24-02-2019, 01:13 PM
The idea came to her slowly. But when it did, it gushed forth as a new release for the pent up woman inside her. She loved her plants and shrubs. And she tended them lovingly. It was when she was watering them that she allowed the water to splash on her. It reminded her of the rainy days and nights in Assam when it would pour incessantly. If she had one her toy-boys on her arm, she would carelessly allow the sleeve of her blouse soak, giving him a full view of her damp, dusky skin below. And as the material blotted up the water the wet patch would reach the side of her breast. The young man would be lost in drinking in the sight of that heavy breast and lose his mind trying to see more...
And so she allowed the garden hose to splash on her, wetting her so that the saree clung to her ankles. The cool wet garment on her skin thrilled her. As she walked in back to her room she would slowly pull up the saree and her petticoat within, in a slow sensuous dance, allowing the cloth to make her wet further up her legs. And then flopping back on her bean bag , she rested her feet up, one on a table and the other on the bed.
Lying spread like that she might massage her own breasts, in large round movements. Squeezing them and feeling out the nipples as they ached for the voracious sucking of a restless young man. Sometimes she ripped open her blouse to milk her own teats. The feverish pitch rose and inevitably Sheila would end up stroking her pubis hard. A handy hairbrush handle, her own sensitive fingers, dipping in, mimicking the hard stroking of a penis, thumbing her clit... and at the height of that self arousal a moan of deprivation.
The brush handle did not throb from within. The hand that probed her lacked the variety in texture that another's hand brought. The thrusting was not accompanied by the comforting weight of a man hovering over her. If her hands were stroking her, there was no way to stroke her bubbling breast tips. There were no ankles to wrap her own ankles around.
The thrusting and stroking became more frantic as she ached for more and more and more. And then when it came she thrashed, screaming or shouting if she needed to. On occasions there were muffled sobs, on other occasion whoops of delight as she relived a particular moment with a particular lover of her past.
Her orgasm flooded over, she accepted it gratefully, allowing her body all the heaving and thrashing it needed. And when it all subsided she might lie there for hours, staring at the sky or the clouds or merely enjoying the cool kisses of the breeze; which wafted around her like a surprised youth chancing upon this sensuous, delectable woman. In her satiation, her contentedness was complete. The ache for another's hand at the height of her release-seeking passion had subsided and was completely replaced by happiness. There was a certain elegance and convenience in being by yourself. There was less to do afterward, and one could luxuriate in the moment.
The pattern repeated. There were obvious variations. And as the number of instances when she went uninterrupted rose, a certain carelessness crept in. Obviously, no one could see her. This was her own private pleasure garden.
She was wrong. Sham spotted her only because his mother insisted that he climb atop the tank which was completely inaccessible on the top floor, to see if it had filled up. That was when he noticed Sheila.
She was hosing herself directly on her chest. She allowed the water to splash on her neck and then flow down sensuously. The water soaked her blouse and ran between those breasts like a great river flowing in a large mountainous valley.
Sheila enjoyed the way the water filled her cleavage then crested around her mounds and then flowed lower down her body. The water surrounded, teased, caressed and chilled her breasts but it could not build up enough to touch those nipples. The slopes of the breasts that it sought to conquer gave way to the flow of the body. The build up in the cleavage spilled over. Like a teasing lover, despite its cold touch, the water maddened Sheila with heat for her nipples to be touched. They rose up as if in protest, strong and protruding, asking for their share of the caresses.
Sheila ached to pinch her nipples but did not want the water flow on her body to stop. Sham watched with the mad arousal of a virgin as in an inspired moment, she held the hose between her knees allowing it to spout water upwards on her thighs. It soaked the saree completely and the garment's colour was overcome by the shade of the dusky brown skin it meant to conceal. Sham lay down on the concrete tank to avoid being spotted, trapping his hard erection against the hard surface below.
Sheila cupped her hands and lifted her breasts, squeezing them as her fingers advanced upon the nipples. The water now became a teasing lover at her thighs and pubis. The fingers found their target and Sheila squeezed hard. She shivered and unknown to either of them, her shiver was matched by his.
For the nineteen-year old Sham this was the first time he had ever seen a woman in a sexual act of any kind. Here was an aunty in his neighbourhood, fully clothed but wet, stimulating her own self.
He watched breathlessly as Sheila explored herself further. Surrounded by all her lovely shrubs she felt the need to make love to herself in their midst. She lifted one leg onto the edge of one of the large pots. Her legs spread wide, she slipped the hose under the saree hoisting it as far up as needed. The cold water splashed on her thighs. Using her thumb to pinch the nozzle into a sharp stream, she let it massage her thigh. It hammered on the flesh there like the insistent tongue of a lover, only a lot harder, with stinging points of pain.
She relaxed her thumb a bit to reduce the sharpness of the jet as it moved towards the tender lips of her pussy. She teased open the petals with a clever manipulation of the water jet. The pleasure built up in her and soon she reached that crescendo of ache when she would rather have a man take her ferociously. In this ferocious mood she slipped the other hand past the waist of her petticoat to take charge of the nub of pleasure. Sham watched incredulously as Sheila, her clothes wet, her legs spread apart, and her lips agape in pleasure had both her hands between her legs. It was cloaked by her saree so he could not really see anything.
