(yep, all 18+)

She watched him for a while, but all he was doing was sitting and obviously thinking very hard; interesting, but she had things to do. She checked the sheers and realized that while she could see him, there was not a real chance he could see her… Some fast rearranging and now she had a comfy chair with a perfect view out.

A few seconds sufficed to lose the T and shorts, two steps lost the old sneakers and left Jen naked. She walked over to the bag of new toys to pull out the cinnamon heating oil and the bullet-vibe. She eased back to the chair, sat and read the directions on the oil: “pour in hand and rub in” seemed simple enough, so she did. She hadn’t realized quite how fast or how -warm- it would get; she decided with an ice-cold puss it would have been frozen-to-slut in about 10 seconds, but it wasn’t hurting anything: far from it. She edged the chair over for a better view of Johnny and took a little time getting the bullet out and loaded, then slid it over her clit and hit the button. A few minutes of purely clitoral stimulation took çankırı escort its’ invetitable course and she lost sight of “her man” for a while.

When she could see again Johnny wasn’t sitting on his stoop: that was NOT in the plan! She looked for him for 10 minutes or so, but he was definitely not visible. Seemed like a good time for a drink, and wine was the choice. Wine led to hunger, and Jen was in the kitchen throwing a salad together when she heard the ch-kunk! sound drifting in, a peek out of that window showed Johnny, shirtless, splitting fire-wood out behind his house. That view was enough to hold her interest as she finished getting the salad ready: he was definitely leaner than he had been, and he was splitting wood with an intensity that suggested his mind was elsewhere struggling with something.

She sat and ate, and watched him work and sweat; the pile of firewood already under the (new) shelter told her he was taking something out in work, instead of dealing with whatever it was: she had a pretty good idea of just what that cankiriescort.net might be, and decided it was time to make it harder for him to ignore.

Cleaning up after her meal didn’t take long; it took longer to go upstairs and find a very old T-shirt she had sometimes used as a nightgown; washed-thin and fragile, almost transparent, and now falling barely below her hungry pussy; the sun behind her, any breeze, or a very-slight stretch would leave her wantonly exposed. It was time to take out the compost: completely coincidentally the route would take her within about five feet of Johnny.

As it worked out; flawless: the sun was behind her, the breeze was blowing up as evening approached, and the way she held the basket snugged the T in against her breasts and hitched the hem up more than enough. He didn’t hear her walking; the sound of the axe covered almost any sound she could have possibly made, and she was within arms-reach before he noticed. She had time for a fast turn, so as she dumped the basket all he saw was her ass and freshly-shaved lips. When she turned back again, he had seen everything she wanted to offer him.

He said nothing, just stood and stared with the sweat of a more-than-honest days work rolling off him, and suddenly all the carefully-rehearsed words she had ready evaporated. He was looking at her with all the white-eyed intensity of the stallion she’d once seen mounting a mare. Her mouth went dry, and all she could say was “Johnny I want… I want…” The stuttering made it worse, but she finally got it out. “Johnny, I want you, I want to give you something. I want to give you me, because I love you.”

He just stood for a moment, then turned and slammed the axe into the stump. the longer he stood hunched ove the axe the more she dreaded his words.

“Talk to me, please.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking, or offering.”

“I know you want me, I’ve seen you looking.”

“You’re too young…”

She watched him walk away, it got blurry through the tears, but she watched him walk inside his house before she turned and ran home.

Once inside she charged up the stairs and into her room, and was sobbing before she hit the floor. The tear-storm didn’t last all that long: she wasn’t the type. Hiccuping from sobs she started thinking.