She was giving her husband everthing.
He likes to think so. He is being very, very careful indeed not to let his hands stray down off the upper surface of her back, anywhere near the sides of her breasts which are squashed under her.
"Ooh, could you just do a bit lower down, Ben dear? Thank you."
He works his way down to the small of her back, towards the waistband of her bikini briefs, to the start of the swell of her neat, round buttocks. He is utterly determined, quite against the odds, not to get an erection. To distract himself, he looks up. The house is on the outside of a curve in the road, and what with that and the high fences on both sides, the patio is not visible from the neighbours' upstairs windows. No wonder she finds it so easy to take her clothes off out here. At the back, the tall bushes do not quite block the view from the nearest house, which is a way off anyway, but he knocked on that door earlier and there is nobody in.
"Mmm, thank you my dear, that was lovely." She is calling a halt, thank God. And he didn't get a hard-on. Round one to Lucy.
"I'll, er, start on those bushes now, if that's OK." Hurriedly, he resumes his work.
For a while he has his back to her as he deals with the thick vegetation at the far end of the garden. He turns to pick up a pair of secateurs from his toolbox and sees that Jacqui is sitting upright on the edge of the sun lounger, slowly and lovingly massaging sun lotion into her big, full, naked breasts. He can't look. He can't look away. He is wearing sunglasses so can probably just get away with a glance. She's spraying the stuff onto them, lifting them in her hands, squeezing them, rubbing them. Little finishing touches to the nipples with her fingertips. Fuck. She is looking straight at him, with her boobs in her hands, and smiling sweetly. Oh dear God. He grabs the secateurs and turns to busy himself with the plants. His heart is racing. And there is no escaping the fact that there is now the beginning of an erection in his shorts.
He finishes the plants at the furthest end of the garden. Now he has to work his way back up to the house. And he is very thirsty, with the start of a headache. He really needs some water. Water which, of course, he left in the coolbox next to Jacqui's sun lounger. Why the fuck did he not bring it with him? Deep breath, Ben. Just do your work and keep yourself hydrated. She's just put lotion all over her tits herself, she can't possibly ask you to do that. Get some water or you'll make yourself ill.
He strides purposefully to the patio and heads for the coolbox. She's lying on her back, breasts fully exposed. Was her hand at her crotch for a split second before she saw him approaching? Surely not. He stands next to her lounger to pick up the water. Should he say something? He looks down at her. She has folded her arms across her torso, so that her breasts are lifted and pushed together. Her nipples are visibly hard. He looks away hurriedly. She says, very softly, "It's OK, Ben. Don't worry. It's all right to look."
"Er ... no ... I mean ... sorry ... Mrs ... Jacqui ..."
Again, very softly: "I'm telling you, Ben, it's OK if you want to look at my breasts. It's normal, natural. I know you've got Lucy, and she's a gorgeous, sexy girl. I'm not suggesting otherwise. But I know I've got a nice body too, and I know a young man like you can't help but want to look at me. So, take your time, drink your water, and look at my breasts if you want to."
It would seem rude to carry on looking away. So he doesn't stop himself from looking down at her. She carries on talking, in any case, so he can tell himself he's looking at her face and not at the glorious bare bosom a few inches below it. And that she is looking at his face, and not at his flat, toned stomach and the fine line of dark hair that leads from his navel down into the waistband of his shorts, where a bulge is clearly forming.
"Maybe it's a nice contrast for you, Ben.