TITLE    : Treed
STORYID  : treed-1
SUMMARY  : A neighbor's nudism proves to be inspirational.
AUTHOR   : Cal Y. Pygia@lit
DATE     : 2009-08-14
CATEGORY : exhibitionist-voyeur
FLAGS    : 
TAGS     : |voyeur|showoff|nudist|nudism|exhibitionist|caught|female exhibitionist|neighbor|wife|


The last thing Johnny needed, at age seven, was a tree house, my wife told me, in no uncertain terms. I admit I agree with her, but I didn't tell Jenny that. No way. I had a use for the tree house, even if my son didn't.



The tree in which I'd construct it, a big oak, with a glorious, spreading crown, stood in our backyard, near the eight-foot-tall wooden fence that separates our lot from our neighbor's. Tammy Butler (the neighbor) is a dyed-in-the-wool nudist--that is, she is if the town scuttlebutt is true (which may or may not be the case, on any given topic, Tammy's alleged penchant for nudism included).



Under the pretense of studying the treetop for the best site at which to construct Johnny's tree house, I climbed the oak on a suitably warm, slightly breezy day, when I judged Tammy might be catching a few rays in the altogether, and, damn if she wasn't laid out on a beach towel in her backyard, bronze all over and getting darker, her back, butt, thighs, and calves shimmering with suntan lotion. Tammy's a young thing, no older than twenty, and she had an ass that made me hard, right away.



I'd figured I might have to wait half the morning before I saw Tammy, naked or otherwise, if I saw her at all, but, bingo!, no sooner had I shimmied up that oak, there she lay, all golden-brown, without a stitch of clothing on, not even a thong bikini. If I'd been this lucky this quickly, I might be lucky enough to see her turn over before Jenny, missing me, came looking for me. If she spotted me up this tree, the "discussion" about whether our son was old enough to have a tree house, even if he wanted one, would resume, right after my wife told me to get down out of this oak, in a tone that suggested I was seven years old myself--or may as well be.



My luck held, though, and Tammy turned over, shielding her eyes from the sun with her forearm, exposing her beautiful breasts. They were smallish, firm, but soft at the same time, high, and round, like apples, just the way I like them. I also got an eyeful of the concave depression of her belly, the slope of her hairless pubic mound, the tiny cleft of her sex, and her smooth, shapely legs. She was just as beautiful from the front as she was from the back. She was definitely a nudist, too. In this regard, the town scuttlebutt had it right. However, it didn't necessarily follow that she was an exhibitionist as well. 



She might be, though. After all, a good many townspeople had seen her naked--or claimed to have, and not always in her own backyard. Rumor had it that Tammy had been seen walking a path through the woods with no more on than she was wearing right now, which was nothing, and some claimed she'd been caught wandering naked through the meadow back of Colby's Furniture Store and warned by Deputy Winslow not to let it happen again. She'd been seen naked several times since, though, despite Winslow's warning, even once by the Scott twins, but she was never arrested or even cited, as far as anyone knows. It seems our local law enforcement officers like to see a little T &amp; A every now and then, the same as any other true-blue, red-blooded, all-American man does. 



"Jim Hall!"



Uh, oh! Jenny had missed me. Worse, she'd come looking for me, and she'd found me.



"You come down out of that tree!"



Thanks, Jen, I thought. Your honeyed voice, screaming at me like a banshee, was all I'd needed. I had no doubt that my sunbathing neighbor had heard my wife's screeching voice. The whole damn neighborhood--maybe the whole damned state--had heard her.



Yep, sure enough, Tammy sat up, looked around, surveyed the treetops, and spotted me. I know, because she waved at me, smiling.



I damned near fell out of the fork of the tree.



"Come down here, this minute!" Jen ordered, and Tammy, still smiling, blew me a kiss!



I guess I had my answer as to whether Tammy was both a nudist and an exhibitionist.



That evening, after supper had been eaten, the dishes had been done, and Johnny had been bundled off to bed, Jenny and I had another "discussion" about whether our son was old enough to have a tree house, even if he wanted one, and it left us standing where we'd been before we'd begun, with Jen opposed and me "undecided."



That night, I slept on the couch.



*



The next morning, which was a Saturday, I was off from work, and, while Jen was at the beautician's, I drove over to a lumberyard, filled the bed of my pickup truck with building materials, returned home, and commenced building Johnny's tree house. By the time she came home--she always saw a movie, had lunch, and went shopping on Saturday--I had half the tree house built.



That night, and for the next week, I slept on the couch again.



