Nicks Seduction Pt. 01

Nick arrived at the house exhausted from travel. He had always lived in a small rural town and this was the first time that he had been in such a big city. But now, aged eighteen, he had his first proper job and it meant moving far away from home to work in London, which was particularly daunting as Nick was a shy boy, uneasy in new situations.

He was still amazed that he had found a room that was so reasonably priced. The house was actually in Weybridge, on the outskirts London, but had good rail access into the centre where the accountancy firm he had just starting working for was based.

Looking around he could see that it was well maintained with roses growing in the front garden, and the street was very clean and tidy, the houses actually quite well spaced out along the tree lined avenue.

He had conversed with Mary, the owner, over the phone after he spotted her advert for the room. She had actually emailed him a questionnaire, requiring all sorts of information, about his age, height, weight, was he single, did he drink alcohol or take drugs, did he listen to loud music, did he have a job, did he have any hobbies and interest, it went on.

She also wanted several photos of him, almost like a police mug shot, taken front, back, and sides. When he had questioned this, she had explained that she was quite particular about who she let into her home and said "The rent's cheap because I like having someone around the house who I can engage with."

As he walked up the driveway the door opened and he was greeted with a warm smile by Mary. "You must be Nick," she said, leaning against the doorframe. Her silk blouse gaped just enough when she folded her arms as she looked at him.

"Mary Clarke. Welcome to your new home. Such as it is, you seem like a quiet one. That's good, I hope you keep it that way. I have to be very selective as I detest loud tenants."

Nick shyly gazed up at Mary noticing her attractive appearance. He guessed she was probably in her mid fifties, a good few inches taller than him, taller as she was wearing high heels, with neat greying hair, and appeared to have a curvy figure, not fat but very nicely proportioned beneath her silk blouse and pencil skirt. She was extremely well spoken and seemed very sophisticated. City folk he thought to himself.

Nick followed Mary into her house, the suitcase wheels squeaking as he dragged them over the threshold, the weight of his entire life packed into a cheap black case. He'd rolled it through three train transfers, and now one of the handles was sticky with sweat. "Thanks for having me, Ms. Clarke," he mumbled, pretending to adjust his grip so he didn't have to meet her eyes.

Mary looked back down at him. "You may call me Mary young man, Ms. Clarke makes me feel ancient, and that simply won't do."

As she spoke She plucked a loose thread from his shoulder, her fingers brushing the thin cotton of his t-shirt.

"Let me show you your room before you keel over young man. You look like you've been hauling that thing since the Jurassic period."

The stairs groaned under their combined weight as Nick followed her up, his eyes fixed on the sway of her hips and the neat line running down the back of the black sheer stockings she was wearing. The suitcase banged against each step, its contents shifting with dull thuds.

At the end of a narrow hallway, Mary pushed open a white-painted door. Sunlight streamed through the curtains, shining over a quilt-covered twin bed. "Voilà," she said, stepping aside to let him pass. The scent of fresh lavender enveloped him as he crossed the threshold, his shoes sinking into the thick carpet. Glancing through the window, he could see a tidy garden hemmed in by a crumbling brick wall, utterly private.

Nick barely had time to drop his suitcase before Mary was already halfway down the stairs, her voice floating up over the creaking steps.

"Dinner will be at 7pm precisely. I'm cooking roast chicken and have baked a home made apple pie for desert, you like cream with that?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but she continued without waiting, "Of course you do, a health boy like you must like his cream." Her chuckle faded as she disappeared into the kitchen, the refrigerator door thumping shut below, followed by the rhythmic chop of a knife against wood.

By the time he'd unpacked his few belongings, the scent of roast chicken had seeped into every corner of the house. Nick found Mary in the kitchen, stirring a pan of gravy with one hand while pouring herself a generous glass of red with the other. She glanced over her shoulder, her lips already stained burgundy.

"Don't just hover in the doorway like a Victorian ghost," she said, nudging a second glass toward him with her elbow.

The chicken skin crackled between his teeth, bursting with rosemary and sea salt, but Nick barely tasted it, as his attention kept being drawn to the way Mary's blouse slipped off one shoulder when she laughed, revealing a delicate black bra strap.

