Mrs. Barton is determined to instil confidence into her buxom young daughter. How could Gary Fowler possibly assist?
The refurbishment of the largest municipal pool in town ate up nearly all of his time in the intervening three days between Gary Fowler’s night of strange sex with Samantha Barton and the next time he would have access to his buxom new lover. The team his father put on the job did not ignore his oddly changed mental state.
‘Pass t'square over please lover boy,' Paul, one of his father’s foremen asked earlier. He took it all in good humour and gave out just as bad. ‘Aye,' he had replied, ‘if you let me shag your missus’ an all.’ .
Lunch in the greasy spoon cafe had brought more questions about the attractive young widow. Gary wasn’t evasive about his answers. ‘Aye, right there next t’ pool, slappin’ her arse wi't putty trowel. Aye, she wants me to invite all yous’ lot n’all.' The table laughed.
‘Really?' Jake, the young apprentice piped. Silence; and then more howling laughter. Paul, the foreman cuffed him around the head. ‘No, not really, you bloody young spunker.’
‘How’s it you get that job then Gazza, when there’s so's many more deservin?' Asked Wayne, one of his mates on the job.
‘Look on’t side o’t van Wayno!’ he replied. ‘Mi Dad’s not gonna want your seed spread in’t aristocracy now is he. No, s’got to be a Fowler ain’t it.’
Gary wasn’t up to much intellectually, but he did know evasion played the work of truth in the close knit world of the working class. His hyperbole did it’s job. Unbeknownst to him though, this new society around which he was now skirting the fringes, played the war very differently. For those inhabitants, truth and lies had a blurred hinterland and those same evasions, indirect or non-committal responses were just part of a wide arsenal of weapons that shifted the front line in one direction or another. Samantha Burton’s interest in him should, if he had been an indigenous member of this new world, have raised suspicions. But, coming from the place he did, that interest was as simple as himself being a good looking lad and having a fit and strong body and her being lonely and bored.
His tame submission to Samantha’s skillful experience played no part in his thoughts as he walked to the Plough with Tracey that Friday night. They found a table in the busy lounge, local folk had become used to seeing them there together.
‘Aye, I got a bit of a look around. Didn’t seem like there was much worth takin’’ he said to her.
‘Oh, that is a relief Gary I tell you, I keep hearin’ all kinds of tales I tell yer.’
‘Oh, aye.'
‘Aye,' Tracey leant forward. ‘This ain’t from Mrs. Abel this, It’s from som’un else, but remember that stuck up piano teacher, you know the one that used to come in ‘ere?'
Gary remembered. ‘Aye, he weren’t much of a tap room lad, were he; weren’t he found in South America or somewhere like that; wouldn’t have thought he were’t type ta’ be dealing drugs, but ya’ can’t tell wi’ folk.'
‘Well, I heard it right, that him and that Mrs. Barton were at it!’
Gary interjected. ‘Who teld ya that?' Tracey eyed him suspiciously, he had been a bit too forthright in his response. ‘I mean she didn’t seem like his type at all, his missus’ were a right shadow.'
‘Oh, he were packin’ though.’ Tracey smiled at him.
‘’Ow d’you know that?’
‘Bloody ‘ell, all ya’ need to do is look.’
‘Blokes don’t look at other blokes tackle!’
‘Well, maybe you should?’ laughed Tracey. She looked directly at Gary and sat back in her chair. ‘Did you two get up to any shaggin' Gary?' Tracy asked. She never minced her words.
He knew she had rumbled him. ‘What me and that John bloke, no, never really liked ‘im that much.' His witticism only bought him a few seconds of time.
‘You know who I mean’!
Gary looked pained, he squirmed and finally confessed. ‘A blow job. A bloody good one actually.'
‘Gary!’
‘What? She’s single, I’m single what’s t'problem?’
‘Don’t you listen to me Gary? She’s no bloody good! She could get on’t phone and have two bloody dozen of them posh rugby players scramblin’ over her front wall tryin’ to get to ‘er. What’s she seeing in you, yer great thick lump!’
Gary was rather offended by this wise council. ‘Ow d’you know I’m not in’t driving seat eh?’ he complained.
‘Gary, you might be able to drive a Ford Transit but that’s about it. I married t’clever ‘un.'
