I had of course known the property was in an affluent area simply from the address, but as I steered my van through the wrought-iron gates and caught my first glimpse of the mansion beyond the trees that bordered the driveway, I almost gasped aloud.

It was huge, more like a palace than any house I had ever seen! I drove slowly, the tyres crunching over the red stone chippings, as I tried to decide what seven or indeed eight figure sum would be required to buy a property of this magnitude. The owner, Mr. Farquhar, had been extremely brief on the telephone, stating simply that the wooden fence surrounding his wife's beloved vegetable garden had been - what he believed - irreparably damaged in the recent storms and required replacing.

He had made no inquiry as to the cost of the job, merely wondered whether I could begin the following day. This was something I had admittedly found strange at the time, but I was now beginning to suspect that my meagre fee would amount only to a figure he would feel insulted to discuss. I stopped the van by the front entrance and sat there for a moment, looking around me at the immaculate rose-beds, the lush green lawn that would have put "Lords" to shame and, of course, the facade of the house itself.

Despite being of fairly modern construction, an impressive portico surrounded and extended from the metal-studded wooden front door, not something I had seen very often, but it did not seem in any way out of place and actually enhanced the general appeal of the property rather nicely. The windows were all curtained in bright colours and beneath a great many of them hung window-boxes full of blooms. Crazily, in this respect it reminded me for a moment of the Alpine residences I had seen on holiday in Austria a couple of years previously.

I got out of the van and hesitantly made my way to the door. Mr. Farquhar had told me his wife would be home all day and would show me the damage and attend to anything else I should need. I wondered now if there were not perhaps a whole host of servants involved in the running of such a place, and if not, why not. I reached the door and quickly saw a large brass button I presumed to be the bell.

I pressed it and immediately heard distant and musical chimes. I waited at least a minute, then two, reasoning that were Mrs. Farquhar on another floor or perhaps at the back of the house, it could take her that length of time simply to get to the door. After what I figured was at least a couple of minutes, though, and still nothing had happened, I pressed the bell again - no luck.

It was beginning to appear as though there had been some sort of mix-up and no-one was at home. I thought for a minute, then decided to take a walk around the side and see if I could perhaps find a gardener, or anyone else who could help me. I proceeded slowly, feeling uncomfortably as though I were trespassing, following a narrow paved path around the east wing of the house.

Eventually, I came within sight of a large terrace and could see a pair of patio-doors, opened wide to the pleasant sunny morning. I took this as a sign that someone were at least at home and increased my pace with renewed confidence, but as I drew closer to the doors, I heard a curious sound and actually stopped dead in my tracks for a moment. It was a low, moaning sound, as though of someone in pain, I thought at first. As I listened, however, straining my ears and trying to block out the annoying and extremely inconvenient birdsong in the trees off to my right, I changed my mind.

The previously wordless moans were taking on a more distinct quality now and I clearly heard a lady's voice muttering, "Yes...

yes!" over and over again. Surely I must be mistaken in what I was now thinking? I crept ever closer to the doors, holding my breath and taking care where and on what I stepped until I could tentatively peek into the room beyond. I had not been mistaken. I saw her straight away, sitting on a simple wooden dining-chair, side on to where I stood.

She had slid down low in the chair, her legs spread wide, her head thrust back and her eyes closed. The long, multi-coloured silk robe she was wearing was opened wide and I had a clear view of her left hand massaging what were her magnificent breasts as her right hand frantically worked a large black dildo between her legs, in and out of her softness.

Before her was a computer-table and although I could not make out what was displayed on the monitor-screen, I could now distinguish that some of the passionate moans and groans were emanating from that source. I was at a complete loss as to what I should do.

For a few moments, I could do nothing but watch the incredible spectacle before me, but I quickly became anxious as to what would happen were the lady suddenly however unlikely in her present state to become aware of my presence. These had to be powerful people, living in such a place as this, and the sudden, disturbing image of me being led off in handcuffs as a Peeping Tom suddenly sprang to mind.

