Today is Monday, Dear by Daisy Banks

Today is Monday, Dear
by Daisy Banks


Her skin still damp from the shower, Lily stood in the warmth of the early sunlight. She gazed down from the window into the depths of the garden. A tiny breeze wafted the voile curtains towards her, today was going to be another hot one, and a shiver of anticipation ran over her. Small beads of sweat built above her top lip, at the back of her neck, and more joined to make the undersides of her breasts slippery.
"Lil, have you seen my blue cuff links?" David's voice echoed and swirled around her to invade her private paradise. She bit back the retort she longed to give him.
"The last time I saw them was when you went to New York." The modulated calm of her voice astonished her. Deception was sweet indeed. Her eyes continued to watch the gentle sway of the tall poplars that edged the bottom of their property. She glanced down at the rose bushes. Their blooms would intoxicate today, but it being Monday, she wouldn't, couldn't go and sit beside them. A spasm shot through her, not on a Monday.
Her sense of anticipation grew when she turned back to the clock, eight thirty, David would be gone in less than fifteen minutes, and she would be alone. Her finger brushed over her top lip and wiped the dewy perspiration away.
"I've got them, they were in the green suit pocket."
She didn't move a muscle, remained static, when David came in and dropped a swift kiss on her forehead. "I'll see you on Thursday," he said.
"Yes, dear, have a good flight." She didn't even turn to watch him go. At one time, she would have hugged him before he left. They would have kissed with passion, and the promise of more to come, when he returned from his trip. Not now, not ever again, David had seen to that, and thought it quite right and proper at their age.
The front door thudded closed. A few moments later, the car wheels spun with a hiss on the gravel as David drove down to the road. Her gaze remained fixed on the side gate to the garden, and more sweat built up on her body. The moisture trickled down between her breasts.
She caught her breath when at last, the wrought iron gate swung open, and there he was. This Monday's child was fair of face. The sunlight turned his hair to spun gold, gilded the solid sculptured muscles of his naked chest to bronze, and she licked her suddenly dry lips, as he pushed the old, green, hand powered mower into the garden.
He turned to close the gate, and the view of his buttocks where the white shorts molded to rounded flesh, made her swallow hard. A ball of feathers seemed lodged in her throat, so she tried to swallow again. The purr of the mower made her sigh, and the way his arms braced as he pushed, sent trickles of desire seeping down her spine.
David was an ass, insisting the lawn was done the old-fashioned way, but she would be forever grateful for it. Her golden boy would be here for the next two hours, and his muscular beauty would feed her desire for another week. The sheen of the golden hair on his legs shimmered as he walked away down the length of the garden, and she leaned against the window ledge for support. The voile curtains, became an opaque disguise for her warm, naked flesh.
How she longed to stroke over that golden haze on his legs. Run her fingers up along the inside of his broad thigh, and then higher still, to slip inside his shorts, and find the weighty delights he kept tucked away there.
Licking her lips again, she watched him reach the end of the first stripe on the lawn, and he turned towards her now. Only another three more stripes to go, and she would allow the touch of his hands on her in her misty world. His wide hand could span her thigh, strong with thick muscular fingers to tease and pinch, smooth and smack. She loved his hands on her breasts, and another shiver of pure need sent goose bumps down her arms.
The grating whir of the lawn mower made her close her eyes. There was a distinct rhythm to it, like the rhythm of love. No, she was going too fast, he hadn't even finished row two. She forced herself to watch him, and the heat glowed between her thighs. His skin had built up a silky sheen of perspiration, like hers. It was hot. The breeze shifted the voile again, but did nothing to cool her. She inhaled deeply, longing for just a trace of the smell of him.
One Monday last month, she'd paid him in cash, her fingers slippery with sweat on the notes. He'd stood there and smiled, while she'd in drunk the rich musk scent of him deep, more intoxicating than wine, heady enough to make her need to sit down. He must think her a batty old dear, she hadn't even let him say thank you, before she shut the door.
For two weeks solid, she'd thought of the scent of him before she slept. Every time her hands stroked over her body, they were his hands, enhanced with his fabulous scent, which could enslave her.
He turned to begin row three, and her thighs slid moist together. She let her mind linger on how his strong arms would feel when they tightened around her. How she'd be outraged if he dared to kiss her, and when he did, all her fury would melt, as he stroked over her flesh, and told her what he would do to her.
His muscular thighs rocked back with each step, before he moved forward, and the mower hissed smooth over the lawn.
Oh yes, there'd be no getting away from thighs like that, no way to stop them as they parted her own. She'd have no chance to prevent them powering him into her, even if she moaned her fury at him, for burying his thick cock, deep in her.
