A New Way of Seeing Things Pt. 02 Ch. 09

He stopped altogether when the tops of two heads came into view, illuminated by the glow from the lights of the pool itself and the abundant deck lamps. Gwen had insisted on the utmost in safety when the pool was being built, and proper lighting was a part of that. The heads came together, and Andrew hoped that would mean they were both distracted. The young man moved further up the hill to a solitary oak that stood above and not too far from the pool deck, to where he hoped to blend in with the massive trunk and look down across the water at the couple on the far side.

He was disappointed to see Mrs. Nelson still covered from thigh to shoulder in the black suit, her back to the young man as a still-nude Tim took her in his arms. You're an idiot, the nervous voyeur thought. Mrs. Nelson would never skinnydip. The way Tim was holding her and they were kissing, though, might lead to more serious things once they got back in the house. When they went in, he decided, he'd go to the shed behind the shop, grab a can of gasoline, and head back to the truck. Getting the can back in the shed without anyone noticing would be a problem for later.

Andrew didn't dare to hope they would not make it to the house when Tim kissed her and slid the wide straps of Gwen's top off her shoulders and down her arms. She allowed him to push them past her hands to hang at her waist before encircling her husband's neck and returning his kisses with passion. The young apprentice's cock swelled uncomfortably against the mesh liner of his shorts, his flesh understanding what was happening even before his brain could begin to believe it. He had a perfect view of Mrs. Nelson's bare back, from slender neck all the way down the waistline of the black skirt encircling her waist.

Tim's hands roamed across the bare skin, fingers dipping down into the suit before moving to her front. Holy shit, he's playing with her tits, like it's no big deal! And she's letting him! Like she likes it!

His boss's hands returned to view and made their way back to the waistline of the skirt. With a gentle push, it fell to Gwen's feet, presenting her toned buttocks to the young man behind her. Andrew could not believe his luck. Mrs. Nelson's naked ass! Even at this distance and in this light, he could clearly see the well-defined split of her taut cheeks. The couple remained in their embrace for some time, Tim's hands roaming over his wife's body while her arms stayed wrapped round his neck. It was only a matter of time though, before her hands dropped between them, obviously focusing on the cock trapped between their midsections.

They broke their contact after one particularly long kiss, Gwen still with her back to the young man on the hillside as she moved to the table her wineglass sat on. Andrew slumped down the tree trunk into a sitting position as he took in the scene before him, idly comparing the size of Tim's full-blown erection to his own and watching it swing stiffly as his boss turned and made his way to a nearby lounge recliner.

Please turn around, please turn around, Andrew silently pleaded of the nude woman, and Gwen obliged after taking a sip from her glass. Proud breasts rode high on a petite frame, and a smudge of darkness between her legs marked the path to the treasure between firm thighs. The young man could resist no longer and slid his hand down the front of his shorts to free his swollen cock from the mesh net it had wrapped itself in.

The nude woman—Gwen Nelson, Andrew reminded himself, Gwen fucking Nelson!—joined her husband by the lounge chair where he was adjusting the backrest. Tim stepped back once he was satisfied and Gwen lay down on the partially reclined chair, legs together. Her naked husband straddled her, the voyeur on the hill disappointed that she was now blocked from view, at least from the waist up. Tim shuffled forward, and Andrew could not force himself to believe that prim, proper Mrs. Nelson was about to give her husband head. Despite the light and distance, he this was better than any porno he had ever watched, and he had no qualms about shedding his shorts to allow himself free access to his straining cock.

Andrew's hand stopped it's stroking of the length it held, the owner of the tool transfixed as Gwen's legs slowly came open. Even though the shadows prevented a clear look at the jewel being revealed to him, there was enough light to show him the thatch on her mons stopped far short of the split below. He forced his hand to stay still, wanting to forestall his orgasm and enjoy the show unfolding below as the woman's hand snaked between the legs straddling her and extended a finger into the shadow. Holy Christ, she's got a cock in her mouth and she's playing with herself! Her hips began to rock slowly, in sync with her husband's motions.