It was then that I remembered I had the telephone number of the house in my paperwork, back in the van. All I had to do was call the number from my mobile phone and advise whoever answered that I had arrived. More than a little reluctantly, I must admit, I made my way back to the van and did just that. I had to let it ring twenty-seven times I counted before a somewhat abrupt female voice answered and I could explain who and where I was.

She promised to meet me at the door and promptly hung up.

I waited nervously at the door for a lot longer than I reckoned it should have taken for someone to attend to me, but eventually it was opened by the very same lady I had so recently observed in quite different circumstances. She was still wearing the robe but it was now tightly belted around her and she stood almost regally before me, clearly waiting for me to introduce myself. I hadn't realised when seeing her in her previous pose just how beautiful she was. A mane of long, thick, dark hair surrounded her high cheek-boned and expertly made-up face, her thick and luscious lips slightly curved in what was perhaps a slightly condescending smile. Her arms were folded beneath what I had already known were her impressive breasts.

I judged her to be in her late forties to early fifties, but she looked great for it in my humble young opinion, whatever age she may be. "Eh...

I'm John Thomas, " I almost stammered, seeing her smile widen involuntarily at the mention of my name, as was so often the case with people I had just met. "Mr. Farquhar asked me to call about the garden fence?" She stared me up and down, appraisingly, still smiling. "Yes, Mr. Thomas, of course.

I've been expecting you. I'm Mrs.

Farquhar. Please, do come in." Her voice was as smooth as the silk of her robe, sultry, incredibly erotic.

As I stepped into what was a grand entrance-hall, complete with chandelier, and caught a whiff of her delicate perfume, I became uncomfortably aware of a familiar stirring in my loins. "You'll have to excuse me, I'm afraid, " she said as she closed the door.

"I'm a little behind myself this morning and haven't quite managed to find the time to get dressed yet. Why don't I fix us a pot of tea, then I can get dressed and show you what has happened to my poor vegetable garden?" "Ah...that will be fine, " I said, suddenly becoming all too aware and more than a little self-conscious of my dirty denim work-clothes and how they clashed with and seemed so inappropriate for the plush surroundings in which I now found myself. It was what I imagined the inside of a movie star's house to look like. Framed pictures hung on the walls, huge and imposing the carpet could almost have been organic it felt so lush and thick under my feet even the lamps spaced throughout on the small tables appeared virtually priceless. "Good." She smiled at me again, perhaps in a slightly more friendly way this time. "We'll have it in the drawing-room, I think. It's such a lovely morning and it captures the sun so beautifully at this time of day. Come this way.

" She proceeded to lead me through the house, taking a route I could never follow again in a million years, as my attention was wholly captured the entire time by the hypnotic swaying of her hips as she moved. Dare I think it were deliberate? My length certainly did, as I felt it now straining in earnest against the front of my jeans. Eventually, I found myself in the same room I had so recently gazed into from a very different vantage point.

I immediately noticed that the monitor-screen at least was now turned off and the dildo was nowhere in evidence. I wondered fleetingly what Mrs. Farquhar would say, how she would react, were I suddenly to blurt out my earlier observations? "Please, have a seat, " she told me, directing me to a large settee, before which sat a low, wooden coffee-table. "I shan't be a moment." She left me then, presumably to make the tea she had promised, and again I watched the mesmerising sway of her hips as she did so.

I sat there all the time she was gone, not daring to get up and explore, almost for fear of being caught doing something I shouldn't be doing. I wondered what had become of the dildo, which cushion it had hurriedly been thrust behind, and actually moved the two nearest to me, just in case but without success.

She returned with a large silver serving-tray and what in my humble opinion was a bone-china tea set. She sat close to me, though not too close, and smiled as she poured - though not deprecatingly - at my awkward request for "milk and four" in response to what had been her natural question. It felt strange drinking from the small cup, attempting to balance it on a saucer, as opposed to my normal, chipped stone mug, but the tea itself was very good and I couldn't have asked for more appealing company. Mrs.