But her thigh, glistening with drops of water showed as the hand held the hose in place. The other hand was between her legs and he could see Sheila heaving as she expertly stroked herself. Her knees bent and straightened as she involuntarily took up the movements of fucking. Her hips ground sensuously round and round on an imaginary penis. Her head rolled about as she climbed the slope of her orgasm. The boy watched in amazement as the woman lost control.
And so she allowed the garden hose to splash on her, wetting her so that the saree clung to her ankles. The cool wet garment on her skin thrilled her. As she walked in back to her room she would slowly pull up the saree and her petticoat within, in a slow sensuous dance, allowing the cloth to make her wet further up her legs. And then flopping back on her bean bag , she rested her feet up, one on a table and the other on the bed.
Lying spread like that she might massage her own breasts, in large round movements. Squeezing them and feeling out the nipples as they ached for the voracious sucking of a restless young man. Sometimes she ripped open her blouse to milk her own teats. The feverish pitch rose and inevitably Sheila would end up stroking her pubis hard. A handy hairbrush handle, her own sensitive fingers, dipping in, mimicking the hard stroking of a penis, thumbing her clit... and at the height of that self arousal a moan of deprivation.
The brush handle did not throb from within. The hand that probed her lacked the variety in texture that another's hand brought. The thrusting was not accompanied by the comforting weight of a man hovering over her. If her hands were stroking her, there was no way to stroke her bubbling breast tips. There were no ankles to wrap her own ankles around.
The thrusting and stroking became more frantic as she ached for more and more and more. And then when it came she thrashed, screaming or shouting if she needed to. On occasions there were muffled sobs, on other occasion whoops of delight as she relived a particular moment with a particular lover of her past.
Her orgasm flooded over, she accepted it gratefully, allowing her body all the heaving and thrashing it needed. And when it all subsided she might lie there for hours, staring at the sky or the clouds or merely enjoying the cool kisses of the breeze; which wafted around her like a surprised youth chancing upon this sensuous, delectable woman. In her satiation, her contentedness was complete. The ache for another's hand at the height of her release-seeking passion had subsided and was completely replaced by happiness. There was a certain elegance and convenience in being by yourself. There was less to do afterward, and one could luxuriate in the moment.
The pattern repeated. There were obvious variations. And as the number of instances when she went uninterrupted rose, a certain carelessness crept in. Obviously, no one could see her. This was her own private pleasure garden.
She was wrong. Sham spotted her only because his mother insisted that he climb atop the tank which was completely inaccessible on the top floor, to see if it had filled up. That was when he noticed Sheila.
She was hosing herself directly on her chest. She allowed the water to splash on her neck and then flow down sensuously. The water soaked her blouse and ran between those breasts like a great river flowing in a large mountainous valley.
Sheila enjoyed the way the water filled her cleavage then crested around her mounds and then flowed lower down her body. The water surrounded, teased, caressed and chilled her breasts but it could not build up enough to touch those nipples. The slopes of the breasts that it sought to conquer gave way to the flow of the body. The build up in the cleavage spilled over. Like a teasing lover, despite its cold touch, the water maddened Sheila with heat for her nipples to be touched. They rose up as if in protest, strong and protruding, asking for their share of the caresses.
Sheila ached to pinch her nipples but did not want the water flow on her body to stop. Sham watched with the mad arousal of a virgin as in an inspired moment, she held the hose between her knees allowing it to spout water upwards on her thighs. It soaked the saree completely and the garment's colour was overcome by the shade of the dusky brown skin it meant to conceal. Sham lay down on the concrete tank to avoid being spotted, trapping his hard erection against the hard surface below.
Sheila cupped her hands and lifted her breasts, squeezing them as her fingers advanced upon the nipples. The water now became a teasing lover at her thighs and pubis. The fingers found their target and Sheila squeezed hard. She shivered and unknown to either of them, her shiver was matched by his.
For the nineteen-year old Sham this was the first time he had ever seen a woman in a sexual act of any kind. Here was an aunty in his neighbourhood, fully clothed but wet, stimulating her own self.
He watched breathlessly as Sheila explored herself further. Surrounded by all her lovely shrubs she felt the need to make love to herself in their midst. She lifted one leg onto the edge of one of the large pots. Her legs spread wide, she slipped the hose under the saree hoisting it as far up as needed. The cold water splashed on her thighs. Using her thumb to pinch the nozzle into a sharp stream, she let it massage her thigh. It hammered on the flesh there like the insistent tongue of a lover, only a lot harder, with stinging points of pain.
She relaxed her thumb a bit to reduce the sharpness of the jet as it moved towards the tender lips of her pussy. She teased open the petals with a clever manipulation of the water jet. The pleasure built up in her and soon she reached that crescendo of ache when she would rather have a man take her ferociously. In this ferocious mood she slipped the other hand past the waist of her petticoat to take charge of the nub of pleasure. Sham watched incredulously as Sheila, her clothes wet, her legs spread apart, and her lips agape in pleasure had both her hands between her legs. It was cloaked by her saree so he could not really see anything.
But her thigh, glistening with drops of water showed as the hand held the hose in place. The other hand was between her legs and he could see Sheila heaving as she expertly stroked herself. Her knees bent and straightened as she involuntarily took up the movements of fucking. Her hips ground sensuously round and round on an imaginary penis. Her head rolled about as she climbed the slope of her orgasm. The boy watched in amazement as the woman lost control.
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