He had to admit the truth in this, Darren had done well at school and it was only his own influence that had led them both into petty crime. It had not only been Captain Barton who had persuaded them both to join the Sherwood Foresters, Darren saw the sense in it too, considering the alternative, and had prospered in the service, making sergeant while he had just managed to get his one chevron at lance corporal.
‘This kid has really bin’ making me think Gary.' She stared glumly at her shandy. ‘About t’stuff we used to get up to.'
‘That’s bloody years ago’ he said dismissively.
‘Is it? I’ve bin listenin’ to you for’t last month like we were fifteen again. I feel bloody stupid.’
He was at last beginning to agree with her. ‘It do make sense n'all Tracey, I mean we’ve all got good jobs now like. I just wanted a bit o’ fun.'
‘Aye, me too. But let’s call it a day eh? With this Barton woman.'
He wasn’t sure how much of a promise he made, nor how much he would keep but Tracey left the pub more reassured; before they went home to their own beds.
The next day, Saturday, he was at the Grange working on the next section of tiling. Samantha had greeted him when he arrived in the middle of the afternoon three hours before, but he had seen no sight or sound of her since. There was though, the movement of the upstairs curtain to show that he was being continually watched.
He had, naturally, removed his shirt and today there was more need to do so as the sun blazed down on a warm muggy day. As he worked on his hands and knees, Samantha Barton crept up on him. ‘I thought you might like some lemonade Gary’ she announced.
He started and turned his head, quickly examining her. She was barefoot, had bikini bottoms, a less than modest bikini top in which her large breasts were hammocked, and big Ray-Ban sunglasses. ‘Oh, that’s grand Mrs. Barton. Ta.'
‘I think it’s Samantha now isn’t it Gary?' She fluttered.
‘Aye, I’ll give it a go. See how I get on.’ He replied, much to her amusement. She always liked such humorous deference.
‘Of course, I would like to be more formal when my daughter is around, that’s natural isn’t it? Oh, and Rachel and I are going to lounge by the pool while there’s still some sun, we won’t be too much of a distraction will we?'
Gary thought this through, presumably Rachel too would be similarly dressed, and the sun was still hot enough for them to need plenty of sun tan lotion. ‘No, Mrs…Samantha. No distraction at all.' He replied.
Promisingly she had also brought a wine bottle and a glass with her as from the house plodded Rachel, carrying a small cool bag. She too wore a swimsuit, though one that was far less scandalous than Samantha's. She looked at Gary nervously as she placed the bag next to her mother. ‘Oh, thanks sweetie. Why don’t you say hello to Mr. Fowler?’
Rachel gulped and spoke. ‘Hello Mr. Fowler.’ She drawled.
‘There, that wasn’t so difficult was it. I declare you will be death of me from worrying.’
As the pair lay on the loungers, Rachel consistently avoided staring at Gary’s sun stained bare torso, taking only furtive glances as he worked and Gary only briefly examined the revealingly clothed teenage girl, as the reflective lenses her mother wore gave no indication of the direction in which she was looking. However, It did not go past his notice that Rachel’s large breasts had an architectural quality about them and that the swimsuit she wore gave them a gravity defying appearance with her stomach below being quite flat and trim. Her bottom too, was stable and supportive. This was only a slight contrast to the attractive roundness in her mother’s.
Gary had done as he had been told by Samantha and had restrained from any sexual activity until their return and it was under these circumstances that he began feeling the little twitch in his underpants that might, if left, demonstrate his moral weakness. He decided to work facing away from the two recumbent females.
His work was not then interrupted by a request from Samantha. ‘Oh, give me a refresh sweetie darling' she asked her daughter. It was a request for more sun tan lotion. It was followed by another a while later. ‘Mmm, just a little lower honey. That’s right.’
Gary was finding that his imagination was doing what his eyes were not. He was developing a strong erection. ‘Under the straps darling. Yes, that’s it.' He looked beneath his armpit. Samantha had turned over and Rachel was liberally spreading the lotion in a naively seductive manner. This vantage point gave him a wonderful side view of Rachel’s contained boobs which swung from side to side with her arm movement. Gary closed his eyes and reopened them on his job.
