Wife Tries Out a Mowing Service

For a quick intro, my wife, Jen, and I are in our late 40's. We met our freshman year of college, married soon after graduation, and then had kids right away (unbeknownst to us at the time, she was in the early stages of pregnancy when we walked down the aisle). It was tough starting careers, finding our way in the world, and learning to be a good husband and wife while raising kids, but it worked out great. We're now still young enough to have fun and the kids are growing into great adults. The youngest of the three is finishing up college, and so while we aren't truly empty nesters yet, most of the year it feels like it.

So that brings me to this past July. Our youngest was gone for the summer on an internship, so it was our first summer alone. Our sex life picked up some, simply from having the house to ourselves finally, but at the same time, it feels permanent now, so there's no urgency. We're happily in love, great partners in life, and still enjoy sex. However, after 20-some years together, you need some spicing up here and there. That's what we got in July, and then some.

We live in a small suburb close to a mid-size city, a fairly fast-growing community where young people are fixing up old homes while 30-sopmethings are building new. We have a medium-sized house, couple thousand square feet in a subdivision where most homes are around 20 years old. I am in upper management in a small tech company downtown that pays very well, with good benefits and plenty of time off. Jen works part time from home as a freelance editor for several magazines, which pays well for the hours she works, and gives her most of the benefits of both a career and the housewife life. She has circle of friends all around our age who are either in similar work situations or purely homemakers. Usually once a week they have brunch at one of their houses where mimosas and girl talk flow freely. At some point, they became a more regular thing on Thursdays at one particular friend's house. Somewhere along the line, I also noticed we were having more regular, and much more passionate sex on Thursdays as well.

I don't track these things, but I was ready to leave work on a random Thursday, and the thought hit me that I was probably going to go home to some rather frisky sex. I figured it probably had something to do with the brunches and what they talked about. Eventually my curiosity got the better of me, so I called her during a brunch, made small talk about something needing to be done, but was really trying to hear what was happening in the background. What I heard was giggly talk between the other women with weird phrases like, "when he bends down to start it" and, "when he's really working to cover a tight spot." Were they watching some kind of porn? Reading erotic romantic novels? Eventually I heard one of them say, "It's worth every penny for the show, and the lawn looks great as well." That's when it hit me that they were ogling whoever was mowing the lawn.

Sure enough, a couple days later, I was having problems with our lawnmower when Jen said she knew of a local young man named Dylan who cut lawns in the neighborhood for a good price with quality work. She said several of her girlfriends hired him and had been very happy with the results. I don't think she realized how clearly I could see the excitement in her eyes. The thought of my wife lusting after a lawn boy certainly stirred a little jealousy inside me, but the aspect of her being a little slutty with her desires turned me on. I said I was fine with it and we would try him out.

He had an opening on the next Friday, beginning at 1pm. When I got home that night, I had to admit it, the lawn looked far better than it ever did under my care, regardless of whether my wife got to ogle the guy pushing the mower. I told her to book the spot for the rest of the summer. That night she had a certain excited bounce to her. She was just all smiles and giggles. When we headed to the bedroom for the evening, she practically threw herself on me. She shoved me onto the bed and began to give me an amazing blowjob. After a few minutes, I flipped her on her back and began to slowly and methodically lick her pussy. Once I started to work a couple fingers inside her, she began to squirm and squeal with delight.

When I could tell she was nearing orgasm, I lifted my head, my fingers still working her vagina, and whispered, "I think somebody liked the lawn boy..."

Before she could respond, her orgasm took control. She arched back and exploded in orgasm. When she came down, she didn't acknowledge what I said, and neither did I. We just fucked like we hadn't in years.

