She was right about the weather, I'd sat at the rickety old table in the garden, reading the Sunday papers and pretending not to look at her as she dug up what potatoes Mr. Patel wanted as well as a few for our own Sunday lunch.

It was quite a mixture that she wore for her self imposed task, the tee shirt and skirt from earlier had been matched with my old Wellington boots, complete with turned down tops. An incongruous mix at the best of times, but she still hadn't restored the skirt to its normal length and apart from the boots being at least three sizes too large, she was still pantyless. I couldn't really generate much interest in the usual sensational 'Soap star had an affair with queen mum's second cousin' garbage in the newspaper.

She giggled as I sighed and put the paper down.

"Mum for God's sake, how am I supposed to concentrate on catching up with the news when you keep flashing your pussy at me?"

"You're not," she laughed. "You're supposed to be looking at me and thinking of all the sexy things you can do to me over the next two weeks."

She had both feet on the spade as she spoke, bouncing up and down trying to force it deeper underneath a particularly bountiful potato plant.

"If you don't stop jiggling your boobs like that, I'll start right now," I growled and reached for her.

At that second, a clap of thunder rent the Sunday morning tranquillity, and the heavens opened, it wasn't rain in the usual sense, it was more like a solid sheet of water, and in an instant, we were soaked to the skin.

Mum squealed and slipped off the narrow blade of the spade, both feet went from under her and she fell into the quagmire that was the potato patch.

I reached for her and promptly slipped too, landing on my back in the mud.

"Oh for fu- - -," then I realised she was laughing, lying there her hair plastered to her head, tee shirt soaked through displaying the dark circles of her nipples, skirt up round her waist and legs wide open.

"Tommy no." she squealed as I pulled her on top of me and fumbled in my shorts. "You're bloody mad, you fool."

Then she sank down onto my rigid cock and fell forwards as the rain ran like a river over her back, I felt the mud oozing into the legs of my shorts as I heaved myself up into another quagmire that was her cunt.

"You're crazy," but the already familiar excitement belied her protests. "Absolutely, beautifully fucking crazy."

Gripping my shoulders, she rolled us over and laughed madly as she felt the thick, cloying mud under her quivering bottom. I slipped my hands under her, into the mud and grabbed two handfuls before cupping her cheeks and smearing it all over her as she clung to me, matching her thrusts to mine.

"I'm cumming Tommy," she hissed and arched her back up out of the mud.

"Fuck me you bastard," she shouted as another clap of thunder crashed above us, she orgasmed, sobbing and laughing, clawing at the earth, grabbing hands full of slime and smearing it over my back, even in my hair.

She was still moving slowly and sensuously as I exploded too and kissed her mud splashed face, even as I ejaculated inside her, she told me she loved me and held me tightly as the deluge continued around us.

Mr. Patel's face was a picture when I delivered his vegetables, we gathered them up from around where we'd made love, still laughing at the craziness of what we'd done, but shivering now as the rain began to chill us and I just opened the shop door and laid the box inside the door.

"I fell," I grinned sheepishly as he stared at the mud splattered apparition before him. "See you tomorrow," and I was gone.

The first bath took the mud off us and the second one cleansed us thoroughly, but by the time we'd finished, I decided it was too late to start cooking the dinner so I told mum to get dolled up and we'd go down to the pub again for a pub lunch.

oOo

The knock at the door sounded official, but when I opened the door, I saw an old man standing there, looking quite distressed and breathing heavily.

"Can I help you?" I enquired and waited patiently while he caught his breath.

"You could let me sit down for a moment, the stairs you know."

Still with no idea as to his identity, I took his arm and led him to a chair, he nodded gratefully and after a few seconds said in a surprisingly strong voice.

"Matthews, Arnold Matthews," and offered a hand.

"Well Mr. Matthews," I said, "I know now who you are, but I'd like to know what you are."

"Arnold."

Mum came in from the bedroom, looking absolutely gorgeous in a thin summer dress and took his hands in hers, he tried to rise, but she motioned him to stay there.

"What brings you here on a Sunday afternoon Arnold?"

Turning to me, she told me he was a prison visitor, one of those people who spend time with prisoners who have no visitors or are disallowed visits from friends and relatives as a punishment.

I nodded to him, relieved at least to discover he wasn't some sort of parole officer or something.

"Arnold was very kind to me in there Tommy," she still held his hands and kept looking at him fondly.

"Well as you know Polly, I live just down the road from here, alone since my wife passed away and I've always had a lady to come in every day to clean and do my washing and generally help with whatever I can't manage."