‘Do you want me to do your bottom half too Mummy?’ Rachel asked.
‘Yes sweetheart, then we’ll do you, okay?'
Gary fought the urge to turn around. At this moment he would not have needed a scribe to score the tiles, a more available instrument pushed against his fly and he sorely wished he had spent all of the previous three days furiously masturbating.
‘Higher honey. Yes, work it in there.'
The zip on the front of his work trousers strained as Rachel performed her task. A minute or so later and the conversation continued.
‘Why did you wear this silly thing dumpling, I bought you that Dior last year, remember?'
‘Mummy! I couldn’t wear that, not with…'
‘Oh, he wouldn’t mind. You wouldn’t have minded would you Mr. Fowler?'
He didn’t need to think about this too much. ‘No Mrs. Barton.'
‘See, and now you are going to get those silly tan lines, remember what I said about them?'
‘They’re common Mummy.'
‘Yes, that’s right, common. We wouldn’t want you to look like a vulgar little trollop would we.'
‘No Mummy.'
‘No, well let’s make do then.’ A short fumbling silence followed.
‘Mummy’! complained Rachel.
‘Now you won’t get tan lines.' Declared Samantha.
This was getting far too much for Gary. He pretended to look around for something, rose and made a quick dash to his van. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Samantha’s head turn as he stooped away.
He sat behind the wheel and begged his body to behave. There was obviously a lot more to Mrs. Barton than met the eye and he was privately appalled that she could use her own daughter as a sexual persuading hammer with which to knock in the next paving slab of his insanity. But at the same time, he was weak and she knew it; and she also knew, while Gary did not, that he would devote himself to her if given the chance.
He returned poolside when the pair were mid conversation. He looked over at a prone Rachel, the clip on her bikini top was undone and the straps lay either side of her flattened tits. He knelt down again, facing away from them.
‘You, had no problem on Santorini last year sweetheart.'
‘But Mummy, everyone else was doing it then, and well…'
‘You need to learn to be more confident darling,.' He heard the sound of a wine glass being placed on the tiles, ‘and there’s no better time than with your own mother.’
‘But Mummy...’
‘Oh, I’ll start.' Gary’s mind didn’t need the sense of sight. He pictured the scene perfectly and when he looked beneath his arm again, lo and behold, Samantha was topless, face up, her breasts rounded under gravity and offset slightly to each side, with each nipple pushing into the warm summer sunshine.
‘But Mummy!’
‘Now listen to me honey. Confidence is very important in our social class, I have explained that to you time and time again, and the best way to achieve that confidence is to overcome some teeny-weeny little fear that you might have and be comfortable with it.'
‘’But, but…'
‘Mr. Fowler is a gentleman and as such will not make it into any big incident I assure you.'
There was a long and rustling wait as Gary finally lay his next tile and reached over for his grouting bag. A wine glass chinked.
‘There, that was easy wasn’t it.'
‘’I guess it was Mummy.'
‘Now, we'll enjoy the sun and let Mr. Fowler get on with his work.'
‘Yes Mummy.'
Gary could not resist. He furtively glanced behind once more. Samantha spoke again before he could focus on this new delight and he wrenched his head forward sharply.
‘Oh, how silly of me, we need to put more cream on. Pass it over here sausage.'
Gary was treated to the slurping and slapping noises of oil being applied to prostrate breast.
‘You now Hun.' Samantha demanded. Rachel had obviously silently protested because she followed up her words. ‘You silly girl. Am I going to have to do it?’
‘No Mummy.' There was a repeat of the same oily sound.
‘Yes, those as well.' Samantha insisted. Gary imagined correctly that ‘those’ referred to her nipples.
‘There.’ Samantha droned. The wine glass clinked again.
Gary again ventured to look behind him, and converted his upside-down view. The difference between Rachel’s and Samantha’s gorgeous tits was age and presumably use. While the mother’s lay, the daughter’s rose like proving dough and were topped off by a noticeably erect pair of nipples that had obviously responded well to their creamy self massage. Gary reached into his trousers and straightened his long cock upward.
His craft inevitably suffered from the distraction and he cursed his workmanship as he lifted another crooked tile from the quick setting adhesive.
‘What are you doing darling?’ Samantha asked.