*



I'd probably still be sleeping on the couch, but I promised Jen that Johnny would never step foot inside the tree house before he was twelve years old. I'd never intended anything else, I swore to her. I'd built the tree house--or what I had built of it--just so our son would have something to look forward to. Five years from now, on his twelfth birthday, I'd give him the keys to the padlocks on the trapdoors that admitted visitors to the landing off of which rose the rungs of the ladder I'd nailed to the oak to provide access to the tree house, and to the tree house itself, which was another fifteen feet beyond the walled-in landing. My solemn vow not to let Johnny into the tree house before then took the edge off her anger, and she allowed me back into our bed.



That night, I fucked her hard and fast, thinking of Tammy, naked on her backyard lawn, smiling and waving up at me as I sat in the fork of the old oak tree that overlooked her property. Jen's heart didn't seem much involved in our "lovemaking," though; she was as just as mechanical and dutiful as she'd been for the past few years of our marriage.



*



Johnny couldn't go inside the tree house, but I could. I had to, in fact, if it was ever going to be completed, and I did, every day, but I took my time finishing it. Every day, Tammy was there, on her beach towel, sunning herself, naked, smiling, and waving at me.



The third day, she didn't wave. Instead, she motioned for me to join her, and, I must say, I was tempted. She might be more than just a showoff, I thought. She might be a nymphomaniac, too. If so, I could sure go for a piece of her--but, no! I shouldn't think that way, I chastised myself. I was a married man, a happily married man, with a seven-year-old son. It was all right to look, maybe, since Tammy was only to happy to put on her daily show, but anything more than looking--well, that was something altogether different.



*



The tree house took shape nicely, if slowly. Between every small task, I "rested," ogling the bathing beauty next door. I'd all but memorized her tits, twat, and ass. I knew the size of her nipples, both in their normal and their erect states; the dimension, complexion, texture, shape, heft, and jiggle-and-sway capacity of her breasts and which of the twin angels was larger than the other--the left was ever-so-slightly smaller than its neighbor on the right; the flare of her hips; the pink-red watermelon-flesh of the tissues within the folds of her succulent labia; the delicate pink-white bud of her clitoris, within its hood of flesh; the wonderful fullness of her sleek, firm-soft, dimpled buttocks; the marble-smooth columns of her thighs and tapering calves; the daintiness of her hands and feet; the loveliness of her flaxen hair, her sky-blue eyes, her apple cheeks, and her soft, full, sensuous lips.



Impossible, you say, that I could have noticed such features from the distance of a tree house overlooking her backyard, no matter how close the oak in which it was built--or was being built--to the wall that divided our respective properties? I saw all these features and more; I saw the beauty mark above her right breast; the thin, short scar on her left thigh, perhaps from a slip of her razor while she was shaving her legs; the chip in the sculpted nail of her left forefinger. I saw all these elegant and beautiful sights because I had purchased a pair of binoculars, of which Jen knew nothing, which I stored in the tree house, using them to "spy" on Tammy during my frequent breaks.



Surely, my neighbor saw the binoculars held up, against my eyes, but they didn't dismay her. She continued to smile and wave. She has perfectly even, white teeth, and the interior of her mouth is as lovely a watermelon-flesh-red as is the heart of her cunt.



She smiles and she waves and she motions for me to join her.



At the end of the day, I set the binoculars in their case, descend the ladder through the trapdoor in the floor of the tree house and the trapdoor in the walled-in platform below, climb down the ladder from the landing to the ground, pause to lock the padlock on the lower trapdoor, and return to the garage with my tools, my cock as hard as the hammer that juts from the rear pocket of my overalls. I putter around in the garage for a while, returning my tools to their places on the pegboard mounted upon the rear wall and allowing my penis time to decompress, so to speak, and return to its normal, flaccid state, before going inside the house.



"When will you be finished with that damned tree house?" Jenny asks me.



"Soon," I lie.



*



I purchased a video camera. State of the art. Came with a tripod. I carried the equipment up the ladders to the tree house and mounted the camera on the tripod, pointing it through the casement I'd installed in the wall that faces Tammy's backyard. After visually ensuring that the lens was set to zoom and focused upon our neighborhood nudist, I set the camera on automatic. For two hours, as I worked on the tree house, taking breaks to study Tammy through my binoculars, the camera videotaped on lying on her back, her left side, her tummy, her right side, sitting, stretching, and exercising.



I let the camera run as long as I dared, capturing her perfect tits, the tiny groove of her pussy, and her splendid ass, because, I'd decided, I'd seen enough of Tammy--in the flesh, at least. After today, I'd declare the tree house finished, and I wouldn't be back again. My neighbor has a fine body and a beautiful face, but ogling her had become too risky. I was starting to want to do more than merely watch--a lot more--and the temptation was becoming greater than I could endure much longer. As I said, I'm happily married, with a lovely wife of my own, and a son whom I love. Jen may not be perfect--who is?--but she's more than I deserve, even if sex between us isn't what it was on our wedding night. I don't want to risk what I already have.