The following Friday, I snuck home early. I knew the lawn was supposed to get mowed from 1 - 2. I pulled into the driveway at 1:30pm. I should add that I drive an early Tesla Model S, which has the ability to run very silently, even allowing you to turn off the ambient noise it makes to alert pedestrians. I didn't pull into the garage but stopped on the side of the street and crept up to the house as quietly as I could. I know that when Jen is home during the day she rarely locks the door, and I was lucky that this day was no exception. I managed to open and close the front door without making a sound. As I tip-toed through the living room, I saw something I'll never forget. My sweet little wife Jen was in her favorite bikini and was standing in front of the large glass patio door that faced the back yard. Now I should take a moment to describe her. While she's 49, she looks amazing for her age. She has shoulder length blonde hair (not her natural color), and stands about 5' 5". Over the years her thighs have gotten a little thicker, her ass a little rounder, but it's like aging a fine wine, she looks hot, like the definition of MILF. Her skin has just the slightest bit of texture from age, her tits have just the slightest bit of sagging, but it all just makes her that much sexier when she struts and sways. Her ass, as far as I'm concerned, looks better than it ever has. On this day, her ass was sticking out right towards me, as she leaned with one hand against the patio door, her other hand down the front of her bikini bottoms. Her legs were spread, and in the light, I could see her the shape of her fingers inside the bikini bottoms working her clit. She was breathing heaving and moaning.

When I finally managed to take my eyes off of her, I could clearly see the lawn boy in back walking by pushing his mower. Here was my prim, sweet little wife, in broad daylight, rubbing her pussy for all it was worth, watching this man cross the backyard. Now he couldn't see her. Our windows and patio doors have a mirrored tint. But she could clearly see him, and she was fucking herself watching him.

I should probably take a moment to describe Dylan. He was a senior at a small college a few hours away, where he was a linebacker on the football team. He was about what you would picture for that, 6' 5" at least, broad shoulders, and had the physique of an athlete in his prime. He had the body to be a male exotic dancer or to play a super hero in Hollywood. There was no confusion as to why a woman would get turned on watching him out there sweating. At first I thought it was weird that any of her friends, or Jen herself would be able to look at a local boy sexually, but then I found it his parents had moved into the neighborhood over the winter, so they had never seen him until he was an adult, in the shape he was in.

When I saw Jen rubbing herself to the sight of him, my first reaction was not unlike catching someone cheating. She was clearly getting off on someone else, someone other than her husband. I wanted her loins to be on fire for me, but here she was so excited by looking at someone else that she was masturbating to the sight of him doing menial lawn work.

But as soon as the pangs of anger and jealousy hit me, I felt the blood rush to my crotch as well. My dick was as hard as it has ever been. This is when my own arousal took over. I don't know where it came from. I'm not one of those people that fantasizes about their wife with someone else, nor have I ever desired to be a swinger. However, I could not deny how horny it was to see my wife turned on so much that she had to fuck herself right where she stood.

I crept up behind her and put one hand on her shoulder. She jumped up, screamed, and looked at me with terror in her eyes. I didn't say a word, but I grabbed her, like a man possessed, turned her back around so she was facing the door and ripped her bikini bottoms down her legs. I spread her legs and then began to fuck her with three fingers. There was nothing loving about it, I was pounding her pussy, causing her to moan and wail. It was unbelievable how wet she was, her pussy just took the abuse. Then without removing any of my clothes, I unzipped my zipper, pulled my rock-hard dick out, shoved it into her sopping vagina, and began to pound her from behind. She put both hands forward on the patio door for balance. While I was the one fucking her, she was facing him, and it's clear he was what she was thinking about. I could see her head move to follow him moving across the yard.

With all of the excitement, I knew I wouldn't last long. Luckily, she was so aroused she had two orgasms watching him while I fucked her. When I felt my own orgasm arriving, I grabbed her hips with both hands and fucked her as hard as I ever have, pumping her full of my cum.

We both dropped to the floor, out of breath and totally spent.

After a few minutes of silence, Jen looked up and said, "This is weird."

"I know," I said, the only thing I could muster.

"I, I," Jen stammered. "I love you, and I don't want to cheat on you or anything, I don't know what came over me, or what I was thinking."

"You're clearly turned on by Dylan," I answered. "And so... I think you probably want to cheat..."

"No," she said, cutting me off. "it's not that."

"That's exactly what it was," I responded. "I don't think you're alone, either, judging from the brunches with the girls."

"I mean, you're kind of right," Jen shot back. "Shelly (who hosts the Thursday brunch) says it's like the men going to a strip club."

She had a point.

"I mean, it's okay to look but not touch, right?" she asked.

"I guess," I said, thinking about her words.

"And by the way, what got into you," she asked, changing the subject ever so slightly. "I don't know when the last time was that you fucked me like that."