‘It won’t go in Mummy and I don’t want to lie flat.'
‘Oh, let me…' Gary looked and saw both pairs of breasts dangling and both firm bums wiggling as Samantha and Rachel tried to lift the back rest of Rachel’s sun lounger. ‘It has stuck hasn’t it. Oh, Mr. Fowler?' She cried.
‘Mummy you can’t.'
‘Oh, don’t be silly this isn’t the first pair of topless girls Mr. Fowler has had to assist, I’m sure.'
Gary turned, and still on his hands and knees gained his first properly orientated view of a topless Samantha. Rachel, also in his sight, had covered herself with her arms.
‘Erm, err, yes, err, Mrs. Barton.' Gary replied.
‘I wonder, would you mind helping us with this…Rachel, what have I said to you about confidence?'
‘Mummy…' whined Rachel.
‘Oh, Mr Fowler is a grown man, he isn’t interested in a little girls nakedness. Isn’t that true Mr. Fowler?'’
‘Well, I really…'
Samantha interrupted him. ‘And, as I said before, he is a gentleman.’
‘Yes Mummy.' Rachel moved one knee forward, putting the foot underneath on tip toe then pivoted her covered body shyly.
‘I’m waiting young lady.' Said her mother sternly.
‘Doh, Okay' said the daughter grumpily as she slowly lowered her arms and pushed out her chest, petulantly. ‘There!’ she said. ‘Satisfied!’
Gary only needed a glance to appreciate the structural beauty of this partially naked girl. Despite her young age, each breast had a rich fullness and swept upward to a babies dummy of a nipple high on their most outward part. Below, a firm rounded balloon of mammary flesh hung, pulled upward by the tight connective tissue that was the upper part of her chest. Both of the lovely offerings danced and jolted as Rachel tapped her feet sullenly.
‘There is no need for that attitude young lady!’ scolded Samantha. ‘Now, Mr. Fowler do you have one moment please, could you look to see what is wrong with this sun chair?'
Gary anxiously stood, very aware that his erection, if not carefully concealed, would be very noticeable to sharp young eyes, he crabbed his way sideways over to where Samantha and Rachel were standing and looked at the problem. ‘Aye, there’s a little catch here like, that you need to lift to put this swingin' arm back in, ‘ere ya’ go.'
The seat back was secured at an appropriate angle and Samantha began to demonstrate her gratitude in the first way her tipsy state instinctively decided. By flinching away from her attempted embrace, Gary had upset the delicate balance of forces in his underpants and a large bulge appeared to the left side of his fly.
Rachel, now sitting, was given an eye level view of this new feature and gasped. Then began to giggle playfully. Samantha was unhappy with her post-nubile daughter. ‘Rachel, don’t be so rude!’ then as her daughter’s face became more shocked by her own annoyance, she sat beside her daughter. ‘Oh, poppet, don’t be upset, I didn’t mean to…oh.' She took her hand. ‘Remember that day when Uncle David embarrassed himself in front of everyone at his birthday party?’ Rachel nodded. ‘Remember what we did?'
‘We ignored it Mummy.'
‘Yes darling, we have to just ignore those little indiscretions that happen to men don’t we? Then we can all be civilised and no one will think any worse of anyone. Mnn?’
Rachel nodded, but this interesting little conversation wasn’t helping the frenzy in Gary’s trouser area. The pair resumed their attitudes on the sun-loungers, Samantha lying face down, wine glass in reach and Rachel lying on her back, pressing her newly exposed tits upward. Gary resumed his work once more, trying to exorcise the thoughts that plagued him. He was beginning to have some success until from the corner of his eye he once again felt the eyes of the teenage girl upon him once more as she adopted a new position, twisted a little on her side, away from her mother. He glanced over to catch the averted gaze over her shoulder and noticed the blush on her cheeks and the richness of her lips, glistening like late summer fruit.
He scraped the cement on another tile and moved to lay it on it’s well prepared bed. He placed the spacers and set the line and held the tile delicately between his fingers, but was again distracted by the youngster, this time from a subtle movement of her upper arms, her hands being hidden to him by her slightly askew legs, her eyes closed.