Afterward, I left the camera equipment in place, instead of bringing it down and putting it away in the garage, as I'd intended. It was late, and I was tired. I could just as well bring the tripod-mounted camera down from the tree house tomorrow, I told myself.



In retrospect, I realize that my reasoning was nothing more than a thinly disguised rationalization, a lie I'd told myself as an excuse to come back to the tree house, one last time, for one last look of my lovely naked neighbor, in all her fleshly glory. Lying to myself was an indication as to just how dangerously far gone my obsession with Tammy had become.



Jenny was waiting for me in the kitchen, and she didn't look happy. "When is that damned tree house going to be finished?" she demanded. Her look was like that of Medusa's; I'm lucky it didn't turn me into stone.



"It's finished," I told her.



She sighed, her shoulders slumping, and smiled, looking just as lovely as Tammy, even if she was in her pajamas, slippers, and a robe, instead of naked, and said, "Thank God!"



"All but the finishing touches," I added.



That night, I slept on the couch again.



*



The next day, when I arrived at the tree house, my heart skipped a beat, and I swallowed the panic rising in my chest and throat. My eyes widened at the sight of the padlock, tossed aside on the lawn and the trapdoor left open in the floor of the walled-in landing above me. My hand shot to the pocket of my overalls, where I'd tucked the keys to the padlocks the night before. Neither of them was there! Frantically, I checked all the other pockets, with no better success. The keys were gone. Of course, they were missing, I told myself. Jenny had taken the damned things from my pocket last night, while I slept, and she'd used one of them to open the padlock to the lower trapdoor before tossing the lock onto the lawn.



I scrambled up the ladder to the second trapdoor. The one in the floor of the tree house above the walled-in platform was also open, its padlock on the landing below.



Awaiting my arrival, Jenny was seated in the armchair I'd hoisted into place weeks ago, before I'd installed the fourth wall.



She nodded toward the camera on the tripod, still pointed through the window, at Tammy's backyard. "Care to explain that?" Her tone was icy cold. My marriage, I feared, was over.



"I'd say it's pretty much self-explanatory," I said.



"Well, I wouldn't! Jim! How could you?"



Haltingly, I explained, as much to myself, I think, as to Jenny. The spark had gone out of our lovemaking. When we bothered to have sex at all, which was rarely, it was entirely mechanical and lackluster, as if we were just going through the motions. I loved Jen, with all my heart, I told her, which was the truth, but I needed more than a mannequin in bed with me when I made love; I needed the Jen I'd married, sensuous, vibrant, intense, passionate, intimate, arousing, and lustful; the Jen who not dutifully, but joyously, sucked my cock; the Jen who'd as soon take my prick up her ass as her cunt; the Jen who wasn't afraid to play the strumpet, the virgin, the college cheerleader, or a score of other roles.



I expected to sleep on the couch forever. I thought that, despite our son Johnny, she might sue my ass for a divorce.



Instead, she surprised me.



"Is she out there now, do you think?" "She" was Tammy, of course.



I nodded. "She's out there all the time, it seems, every day."



"Can she see us?"



"Not unless we go to the window."



Jenny smiled. She pulled her tee shirt off, over her head. She wasn't wearing a bra, and her boobs bounced and jiggled, looking lovelier by far than my nudist neighbor's apple-size breasts. I'd almost forgotten how narrow my wife's waist is and how flat--even concave--her tummy is. Although a few years older than Tammy, Jenny was in every bit as good a shape. She kicked off her sandals and stood, careful not to expose herself through the window, unbuckled her belt, unsnapped her waistband, and unzipped her zipper, lowering her tight jeans down her smooth, firm thighs, over her dimpled knees, and past her tapering calves. She stepped out of the heaped denim, completely and stunningly naked.



She smiled at the huge bulge in the crotch of my overalls as she knelt before me. Her hand clutched my balls, giving them a teasing squeeze. She pressed her face to my groin, rolling her lips back and forth across the thick outline of my erection. Looking up at me, she winked. "Didn't you say you wanted your Jen back, Jimmy? The Jen who'd as soon take your prick up her ass as her cunt; the Jen who wasn't afraid to play the strumpet? Well, here I am; I'm back. I want you to fuck me, here and now, hard and fast, in my ass."