"Drink up," she murmured, topping up his glass until the ruby liquid threatened to spill over.

" I do detest people who don't enjoy fine wine".

The wine was strong, a Malbec he had noticed earlier, and it had softened the edges of the evening, when later they were sitting together in the lounge on a soft velvet sofa. Mary curled her bare feet beneath her, the hem of her skirt riding up just enough to show the dimple above her knee as she again questioned him about his habits, his like and dislikes.

She seemed very interested in whether he had had many girlfriends, saying " The young of today are very promiscuous are they not," which had caused him to blush as he answered that he had not had a girlfriend.

Mary had poured a third glass of wine for them as they relaxed after the meal. Nick was not used to drinking and was feeling a little tipsy, so he excused himself when the grandfather clock wheezed eleven, claiming exhaustion.

In his room, he lay stiffly beneath the quilt, listening to the clink of dishes downstairs, the gurgle of drain water, the final click of the kitchen light.

Despite his shy personality, Nick, like most boys of his age, was certainly interested in the fairer sex and had often spent hours on his laptop looking at porn. Though was still a virgin and had yet to experience the real thing. Maybe that was partly to do with the fact that his search history focused on women of a more mature age rather than girls of his own age.

His dreams came soaked in burgundy and lavender. Mary's hands, her strong fingers, pressing his shoulders into the mattress while her hair curtained them both, smelling of rosemary. When he woke gasping at 3 a.m., the sheets were damp and twisted around his thighs and the dream's heat still pulsed behind his ribs.

The days soon settled into a rhythm: the scrape of his dress shoes (polished weekly, a habit from his father) against the worn kitchen tiles each morning as Mary slid a plate of eggs across the counter without looking up from her crossword.

The train ride to the city centre, where he learned to balance a paper cup of coffee between his knees while flipping through training manuals. His manager's voice, nasal and perpetual, droning about "facts and figures" while Nick's mind wandered back to the way Mary had leaned over him yesterday evening to pluck an olive from his salad, her breast brushing his shoulder blade.

As the week wore on Nick became more relaxed in his surroundings, he would go out for a walk after dinner exploring the neighbourhood while Mary cleared the table and washed up. Whilst doing so he stumbled across an area of woodland at the edge of town which reminded him much of the woods around his home town. As he walked he came across a big old oak tree with distinctive marks where he assumed it had been struck by lightning years ago.

The following evening while sorting out his shirt and tie for the morning he spotted a large cardboard box at the back of the top shelf in the wardrobe. His enquiring mind got the better of him so he lifted it down. Inside were several photo albums. He realised it was being nosy but he couldn't help himself from looking through them.

The photos showed Mary as a much younger woman in her mid twenties and early thirties. There were photos of her in a wedding dress on her wedding day, smiling next to a tall handsome man who must have been her husband.

As he flicked through the albums he came across lots of holiday photos, Mary in shorts and a strappy top, Mary dancing in a cocktail dress on a cruise liner and then his eyes were drawn to a series of photos of Mary on the beach wearing a small bikini. Splashing in the sea and sunbathing. Her slim waist showed off her tan and the bikini top barely covered her firm ample breasts.

As he looked through the albums he found more holiday photos of Mary relaxing on sun-loungers by the pool or on the beach wearing an assortment of skimpy bikinis, her long legs stretched out, glistening with tanning oil. In some she was alone, in others she was with friends, laughing, flirting even, her hands draped casually over bronzed shoulders.

Then he turned a page and froze. There, tucked between shots of sunset cocktails, was a photo of Mary lying completely nude on a deserted stretch of beach, her body arched slightly as she propped herself up on one elbow, staring directly at the camera with a lazy, knowing smile.

Nick's throat went dry. He shouldn't be looking at this, shouldn't even have the box open, but his fingers kept flipping pages. Another album revealed polaroid's from what looked like a private party, taken at a large country house: Mary draped across a sofa in nothing but a silk robe, the fabric barely clinging to her curves, while other people, men and women, lounged around her in various states of undress, glasses of wine in hand. Their expressions were relaxed, amused, as if this was completely ordinary. His pulse hammered in his ears.

