Inspired by a newspaper article about an old lady spotted in delicato in her own garden.
I heard an anguished yelp alongside a footpath. The wooded area surrounding the ancient but seemingly occupied old house was pretty dense, so I couldn’t see anything immediately. Initially not knowing the area, I had been surprised to see a brand new white, Smart car up against a building through some once ornate closed gates. I had carried on following the way marked signs indicating my log distance hike and now was very furtively peeping through a gap, a branch had broken, in the privet overgrown hedge that must have been planted as a curtain. Again there was a little cry and a sob, then a dog barked and I heard words as if to shush it. I carried on aiming to stroll on the public footpath where judging by what I was wading through, no one had come by here in recent years. Stout briers, nettles and ferns obstructed me and I made a mental note to report it to the county council responsible in this part of Sussex.
There was a hardly trodden walkway alongside the well wooded garden and through another gap, I could see a small brown dog wagging its tail, although its head was away from me in the undergrowth. As I peered in, the dog yelped, tail still in motion and I heard a weak voice telling it to be quiet, followed by a moan which seemed to be expressing pleasure. I neared another gap, the dog saw or heard my breaking twigs and turned, checking my approach alternately with burying its head back in the bushes.
Then it turned and ran towards me in a friendly fashion, then dashed back and again returned to me. Was it doing a Lassie on me? I decided to investigate as a further squeak emanated from the soft bushes it seemed to be focusing on. I pushed through the shrubs, there was a small patch of once mown lawn, then I pulled some branches aside and was stunned with what I saw. A little old lady was nearly spreadeagled amongst the ferns, her specs half on, her beeny hat askew showing stray lank grey hairs poking out at various angles. Her high necked, lace edged blouse was buttoned but torn, and her floral cotton skirt was wrapped tightly round one leg, but stretched across her hips, exposing a bare bony leg up to her knee, the lower part encased in a dark brown pop sock. On her feet were sensible, but incongruous brown brogues.
On top of her was a large shaggy white dog with brown ears and rump. It wasn’t a breed known to me. It was furiously rutting at her in full mating mode. I gasped loudly and she grimaced weakly as I leaned further, fascinated by what was clearly a bestial act. I’d read about such things but never seen it, until now. I just stood there gobsmacked until she spat words at me. “Get out of here you scruffy imposter. Don’t tell anyone. This is private property. You haven’t seen this.” Her canine lover was going at her like a jack hammer. I was amazed and stepped back, noting her posh accent and chosen vocabulary. “Are you sure it’s OK love, I mean ... I can get him off...” “No you can not and do not call me love, I am not your love, get away from here. I wish Yelstin was here, he would see you off smartly,” she snarled, the venom from her pinched mouth extremely disquieting. “Shall I go and get Yeltsin then, where is he?” I ventured, thinking of a partner, a gardener, someone in the dilapidate building. “Stupid man,” she spat, her head nodding not in agreement, but with the massive dog’s now frantic action. “He’s in doggy heaven, somewhere you’ll never get to - even the human version? Go away.”
Shit! This was some nasty old bitch with a weird idea for dogs names. I looked scruffy I suppose, although the hiking boots, shorts, back pack and tee-shirt I wore were quality gear. She looked sort of helpless, but in her eyes there was an element of pain but satisfied pain. Then the rampant thrusting ceased, the little brown dog constantly sniffing around her bare, scratched rump and the big hound lay on her, panting, his long pink tongue lolling, as if smiling.
“Look - go away please. This is private property, you are trespassing and this is private...” she was interrupted by the big hound swinging it’s legs and suddenly they were rump to rump and I realised they were tied. The old lady stayed put not attempting to pull away, with good reason, I’d read about. It could damage both her and her dog – I assumed it was hers. The little brown dog fussed around her, licking her face and actually trying to mount her arms, which was comical, but I felt it was wise not to grin. actually standing. I decided to leave, it was private after all and she seemed to be in control, however weird and taboo her actions seemed. I turned and started to walk away, through the shrubs, across the small section of untended lawn and into the laurel hedge. I fiddled my way through, cursing myself in not taking off my back pack which was managing to snag everything I passed.
