There are a few days every June when the weather is so fine that one can forgive the UK for whatever the climate brings the rest of the year. With bright blue skies and the sun’s intensity at “bask” rather than “scorch”, there is no finer place in the world to be than a well-manicured garden in England.
Having impeccable timing, my sister-in-law chose just such a perfect day to hold one of her “get togethers”. Abby is an amazing hostess and doesn’t do anything by half measures. She ran a successful PR company before taking time off to raise her three kids, all while maintaining her hobbies of doing up houses and spending piles of cash on extravagant parties.
My wife, Charlotte, and I weren’t always invited to Abby’s events, but we never hesitated to go when we were. They gave Charlotte a chance to catch up with her brother (Abby’s husband), and the food and drink were top-notch. In addition, Abby always pulled out the stops in hiring clowns and other entertainers for the kids, allowing us to enjoy ourselves for a day while our little ones were safely distracted.
On the morning in question, I found myself chasing our younger son, Ollie, around the house trying to get him into presentable clothes. Like me, the boys were to wear polo shirts and linen trouser shorts - formal enough to be acceptable for the party but comfortable enough in the rare summer heat. For all the time it took me to serve and clean up from breakfast, brush teeth, sort out clothes, shoes and water bottles, Charlotte was still the last one ready. I was applying the final bits of sunscreen to a squirming Ollie as Charlotte came down the stairs in a blue floral sundress and sandals. Her hair was up, her makeup subtly applied and her choice of jewelry was elegant and tasteful as always. She looked amazing.
Charlotte was relentlessly conscientious about maintaining her slender figure, and it showed. As she bent over to strap the boys into the cargo-bike I was struck by how her petite bottom was still the same peachy, enticing shape it had been when we first met as students. I couldn’t help myself and placed my open hand on her rear end, lightly cupping one of her cheeks.
She immediately swatted me away, saying, “There’s no time for that now.” Sadly, there rarely ever was. In fact, the morning had started off with a promising cuddle: Charlotte lay on her side tucked under my arm, and my right thigh was wedged between her legs. On the occasions when we had sex, that was how things started. Subtly adjusting the pressure to her mons was the thing that got her going. I often tried flexing different portions of my quad muscles to add to the stimulation, but that may only have ever worked in my imagination.
The cuddle was lovely; however, as usual, the accompanying chat was anything but. Charlotte used Saturday mornings as her time to vent. I’d spent innumerable hours trying to maintain morning wood while pretending to be interested in the latest office politics or the idiotic way in which a client failed to follow advice. If I could stick it out, the reward was sometimes worth it. That particular morning, I sensed we were on the closing moments of the rant when the inevitable knock on the door arrived – time to pour the Cheerios and cue up some inanely cheery kiddie videos for the boys.
How long had it been? Four weeks, or possibly six? Keeping too precise a tally only made me bitter, but I could tell by my state of horniness that we’d definitely crested the month mark. Again.
The cycle from Putney to Barnes went by quickly, and we pulled up outside Charlotte’s brother’s impressively proportioned three-storey, detached house. The property had been divided into flats and was quite a wreck when James and Ruby bought it. Through the combination of James’ earning power and Ruby’s vision and determination, the place was transformed into a space that bordered on palatial. The climbing wisteria on the façade was still in bloom and, set against the red bricks, added to the grandeur of the scene.
We secured our bikes together to one side of the gravel drive and had to hold the kids back from running straight through the open front door. They were desperate to get to the back garden where they knew Auntie Abby was sure to have piles of chocolatey treats and ice creams.
There was no sign of either Abby or James inside the house, only the handful of “helpers” that Abby always seemed to have about. Three young, pretty Eastern European women who aided with the kids, the housework and whatever else needed doing.
As we passed through the large sliding patio doors at the back, I noticed five long tables set out on the lush green lawn. Each was topped by twelve place settings and punctuated by towering vases holding brightly coloured arrangements of freshly cut flowers. Adding in the two children’s tables, I calculated that there were to be at least 75 people in attendance, making this a comparatively modest party by Abby’s standards.