It was some time before Tim backed away and reversed his straddle, now doing a push up to bring his face between her thighs, his ass apparently now in his wife's face. Gwen's hand disappeared between their bodies, apparently reaching for the staff nestled below her breasts. The young apprentice's erection begged to be touched and Andrew did his best to ignore it, knowing any such action would certainly bring about a quick and copious eruption.

Tim held this position as long as is arms would allow, his tongue obviously at work between his wife's lips, then straightened and stepped out of his straddle. He turned, and Gwen brought her legs open wider, as wide as the lounger would allow and almost erasing all the shadows that hid her treasure from their young employee. The view was fleeting as Tim kneeled between her legs and eased forward, stopping his motion long enough to ensure his wife had been properly mounted, and settled in to long, slow strokes as the woman beneath him brought her legs up about his waist.

Their pace was slow and measured, not like the frantic couplings of Andrew's limited experience. His employers were apparently very experienced with the act of fucking, despite Jordan's repeated guesses to the contrary. Wait 'til I tell him about this, the excited voyeur thought. I can't wait to rub this in his face and tell him he's wrong, that Tim and Gwen DO suck and fuck!

What the hell am I thinking, the young man reminded himself. Hell no, I'm not telling Jordan anything! He'll tell everybody else, it'll get back to Tim, and I'll be a dead man! Or he won't believe me—pics or it never happened—and still tell everybody what I said. And I'm not telling Mike I got to see all of the ass he was hoping for a look at. No, I can't tell anyone about this, which will suck, but that's still better than not seeing this at all.

The couple below him were quickening their pace, Tim driving harder into his wife as Gwen's hips ground her clit against his pubic bone. Delicate hands grasped convulsively at the ass between her legs as her body stiffened with the first wave of a thundering orgasm. Andrew's own hand found its way back to his cock, and he imagined it was him she was grinding against as the first spurts of come spattered his shirt. Andrew was squeezing out the last dribble as the man below him pushed his way deeply into Gwen's welcoming pussy and with a grunt that their observer could hear, emptied himself into her.

The young man froze in place, unwilling to move and clean the mess he had made on his chest and stomach, waiting to see what the Nelsons might do next. Hopefully their after-sex routine did not include a walk in the field! Thankfully, they chose a quick swim instead, and Andrew stayed where he was until the couple climbed from the water and made their way down to the house, Tim's hand on Gwen's naked rear. The young man breathed a small sigh of relief and still waited five minutes before hurrying back down the hill and on to his truck. Screw the gas, he was never here and preferred to wait for a rescue from town. The wait gave him time for another stroke session fueled by the still-vivid memories.

***

The battered blue compact pulled up the driveway at 5 minutes before two the next day, slowly, as if the driver were making decisions about whether to park or leave. Tim watched from where he sat on the tractor as the little car finally rolled to a stop and the door swung open. A petite young woman, blonde hair tied in a loose ponytail halfway down her back, stepped out and looked about a bit uncertainly. Her boots, breeches and insignia'd schooling shirt was very reminiscent of what his daughters had spent their weekends in during their childhood—in fact, other than the color of her hair and the shirt itself (much too informal for either his wife or her old boss to ever allow back then), he felt like he was looking at Gwen when they had first met.

"Kristen—hello! I'm glad you could make it!" Gwen came hurrying out of the open barn sliders and the two women met halfway with a polite handshake.

"Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Nelson, it really means a lot."

"Gwen, and let me introduce you to my husband, Tim. Tim, this is Kristen LaPointe."

The young woman stepped forward to shake the hand of the handsome older gentleman. "Tim Nelson. Chief manure spreader and rail fixer."

"Kristen LaPointe. You have a beautiful place here."

"Thank you. Gwen's doing, mostly. I just put stuff where she tells me to." He turned his attention to his wife. "Where are you two off to?"

"Well, we'll see how far Kristen wants to go. I was thinking up the front side of the ridge up to the picnic spot for a view. What are your plans this afternoon?"

"Going down to the feed store—again—and then picking up some fuel filters." Tim tipped his ballcap to the young woman. "Ladies."

Gwen led the way to the barn. "Beautiful boots, Kristen. Your outfit puts me to shame, My daughters always wanted to ride in jeans and t-shirts, and I'm afraid I got lazy, too...I'm guessing you've had some formal training, then?"