Farquhar sat well back in the settee, expertly balancing the cup and saucer in her left hand, and as she casually crossed her right leg over her left, revealed to me a tantalising glimpse of creamy thigh.

This didn't appear to bother her in the slightest, however, and she flicked the robe closed again without flinching. "So, it is your own business you operate, Mr. Thomas, " she mused, "fixing fences and the likes. You seem very young to be participating in your own enterprise." "I'm twenty-four, " I said, stupidly, almost defensively, and took a large swallow from my cup to cover my immediate embarrassment in the presence of this incredibly refined, mature lady. Her smile widened. "Oh, please don't be offended - I didn't mean to sound derogatory in any way. Quite the opposite, in fact.

You must be very good at what you do to make it pay." I didn't know quite how to respond to that one, merely gave an awkward half-shrug, and drained my cup of the remainder of its contents.

I reached forward to set it down on the table before me but as I did so, she reached out to take it from me and our hands touched. Fortunately, the cup and saucer were scant inches from the surface of the table as this happened, otherwise I am not convinced I wouldn't have dropped them.

As I released the saucer, she however did not release my hand, instead gently running her delicate fingers over it, exploring, as she sat her own cup down beside mine. "I love the feel of a workman's hands, " she purred. "So rough and strong and masculine. Not like my husband's. He has soft, womanlike hands, with short, stubby fingers, like chippolatas." She laughed, gaily, at her own analogy. I knew now beyond all doubt that I had interrupted Mrs. Farquhar at a critical point in her activities and before the satisfaction of her release. She abandoned all pretence then, as she pulled my hand and consequently the rest of me towards her, slipping it inside her robe and onto the delicious warm smoothness of her breasts. She leaned towards me and our lips met as I felt the heat of the fire within her and I too grew in confidence.

I undid the belt in her robe and slipped it from her shoulders as she tugged off my jacket and t-shirt, moving quickly down to strip me of my jeans and shorts. "My, that is what I call an impressive length!" she marvelled, breathlessly, as she took it in her hand and slowly and lovingly stroked it, teased it deliciously with her painted nails, bringing me to full and intensely throbbing erection. I couldn't believe this was happening, that this incredibly beautiful woman - the likes of whom I had so often and so intensely fantasised - was focusing her attentions upon me, but as I felt the first touch of her moist, warm lips on my swollen glans, I knew this was no imaginary occurrence.

I couldn't believe the suction power this lady was capable of, and although I know I am no super-endowed potential porn star, I marvelled at the manner in which she took my entire shaft deep into her mouth and throat as she at the same time kneaded my heavy balls. I, meanwhile, was playing with her tits with one hand and had succeeded in stretching the other to finger her soaking, neatly trimmed softness.

