when we went up to our rooms after dinner. Dave announced that he was going to screw her before the summer was over, which Brian and I thought impossible. As for myself, I was hooked. I weeded her favorite flower bed. I helped her take the laundry off the line when we had a sudden shower. Her bras and panties were nothing special except one black pair (for Saturday night?), and she got to them first herself, whipping them into the hamper.

A week passed before we were alone again with her at the pond. Brian had gone off to Boston to do some research, so it was just the three of us. Out we swam, then lay on the raft, on our stomachs, Dave in the middle. It was Dave who spoke first. He asked Susan if she could put some sunscreen on his back. He produced a tube which he must have carried out inside his swimsuit. She said OK.

I don't think I've given a physical description of Dave. He had a strong, athletic body. He was shorter than I was, but more muscular. Broad shoulders, narrow waist. Wavy hair that fell over his forehead like Elvis, and with the same sleepy look and pouty lips. Susan squirted some cream on his back and began to rub it around. Soon she was using both hands. I watched in a way that Susan couldn't see me watching. I couldn't see everything, but I saw her hand reach around toward Dace's rib cage. There was really no need for that. But I couldn't blame her. She was just seizing the opportunity.

She finished and lay down. Dave thanked her. She didn't offer to do me. We talked about something, and after a while Dave offered to put some sunscreen on Susan's back, what there was of it showing, that is. It was a bold thing to propose. But she said OK, sure. Dave went to work, spreading and rubbing Susan's upper back and neck and shoulders and arms up to the elbows. He seemed to cover all the areas twice. Then he put the tube down and got ready to lie down. I could see that he had a boner worthy of the name. He had to lie on his back so as not to crush it. Susan's head was turned away, but I had the impression that a line had been crossed, though nothing further happened that day.

But two days later, after Dave and I and the hired man had been working in the woods trimming and clearing and came back at five soaked with sweat, Susan took us to the pond again, with Tom's blessing. She drove an old farm pickup and we sat in the back, bouncing along an old woods road. Wr usually changed in the little boat shed next to the pond.

But today when we arrived Dave announced: "Sorry, but I'm not wearing a suit today: too hot." And he stripped off and dove in. I did the same, and it felt great. Susan was in mild shock on the shore. "Bring the sunscreen," Dave called. With her suit on, she did. When she arrived we were lying on our bellies with our white buns to the sky. We took up positions so that Susan would have to lie between us. "You guys are going to get sunburned, you know," Susan said.

"Don't let it happen, we'll have to miss work and it'll be your fault," said Dave.

"You can do your own buns, I'll do you backs," she replied.

Before she started in on Dave, she asked, "What's this?"

Dave said, "Cocoa butter, it's new."

"Kind of oily."

"Smooth."

"I like the smell."

"Yeah, me too." As Susan bent over him on her knees, I simply admired her ass. She started at Dave's neck and shoulders, but couldn't stop herself when she came to the small of the back and the base of the spine. She just kept going, right over Dave's cheeks and down his thighs, all the way to his calves. When she was done she slapped the soles of his feet and said, "That ought to hold you." Then she turned around and said, "Now it's your turn."

No woman had ever touched me the way she did. Her hands were smooth, and she put that cream on with long, massaging strokes, both hands at once. The director's wife's hands kneading the cheeks of my ass? It was heaven, but the devil must have been pleased to see it.

"Now it's my turn, and I'm going to close my eyes."

If she had opened them, she would have seen two young men with swollen cocks kneeling over her. We each took a side.

"Take your straps off, anyway, they get in the way," Dave said. She slipped her straps off, and we caught a flash of breast before she lay back down. Her arms were spread in front of her, crooked at the elbows. The cocoa butter was like the finish oil I had applied to wood, smooth and oily and aromatic. But there still wasn't a lot of upper body to work with.

"Four hands, that's new," Susan said, and she seemed a little surprised at the sensation.

Now for the legs. We started together at the ankles. Her calves weren't so slim, but I liked the feel of that firm round flesh that swelled, then thinned at the back of the knee. And started swelling again at the base of the thigh. Susan's thighs were solid and supple. It took a firm hand, or hands, to work them over. We weren't spreading sunscreen any more, we were slowly mauling Susan's legs: it was as erotic a massage as we could give without touching the parts hidden by her suit. We got closer, grasping her thighs with both hands, squeezing and stroking. We didn't dare rub her between the legs -- I mean, just out and out stroke her pussy through her suit. We didn't dare.