Only ten or twelve strides on my intended route, round a corner, her voice rang out and on looking ahead rather than behind, there she was on the public footpath, her arms on her sides as if challenging me. I glanced around thinking I’d maybe strayed from the path. “No this is the way young man,” she told me firmly. “You’re not trespassing any more – again,” the last word spat with more venom. “I want to have a word with you, this way.” With that, her fingers crooked in the come gesture, she turned through a high wrought iron gate, telling me to follow her and close the gate behind me. I did. There was some power and authority in her commandment. Both dogs barked at me, the brown one darting round my legs, but the huge shaggy, yet handsome hound, just watched me and then fell in behind me after I managed to persuade the creaky gate into place
Following her lead, she walked upright almost graceful, carrying herself erect and proud, not withstanding her unkempt appearance and clothing, she approached the enormous pile of dwelling. I dwarfed her being well over six feet and solidly built, while she was tiny, maybe five feet and scrawny. “What the fu... ?” I gasped, swiftly stifling my on the road foul language, as we entered a gigantic kitchen. Her specs and beeny hat were put on top of an oven. There were brass pots and utensils hung round the walls, many cupboards, packets of foodstuffs laid about. Several large antique chairs were around a massive refectory table, garments on or in them and several items of outdoor clothing were hung on pegs beside another door opposite to where we’d entered. She went through this; I followed as did the dogs through a vast hall, with two sets of stairs leading off each side to an atrium landing.
In a richly appointed room, which was extremely messy and untidy, she twirled and faced me, her brogues nearly catching the edge of an Oriental patterned rug. “Drink?” “I I.I ... I.I.I I I?pardon,” I stammered. “Would you like a drink?” she almost said each word as if spelling it. “Come on man?” she ordered, walking to an ornate Chinese looking cabinet opening it and from the array of exotic bottles and decanters, she poured herself a stiff measure of whisky and downed it in one, then started pouring another, twisting to half face me, gesturing with her glass. The small brown terrier, sniffed at her legs and licked her knee, but she brutally kicked it away. Her canine partner lay in the bay window basking in the late afternoon sun.”I told you to get off me Posy, now get out of my sight,” she snarled down on the little dog, raising her puny gnarled old hand. It slunk away. The offer was repeated so I accepted what she was having. Damn! It was prime malt and good. She didn’t seem to realise that the side of her skirt was ripped to waist level and I could see the full length of her leg, the wrinkled pop sock and part of some white - well, off white baggy looking knickers as we stood facing each other in the large room, eyeing each other up.
“Must admit to being slightly alarmed and surprised with your attitude,” I ventured. “Alarmed ... surprised?” she barked. “Pull yourself together man. Why?” “Look madam. I stumbled on you in the garden...” “Peeping, bloody trespassing,” she interrupted. “Yes well OK, shouldn’t have I know, but I heard the dogs and I thought I heard a lady in distress, so I...” “You bloody barged in when I was just enjoying myself with Claudio here not her, stupid little dog,” she told me, with a dismissive glare at the terrier. “You got no manners? Anyway, distress there was none. Do I look in distress or damaged?” “But ... no madam ... it’s not the usual thing...” “The usual thing you see, yes? Spit it out, and don’t call me madam. It’s Caroline to you. Actually Line to friends and family, but I can hardly call you that – pah!”
Her fight, assurance and defiance in this building was something else, but was also odd having been found in such a taboo situation, she had no sense of covering it and denying my presence. Posy sidled up to me and whined, looking up imploring some sort of comfort having been nearly booted out of the room. I bent and stroked it’s cute face, but she stepped forward, brushed past me and ordered it out. It left and she firmly slammed the heavy door. “Bloody thing, my brother’s pet, fancy having a dog that small. He is away and I’m looking after it,” she told me. “She gets on well with Claudio – luckily.” The big dog raised it’s head sleepily.
