Martin had met Liz on a swinging website and having seen in her profile that she like him liked erotic writing and reading they had got chatting before finally meeting at the Fishers Arms in Whitland one lunchtime.
After finding out that they got on so well at the first meet they met a very discretely due to Liz being married, fairly frequently at lunchtimes at his nearby house until the following happened.
Liz arrived just after midday and Martin let her in and made a drink for Liz while he apologised for being grubby as he hadn't noticed the time and he excused himself to have a shower.
As Martin walked into the Bedroom room his house fresh from his shower, he found Liz had come upstairs to wait while he showered and found her bent at the waist and leaning out the open window, apparently talking to Mrs. Smith, the lady next door who usually sat on a lawn chair in the back garden when the weather was nice watching the world go by. The curtains were closed and only her bottom half emerged from between them. She was wearing a short flared black skirt and stood leaning on one leg, with her hips off to the side, one cheek a little higher than the other.
At that exact moment, the way the material draped and accentuated the shape of her lovely arse looked magnificent to him. He thought about how she had looked earlier, walking around the house in her black skirt and tight white T-shirt. Obviously braless underneath, he had enjoyed the gentle swaying of her breasts pushing against the fabric as she moved about.
Without really thinking about it, he walked over to where she was, stood behind her, pulled the window down as far as he could without hurting her, and locked it in position with the anti-burglar lock. She was a little startled, but Mrs. Smith was still talking, so she acted as if nothing was happening. She felt him grab her hips and grind his crotch into her arse. Out of the corner of her mouth, through clenched teeth, so Mrs. Smith would think she was still paying attention, she whispered, "What the hell are you doing?"
"Whatever I want," he said, and she felt him pull away and begin lifting the skirt slowly up her thighs.
Again through clenched teeth, as Mrs. Smith droned on, she hissed "Are you out of your mind? Stop it!" Through the slight parting of the curtain, he could see her smiling.
"I'll stop when I'm done," he said, and he continued lifting the skirt slowly up onto her back revealing that delectable panty covered arse which he started caressing. The idea of what he was doing gave him a throbbing hard-on. She felt him rub her crotch through her sexy little panties, and although she was turned on by the same idea, she squeezed her thighs together to stop him.
With his hand immobile, he began to flex his fingertips. They were directly on top of her clit and she felt this all the way up her spine and down her legs. She clenched her toes in excitement, and then opened her legs to release his hand. He slipped his fingers under the elastic of her panties and pulled them slowly down to her knees. He opened the towel around his waist and let it fall to the floor, where he kicked it backwards and out of the way, and began to caress her arse with his hands in smooth rotating circles.
"Please don't," he heard her say, but he knew she didn't mean it. He slid one hand down the crack of her arse and over her pussy, where he slid his fingers back and forth, slowly spreading her lips.
"Oh Martin. I'm going to kill you when I get out of here," she whispered. "You're dead. You're dead meat. Do you hear me?"
"Yes, I hear you loud and clear," he said, just as he slipped the tip of his middle finger between her pouting pussy lips and inside her very moist vagina, paused, and then slid the rest of his finger in. The warmth and wetness felt inviting. His erection pulsed. She rocked her arse gently from side to side. She felt her panties constricting her knees. There was something so wrong about what he was doing, so bad that it made her feel sexy and slutty. She liked feeling like a bad girl.
Mrs. Smith had stopped talking, folded up her lawn chair and was heading back inside. Once the landlady was gone, she was still trapped but no longer had to fake a conversation. She stared up at the clouds as they drifted along. People were walking and cars driving by, so she still acted like nothing was happening, like he wasn't sliding his finger in and out of her, like he hadn't reached around with his other hand, wasn't circling the tip of her clit with a wet finger tip.
