Sandy's Big Thank You by TheseLegs 5157

Sandy's Big Thank You

Millie Dynamite

A short-short story

Below this line are exactly 750 words

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Grabbing my metal rake and a plastic yard bag, I go to work. Lasting five minutes, maybe ten, before my neighbor's engine dies and his gravelly voice rides the air.

"Give you a hand with those, okay?" Robert sits atop a riding more converted to a leaf-eater. Amused, Rob parks the tractor right up to the chain-link fence and points at the rake.

"You really want to use that? I'll chew through the whole yard in fifteen."

"Deal. Payment in beer."

The neighbor fires up the machine again and bulldozes leaves into neat rows. The leaf-sucking hose looks like something out of a cartoon. Arms crossed under my massive tits, I stand in the middle of the yard and watch.

When he's done, the yard looks better than it has in months. The neighbor shuts off the tractor, stretches his back with a grunt, and glances at my shirt. He thinks he's subtle. He's not.

"Thirsty?"

And Robert follows me to the back porch. Digging two bottles from the mini fridge and handing one over. He sits on the picnic bench. I plant myself on the table, legs dangling. For a minute, we drink.

"You ever miss it?" I ask.

"What, marriage?"

"No. Blow jobs...fucking."

He chokes, coughs, laughs, but I don't let it go.

"Your wife's been gone how long?"

"Two years."

I take another swig at the fence.

"That's a long time. Ever get lonely?"

"I keep busy."

Elbows on thighs, I lean forward, cleavage on full display. Robert tries not to look.

"C'mon," I say, "wanna...try again?"

"I'm old enough to be your grandfather."

Sliding off the table, I plant myself next to him on the bench.

"But you're not. You're the neighbor. You got a tongue, don't you?"

Setting his beer down.

I reach over, slow, and hook his chin with my finger. His beard bristles under my nail. "If I let you touch me, would you?"

He shakes his head, but not as if he means it. "Your husband..."

"My husband's not here. And he doesn't care, we have an arrangement, open marriage."

I take his hand, guide it to my chest. His fingers hover, settle. Warm, dry, careful. I drag the hem of my shirt up and over my bra, shove both out of the way in one bold motion. My nipples harden instantly in the cold air, and his eyes dilate, going wild.

"Go on," I whisper. "Don't be shy."

He cups my breast, reverent and rough at the same time. His thumb finds the nipple, strokes it, and I watch his breathing stutter.

"Goddamn," he says. "Didn't think I'd feel this again."

"But you do." I smile, genuinely now. "Taste it."

Taking him by the hair, I pull his head forward anyway. His lips are soft, tongue cautious at first, greedy. He latches on, he means it, sucking, breathing heavy. I run my hand through his thinning hair, hold him there until he moans.

I'm wet already. The whole scene is so wrong that it circles back to perfect.

"You're serious?" He pulls away, dazed.

Ignoring my knees, I kneel between his legs. Undo his belt, zipper, drag his pants down enough to free him. Exposing his half-hard cock, the skin loose but sensitive. I lick the tip, taste pre-cum.

"Jesus Christ."

Slowly, I take him deeper. Bobbing my head, working my tongue and lips, I'm begging for his cum. A thick vein throbs against my tongue, and the more I blow him, the more the monster grows.

"Doesn't always...y'know...work."

I don't care.

Then, his hands hover, grab my head. Not rough, but needy. For a time, I let him control the pace. Letting him use me, and soon he's fucking my mouth. Yeah, he's forgotten he can't.

Suddenly, he comes with a shout that rattles my skull. And he shoots in thick pulses, and I swallow every drop. I hold him in my mouth until he stops twitching, let him go, wiping my lips on the back of my hand.

When I look up, his face is pure gratitude, guilt, and embarrassment. He can't look at me, tucks himself in, fumbles with his zipper.

"I should go," he says.

"Sure, but next time, maybe you buy the beer. Fuck me, next time."

He laughs. "Deal."

Like a kid who crashed his bike, he leaves, riding the tractor. I sit back on the cold bench, pull my shirt down, and watch the clouds float by, hick and creamy cum in the sky.

Sandy's Big Thank You

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