A whimper left her mouth, as his rhythmic movements continued along the row. The sleek wetness between her thighs increased, became viscous, so her thighs would slide if she walked. But of course, he wouldn't let her walk, he'd make sure she stayed still, her thighs spread wide to allow him to do whatever he liked. His fingers would smooth over her flesh, to probe, tweak and rub, until she pleaded with him to give her release.
Her excitement grew, as he turned and swung into row four, her heart beat swift. When he got to the end of this row, she'd feel his fingers tweak her nipples into hot and rigid peaks. She'd moan and whimper her displeasure to be touched so by him, but he'd do it all the more. He'd force her to enjoy his attentions, and if she tried to turn away, his hand would smack her breast. Gentle at first, but then with increasing strength, his hand would fall. Each breast in turn would redden, until her nipples glowed like hot coral as they throbbed and ached, while she swore she'd let him do as he wished.
She swallowed again as he turned at the end of the row and now those strong fingers began to work on her. They tweaked and rubbed, rolled her hot nipples into the rigid stalks to pull on. Her groan echoed around the room, and she tried to yank away, whimpered as his hand smacked over her nipple. More slaps splattered loud on her skin, and she begged for him to stop.
He strode on, and the sounds stayed the same, the hiss of the mower, and the warm smacks to make her whine.
Only when he was certain she'd offer the breasts to his lips did his hands move on over her body, to stroke smooth down her skin. His palms glided, and used her sensitivity to provoke her need, until he pinched a buttock hard. "Oh," the cry left her lips, as he rubbed hot patches of heat onto her skin, ground his calloused palms over the tender flesh, so it began to heat with the friction. She writhed as he did it, whimpering at what she knew would come next.
The first slap stung like a bee, flushed her with heat, before the next one arrived, hot and hard to leave a roasting imprint. His broad palm, throbbed on her ass. Again and again, the blows fell, until each burning flash merged into a sheet of soft flame, and she pleaded with him, "No more." Her pitiful pleas were disregarded, to leave her with a seat of pure unadulterated heat, only then would his fingers explore to the dripping furnace between her thighs.
He stroked over her seared flesh, which burned only for him. His gaze glowed at her, while he teased gentle and smooth, pulled at her labia, stretched it to long folds and then patted it to plumpness to make it receptive for his touch. Her squirming and moans made no difference, as he rubbed at her clitoris with his work hardened thumb, press and stroke, stroke and press, until the juices dripped from her. The wetness tricked down between her thighs, and he smoothed it over her anus, dipped a finger inside, so she whimpered in shame and delight.
He let her drip on his fingers, let her moisture run until she was desperate for relief, and she pleaded with him now, "Fuck me, give me your cock, please."
When her cries grew to fever pitch, that’s when his strong thighs shoved hers wider apart, and he lay between. The thickness of him, throbbed at her entrance, teased over her sensitised flesh, rubbed over her clit and down to her anus, before settling at the entrance of her hungry pussy again. She tossed her head back, arched her neck as quivers of pleasure rushed over her. The heat of her rear converged with the heat of her pussy to become a pulsating need.
"Ah...." Her sigh of sheer bliss filled the room, when he filled her, powered into her and stretched her flesh wide. The forceful, long hard strokes were for his pleasure, not hers, but pleasured she was, and made low grunts of delight at each powerful entry. She rocked her hips to encourage him deeper, and his strokes became stronger now, so deep inside her, she moaned. Her panted breath took up a steady rhythm and she couldn’t keep from coming. He made her come, forced her to come, and once it happened, she came again, her defences and will power broken by the surge of his virile demanding cock.
She sank to her knees trembling, satiated as her juices ran like water down her thighs. Somehow, she had to thank him. She went into the shower and swilled herself off, dried, and dressed in her loosest, cotton summer kaftan.
From behind the fly mesh on the kitchen door, she called into the heat hazed garden. "Gareth, dear, would you like a cold drink? You must be hot."
He strode across the lawn, and a shiver of fear at his sheer size ran over her. "Thanks, Mrs Aston, you are a luv."
She handed over a tall glass of cool orange, and watched the muscles in his throat as he swallowed deeply to drink it. His golden head tilted right back, and she licked her lips for now she could drink her fill of his male scent.
"Thanks a lot. Oh, is it cash or cheque this week?"
"Cash." Her trembling fingers counted the five pound notes into his wide calloused palm.
"Thanks, Mrs Aston. Anything else I can help you with today?" His blue gaze held hers, and she bit her lip while she called up the shreds of her will power, so it wouldn't happen again.
"Well, today is Monday, dear." Trembles ran over her, as his gaze devoured her, and he smiled wide. Slowly she nodded, taking a step back, when he crossed the threshold. He put the glass on the table, closed the door, and his fingers reached for her nipple.

The End