"If someone comes, just dive in, OK?" said Susan. As well she might have: we would have looked like two Roman slaves attending our mistress during the reign of Caligula. It was a scene worthy of a brothel in Pompeii. We both had full erections. Dave had a randy-looking, thick, circumcised cock. The veins stood out on the shaft and the head gleamed in the sun. As for me, the throbbing at the root of me was almost painful. We did keep a lookout for intruders, but hikers rarely came to the pond, and we could see the woods road where they would be coming from.

When we finished we lay down on our backs. We had lost any inhibitions we might have had. We were both thinking, "Why doesn't Susan just extend a hand -- two hands -- and stroke our cocks until we come right here on the dock?" But we just lay there in silence and erotic agony, all three of us, not sure of what was next. Dave had an idea, though.

"Susan, you really should get a bikini, you know. That old suit of yours has to go. Everybody's wearing them now."

"High school girls, you mean."

"Ursula Andress, I mean. A bikini would look great on you, too." I had to admit, Dave had a way with words.

At dinner we played it straight, and during our work days we were so full of energy that Tom had nothing to complain about. He and the kids came swimming with us once. No skinny-dipping, needless to say.

But Susan bought a bikini. Nothing too revealing, but a big improvement. And of course, she needed sunscreen on that newly exposed flesh. So we repeated our Roman slave act, concentrating on the lower back, especially where the curves of her ass began to swell. The bikini bottom was briefer than her old suit all around, in fact, so we stroked all around that beautiful round ass. I saw Dave reach his fingers under the edges of the bottom, too, and I followed suit, which was unbearably erotic.

"Take it easy, guys," said Susan, but she was obviously enjoying it. She looked around as she said it, with open eyes, right at Dave's swollen, purple cock, then quickly turned away. But she'd seen it.

I said I had to get back to the house to make a phone call to my parents about visiting colleges; I pretended that I'd just remembered that I'd arranged the call. I said I'd just take a shortcut through the woods but wouldn't be back. And indeed I did dive off the raft, put on my suit, and depart. Before doubling back, that is. And very stealthily taking up a position in the duck blind. Where I had left my camera, a tripod, and a 135mm lens. I hadn't told Dave I was going to do this. It was kind of an experiment. I figured three was a crowd. I knew they would both be turned on, though I hadn't expected the bikini. I knew that I was giving them an opportunity which might not come again: alone on the raft together (and Dave buck naked) with just ten days left in the summer.

Of course I couldn't hear what they were saying to each other, though I could see it clear as day (better, with the help of my SLR and zoom lens). Thank God for my tripod, because my hands were trembling. That queasy feeling returned and my head swam. They were both lying on their stomachs, heads resting on crossed arms, facing each other. Dave later told me that Susan was asking him never to say anything to Tom about the bikini or skinny-dipping or anything that might make her husband (and our boss) jealous or suspicious.

"Suspicious of what," asked Dave?

"Of nothing, that's just the point," said Susan.

"Nothing? What if you were to put some of that coconut oil on me right now?"

"What if I did? I've done it before."

She did it again. But this time they were alone. So Susan felt free to straddle Dave at the waist. She started at the shoulders. Click. My angle was mostly from behind, but the raft was slowly twirling on its single anchor. She worked her way down Dave's broad back toward that narrow waist. She backed up, still straddling him. She looked around nervously. Could she see the lens at my little porthole? Well, there was always a lens at my porthole: I left a glass filter there for the ducks to get used to. Then she began to work over those well-muscled buttocks. Click.

"Don't move." he said (he later told me)

And he turned himself over in one cat-like movement and lay naked underneath her with his hands behind his head and his eyes closed. She gasped. He repeated, "Don't move."

Dave's cock was fully erect. She looked right down at it, stared at it. I watched through the camera. Click, from a better angle that showed what she was doing, and that showed the angle on that stiff, strong 18-year-old cock.

"Kiss me, Susan," said Dave, and opened his eyes. They met hers. She was frozen, as still as a statue. Dave told me that he said, "You're so beautiful. And sexy. That bikini is driving me crazy." She still didn't move. He freed his arms and lightly touched her shoulders. She bent down over him. As she did so, he gently raised his pelvis until he made contact -- his naked cock against the thin strip of cloth between her legs. Click.

She tensed up and froze. Then she jumped up and dove into the water! She swam for shore, and Dave dove in and swam right after her. He caught up with her just as she reached the edge of the pond and grabbed for her legs. She got free and stumbled a bit, and in another moment Dave was holding her in his arms and kissing her on the lips. His arms were wrapped around her. She seemed to have gone limp; then she wrapped her arms around Dave's back. He kissed her neck, her shoulders. She looked around in a panic.