“Charlotte… Jack… how lovely to see you. You both look AMAZING. It’s been so long,” Abby proclaimed as she approached us from across the terrace.
“James, do get these two a drink,” she continued then turned to greet yet another family emerging into the sunshine, “Matthew…Diedre… how lovely to see you. You both look AMAZING…”
Not sharing his wife’s propensity to gush, my brother-in-law stepped forward with a large pitcher of Pimm’s in hand. “Hey sis, Jack, let’s get you two started.”
Leaving Charlotte and James to chat about family matters, I moved on to mingle. I never felt quite at home mixing with the crowd of mostly bankers and lawyers. As an engineer I was a bit of an outlier, but my time at Oxford meant that I had a baseline of common ground with many of those in attendance. I amused myself in noting the common themes being discussed across the clusters of chatting people. Entrance standards at highly competitive schools seemed to be the topic on nearly everyone’s mind.
Unfortunately, I’d come to associate a deep dullness with the English upper middle class. In striving for the best, they all converge on the same things. They all drive the same cars, cook with the same pans, wear the same clothes and share the same hobbies. I didn’t want to be judged for not having a chalet in Chamonix or for buying my shoes from a high street retailer. In fact, I didn’t want to be judged at all, so I kept the conversation light, only dipping in and out of groups for brief chats.
After an hour or so, I found myself drifting over to the dining tables in my Clarks loafers and was pleased to see that my place-card had me sitting across from Ruby, the wife of Charlotte’s much older cousin. In this or any group, Ruby was a breath of fresh air. She was Oxbridge-educated, clever and confident, in keeping with the rest of the crowd, but she was also subversive and capable of saying the most inappropriate and amusing things.
Years earlier, at a dinner party to celebrate Charlotte’s and my engagement, Ruby’s advice (given in front of the whole family, including her husband, Paul) was to, “have loads of sex before children come along and ruin everything.” In a posh and conservative family, where no one would even think about uttering the word “toilet”, Ruby somehow got away with being provocative.
Ruby also had a reputation as a prolific flirt, something Paul didn’t seem to mind or even to notice. As she was a married member of the family and more than 10 years my senior, I always took her hinted advances as harmless fun.
With the sun still high, the afternoon progressed. The adults were called to move from mingling over canapes to assemble at the tables for the first course – all with Pimm’s, beers or champagne in hand.
Seated either side of me was a pediatrician and a woman who worked in “structured finance” but was too polite to explain what that meant. I was only moments into the obligatory small talk, when a flash of movement caught my eye. Turning to look, I was greeted by Ruby’s smile as she breathlessly plopped into her seat.
“Am I three or five drinks behind,” she asked with a cheeky grin.
“Seven, so you’d better get your skates on,” I replied.
“I’ll keep it to three… otherwise, I’d be afraid you’d take advantage of me, not that it would even take that many,” she quipped back.
“I really hoped to have been here earlier, but the traffic at Heathrow was horrific,” she continued and went on to explain that she and Paul had gone to collect their son and his girlfriend on their return from an extended trek in Thailand.
“Oh, is Leo here as well?” I asked.
“No, he and Samantha are back at ours,” she explained with a smirk and added, “probably shagging like rabbits.”
“Hmm… well, I suppose someone has to,” I offered and gave a knowing wink.
Over the meal, I chatted with everyone nearby, but I kept an eye on Ruby. Her sparkling green eyes shone out from under her dark, bobbed hair and sparkled in relation to her pale skin. She was clad in a knee-length, striped summer dress that seemed to be in keepign with the fashion at the time. Being petite with wide hips and a proportionate chest, her solid build suggested she might once have been a fierce presence on a hockey pitch. Physically neither plain nor a head-turner, it was her energy and cheeky spirit that made her remarkable, even into her 50s.
I noted her quick, bird-like manners as she picked up on, and responded to bits of conversation from across the table. More than once I heard her laughter and turned to see her neighbours blushing. Her wit and charm were on full display, and as the evening wore on, I was more and more glad for her presence.
