The sun was intense, bright but not harsh, masked by the occasional cloud. It was very still, and there was little humidity, which made the heat pleasant rather than uncomfortable. Perfect weather for getting a tan, or just for lying in a hammock and reading a book.
Kelly was doing just that, on her back in her canvas hammock, limbs spread akimbo as she lazily thumbed through the pages of a trashy romance novel. Her hair, a mass of honey blonde curls that made men stare, spread out across the green canvas in a great, unruly mass. Her feet were bare, save for a silver toe ring on her left foot; her strappy sandals left in the kitchen when she'd made her way across her not-so-neatly trimmed lawn out to the hammock.
In the book, the heroine was fending off the advances of some Scottish lord or other. It was poorly written, fully of plot twists and a badly crafted love triangle. Kelly really didn't care, the heat was making her sleepy, and the gentle rocking of the hammock wasn't helping.
Sweat beaded on her skin from the afternoon's heat, and she silently thanked herself for placing the hammock in her backyard as she undid another button on her sundress.
It lay mostly open, held closed by just three buttons. Thin cotton, the color of a faded rose, swirled back down around her waist from her long, lean legs as she raised first one, then the other, to evaluate the progress of her tan. Things appeared to be progressing well, the milky white of the winter and spring was gone, and the base she'd built during her trip to Puerto Vallarta seemed to be holding up well.
The afternoon's stillness was getting to her, languid heat roasting her body as she lay there reading. Slowly, a wicked idea began to form in her mind. The yard was secluded, and it was only 1:30 in the afternoon. She had ample time to tan before any of the neighbors came home. And she was going to the airport later that evening to see Tom, her boyfriend of just over a year. The new tanlines would be a nice treat for him.
Besides, what was the point of playing hooky from your job if you didn't misbehave a little? It wasn't like anyone could see her.
Her decision made, Kelly quickly undid the last three buttons, exposing her body to the afternoon sun. She was nude underneath the flimsy cotton dress. It had been at least 85 when she'd come out an hour ago, too warm to wear anything underneath. Her panties, normally a pair of nice-girl white cotton briefs, were still in the drawer of her dresser where she'd left them.
She certainly hadn't come out with the intention of sunbathing nude, that was something saved for vacations on faraway beaches. She'd really just intended to read her book and perhaps take a nap. Now, with her lush form exposed to the heat and sun, she felt wonderful.
Kelly leaned over and retrieved the tanning oil. Pouring a generous amount onto her stomach, she began to rub it onto her torso. Her supple hands moved up, massaging the oil into her stomach, her breasts, her collarbone, and then down again, to her thighs and vulva.
Back and forth, kneading the warm oil into her skin.
At first it was academic, the well-practiced ministrations of someone who knew to avoid sunburn. But soon the oil had been applied where it needed to go, yet her hands continued to move.
A new heat began to build.
Almost without meaning to, she'd become incredibly aroused by her own touch. It wasn't anything new, she masturbated almost daily after all, but to be here, out in the relative exposure of her backyard was so brazen.
So wicked.
So hot.
Kelly ran one finger down between her labia, sliding it firmly over her clit, and shivering as the sensation coursed through her body.
Wetness flooded her pussy.
It had been too long. Tom practically lived in Denver for his job, and here she was, stuck in northern Virginia by herself most of the time. They hadn't seen one another in weeks, and her body craved attention.
Slowly she began to stroke herself; her right hand drawing lazy circles across her breasts while her left began stroking up and down. She's shaved that very morning, a ritual she conducted at least three times a week. Where it remained, her soft blonde pubic hair was trimmed very short, just a nice strip atop her vulva, but everything below that was essentially bald, which gave her fingers ample amounts of highly sensitive skin to stimulate.
Every motion, no matter how small, seemed magnified by the circumstances. Perhaps it was the leisurely nature of it all, this was no release after a night of clubbing with her girlfriends, nor the frustrations of a night of cancelled plane flights.
No, this was hers, on display for the world to see, and yet entirely private.
Kelly began to moan, tossing her head back and bucking her hips.
To be fair, she was vaguely aware of the sound of the lawnmower starting.
Soon she was getting close, pinching her nipples and licking her lips as her body began building toward an orgasm. The hammock creaked as it rocked in time with her movement. Sweat coated her body, some of it from the heat of the sun, some of it from her own efforts.
The sound of the mower got louder, though she didn't really hear it. Besides, she was in her own back yard. High fences and shrubs surrounded her, and no one with a well-positioned upper story window would be home for quite some time.
Kelly began to stroke her clit in earnest. Her nipples were hard and sensitive, coated with oil and burning to be touched. Her mouth was open and questing, hungry. Her long legs were thrust off to either side, spread open for the world to see like some brazen slut.
She was moaning loudly now, and it occurred to her that she sounded like some whore caught on tape, the kind in those videos she'd found in Tom's closet. When she watched those tapes she'd been appalled at first at the images of those women, so wanton and needy. Normally she was quiet, even in her own bed, a creature of silent gasps and little shivers. Today, however, she could hear herself, almost as if from a great distance, struggling and heaving her pleasure out in a loud, almost brazen fashion.
That thought thrilled her. It was so tiresome being good all the time. She worked so hard at her job and rarely got time to play. Tom's being so distant didn't help either. He constantly complained of being too busy to come visit. All too often trips were cancelled or she had to fly to visit him. Even then, their time together was too short.