She turned, positioning herself upon her elbows and knees, with her firm, round ass high in the air and her legs spread wide. Between the inward-curving slopes of her buttocks, I could see the tiny, puckered anus I had once plowed as regularly as I'd fucked her cunt, but hadn't even seen in months, until now. It was as tempting and enticing a target as ever, and as I studied the opening to my wife's bowels, my cock swelled further, my balls aching inside the tightening pouch of my scrotum.



I undressed, as quickly as possible, cursing my heavy boots, my cumbersome overalls, my plaid shirt, even my briefs. Finally naked, I knelt on the floor of the tree house, between Jenny's legs, and, taking my erection in hand, guided my massive organ between the moist labia of my wife's warm, wet pussy. I slammed my meat into the soft, liquid center of her sex, feeling the mucous fluids of her twat wash and caress the shaft of my plunging prick. Her cunt felt as wonderful as the first time I'd ever fucked her, which was on the night that we'd graduated from high school, just after her eighteenth birthday; Johnny was a gift of our first union.



After a few more rocking, rhythmic thrusts into her twat, I pulled out, aiming my cunt-slick cock into the deep cleavage of Jenny's widespread ass cheeks. Wet with her pussy, my prick slid up the cleavage of her buttocks, rather than through her anus and into her rectum, as I'd intended. Taking my wayward penis in hand, I guided it into the tiny opening between my wife's ass cheeks, pressing firmly and resolutely forward with my hips when my glans met the stout resistance of Jen's anal sphincter. Her asshole spread, opening to admit me, and my member forced its way through the portal, inch after rock-hard inch of my erection vanishing inside my wife's bottom. I continued, slowly and deliberately, to drive my prick forward, watching it slide past the slopes of her buttocks and through her anus, until I'd buried the entire length of my thick, rigid nine inches inside her ass.



Jen moaned, shifting her weight and crouching lower. She'd learned how to accommodate my massive member. Her asshole was utterly relaxed now, offering no resistance whatsoever. She was passive, open, submissive, just the way I liked her. "Having a man's cock up your ass changes your whole outlook," she'd told me once. I suppose having my prick up her butt now had worked the same magic, because the indifferent, angry, shrewish wife that Jen, more and more, had become lately was gone, and an acquiescent, but passionate, minx had taken her place.



I let my cock stay still inside her, feeling the occasional spasms of her impaled anus. I loved the feel of her asshole, circling my cock, firmly and snugly. It was comforting, the clutch of her anal sphincter. I wanted Jen to get the full feel of being occupied, too, the complete sensation of being crammed with cock.



She gave an impatient wag of her tail. "Fuck me, Jimmy!"



I smiled. All right, honey, I thought. If it's an ass fucking you want, it's an ass fucking you shall have!



I pulled back my hips, letting my cock slide, slowly, slowly, back, through her asshole, meaning to keep only the tip of my prick inside her anus, to prop open her sphincter, but the glans popped out as well, showing the gaping, round opening that her tiny aperture had become. Looking into Jen's cored asshole, I could see an inch or more into the pink tunnel of her bowels before the deeper interior was lost to darkness. I pointed my prick at its target, and my cock easily slipped back into Jenny's bottom, without the slightest resistance.



I started slowly, with long, leisurely strokes of my cock into Jen's bottom, enjoying the sight of its slow advance into her depths. Inch by inch, my rigid column of flesh entered her, vanishing within the ring of her widespread anus. My pubes ground hard against my wife's backside, flattening the full cheeks of her ass. She grunted. All the way in, I just as slowly retreated, easing my hips back as I drew my thick, hard organ, inch by inch, from her impaled bottom.



Jen was breathing fast and hard, and I imagined the lust that I had kindled inside her, both by my weeks-long voyeurism, the flood of sensations the nerve-endings in and around her asshole were suffering, and her own fantasies, whatever they might be. She moaned again, at some sensation she was feeling in her anus, along her intestinal tract or, possibly, in her clit or cunt, and I drove my cock back through her skewered anus, deep into her rectum, my balls slapping her perineum. Faster and more forcefully, I drove my cock into her ass, relentlessly assaulting her bottom. Her ass cheeks flattened and bounced back to renewed fullness with each plunging stroke, her breasts jiggling and bouncing. I rocked her frame before my merciless assault, ramming my prick through her anal aperture with a savagery that I possessed nowhere else but when I was fucking or butt-fucking my wife, pummeling her sexually as if she were but a common whore or a shameless slut.