The sun was beginning to set as the coffees and decanters of Port were passed around. Those who lived furthest away started to make their exits; however, everyone knew that Abby and James would be all too happy to keep drinks and conversation flowing late into the night.
Taking time to check on the kids, I found them curled up en masse in “The Shed”, the large outbuilding at the back of the garden. They were all watching a film, and many of them looked ready to drift off to sleep having had their fill of sun, sweets and sausages.
I returned to my seat to find that just Ruby and I were left at our table. She seemed pleased enough to see me so I sat down and picked up the conversation were we’d left off some time before. As darkness settled in, the air became surprisingly chilly. I could see that Ruby was shivering and noticed that our experienced hostess had distributed blankets on several chairs. Reaching to hand one to my companion, Ruby stood, marched to my side of the table and said, “We can share.”
We sat facing each other with our chairs at a forty-five degree angle between two of the middle tables. The blanket stretching across our laps provided a welcome coziness, but sharing required that we each sit quite forward in our seats. As we continued chatting I felt a grazing contact with Ruby’s knee. I thought nothing of it until it happened a second time and the touch lingered.
Was I imagining things, or was this flirty MILF really rubbing the inside of her right knee against mine?
The contact brought back an image buried deep in my masturbatory memory bank. Once, at a dinner party at Ruby’s I was working alongside her helping to clear up in the kitchen. The space was quite small, and she took several opportunities to flirtatiously brush up against or bump into me. Things went to the next level when she bent at the waist immediately in front of me to wipe a bit of sauce that she’d suspiciously just spilled on the floor. She lingered with her wide hips swinging inches from my crotch for a suspiciously long time. I remember thinking to myself how strange it was that her ass was completely different from Charlotte’s yet every bit as fuckable.
In my state of frustration, both a prurient memory and the feel of novel female flesh quickly set my cock stirring. I normally hang to the right and soon my shaft was taking up all the slack in the leg of my shorts.
Oblivious to my state of arousal, Ruby continued speaking and gesticulated at a particularly important comment. The movement forward brought her knee in contact with the head of my throbbing member. Her eyes widened to register her surprise, but she otherwise carried the conversation as normal, posing a question to me about my job.
Anyone listening in, would have put my stammering response down to overconsumption of wine at dinner. In reality, my brain froze when I felt Ruby slide her hand up my trouser leg beneath my cock and wrap her fingers around it. Realising that I was not displaying my hoped for sense of cool, I began to waffle about my latest project.
Ruby seemed to relish having me in the palm of her hand, both literally and figuratively. She managed to keep her upper body looking innocent and still while simultaneously using a lovely array of strokes to drive me mad.
With what little presence of mind I could muster, I quickly surveyed the scene. No one else was sat at either of the tables adjoining us. My wife appeared to be chatting to a few other women in the sitting room beyond the glass patio doors. Ruby’s husband, Paul, was among a circle of men crowded around a firepit. For all I knew, he was still droning on about his attempt to cycle the most mountainous stages of the Tour de France.
Ruby and I were conspicuously inconspicuous in our little, blanket-covered huddle, and I was receiving the first sexual stimulation I’d had from anyone other than myself in quite a long time.
Her edging technique was masterful, and she seemed to enjoy watching me squirm. Gentle twisting motions followed light-tickling strokes. At one point she began tracing her index finger along the ridge of my thick mushroom head. Leaning in, she whispered, “that would be great for hitting the G-spot.”
I couldn’t take much more, so I slowly began to work my hand along the inside of Ruby’s thigh. All of my willpower was required not to act like a sex-starved teenager and to move as slowly and teasingly as possible. I drew circles with the tips of my fingers on her flesh and would occasionally retreat from my advances. Ruby locked eyes with me, daring me to carry on without breaking our ruse of pretending nothing was happening. When I momentarily pulled my hand away, she gave my cock a sharp tug urging me back into the game.
I cupped the underside of her thigh and made initial contact with her knickers as far from her pussy as possible. I slowly rotated my hand to the right, my middle finger just inside the edge of her panties. As my assault inevitable reached its target, I found Ruby’s gusset to be soaked through.
