His name, I knew, was William, and he wanted to fuck me. It was the first time we’d ever met, no words had been exchanged between us, but his doe-brown eyes spoke words of torrid lust in their gaze. The fact that his jaw dropped, his tongue snaked over his lips, and his head fell and rose slowly as he leered at me in horny desire, devouring my body with his hungry gaze, alerted me to his passions more than the bulge in his pants. When we shook hands in greeting, he didn’t clasp my outstretched appendage; he caressed it.
Perhaps it didn’t help matters that I was dressed in sandals, a tight, white tank top, and a wispy, patchwork, mid-thigh gypsy skirt. My nipples and areolas were plainly visible through the sheer material, and my tits bounced enticingly with every minuscule movement of my body. He stared, gawked, and drooled. However, my husband was in the barn with me, so William kept his lust in check.
“This is my lovely neighbor, Krystal, William,” Bill said to him. “She helps me with the horses and keeps hers here.”
Bill is our neighbor, an older man in his sixties; he’s an amalgam of every southern farmer trope. Balding, with close-cropped, gray hair, he’s a sweet man and quite fond of me, as well as my predilection to dress revealingly. Bill’s acreage surrounds our property on three sides, but his property is vast. It’s a five-minute walk from our back door, through the woods, to his house. He possesses the uncanny ability to always show up at the pond whenever my friends and I decide to go skinny-dipping or find some reason to visit every time I’m nude.
Bill’s real name is William Junior. His family, apparently lacking imagination, names each first son William. Bill’s son, Bill III, passed the name onto William. I could see the family resemblance in his stocky, muscular build, soulful eyes, and scraggy hair. But William’s twenty-year-old body was vibrant with the vitality of youth, his handsomeness fresh and clean. His thoughts, however, as his features grew into a mask of dirty lust, were quite dirty. I could tell that much.
“This is my grandson, William,” our neighbor proudly announced. “He’s here for a few days while on Spring Break.”
We exchanged pleasantries, getting to know one another for a few minutes. All the while, William’s eyes roamed over my body. There’s offensive sexual attention and the fun sort; this was the latter. As the grandson of a dear friend, William automatically got the benefit of the doubt. The fact that he was obviously inexperienced with women compelled me to tease.
A more experienced young man would have openly stared. At the very least, he would not stammer, stutter, and get embarrassed when he got caught trying to look up my skirt. I found it to be flattering and highly arousing. My husband and Bill got into their usual conversations, being good friends, and William volunteered to help me with my horse. It was my four-legged companion’s rub-down time, which meant brushing his fur and a quick wash.
“So, what are you majoring in?” I asked, turning to face Arion, my horse, bending deeply at the waist to brush his hind leg. Of course, that made the hem of my wispy, patchwork skirt rise, exposing most of my thighs. If William had been a bit more bold, he could have squatted and seen my promised land, but, alas.
I turned my head, one hand against my horse to steady myself, and saw him staring at my butt. He caught my eye and knew that I’d noticed him leering at my ass. William’s eyes grew wide, looking comical, and his mouth opened, a sharp, guilty intake of breath audible. I ignored his lecherous gaze and pretended to be engrossed in my chores. That didn’t stop me from wiggling my ass, enticingly.
“Um, computers, ma’am.”
“Ma’am?” I shrieked, teasing. “How fucking old do you think I am.” I stressed the word “fucking,” just to plant the kernel of the idea in his mind—not that I needed to.
“Middle, maybe late twenties.”
“Oh, how sweet! I bet you drive all the girls wild on campus.”
“Nah, not really.”
“Hand me the bucket over there, please,” I requested, standing up abruptly to make my boobs bounce.
Small talk continued, me being more and more of a dirty prick-tease. I stretched, bent, knelt, and dipped, giving him a sensual show of my feminine attributes. Somehow, I “accidentally” got the warm, sudsy water all over my shirt. The thin, white fabric adhered to the contours of my breasts, becoming translucent. I might as well have been topless, except the wet fabric was sexier than raw nudity. It had the desired effect; in the close confines of the horse stall, his hard cock was as evident as my nipples. I may be in my forties, but I’ve still got it. I can make young bucks horny and hard for me.
