A brief encounter with a calmer Mrs. Hope...

Tom pulled the family station wagon into his driveway and fumbled with the remote to open the automatic garage door. He almost dropped it again when he looked out the passenger window towards Ms. Hope’s house.

She was outside on her front lawn gardening--actually fucking gardening–but that wasn’t what had him distracted. All he could see of her from this angle was her fit tanned legs, standing long and straight with feet spread apart as she leaned over from her generous hips like an aerobic instructor to pull weeds.

Her glorious ass was squeezed into the tiniest pair of denim cutoffs Tom had ever seen, not entirely covering her golden tanned ass cheeks and they jiggled slightly with each vegetative intruder she removed from her flower beds.

His cock was as hard as an iron bar when she stood up and turned to face him. But even as he made to lock himself in the car she called out to him.

“Don’t look so surprised, Tom. I’ve always enjoyed keeping my gardens, don’t you remember?”

Tom’s hand froze on the car's central-locking mechanism. She wasn’t bearing down on him, in fact she wasn’t even approaching him. She just knelt down at another garden bed and began smoothing the soil about some freshly planted seedlings.

She gave him a gentle understanding smile when he didn’t reply and dusted her hands off against each other.

“I know you probably think of me as some kind of over-sexed monster now, Tom.” She sighed with a look of legitimate regret. “I only have myself to blame for that, I suppose. What you need to understand is that under all of this…” She gestured to her expansive stacked self with a delicate hand, “Is still your old friend and neighbor Pamela. The same old woman you helped mow her lawn and clean her garage.”

Tom trembled, his knuckles white where they gripped the steering wheel. She looked like a curvy fae queen with the sunlight catching chestnut highlights in her glossy mass of silky hair.

“I’m still me, Tom. I still care for you like I always did.” She said stooping to pick up a watering can. Her enormous tits almost spilled free of her tiny denim bikini top as she did so. “Please think kindly to a silly old lady who is still coming to grips with her condition. It’s not my fault I’m sick but I am sorry for my poor behavior nether-the-less.”

This was a stark contrast from her previous manic behavior and brought back safer memories of the old Mrs. Hope cheerfully chatting to his mother over the fence about her prize-winning tulips. He was almost dumbfounded by the sight of this infinitely lusty, bodaciously bouncy and utterly desirable creature acting so much like her old self whom she barely resembled in any other way.

She even began humming that same old tune she used to call her “Flower song” with that sweet self-deprecating laugh as she watered her seedlings.

The sight of her a tiny set of daisy-dukes and matching denim bikini top that was struggling to contain her overflowing cleavage–her flawless golden skin glowing with the sheen of sweat and lightly flecked with dirt here and there–bending over her garden in a manner that gave him a clear shot of her cleavage was verging on blood-boiling.

Tom waited for her to say more. He wasn’t taking her bait and waited for her hook. It never came, Pamela Hope just turned her back, giving him an unbridled view of her delicious rump as she bent over again to arrange her garden to her liking.

Even the simplest, most mundane actions that infernal succubus of a woman performed just screamed of raw sex!

Tom **** himself to tear his eyes off her stupendously voluptuous figure and drive the car into the garage, securely sealing it closed behind him. He realized he even felt a little guilty. She was sick, just like she said and it wasn’t her fault but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t do all he could to protect himself and his own.

Mrs. Hope watched him go and let out a short shuddering breath. It had taken every ounce of her will to maintain self control and not pounce on him. It was probably the hardest thing she had ever done and she was going to have to do it again if she was ever going to make her freshly formed scheme yield results…