I was congratulating myself and preparing to work my way into the folds of her soft, warm flesh when Ruby abruptly stood, smoothed her dress and announced that she had to go and freshen up.
In a state of shock and disbelief, I watched her walk to the house. With my gaze fixed on the delicious motion of her hips, I almost missed her backward glance and her wicked smile.
My brain was clouded with hormones and alcohol, and some part of me was aware that my decision making might be far from optimal. Nonetheless, I waited until she disappeared from sight and went to follow her.
Surely she could only have been headed for one of the loos, I thought.
I first checked the cloakroom on the ground floor. The door was open, and as I approached one of the older children skidded past me, entered and closed the door behind them. At least that gave me an excuse to move upward.
The main bathroom on the first floor was unoccupied, so in desperation, I ascended to the second floor. There, in the main hallway, I could see the bathroom door was shut. On the carpet in front of it sat a pair of sparkly silver shoes.
I was 99% sure they were Ruby’s and 99% sure that they were left as a sign for me. Still, my heart was beating in my chest as I approached and gently knocked on the door. My mind was already formulating the lame excuses I might need to make for misreading the situation when the door opened and Ruby pulled me inside.
Before I could say a word, she planted her lips on mine initiating a deep and passionate kiss. Our bodies melted together making contact which seemed to extend from our knees to our noses. My hands roamed the back of her dress, one squeezing her longed-for ass and the other tightening around the back of her neck. Breaking away from our kiss, I dipped my head and began gently sucking on her earlobe and planted kisses from there down to her collarbone. She whimpered her approval, exhaling and pressing her body even deeper into mine.
Feeling the need to turn the tables on Ruby, I quickly spun her around and pressed her against the vanity. From there, we could see out the window and down to the remnants of the party below.
Lifting the hem of her dress, I knelt to pull down a pair of black knickers, unremarkable except for the lace trim at the waist and the deep musky aroma of her arousal.
As I stood, I placed my right hand between her legs to find her large labia dangling: warm, damp and hungry. Without hesitation, I dropped my shorts and boxers allowing my rigid cock to spring free. Stepping forward I let just the tip make contact with the wet, hot entrance to Ruby’s glistening hole. With the intention of enjoying every sensation, I slowly pressed forward, entering her.
Because of the teasing she’d given me earlier, I decided to fuck her with just the first two inches to start. I pulled back and eased in and out for several strokes until Ruby began to coo softly. I then rewarded us both by driving into her up to the hilt. With one forceful thrust I found my pelvis pressed up against Ruby’s voluptuous ass and felt my cock enveloped in blissful warmth.
When we began fucking in earnest, I wrapped one arm around Ruby’s waist so I could stimulate her clit. The stubbly bush I encountered suggested she hadn’t started the day expecting to be bent over a sink with a new cock hammering her from behind.
I was nearing my climax and sensed that she was as well. At that point, Ruby pulled my hand away from her button and brought it to her mouth. As my dick was being covered in her creamy juices, she was licking my fingers clean and filling her mouth to stifle her screams. Long, low grunts were all that emerged from her as she kept her lips locked around my digits. Seconds later, I made my last thrust and came inside her with a pulsating orgasm. Ruby’s pussy responded in kind and gripped my shaft in waves of ecstasy as she came down from her high.
We lingered for a moment, me still inside her as we caught our breath.
Having taken charge like a man, I was back to being a simpering schoolboy, saying, “Th..thhanks. I needed that.”
Ruby turned, kissed me deeply and responded, “You and I both.”
She gave my cock a playful tap, and I took the liberty of squeezing her naked ass with both hands savouring the sensation and storing it for later personal enjoyment.
At that, we tidied ourselves up and slipped downstairs to rejoin our spouses and make our respective ways home.
There are some moments with a sexy woman when the passion is so fierce that one can forget the disappointment that life brings most of the rest of the time. Ruby’s intensity was set to “steamy” rather than “tepid” so there was no finer place to be than inside her pussy, manicured or not.