"I don't know," I said, looking for the right words. "It made me jealous, and maybe angry, and then..."

"So, you were fucking me out of anger and jealousy?" she asked.

"No, I mean, I don't know," I answered, a little embarrassed about my own feelings. "The sight of you, doing that, was so erotic. And honestly, something about the whole situation, umm..."

"Turned you on?" she asked, her eyes lighting up a little.

"Yeah, I guess," I replied. "I don't know why. I mean I always like watching you wear sexy outfits in public, and, um, maybe, I don't know, maybe it's kind of like that. Just seeing you being a little slutty and acting on lust, and all of that."

"You've never been one for strip clubs," she said, trying to help me through it. "But whenever there was a bachelor party or something, I got kind of turned on knowing you were going there and looking at the dancers."

"Really?" I asked.

"Yeah," she began, "I think I just figured it was the sex I knew we'd have when you got home. But, like, just thinking about it, I can kind of almost smell that stripper scent on you, and it was somehow extra hot having sex with, with that scent, knowing you'd been there watching them and probably getting a lap dance."

"Huh," was all I could manage to respond.

We stared at each other for a minute, and the first thing that came to me, I just blurted out.

"You know, if this is your strip club, I don't know how you get a lap dance," I said, half joking.

She just stared back at me, clearly afraid to speak.

"Maybe you could, you know, just flirt with him a little bit," I added.

"Like what?

she asked, her eyes getting wider.

"You know, dress sexy, try to catch his eye," I answered. "Maybe, um, just be flirty."

"Would he touch me?" she asked, her breath getting a bit ragged.

"Maybe a little, I don't know," I stammered, not sure what I was even suggesting, or why. "Just, um, you know, flirting, and uh, maybe that means a little touching. I'm sure he thinks you're hot, shit, if he say you in that bikini, he'd be turned on."

"I don't know," she said, clearly wanting something.

"Any man would want you, you are smoking hot," I replied.

"Actually, that was, um, maybe the cause of the little show you got," she said coyly.

"Oh yeah?" I asked, getting a little turned on again.

"I was wearing this and sitting by the pool when he came by," she said. "When I headed inside, I could in the reflection in the patio door that he was staring at my ass."

A million thoughts and feelings hit me at once with her words. I had nothing to say back. I grabbed her hand, helped her up, and lead her to the bedroom where I did my best to fuck her brains out. As we cooled off afterward, we started to plan for next Friday. She was going to be "flirty" or whatever that meant, and I was going to come home early, put my car in the garage so Dylan wouldn't see, and watch it from inside. She said she couldn't do anything without me there, both for safety in case he turned out to be crazy or something, as well as so I could stop her and make sure she didn't go too far.

Just like we planned, the next Friday I was there when Dylan arrived. Jen wore a different, slightly skimpier bikini, that had more of a thong bottom. When he was about halfway done, she headed out to bring him a glass of lemonade. While I could see everything, I couldn't hear anything. They were clearly both flirting hard, and there was an occasional arm tough her and there. At one point, he leaned in and whispered something to her that caused her to giggle before heading back inside.

When she opened the door, I could see goosebumps on her skin, and since it was nearly 90 degrees, it was obviously from excitement, not cold. She walked right up to me with a huge grin and mouthed the words, "That was so crazy."

I wasted no time, I reached right for her crotch, and I could immediately feel the wetness soaking through.

"You're a bit excited," I said.

Jen put her hand on the tent that had formed in my pants and seductively replied, "I see you are too."

She was right. When they were talking and touching, I did get that jealous punch to the gut, by I was simultaneously aroused beyond explanation. It was all I could do to not to start jacking off while I watched.

Jen and I looked into each other's eyes and headed for the bedroom.

In no time, she was on her back as I began to lick her pussy.

I don't know where it came from, but I paused, looked up at her and asked, "Imagine if I was Dylan."

My words caused her to shiver and her back began to arch. She closed her eyes. I continued my work as she quickly was overcame with a powerful orgasm, shaking and pushing her pussy into my face.

I got up, headed to what we call the "naughty drawer," where we keep our sex toys. I grabbed a blindfold and had her put it on.

I climbed between her legs, lined my dick up with her soaking wet pussy, and began to slowly push my way in.