“Excuse me ... er Mad ... er Caroline. Why are you telling me all this? There is no need and I’m just a hiker passing by, within my...” “Your rights, that it? Your right? What do you think my rights on my own property are? Rights.” “Yes, rights,” I declared positively, needing to assert myself before going on my way. “I am totally mystified why you spoke so harshly, then invited me in for this...” “OK OK,” she interjected, gracefully sitting and perching on the edge of a huge couch, gesturing that I sat on another couch opposite, which I did. She unbuttoned a lot of her blouse exposing her chest bones. Again she made no attempt to cover her scrawny, muddy knees, sitting with her legs apart, so much so that I could see the gusset of her knickers which weren’t close fitting. My sister used to own a dress shop in Guildford High Street, which specialised in Laura Ashley designs and I think I recognised her floral cotton skirt. The dark brown pop socks were totally out of place.”You are the first person – outside my family, in all my life to have seen me in ... you know, that position.” She waved her arms airily towards the garden. “I suppose it is unusual and I imagine out of order in some peoples minds, but it is perfectly normal to me and has been for many years. “B b b bbutt?” “Just listen please. You were so kind, not offended and didn’t threaten me with reporting and looked decent. Daddy, god rest his soul introduced Guy, my brother, Hannah my younger sister who is currently serving with our forces in Iraq and me to loving our animals and I mean loving. Of course you can imagine his warnings also about total secrecy and discretion, so to be found – like you found Claudio and I was a mega trauma and something I had to deal with.”
The dog didn’t raise his head this time, so much had he been mentioned. He slowly rose and wandered to her, wagging his tail and licking her bare legs. I was stunned how she confided so freely in me and also by her hound’s indelicate display of his cock broaching the furry surrounds of his big wobbly sheath by two inches – bright red, pointed and dripping. “Not now darling,” Caroline murmured, pushing his snout from where it had encroached into her white thighs. I found I was mesmerised by her white wiry leg appearing full length without any hint of her covering them. I thought I should speak to take my mind off her blatant disregard for her clothing and what it exposed. I could now see beyond the loose edge of her underwear to more flesh. “What species, I mean breed is he. Claudio?” “Spinone,” she said proudly. “Not many ‘round,” she added fondling his huge – now I noticed – wiry furred Roan ears. “Naughty boy too, aren’t you darling. Put it away,” Line giggled, glancing at his cock. “Italian hunting dog, still used a lot out there.”
Stupidly, I couldn’t avoid another tell tale glance up her skirt. Instinctively I tensed my cock, which had been at full length and a solid, hard, nine inches after I sat and got the unexpected views. I was disturbed, but excited – I do like older women. My mind tried to think of the last time I had had a shag and realised I couldn’t remember. The serial wanking I did while overnighting in hostels or hotel/pubs, could never substitute a good proper fuck, but today I had surmised that I wasn’t going to get many chances apart from what I found in Amberley, the next village on my hiking the South Downs Way. Line grinned knowingly while I shifted my position on the couch and adjusting my shorts which were tight round my crotch. Come on Dave, pull yourself together, a shag’s not going to happen. Keep talking or fuck off, you’ve got twenty up and down miles to do yet. “So is this your place?” I asked finishing my drink, looking round the room seeing several portraits of distinguished men and women on the walls, some in uniform and lots of medals. “Yah bloody pile -’nother?” Line answered standing and going to the drinks cabinet. I offered my glass which was returned full. “Daddy left it to us, frightful upkeep, but we manage. Only me here, too bloody big of course, but it suits. Like it? Come on put that down and I’ll show you around, c’mon Claudio.”
She sauntered off back into the hall where a yapping and excited terrier nearly got another boot out of the way. But it was allowed to follow us. To steps up, a telephone warbled and she came down past me and picked up an old fashioned hand set on a side table, which also housed a faded and drooping bunch of flowers. “Air helleair,” she replied. “Yah, yah, that’s raaht. Excellenty, supaaah, smashing yah ... yah. Byesie bye.” Her frightfully posh, strangulated vowel speech resonated round the spacious two storey hall as we completed our route up – more portraits, some landscapes, now and then some group family paintings. I stopped at one which was sort of tucked away, close to a Greek urn on a plinth. It was a military portrait of a woman and I thought I saw a suggestion of likeness to my escort. “Yah, it’s me.” she chuckled. “Dreadful thing but Daddy had it done, like his in the drawing room and Guy and Deborah insist it stays there. I put it sort of out of sight.”