"The boathouse."

It was her idea. He took her by the hand and they ducked inside the little boathouse, which was no more than a shed. It had one window. As noiselessly as an Indian, I went to that window, but I didn't dare look in. I could hear the sounds, though. Sounds of kissing and stumbling and contact with the wall, sounds of sighing and crying. They weren't making love, just making out. I had to peek. I got away with it. Susan's top was off. Dave was gripping her body and sucking on a breast. Susan's eyes were closed in surrender.

I ducked, my heart beating wildly, my knees weak, pressed against the building as if I were hiding from a sniper. Or was myself a sniper. I stole another look, though I was terrified I'd meet Susan's eyes, she'd scream, and it would all be over. Not to worry. She'd gone down on Dave and was sucking that beautiful young cock, gobbling it up, her hair wet and disheleved. And Dave was looking down with his hands in that hair. Then she raised her head and I ducked fast.

When I heard a rhythmical slapping sound I looked again. Dave had lifted Susan up -- she was fully naked now -- and had pressed her against the back wall of the shed. Her arms were wound tight around his back. He was screwing her, just as he'd promised, with fast, hard strokes, driving his cock up into her. It was too risky to watch. Dave wouldn't have been happy with an interruption. I clapped my ear to the shed to hear the sounds they were making, the slapping and Susan's short groans every time Dave drove up into her as deep as he could.

At some point the sounds stopped, and I froze. Then they started again, and I looked. Susan was bent over, facing the wall, her hands bracing her body. Dave was giving it to her doggy-style, his hands on her hips, thrusting into her with loud, smooth strokes. I heard her say: "Fuck me hard." I had never heard a woman speak like that. In response Dave pounded his pelvis against Susan's round ass. Her flesh shook with the blows. Her breasts swung wildly. Her head hung down. Since they were both facing away from me, I thought, now is the time. Just one click. My hands weren't so steady, but I did it. That click was so loud! But they were louder. If Tom or anyone had come...but they were in their own world. And I watched them in it. There was no stopping Dave once Susan had released him into that fucking frenzy, and soon he came, with groans and crashing, shuddering strokes. He clung to her like a child. I figured it was time for me to get out of there.

I took a few creeping, quiet steps away from the shed, and then I ran, I ran with my camera in my hand, without stopping, down the trail, not looking behind me, trying to get out of sight, as if I were being pursued. When I ran out of breath I was shaking, and smiling. They had the sex, but I had the pictures.

Dinner on the porch was as routine as ever. We were all such good actors. Tom asked how our swim was. We talked about how to control duckweed. I was a little disconcerted when he asked how my photographic project was coming along. He said he was looking forward to publishing my photos in the sanctuary's fall bulletin. I promised to bring a set of prints after the weekend, when I'd have time in my darkroom.

Dave told me what had happened after I had left. I didn't reveal what I'd done, and seen. He kept saying how Susan was so hot. He repeated the line about "Fuck me hard." He didn't tell me much that I didn't already know. He said he wanted to do it again: no surprise there. I told him to play it cool, or he might get fed to the snapping turtles.

I returned from the weekend with two different sets of prints. One showed various sites of environmental interest around the sanctuary as well as a family of wood ducks nesting and swimming in a pond; the other showed Dave, naked and in a state of sexual arousal, and the scantily clad and provocatively positioned sanctuary director's wife together on the raft of the same pond, along with one shot, slightly blurry, of the director's wife naked and getting fucked from behind in a small interior space. I showed the first set to Tom, who was very pleased. I showed the second set to Dave, who was shocked, and also pleased. These were very hot photos (and yes, I still have them). The identity of the participants was not open to question. The only question was what to do with the images.

I didn't want to upset or embarrass Susan or her husband. I didn't want to get Dave or myself in trouble. I just wanted -- my turn. Dave said he would be the lookout -- and watch through the window. He still wanted the first round, though. He looked on Susan as his girl. I didn't mind. I liked watching Dave and learning his tricks. There was a further complication. Brian was returning the next morning and would be with us. And of course we would have to break the news to Susan. I volunteered.

The four of were back at the pond. It was a hot, humid day, and we three guys had just finished clearing a field. The water felt good. Susan wore her bikini. We had our suits on. We hadn't told Brian, just to see how wide his eyes would get. There would be no need for sunscreen today, as storm clouds were building up. The four of us lay on the raft, Susan on the side, then Dave, then me, then Brian.