He paused for breath again before continuing.

"She handed me her notice this morning, apparently her husband's company are sending him to Scotland to work for two years and of course she'll be going with him, so I need a housekeeper."

He looked embarrassed and quite uncomfortable.

"I thought of you and wondered if you'd be interested, I pay well above average wages you know."

I felt an unreasonable annoyance with him, unreasonable because we'd intended going to the jobcentre the following day and it was a chance to be with her again, to be seen with her, to show her off. And anyway, she was my tomato lady.

Of course mum jumped at the offer, anyone would have done the same in her circumstances, so I left them alone to sort out the details while I put on a shirt and tie in the bedroom.

"I thought you'd be pleased for me Tommy," she said as we sat in the pub eating our lunch.

"I am mum, you know I am." I smiled at her across the table.

"Tommy when you're happy, your smile touches your eyes, that one didn't," she said softly. "Why not?"

"I don't know mum, I'm just uncomfortable with it."

"But why? I really don't understand you, it pays a ten pounds an hour for four hours a day, five days a week, that's two hundred pounds a week, I can pay my way, I won't have to sign on and live on benefits anymore."

Her voice cracked and I saw tears in her eyes.

"I've never had a job before Tommy, I'll have wage packet with money in it, money that I've earned, don't spoil it for me please darling."

Suddenly I felt churlish, it was true, she'd never had a job before, I remembered the pride I felt when I collected my first wage packet at the warehouse, the pride I still felt every week when I opened it, I was ashamed of my reaction.

Reaching over, I squeezed her hand, "Go for it mum, I'm sorry, I think I was just selfish."

"If you're really dead set against it Tommy, I'll phone him and tell him thanks but no thanks."

"No you won't mum, you'll go and do it for him, but more importantly, you'll do it for you."

I smiled again and kept my doubts to myself, but I still wasn't happy.

We made love again that night, tenderly and lovingly we gave each other pleasure, each of us seeming to put our own enjoyment behind that of our partner.

We kissed and caressed, whispered and fondled, touched and stroked until as our passions rose anew, we coupled and clung to each other before we drifted off to sleep, our loins and lips still together in our forbidden embrace.

"A picnic? Oh yes, I'd love that, where are we going?"

I laughed at her enthusiasm for yet another simple pleasure that she'd been denied.

"Can't tell you, mum." I shook my head, "It's a place known only to me, if I tell you, it's whereabouts, I'd have to kill you."

"You idiot," she laughed and said curiously, "Will there be any other people around?"

"I shouldn't think so mum why?"

"Just wondered," she smiled mysteriously and sent me down to the shop with a list of ingredients for the sandwiches and drinks, while she scuttled furtively over the road to the discount store.

"I thought I'd better wear trousers," she said from behind me as I stood whinging to myself about having to make the sandwiches.

My woes were forgotten when I turned round and saw the swellings of her nipples clearly outlined through the tight pink vest top, but it was what she laughingly called trousers that made me stir again down below.

They were a cross between tights and ski pants, pure white, and they clung where they touched, every muscle, every line and contour of her legs and thighs were highlighted by the almost transparently thin nylon.

Then my eyes travelled up to the juncture of her thighs, to where the material highlighted rather than concealed the folds and creases of her sweet little slit. Each labia could be seen separately as could the slightly darker shadow between them and even the tiny little bump of her clitoral hood was showing as she moved towards me and kissed me lovingly.

"I'm going to call these my 'fuck me' pants," she giggled, "What do you think of them?"

Taking her hand, I guided to the front of my jeans where her answer was already rearing its head in response to deliciously obscene spectacle she'd presented to me.

In the car, she sat with her legs apart, stroking herself teasingly as I tried manfully to avoid crashing, whilst straining to watch her at the same time.

"Poor Tommy," she giggled and leaned over to unzip me as I turned off the main dual carriageway onto a quiet country lane. Her hand was warm around my cock but not as warm as her mouth, I gasped as her lips closed gently over my leaking dome and her tongue licked lasciviously at the tender pink skin around the tip.

"Come for me Tommy," she whispered. "Feed me, baby."

A hand dipped into my jeans and cupped my heavy balls, massaging them gently as her head rose and fell over my aching cock.

The lane was one of those with passing places where if another car came towards you, the vehicle nearest to a passing place pulled in to allow the other one to pass, so I pulled in immediately and waited for the elderly couple in the old car to rattle past.

"Thank you." the driver waved as he drew level.

"You're welcome," said mum and the poor old boy nearly had a heart attack as he caught a glimpse of her head in my lap.