<hr pg="2" />Jenny's body lurched forward every time I thrust into her and rocked backward again each time I retreated. She gasped and moaned, whimpered and groaned, as the intensity of my assault mounted, and I drove my cock frantically back and forth within her gaping anus. Harder and harder, faster and faster, I fucked her, all my attention, energy, and will focused solely upon the objective of ravishing the piece of ass I occupied. I love Jenny, but there was neither love nor affection in the sexual pummeling to which I was now subjecting her. She wasn't my wife; she was an anus and a rectum, just soulless meat, our sex a matter, for me, at least, at the moment, of nothing more than hormones and instinct.



Shuddering from the impacts of my staccato thrusts into her ass, Jen groaned repeatedly, the sounds of her pleasure--if pleasure these sounds signified; they might as easily have been expressions of pain or fear or all of these sensations and emotions--further igniting my lust and keeping me stiff. I slammed my cock into her, ramming it home, wrenched it within an inch of freedom, and buried it again in the captivity of her bowels. Her cheeks flattened and rebounded; my balls slammed and slapped her perineum and her labia; her thighs ran with the juices of her cunt; her anus clung to the shaft of my cock, riding my member as I rode my wife.



Her fanny bounced before me, like her breasts, and I continued to jab and stab, lunge and plunge, ram and slam her bare, smooth, beautiful butt cheeks, thrusting my hard penis again and again through the smooth ring of her anus, past the open and accommodating sphincter, and deep into my wife's bowels. Were my will the decisive factor, I'd be fucking her ass still, but, though the spirit may be willing, the flesh is weak, and I was becoming exhausted from my relentless onslaught upon my wife's backside. I was sweating profusely, and my panting lungs seemed on fire. My heart was pounding like a jackhammer, and my pulse raced. My limbs had begun to tremble, and I felt faint. I knew I couldn't go on much longer, no matter how much I longed to remain deep in my wife's well-reamed ass.



Nevertheless, I persisted, willing my hips to thrust, my cock to slide and glide, my balls to slap, until, at last, from the very depths of my being, I felt the intense, overwhelming flood of delirious passion that signaled the onset of orgasm, and wave after wave of delight flooded my loins. I slammed my cock home, a final time, and let the torrent of my ecstasy pour forth, in quick, thick spurts of semen. Withdrawing as I ejaculated, I watched the white streamers unfurl upon Jenny's back and buttocks and thighs, gobs of my semen splattering her wide, gaping asshole, her perineum, and her labia. My sperm began to course slowly down her butt cheeks and thighs, along the cleavage between her buttocks, and a stream, flushed from her ravished asshole, trickled down over her perineum, bringing a lustrous gleam to the sopping-wet labia of her liquid cunt.



I collapsed atop my wife, the love of my life, my cock dwindling in the valley of her buttocks, the remnants of my seed seeping from it as it shrank and softened. My heart beat hard and fast between her shoulder blades, and her cheek and hair were soft and damp against my face. My breath was hot against the nape of her neck, she told me later. I was exhausted, but happily so, joyfully so, blissfully so, and I lay upon Jen for a long time, recovering my strength. My sperm, like her cunt juices and our sweat, was sticky between us, sealing our bodies with our vital fluids.



When I'd regained enough energy to roll off her, Jenny sat up on the floor of our son's tree house. She smiled at me, all the anger and indifference that had been killing our marriage gone, replaced by the glow of radiant love. "Do you think she's there, now?"



I nodded. "She's always there."



Jenny stood. She approached the window, naked, with my sperm trailing from her buttocks and my seed, shining like lustrous pearls, on her back, her ass, and her thighs.



"She's there, all right," Jenny reported. "Oh! She sees me! She's smiling--and waving. Now, she's gesturing to me to join her." Jenny smiled and waved back at our neighbor. "She's quite beautiful. I can see what you see in her."



"Saw in her," I corrected my wife. "She's attractive, no doubt about it, but not half as much as you." I rose, stood behind Jenny, and, cupping her breasts in my hands, kissed her neck. Her nipples were hard between my fingers. I pressed my sperm-slick crotch against her firm-soft ass. "I love you, Jen."



"Enough to get rid of that videotape and stop coming up here?"



"Yes, that much and more. Far more. In fact, if you want, I'll tear down this tree house today."



"No. Johnny will want it, when he's old enough."



Not bothering to dress, but carrying our clothes with us, we descended, locking the trapdoors behind us.



"You keep the keys," I suggested, turning them over to Jen.



She accepted them, with excellent grace, and the matter of our nudist neighbor was forgotten. To this day, though, I'm thankful that Tammy's exhibitionism inspired Jenny to reclaim the passionate nature she'd set aside a few years after the birth of our son.



My wife led the way, back to our house, upstairs, and to the bedroom, where we stayed the rest of the day, making wild, passionate love.



I watched Jen's beautiful ass sashay back and forth, enticingly, every step of the way. 