The tile was laid and Gary used his square to accurately align it. He was happy and reached for the bag of grouting and in the process became aware of a slight vibration in the back of Rachel’s thighs. Her face now out of sight, he felt safe in watching the activity more closely. The tiny movements were rhythmic. A clink of a glass caused him to look away as her mother took a new slug of wine and turned over to her back, her large breasts flopping over and settling, then after changing her mind, the topless mother flipped back over to her front again.
Gary felt safe now to stare and interpret the young girl. He peered at the gusset of her pale blue bikini bottoms. A small darkened patch had appeared as the skin around it seemed to periodically stretch and rotate. He reached into his underpants again, straightened himself and tried to continue his duties. But his notice was again drawn by Rachel’s face which rose from her prone form to watch him. ‘Ok, then lass’, he thought. ‘I’ll play along with yer’. He rose onto his knees and stretched, allowing the fibre of the muscles in his back to twitch and slacken. Her face disappeared, but the movements in her thighs and bottom increased. He glanced over to Samantha. She seemed blissfully unaware of this pantomime.
In association with the fast beat of Rachel’s lower half that must have been the cause of her fingers another movement began, a slow lurch of her hips that caused the slightest of creaks in the lounger. Still, her mother did not stir, until she too turned to her side and reached for her glass, away from her daughter, causing that girl to slow, but not stop her self satisfaction.
Gary was transfixed by this show and had stopped all pretence of work, especially as both females seemed to be oblivious to his audience, and he again concentrated on Rachel who began the slow beat of her pelvic region again, out of sequence with a faster, fleshier wobble and an almost silent creak of the recliner. She showed her face again, this time transformed into a tortured grimace and Gary repeated his stretch, this time looking directly at the big busted girl's dilated eyes. She responded by slowly closing her eyelids and gasping, invoking a sharp sudden twitch in her buttocks that repeated five or six times, all with the slightest of heavy breaths. The patch of dark blue on her bikini bottoms grew and glistened in the sunshine, causing beads of dew to pass through the fabric. The orgasm was delivered seemingly unnoticed by Mrs. Barton.
A few minutes passed and Rachel resumed her prone position, her blush fading and her bright red nipples rising and falling with her elevated breath. Gary resumed his work with a large degree of sexual frustration.
‘Mummy’. Rachel asked after a few more minutes.
‘Yes, sweetie darling’ slurred her mother.
‘I’m bored now, can I go back in?’
‘Of course, honey. Don’t forget your things, huh?’
‘No, Mummy’.
Rachel rose, smiled, gave her mother a kiss on the cheek and began running toward the house, her boobs bouncing up and down. Samantha had one last thing to say. ‘Rachel. Manners?'
The girl stopped and turned ‘Sorry Mummy. Bye Mr. Fowler.’
‘Oh, err, good, err… Goodbye Rachel.’ Gary replied.
‘’And what else?’ said Samantha, the girl turned again, her tits jiggled once more and Gary stared directly at them.
‘Mummy?' inquired Rachel. Mrs. Barton pointed to the cool bag beside her sun chair. ‘Oh, sorry Mummy.' She picked up the bag straight legged and slowly, her posture slightly askew, giving Gary a perfect view of her dangling breasts and the small, tight gusset of her bikini bottoms. The light blue material had almost entirely darkened, again a fact tactfully ignored or unnoticed by her mother. She rose, and her taut, large tits found their perch once more.
‘On your way now! You silly girl’ Samantha teased.
After this, she was free to run back through the French windows and Gary and Samantha were left alone.
‘Oh, Gary you have no idea of the difficulties raising a young lady on one’s own.' Said Samantha, raising herself onto her elbows. Gary was feeling difficulties of another type.
‘She seems a nice enough lass.' He said blandly. In truth Gary was as sexually tormented as a man could be.
‘Well, I must thank you, it seems you may be a good influence on the girl.' A point he may have disputed.
‘I don’t know what I did to be honest.' Gary replied.
‘Oh, you were just being a lovely, kind man. Rachel has such issues around men, I really can’t thank you enough.'
Gary was lost for words. He blurted out the first that came into his head. ‘No?’
Samantha smiled and bit her bottom lip; it was obviously the right word. ‘No,’ Samantha repeated. ‘of course I “can” thank you. Now, Gary, you did what I asked you to do, didn’t you?’