"Sorry about the outfit, I wasn't sure how you'd feel about some slob showing up to ride your horses...not that I'm saying you're dressed like a slob. Sorry, I'm a little nervous. Yes, I started taking lessons when I was five and competed until I went to college."

Proper dress or no, Gwen had decided on a series of tests for the young woman, to see if she was truly knowledgeable enough to be near her horses. "No need to be nervous, and no need to apologize. I think you've reminded me it's still "cool" to wear proper riding attire. Why don't you take my daughter's horse Tigger today—he's the Arabian."

The young woman did not hesitate in choosing the right stall, and the horse happily accepted a scratch of his cheek. Two points to you, Gwen thought. Tigger's got a pretty good nose for horse people.

"See a saddle you like?" Gwen asked, pointing to the laden sawhorses occupying an open stall.

Kristen pointed to one. "I think that English hunter's, if Tigger tolerates it well."

"He's fine with that one. Excellent choice. Need a hand with it?" Gwen was gratified to see the young woman answer by hefting the piece of leather and carry it to the waiting horse. So many of her students had expected others to do their saddling and grooming for them, as though wealth carried that privilege. Which it did, she admitted ruefully. She watched out of the corner of her eye as Kristen saddled the Arabian with practiced ease, fluid movements making it clear she had done this many times before.

The young woman aced her last test the moment they rode from the cover of the stable, swinging Tigger gently back and forth with easy movements, testing the horse's responsiveness and biddability as one might test the handling on an unfamiliar sports car. Tigger responded as one who knew a talented and experienced rider on his back. Gwen could see the classical training even before they made the treeline above the house.

The two women talked sparingly as they made their way up the ridge, Gwen making a couple of feeble attempts at small talk before realizing the woman really did desire the time to clear her head. She led them up the meandering trail, giving the young woman her space.

"This part of the trail is fun for a good gallop," she said as they approached the grassy path that signaled the leadup to the overlook. "Feel like opening him up a little? Just be sure to slow up when you see the picnic table—the ground falls off pretty quickly after that, although I doubt Tigger will let you go much further anyways." Kristen smiled and nodded, and the horses and riders picked up the pace.

The picnic table was soon in sight, and Gwen halted them in the shade. "Let's tie them up here and give them a rest for a little bit," she advised. "It may not feel like it, but that's a bit of a climb for them. C'mon, let's go sit at the table."

The women sat side by side, a proper distance between them. "Sorry, I'm normally not very good company, and today I'm even worse," Kristen finally offered. "I've never been much of a people person. I'm sure this is not the way you had hoped to spend your afternoon."

"I'm on my horse riding with an equestrienne who know which end the bit goes in," the older woman said with a smile. "It's a good afternoon for me."

Kristen looked at her quizzically and smiled back. "Somebody else once said that to me. Anyways, thank you for...well, thank you."

They sat in silence a moment more before Gwen made another attempt at conversation. "So, did you decide if you were going to pose for Barry?"

"I, uh, I..." Kristen's eyes watered, and she buried her face in her hands. Great racking sobs ensued.

Now see what you've done, poking in someone else's business! The Lady shouted. This is what happens when you don't mind your own affairs!

"Kristen, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to upset you—"

The distraught woman face still buried in her hands, shook her head. "I'm so sorry, it's not your fault," came her muffled reply, "it's just that..." she paused and dropped her hands, looking across the low valley. "My husband left me last week." The sobs started again as she continued to stare into space.

Gwen closed the distance between them and reached for the young woman's shoulders to hug her, the mother and teacher in her overcoming any feeble attempts by the Lady to maintain distance and propriety. "Kristen, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have asked. No wonder you needed to think! I'm so sorry I brought it up."

The young accepted the embrace and cried. "It's not your fault and I'm so sorry for acting this way! You shouldn't have to deal with a complete stranger over something like this!"

"I'm a mother," Gwen soothed. "I'm used to dealing with things like this." Poor placements at jumping competitions and worries over grades? Maybe. Relationships? This is a first, the Lady sniffed.

