The lady

Time dragged, the sun climbed higher, and Linda’s body baked in the glare. Her pale skin, so rarely exposed this long, prickled with heat. Her back began to glow pink, her ass cheeks burned, and even the tender flesh of her thighs felt scorched. Sweat trickled down her breasts and dripping off her nipples.

She whimpered softly. The shame of her position only deepened as her skin grew hotter. Her cunt was still swollen, slick, begging for touch, but now there was the sting of sunburn licking at her exposed curves.

Footsteps.

Linda’s heart lurched. Not the heavy tread of a man. Lighter. Slower. Then a familiar voice, surprised and quivering:

“Linda? Good heavens…”

It was Mrs. Cartwright. The retired organist from church. Seventy if she was a day, widowed, frail-looking, the last person Linda would have expected to stumble across her.

“Please!” Linda gasped, ****. “Don’t just stand there. My bag’s around the corner, sun cream inside. Quickly, before I burn alive.”

There was a long pause. Then a tut, sharp with disapproval. But Mrs. Cartwright went. Linda heard the faint jingle of keys and rummaging, then the careful return of shuffling steps.

The bottle cap clicked.

Linda groaned in relief. “Oh, thank God. You’ll have to do it… please, just rub it in. Everywhere.”

A beat. Then the cold, wet squirt of lotion hit her back.

She hissed at the sudden chill. The old woman’s hands, surprisingly steady, surprisingly firm, began to spread it.

Over Linda’s shoulder blades, down the curve of her spine. The lotion was worked into her soft skin, the fingers pressing, kneading, slipping lower until they coated the swell of her hips. Linda moaned despite herself, pressing harder into the frame, her breasts swinging beneath her.

Another squirt. Lotion smeared across the round globes of her ass, the coolness seeping into overheated flesh. Fingers spread her wide, massaging, gliding down the crevice of her cheeks, slipping dangerously close to the hungry, aching hole of her cunt.

Linda shuddered, toes curling in the grass outside. “Yes… oh, don’t stop… please…”

The hands obeyed in silence, moving lower still. Lotion slicked across the back of her thighs, down the pale inner flesh where the sun hadn’t reached, up again until the fingertips grazed the lips of her pussy.

Linda gasped. Her body jerked against the frame. “Oh Christ—”

The old woman’s touch lingered there. Not quite entering, not quite withdrawing. Just pressing the lotion in, sliding the cream along Linda’s folds, brushing her clit once, twice, enough to make her buck and whimper.

Linda was close. So close. Her breath came ragged, her breasts swinging wildly as she writhed, **** to grind back against those teasing fingers.

And then… the hands were gone.

She heard the cap snap shut. Footsteps retreating.

“No—” Linda cried out, raw, humiliated. Her pussy clenched around nothing, her climax ripped from her reach. She panted into the wood of the door, her skin slick and burning, her body alive with lotion and want.

There was no reply. Only silence, save for the faint rustle of the garden in the breeze.

Linda hung there, abandoned. Skin now cool where the lotion had been rubbed in, cunt throbbing and needy, the ache unbearable.

More than ever, she wanted out. More than ever, she wanted release.