Of course, horniness was not necessarily a logical matter, but Gert decided to give it a try. There was, for instance, the fall cleaning to be done. Fall cleaning-which amounted mostly to the spring cleaning that hadn't been done last spring. There was, for example, the garage, catchall for a wild assortment of junk, some of which consisted of somewhat valuable antique-type things she'd collected and meant to refinish, some of which was simply junk. Therefore…
Hi-ho, hi-ho, off to work whistling and all that.
So, blue-jeaned and sweat-shirted, it was off to the garage. And there it all was, stacked up against the wall behind her Firebird. Larry's Buick lived mostly at the airport, at something dollars and something cents per hour or per day. She entered through the side door and left it open for air. It was a roomy garage, but it was filled to capacity-or would have been if Larry's car Filled to capacity?
She shook her head. Mustn't think thoughts like that. It made one's cunt ache.
She dove into the pile, grasping the legs of a Syrian settee, uncovering a full-length pier mirror she'd forgotten she'd bought. That was something she had to refinish, and soon, she decided, but today was going to be simply straightening-up day. She'd pile furniture to be refinished in-yes-the right-hand corner, and the other stuff-like the old Saturday Evening Posts (Larry insisted they'd maybe be worth something some day: "Jesus, if I'd only saved all those Batman comics!")-well, she'd figure out something to do with them. The point was to keep busy.
Ah, here was a box of clothing, it seemed. Clothing in the garage? Lord, she'd thought that stuff had been given to the Salvation Army" long ago. And in this other carton-drapes? Old purple drapes that had begun their career about a thousand years ago in her bachelorette apartment's living room, then served loyally in two consecutive bedrooms and a bathroom shower, and finally had been consigned to this carton which, with its. other pieces of material formed a collection mentally tagged Well-maybe-some-day-I'll-get-real-hard-up-and-will-be needing Real hard up?
Gert, dammit, control yourself. Control. Yes.
At which point she saw a movement from the corner of her eye. Her eyes, both of them, darted to the window to her left in time to spot shoulders and back-male-moving from view. A quick assessment told her they were heading toward the door.
The gardener? Larry had arranged for a fall yard treatment. Gardener. Man. Gardener-man-… to hell with being horny. Shades of Lady Chatterley. She tried to remember what he looked like. The old Negro? No, Larry had fired him in the spring for laziness. The high school kid? Again, no. He had gone off to college and been replaced by-by his older brother, out of the service a couple of months back and still indecisive as to what he wanted to do, or something. Perfect.
She straightened her hair and with a check-out glance in the pier mirror she started toward the door..
The face that greeted her was middle-aged, pleasant and only slightly paunchy. He wore a cap of some kind, but he was definitely not the just-mustered-out war hero. Deflated, she asked, "May I help you?"
A deep brasso profundo answered, "Electric company. Just here to read your meter. They're in the garage." His voice sent chills through Gert. It was rich and warm and masculine. So cock-almighty masculine! No lover of Lady Chatterley this, but…
"Fine, come right in," she told him. Briefly she wondered how she could entice him short of stripping on the spot. She suspected there wasn't much time wasted in the ritual of reading and recording the numbers on an electric meter.
She really had no idea herself where the meters were, but fortunately when he moved to them she saw they were where she had stacked her piles of Salvation Army clothing and her drapery boxes.
"Here, wait, I'll move these." she said, moving quickly. It was now or never.
Artfully, clumsily she grappled with the boxes, falling suddenly with an impact that drove them both to the cement floor.
"Oops," she said with a smile of sorts, making motions to gather up her wares, but again falling, this time directly on top of his prone extended body. At which point and position, her hands grasped his belt under the pile of soft material and with a deft motion she yanked it open.
He had an extremely surprised look on his face but made no move to stop her actions. She had impatiently strewn the clothing to the sides of their bodies and had unzipped his fly in five seconds flat.
"If you can read my meter, then it's only fair I read yours," she told him with a sly smile on her face. Then quickly continuing:
"Oh, a warm pressure is settling in… barometer rising. Yes, definitely a rising barometer." A laugh. "But that's not quite the right kind of meter for your trade; is it?"
Her hands had released his penis through the fly of his jockey shorts. His cock almost leaped upward in its escape. It sure didn't take long for him to be turned on, Gert thought. He had a fat, large, long cock, its tip already bright red.
"You read about volts and watts and stuff, don't you? Those are the things that give you shocks-electrifying shocks."
"Lady," he said calmly, "I get a lot of strange experiences in my work, but-"
But she had rolled him over onto his stomach, onto the assorted drapes and clothing, slipping his shorts and jeans down around his hips as she did. She inspected his buttocks. As she suspected, they were the only non-paunchy things on his body. Taut, tense, quivering. Inviting, sort of.
"I got locked in a basement once-for two hours. The lady of the house, see, had a-"
But Gert had grasped his cheeks and separated them, forcing a finger into him, into his tight unwelcoming hole. He straightened his body, trying to take her hand from him, but she shoved another finger up him, pushing deep, separating, stretching the walls of that cavity until she could feel him trying to force her out. A moan escaped his lips.
"Us meter readers, ma'am, we-aagh!"
Her fingers worked their way up into his anus, shoving, grinding in his rear. His hard tight butt squeezed her fingers, his muscles contracting to push her out.
"-we put up with a lot of strange-"
"Please be quieter," she suggested, changing her position so that she straddled him, her face facing his feet, leaning her head over his rear cheeks, her hair swirling on his back and buttocks. She started licking him, giving biting nips at his cheeks, blowing them, tonguing them. She could see the goose bumps rising with each breath. She rammed a third. His channel was juicy and creamy now, lubricating her fingers. She dusted his buttocks with her tautnippled breasts.
Out came her fingers with a pop! They poised at the entrance, then moved their wetness around the brown-skinned, wrinkled hole. Feeling her own passion rising, again she pushed, forced her way inside, upward, deeper, pressing outward against the sides. Resting her breasts on his thighs she stroked as deep, as far, as his cooperation would allow.
"A-nother t-t-time, there was these two sisters who had a d-d-dog-eeeeaah!"
Her free hand by now had reached under his slightly elevated rear and found his pulsing, throbbing, long fat cock. All she could do was hold it tight at the base as she slowly, forcefully, ground her other fingers in and out of his now expanding anus. The hole got bigger and bigger, creamier and juicier, hotter and "This dog, you won't believe it, but heeeee-"
Pushing, squeezing, in him and at him, she stretched her body down the length of his legs. She ached. The need for something inside her was driving her wild. She fucked his legs her clitoris hitting nothing but air as she came down on him.
But she couldn't bear to tear herself away from her present activity for fear of his leaving, yet there was another obvious danger she recognized. She couldn't let him come now, and she could feel that he was near. His body writhed with her on top, and, in between his infernal banterings, she could hear his unmistakable moans and grunting cries. Still, both hands worked round and round, plucking, circling.