Then under the last album he found a number of porn magazines dating back to the late 90s. Nick had found a collection of similar magazines in the garage which he figured belong to his stepdad, with titles like Mayfair and Penthouse. But these were different, called Readers Wives.

Nick flipped through the glossy pages, half-expecting the same staged glamour shoots, but froze when he landed on a spread titled "Sophisticated Surrey." There she was, Mary, unmistakably younger but with the same sly smile, lounging on a picnic blanket in a sun-dappled garden, completely nude except for a wide-brimmed straw hat tilted over one eye.

The caption below read: "Sophisticated Mary from Surrey loves the freedom of naturism and the thrill of being watched." His fingers trembled as he turned the page, another shot, this time of her kneeling by a garden pond, water droplets clinging to her skin, her breasts perfectly framed by the sunlight.

A stiff breeze rattled the windowpane as if someone was trying to get in, he looked up guilty but there was no one there. He flicked through another magazine and there was Mary pressed against the trunk of a distinctive oak tree with lightning damage, her back arched, fingers tangled in the leaves above her head like some pagan goddess caught mid-ritual. The tree's shadow striped her body, emphasizing the swell of her hips, the defiant jut of her nipples.

The next spread hit him like a punch to the gut: Mary sprawled across a leather couch, legs parted just enough to tease, while a man, not her husband, kissed her bare shoulder. The headline, "Mary Gets Wild!"

Nick's face burned, but he couldn't stop scanning the text. It described her as "adventurous" and "uninhibited," with a preference for "shared experiences." His mind reeled at the implication, had this been going on for decades? Were these magazines just the tip of something far messier?

A muffled creak from the hallway made his stomach lurch. He slammed the magazine shut, shoving it back into the box with shaking hands, but not before glimpsing one last photo tucked between the pages: a Polaroid of Mary on her knees between two grinning men, her lips wrapped around one while her hand stroked the other.

His pulse roared as he lifted the box, too fast as a stray photo fluttered to the floor. He snatched it up, then wished he hadn't. Mary, older but unmistakable, straddling a much younger man on a sun lounger her head thrown back in ecstasy. The man's hands gripped her waist so hard his fingers dented her flesh. Nick's vision swam. He'd seen that sun lounger before, it was the same faded teak one currently folded beside Mary's garden shed.

He calmed down when he heard Mary's bedroom door close, and reached back into the box for the photo album. His hands shook as he turned another brittle page, revealing another image: Mary sandwiched between two grinning men barely older than Nick himself. Their hands were everywhere, one gripping her thigh, the other tangled in her hair, while her head tipped back in unmistakable pleasure.

The caption read: "Sophisticated widow, Mary likes them young and hungry, best served in pairs!" The air in the room thickened suddenly, pressing against his skin as if charged with static. His jeans grew uncomfortably tight.

A yellowed clipping slipped from between the page, a newsletter from some naturist club. Circled in red ink was a grainy photo of Mary leading a group of college-aged guys by the hand toward a pool, her bare body gleaming under the text: "Our resident Cougar teaches the new boys how to relax!" Nick's breath hitched. The dates matched his own birth year. Had she been doing this, collecting young men like trophies, since before he was born?

He suddenly heard footsteps on the stairs, he hurriedly hefted the box into the wardrobe. The footsteps reached his room and he jumped into bed quickly turning the light off. The footsteps seemed to hesitate then continued down the corridor and he heard Mary go back into her room.

He lay still listening straining his ears to hear but all was quiet. Slowly he breathed out and closed his eyes. His mind was spinning with the images of Mary shown in the magazines. He pictured her again lying naked on the beach, arching her back as she posed for the photos. Sleep slowly overcame him.

His dreams were filled with visions of Mary. He dreamed of her lying naked on a sun lounger, her skin glistening with sweat, her breasts rising and falling with each breath. He dreamed of her straddling him, her body moving against his, her hands gripping his shoulders as she moaned.

He woke up in a cold sweat, his heart pounding. The sheets were again tangled around his legs, and his body was aching with desire. He lay there for a moment, trying to shake off the dream, but the images of Mary were still burned into his mind. He could still feel her hands on his skin, her breath against his neck.