I stooped close up to read the title on a small inbuilt plaque on the frame. It read Lieutenant-Colonel Caroline Smearson-Brackenbury Harding. I stood and gazed at her in awe, pointing at the oil painting and her. She pulled a resigned face, nodded and moved on, clearly closing the subject. At the top, she paused aagainst a full height window. The view was spectacular. Overgrown shrubs, scruffy large spacious lawns, specimen trees and spreading acres distanced to a paddock area, with post and rail fences. “The two donkeys in the far one are Debs and the thoroughbred Bay mare is Guy’s,” Line declared, with some distaste. “That’s their thing sad to say and they pay to get some chap to look after them.” As she turned away, I asked her waving my hand round the immediate grounds. “Who does the garden and grounds?” “That chap does some, but mainly round the paddock. The gardener died and I haven’t got round to replacing him, interested?” I shook my head. She showed me three enormous bedrooms all with en-suites which were all spick and span, telling me a cleaner came in once a month. We went up more stairs and Line showed me her room. There were two more doors but we didn’t go there. It was fairly obvious, judging by the mess. Claudio busied himself, his genitals back to decency, sniffing various pieces of clothing scattered around, while the terrier lay down. “Cleaner forbidden up here,” she cackled while completely nonplussed, unbuttoning her blouse fully and flicking it to the floor. There was no brassiere and as she fussed with the catch on the skirt which was caught half way round her side, I homed in on her silly little paps. No more than bee stings as my mother called my sisters tits, but ancient bee stings, miles apart across her chest, sagging a good way towards her tiny waist and topped with tiny dark brown nut like nipples with hardly any visible areolae. She glanced at me and of course my expression of surprise and interest. “Can you help me with this bloody thing or are you going to resume your stupid peeping?” she challenged me, almost back to her fiery garden bestial attitude. She fiddled with her stuck skirt clasp. Line turned and took a step to me. I licked my dry embarrassed lips, being within inches of a topless old woman. Was it a hint, an offer? There was a strange look on her weather beaten face, tiny wrinkles round her lips coming and going. She started to twist allowing me to grasp the skirt top but my hands clumsily brushed one of her teats, her very very erect teat. She giggled and muttered “silly clumsy boy.”
A red mist flooded my brain and I clasped both tiny tits, and bent to cover her grinning tempting mouth and we kissed. Claudio stood behind her gazing at us with his lovely brown mournful eyes, wagging his tail. Line’s breath was surprisingly sweet and her tongue searched mine as if she was in her first flush of youth. This was no hint, it was a barefaced – bare titted – offer.
I tried to manhandle her sinewy body towards the bed while she groped at my belt and unhooked my shorts, which dropped to the floor. I stepped out of them, my brown walking boots and socks matching her pop socks and brogue clad feet. We collapsed onto her unmade bed, one tiny start of a gasp escaped her as finally her skirt clasp gave way and pricked her flesh. It wasn’t tender and caring foreplay, it was rough as we tore at each other’s remaining clothing. Finally naked, I was surprised at her old fashioned bloomers, realising they were baggy and loose enough to enable them to be pushed aside for Claudio to penetrate her. I think what surprised me more was the very unusual sight these days of hirsute arm pits.
As I positioned myself preparing to shag the old gal in missionary style, she said something. “Now you sure about this. Do you really want to make love to a woman old enough to be your granny?” “Couldn’t care less Line, you’re lovely,” I snickered, locating her minge with my knob end. “I’m sixty seven you know ... urgh!” she gasped as I drove in, momentarily silencing her. She was fucking wet already or was that Claudio’s jism I was mixing with? “So what Lady Caroline. You and I are a willing beings and locked together now. I want you.” “That is so lovely and caring for you to say ... urgghhhhhh ... ttthhat.” Her hands pummelled me, I think in ecstatic pleasure as I shagged her with high energy, her age didn’t come into it. My cock certainly went into her grasping and surprisingly juicy old twat. I levered up and stared at her flabby empty white tits, which wobbled down her sides, the teats although large, were also droopy and what I had first seen as wrinkled, pale areolae on her flat sad tits, had enlarged. I pulled them firmly and she winced, but no sound came from this strange, educated, upper-crust but undignified, bestiality expert.