"Oh, my God, I'm going to cum!" I gasped, after what I decided was a shamefully short period of time, warning her of my impending release but instead of withdrawing my length from her mouth, she seemed instead to suck all the harder, drawing it in somehow deeper yet, making strange, gurgling noises as her body thrashed and her softness oozed ever faster flowing juices onto my fingers. I don't ever before remember cumming so hard or so powerfully! This lady was doing something incredible to me that no-one had ever done before, and I was certainly no virgin. I couldn't believe the sensations that shuddered through me as I shot my load into her greedy and willing mouth. Only when she was sure she had drained every last drop from me did she reluctantly release my now flaccid length and sit up. She toyed her lips and smiled at me. "Now it's your turn, " she told me, softly, and leaned back into the cushions in one corner of the settee, throwing her legs wide apart and leaving me in no doubt as to what she meant. I was more than happy to oblige, as I consider softness very much one of my favourite foods! I humbly, reverently, lowered my head between her parted thighs, first of all breathing in deep the scent of her, admiring her crinkly outer labia, glistening with her juices, before tentatively touching her with my tongue for the first time, hearing her moan her appreciation as I set diligently about my wholly unexpected, designated task. I have no idea for how long I ate her, tongued her swollen personal placeoris, toyed both her delicious outer and inner lips, probing at times deep with hunger and at other times simply teasing her with a feather-like touch and hot breath. Incredibly, she must have orgasmed three, maybe four times in all, grinding herself into my face as she noisily did so, clutching alternately at the back of my head and her own breasts and engorged nipples. Eventually, she took me gently but insistently by the ears and tilted my head that I could meet her flushed gaze. "Play me now, " she gasped. "I want to feel your hard prick in my cunt!" It seemed strange to hear this previously so well spoken lady using such language but I certainly wasn't about to comment or criticise. I had by now fully recovered from my earlier spending and my length was again ready to go to work. I climbed up her body, a little clumsily, but soon I lay atop her, my hardness ready and willing at the door to her hot, wet portal. I prepared to ease myself gently inside, but Mrs. Farquhar was having none of that. She grabbed my hips and pulled my forcefully all the way into her, embedding me in two seconds flat, right to the hilt. Her legs wrapped themselves tightly around me, as though trying to crush the life - or at least the life-seed - right out of me and she pulled me into a rough but delightful, tongue-probing kiss as I began to establish a slow, starting rhythm. "Oh, yes, play me hard!" she almost screamed through a break in our kiss, loud enough to have me worried about the proximity of her neighbours! "Give it to me, John Thomas! Harder! Give it to me like you mean it! Ride me, boy - ride me! Play me like I've never been played before!" Her words perhaps serving as encouragement, I couldn't believe the power I seemed to be achieving with each thrust into her. This was definitely shaping up as the best day I had ever known at work - I only hoped I would later be up to performing what had been the scheduled task. As she climaxed this time, she screamed fit to wake the dead and almost threw me from her, such were her pelvic gyrations.

I desperately tried to silence her with a kiss, my earlier imaginings of being led from the premises in handcuffs returning with a vengeance.

She would not be denied though, and I had to settle for letting her orgasm run its course. Slowly, she stilled to some extent, me still embedded fully within her.

I had soft placeumed that such a release would mean her urges were at least for the moment satisfied, but I could not have been more wrong. Taking my head again in her hands, she looked deep into my eyes, her face covered with perspiration, and panted, "Now my arse, John Thomas. I want to feel your prick in my arse. Play me there - now!" Even as she finished speaking, she released me from her clutches and quickly turned over on the settee, raising her beautiful, curved rear towards me.

I was still ramrod hard and she wasted no time in reaching behind her to grab my length, slick with the juices of her softness, and place it at her puckered little delicate location. "Come on, boy.

Get it in me!" I needed no second urging, and taking hold of her hips, I gently at first eased my eager thingy into her welcoming warmth. I didn't tell her as much, but I had no previous experience of anal sex, and I couldn't believe how tight she was there! I was afraid at first that I would do her some damage but her moans did not appear to be ones of pain and she almost appeared to be sucking my length deeper into her as I felt the initial resistance subside. I moved one hand round to finger her softness, feeling one of her own hands already there, as I slowly at first rode her that way, our rhythm gently building, until eventually I could contain myself no longer and shot another hot load deep within her, almost collapsing on top of her in the process.

We lay there in a clumsy mess for a few moments, both struggling to catch our breath, before gently disentangling ourselves and moving apart.

I couldn't believe what had just happened, how shattered yet satisfied I felt. She sat herself in my lap, both of us still naked, and kissed me, tenderly this time. "Why, John Thomas, " she breathed into my face, her tones suddenly lady-like once again, "what a wonderful worker you are! I shall certainly have to recommend your services to my friends!" Quite what she meant by that, I wasn't sure, but exhausted or not, the prospect of similar such "jobs" being offered me by this lady's circle of acquaintances still appealed very much! "You know, " she went on, her fingers gently teasing the hairs on my chest, "my husband reckoned it may be a two-day job for one man.

What do you think?" I knew of course that she referred to the fencing, but without even having viewed the task next at hand, I delighted her by confidently predicting, "At least a week, Mrs. Farquhar. At least a week!"