Friday came with an unexpected gift, a power outage at the office, sending everyone home at noon. The bus ride back felt illicit, sunlight slicing through the windows in a way Nick wasn't accustomed to seeing. He fumbled with his keys at the front door, already composing some joke about capitalist productivity, when he noticed the silence. No murmuring from the kitchen radio, no clatter of dishes, just birdsong and the distant hum of a lawnmower.

His bedroom window was cracked open, letting in the drowsy scent of warm grass. The curtains fluttered as he tossed his tie onto the bed, and that's when he saw her: Mary stretched on the teak sun lounger. He turned away but quickly turned back again, had his eyes deceived him? But no, when he looked again he saw the same thing. Mary was laying on the sun-lounger completely naked, a pair of bikini bottoms laying of the patio beside her.

She was laying on her front facing towards the house with her bare bottom facing away from him. Nick stayed at the window watching, admiring her curvy body, which was colouring up nicely under the rays of the sun. Nick reached for his mobile phone, he knew it was naughty but he couldn't help it as he flicked on the camera and took a number of photos, zooming in for several. He ducked down quickly as he saw movement, had he been spotted?

He gave it a few minutes before he carefully raised himself again and peered out from behind the curtain. Mary had turned over and was sitting up applying sun tan oil to her body. Running he hands over her beautiful full breasts. She had dark sunglasses on, and with the sun-lounger slightly tilted, was generally facing away from him, so he was sure she couldn't see him. He brought up his camera again and took more photos, but this time he also changed it to the video setting and began recording her.

As he watched and recorded she ran her hands down her stomach. She added more oil to her hands and brought her legs up as rubbed the oil into her thigh then worked down to her ankles. She then poured out more oil and began rubbing it into her trimmed pussy. Nick took in a large intake of breath, this was beyond his widest dreams, he zoomed in with the camera again catching her every movement. Was she actually running her fingers over her pussy lips, surely not...............but yes she was!

Nick realised that he was completely hard and couldn't help but undo the zipper on his trousers, dropping them down followed by his boxers, as he began to play with his hard cock. Although small when soft it grew to seven inches when hard and had a good girth. He continued recording Mary, who had now laid back down again, while he played with himself, his breath now quite ragged as he tugged away.

It didn't take long before he groaned and ejaculated into his hand. He reached over to his bedroom drawer and pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the cum off his hand. He dropped the stained cloth on the carpet and pulled up his boxers and trousers. He continued watching Mary now while she was laying back holding a book out reading. After a while she put down the book, and appeared to be falling asleep.

Nick decided to pluck up his courage and left his room and quietly went down the stairs, heading towards the side door. As he reached it his nerves gave way, he started to turn away but then thought better of it, so turned back to the door. Could he dare go out and marvel at Mary's body close up? He decided to give her some warning, so made a bit of noise as he opened the door, coughing loudly as he stepped out and walked around the corner of the house to the back garden.

Mary bolted upright in shock, grabbing a nearby towel and covering herself as she scrambled to sit up properly.

"Good God Nick! You scared the life out of me!" she gasped, her cheeks flushing scarlet, whether from embarrassment or anger, he couldn't tell. Her sunglasses slid down her nose, revealing wide, startled eyes. The scent of coconut oil hung thick in the air, mingling with the tang of freshly cut grass.

Nick froze mid-step, his throat suddenly dry. "S-sorry!" he stammered, eyes flickering despite himself to where the towel gaped slightly at her hip. "I thought, well the office lost power, so I came home early..." His voice trailed off as Mary adjusted her grip on the towel, knuckles whitening. She exhaled sharply through her nose, then, unexpectedly, let out a low, husky laugh.

"Christ alive, boy," she muttered, shaking her head. One hand kept the towel clamped while the other reached for her discarded bikini bottoms, fumbling with them under the terrycloth. "Get me my robe from the patio chair, quickly now." Her tone carried the same crisp authority as when she'd scolded him for forgetting to take the bins out last week.

Nick scrambled to comply, his pulse hammering in his ears as he snatched the silky kimono-style robe. Up close, he caught the faint musk of her sweat beneath the coconut oil, the way her damp skin glowed where sunlight caught the curve of her shoulder. He handed it over without meeting her eyes, noticing how her fingers trembled slightly against his.