Kristen straightened and brought her hands down although the tears still flowed. "I'm sorry," the young woman repeated. "You're the first person I've told. It just sort of came out. I'm sorry."

"The first? Kristen, you can't just bottle this up! You must have family and friends who you can talk to?"

The young woman shook her head miserably and dabbed at her eyes. "No close friends I trust, and my mother will just tell me I told you so."

"Oh, I'm sure she wouldn't do that...but if you want, you can talk to me," Gwen boldly declared as the Lady shook her head in disbelief. Don't meddle where you don't belong...

"I can't burden a total stranger with this..."

"It's not a burden at all. I heard a lot when I was an instructor, and even more from my daughters. You can talk to me if it will make you feel better, and I'm sure it would. No judgements, I promise. If you feel like talking, I'm happy to listen." Kristen looked up and smiled. Gwen smiled back. "Would you feel better sitting some more or riding?"

"Riding," she sniffled. "I feel a little more in control that way."

"So do I. C'mon, I think these guys are ready."

The women turned their mounts and started back down the trail at a slow walk. Kristen smiled weakly, the first time Gwen had seen her do so that day. "You do have that instructory feel," the young woman said as she stared down the tree-lined path. My riding instructors were the only ones I ever really talked to about things. And I guess you've got a mothery feel, too, although I don't think I'm exactly sure what that is. My mother is a good person and I love her, but I've always felt like she was my wild and crazy aunt." Gwen smiled and let her continue. "Call me Cricket," she announced as if making an important decision. "My instructors always called me Cricket."

"Well, that's an interesting nickname. How did you come about that?"

"My very first instructor decided I chirped like a cricket, so she started calling me Kristen the Cricket, then just Cricket, and it stuck. But my mother and...Daniel...always call me Kristen, because they think it's more dignified. Daniel has always hated my nickname, so, yeah call me that, please."

"This must have been quite a shock for you," Gwen volunteered, feeling for some reason she had to keep the young woman talking, but unsure what the proper protocol was for doing so with jilted lovers.

Cricket sighed heavily. "No, not really. I knew it was coming. We wanted different...things...that we couldn't give each other. So, he left."

"Was having your pictures taken was one of those things?"

The young woman let loose a short, humorless laugh. "Gwen, I'm really sorry, but I wasn't completely honest with you that day in the studio. The photo shoot wasn't his idea, it was all mine. He had no idea I was there. Daniel is, umm, very conservative if you know what I mean, and I was thinking it might be a way to loosen him up a little and take his mind off what he really wanted."

"I see." Gwen wondered if it was polite to ask what her husband wanted, or if she really wanted to know. Men only wanted one thing...

"And I couldn't give him what he wanted, at least some of it not right now, and some of it, probably never. Daniel wants me to have babies, stay at home, and take care of house and family. I do want kids some day, but I want a career first. My job at the bank doesn't pay much, but it's a great place to start climbing the ladder, and I don't want to give that up. I had a pretty good idea that's what he wanted even before we got married, but I thought I might be able to change his mind. Guess not."

They rode on in silence for bit, Gwen unsure what else she could say. "Do you want him to come back?"

Cricket thought on the question for a moment. "No," she said finally, "This was bound to happen sooner or later. We're two very different people. I mean, when I met him in college, I thought he was so different from the boys I had dated before, so serious about things, somebody I could discuss my business classes with. My mother always said to marry a rich, older man, and Daniel certainly acted older, just without the money. But once we got married and moved in together...I thought I was conservative, but he's in a class by himself. I felt like we were living like a couple nearing retirement. I really don't want to give my Mom the chance to say I told you so."

"She's your mother," Gwen reasoned. "She'd never do that."

Cricket laughed again. "Mom has made a career out of marrying rich old guys. She's on number four. For the most part, it seemed to work for her. I have a feeling as soon as she hears about this she's going to get to work matching me up with some middle-aged guy with a huge portfolio and a heart condition. Anyways," the young rider sighed, "one of the reasons I wanted to come and ride today is because Daniel is coming by the apartment this afternoon to get his things. I really didn't want to be there and make promises I wouldn't want to keep if I caved."

"You deserve the life you want, not the life he wants," Gwen said softly. "If not with him, maybe someone else someday."