"Just pretend it's him doing this," I said, shaking. I don't know what made me say it. My own words stirred up jealous feelings inside me, but they were quickly overcome when I saw how excited she got.

We fucked in that position for several minutes, both ready to cum as quickly as possible.

As Jen neared her orgasm, she raised her legs off of the bed, grabbed my ass with both hands, and yelled out, "Fuck me, Dylan!"

That was all it took. I exploded inside her. To this day, I kind of feel like it was the jealousy itself that pushed me over the top. I was lucky to stay hard long enough for her to finish her orgasm.

Needless to say, for the next week, the blindfold got a lot of use, and as I continued to pretend to be Dylan, the jealous was less each time, but I became more and more turned on by the idea. Here and there I found myself picturing Dylan fucking her. Each time I had to push those thoughts out of my mind quickly though, because it was almost enough to make me orgasm immediately.

When Dylan arrived the next Friday, we were both ready for something new. This time, Jen was wearing a lacy, matching bra and panty set underneath a sheer robe. I wondered if Dylan would be able to keep his hands to himself when he saw her.

Possibly more shocking than my wife's outfit, however, was what Dylan was wearing. He had on a pair of skin-tight lycra or spandex workout shorts and the kind of overly-tight tank top that a bodybuilder would where. Once he made a few passes with the lawnmower, he quickly shed his shirt and got back to work. I noticed him looking around several times as he mowed, and I realized he was also dressing purposely for the occasion. He was clearly trying to turn on my wife, a woman old enough to be his mother.

Jen was watching him through the patio door like a starving person watching a meal being cooked. I just sat in a chair nearby and watched. Somehow she found the strength to wait until he was just finishing up before she headed outside.

Jen had purposely tied the robe loosely, so that while in didn't come open, it really didn't cover that much. She left the door open a little bit so I could hear their conversation.

"Have some lemonade, you look hot," Jen said before realizing her choice of words. "I mean temperature."

"Mrs. Berghoff, if you don't mind me saying," he responded, "You look hot, in the other sense of the word."

"You're too sweet," she cooed, before leaning in and giving him a peck on the cheek.

When her lips met his cheek, he put one hand on her waist, holding her there, not forcefully, just like signaling her to hold there. He moved his face directly in front of hers and started to kiss her.

Holy shit! This was way past the plan. And any good husband should respond by heading out there to give him a piece of his mind. But I was frozen. Yes, it made me mad. It made me jealous. But at the same time, I could feel my dick straining to escape my pants. Was my own body betraying me?

Jen pulled back, composed herself, and then said, "Hey, lets both step inside and let the air conditioning cool us off."

She turned and began to walk toward the patio door. My heart lifted at the thought she was bringing him inside to literally cool him off, but also where he would see me and realize he couldn't get out of line with her.

He walked behind her with a huge grin, watching her ass sway with each step. I knew Jen could see it in the reflection on the door, and that regardless of whether she was about to stop this, it turned her on.

He caught up to her as she opened the door. They stepped inside one after the other, and it didn't take him long to see me sitting there. I was in a chair about ten feet from the door, near the entrance to the living room. I had placed a pillow in my lap to hide the fact that my dick was still rock-hard in my pants.

Dylan saw me, stopped in his tracks, put up his hands, and began to speak, "Mr. Berghoff, I, I, uhm, I didn't mean to uh, I'm sorry and would never..."

Jen cut him off, saying, "Don't worry about him, he likes to watch me flirt."

What was she saying? Does she think what happened was ok? And why am I getting even more turned on thinking that?

Jen closed the door, turned to Dylan, put both of her arms around his neck and began to kiss him passionately.

Dylan's arms were still by his side, but he kissed her back like there was nothing wrong. His body was turned to her at a slight angle. He was standing there, looking like some sort of sculpture of a man, with his body turned slightly away from Jen. That's when I noticed it. His tight shorts were working hard to contain what was a nearly hard dick. The outline was clearly visible, and it was also hard to not to notice the size. I'm no slouch, but Dylan was packing some real heat. It had to be eight inches long and still growing. It was the thickness that was most noticeable, though. His dick looked just like his arms, bulbous and sinewy. I quickly realized that Jen had seen it as well, and that might be the explanation for her shift in demeanor.