“Jesus, woman!” Bill exclaimed as I hugged him before we left. “Do you even own a bra?”
“Tell you what, Bill,” I teased, smiling, “For now on, when I come to the barn, I’ll keep myself covered. Would you like that, instead of drooling over my tits?”
“We’re all adults here,” he insisted, “wear whatever you feel comfortable in.”
A few minutes later, my husband and I were walking through the woods, hand in hand. William’s poorly disguised lust had fired up my libido, and I was dripping wet from my teasing.
“Honey,” I began, “did you notice that…”
“You want to fuck William.” His words cut mine short.
“No, you perv. Did you notice that he wants me?” I adopted a fun, teasing tone. “I’m offended that you’d think I want his cock.”
My husband grabbed me around the waist and pulled my body against his. His hot, moist lips descended upon mine, and we kissed, passionately. His hands, somehow, caressed me everywhere simultaneously. My husband's hands groped my ass, squeezing it with the precise amount of urgent neediness and pressure to make my slutty cunt flow. Fingertips grazed the sensitive spots at the nape of my neck, between my shoulder blades, and lightly scratched down the sides of my torso, making my volcanic passion erupt with wet, fiery need. My husband’s palms ran across my thighs, kneading the backs of them before cupping my nude behind, some fingers snaking between my molten thighs to tease my hot, wet pussy.
His voice, whispering in my ear, was a manly, husky seduction. “Of course he wants you; you are the most divinely perfect creature to grace this green earth. But, you wouldn’t have even noticed if you weren’t also attracted to him.”
I was going to retort, but his left hand left my engorged, taut nipples and descended to my swollen clit. My legs buckled at the contact, lightning bolts of blissful, erotic bliss shooting through my entire body. All I could do was grab hold of his muscular torso while he held me upright and let the waves of passion consume me.
“I’m fucking going to cum. Oh, fuck.”
It was a quick trip to orgasm town, but that didn’t lessen the intensity. I screamed at the setting sun, my hips bucking so wildly that I pulled a muscle in my thigh.
“Well, I might fuck him, now that you brought it up. What do you have to say about that?”
“That you would win any wet T-shirt contest you ever entered,” he guffawed. Arm in arm, we went home.
Later that evening, long after the sun had gone down, I noted that some of the apples we had were getting near the end of their edible lifespan.
“Sweetheart,” I cooed. “These apples are getting ready to turn. I’m going to go treat the horses. Be back later.”
Being early Spring, just a few days past the equinox, the nighttime air was crisp and cold, making my nipples jut out like beacons. The night sky was clear, the stars winking and twinkling around the huge, waxing moon. Wild denizens of the forest cried out in greeting, marking my passage. Oddly, a light was still on in the barn. I didn’t think anything of it as I walked inside, smelling the thrilling aroma of the earth, hay, horses, and nature. At first, I thought I heard some movement, but, as I listened, intently, I decided that it was just one of the horses shuffling around.
As I rounded an interior corner, heading toward my horse’s stall, I heard that slapping, shuffling sound once more. Growing leery, cautious, and perhaps a bit spooked, I began approaching the sounds, coming from my horse’s stall, slowly and quietly. I chanced a glance into the stall and had to stifle a laugh; the source of the mysterious, previously foreboding sounds was William.
He was facing away from me, his back against the wall of the stall. From my vantage, I had a good, profile view. William’s eyes were closed, and his pants were down around his ankles. His massive shock of unruly, brown hair had a few flecks of hay clinging to it, his shirt was cast off, lying on the straw that lined the stall, and he was furiously masturbating. His cock was a little larger than average and somewhat thick; his right hand pumped over the shaft while his other hand fondled his balls. Although not ribbed, his stomach was flat, taut, and alluring. The way it heaved as he stroked himself made my pussy gush.
A million and six thoughts rushed through my mind as comprehension dawned. I couldn’t decide if I should politely slink away and pretend that I never saw his sexy, manly hand furiously pumping up and down his yummy-looking erection, or clear my throat and embarrass him. I could say something, scaring him, maybe pull out my phone and have a budding, new career as a blackmailer, or any of a multitude of possibilities.
