A hot summer day

It was a Saturday afternoon in July. The sun was at its zenith, and the air shimmered with heat. My parents had gone into town to shop, leaving me, twenty-three-year-old Liza, to have the dacha to myself. I put on my most revealing swimsuit—a tiny, sky-blue bikini with ties at the hips. After a moment's thought, I removed my bra, tossing it onto a nearby lounge chair. Sunbathing topless on my own property, surrounded by a high fence and not a soul, seemed like a wonderful and perfectly safe idea. My skin, slicked with coconut oil for tanning, glistened. I closed my eyes, turning my face and chest to the sun. A gentle breeze stirred my hair, pulled back into a loose bun. My thoughts drifted lazily, and I almost dozed off. My body was covered in a light sweat, beads of sweat rolling down between my breasts and onto my stomach. - Lisa, hi! Am I disturbing you? A voice came from somewhere off to the side, from the neighbor's fence. I sat up abruptly, instinctively covering my chest with my hands. My heart sank. It turned out that while my parents were putting up the new picket fence, one section on our side hadn't been completely fitted, leaving a narrow gap. And Oleg, the neighbor on the left, was staring right into that gap. A man of about forty, a handsome dark-haired man with graying temples and a light stubble, who always came home alone on weekends. I'd seen him a couple of times by the well; we'd said hello, and he'd always lingered on me in a peculiar way. “Oh...” I blushed, trying to cover myself with one hand and reach my bodice with the other. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," his voice held no smirk or vulgarity, more a hint of embarrassment mixed with admiration. "I was just walking back from the gate and saw... I saw the most incredible sight. You're like a nymph in this garden. It took my breath away." His words were simple, but they sounded so sincere that my embarrassment receded a little, giving way to a strange, exciting feeling. “I thought no one was there,” I muttered, still pink with embarrassment, but I didn’t put the bra on anymore, just clutching it in my fist. "Well, here I am. And I think I'm incredibly lucky. Listen, it's a sin to just sit around in this heat. I've got a couple of bottles of excellent unfiltered ginger beer chilling in the cellar. Won't you join me? I promise to be a gentleman. In this heat, and in the quiet of the house..." The invitation was unexpected and frank. I paused. My parents wouldn't be back until evening. After all, I was a grown-up girl. Curiosity and the lingering excitement of being caught off guard and having this grown, attractive man look at me like that got the better of me. “Okay,” I answered quietly. “Just give me a minute, I’ll throw something on.” "No need," he said, leaning his hands on the fence. "Just take a towel. There's no one on my property, and the gate is right behind the currant bushes. It's open for you." I obeyed some inner impulse. I threw a light tunic over my shoulders, which concealed absolutely nothing, put on my slippers, and, grabbing my pareo, slipped out my gate. Oleg was already waiting for me on his porch. The old wooden house was surrounded by greenery. It was cool inside and smelled of dried herbs. He led me to the summer veranda, where a wicker sofa with soft cushions stood. There were indeed frosted bottles and two tall glasses on the table. I sat down, tucking my legs under me, my tunic slipping slightly, revealing my shoulder. We drank a glass each. The beer was sharp, cold, with a pleasant bitterness. He sat across from me in light linen trousers and an unbuttoned shirt, his eyes never leaving mine. Conversation faltered, words were unnecessary. The air between us grew thick and sticky. Having finished his drink, he stood up, walked over to me, and extended his hand. "Come here, my dear. I've been thinking about nothing but you all day," he said quietly. I placed my hand in his warm one. He helped me stand and pulled me close. His kiss was gentle and tentative at first, then deeper and more demanding. My tunic slipped off my shoulders, he scooped me up in his arms, and carried me into the cool, curtained bedroom. The semi-darkness hid us, leaving only sensations. Oleg lowered me onto the wide bed, made with fresh linens. He took his time, kneeling next to me. His fingers slowly untied the side ties of my swimming trunks, freeing me. I was left in just these tiny bikinis and beads of sweat on my body. He began kissing my feet, my calves, my inner thighs, moving higher and higher. "You were like a dream back there by the pool," he whispered, his breath hot on my stomach. "I want to taste you." I moaned, running my fingers through his coarse hair. His tongue slid over my clit, his lips gently enveloping it, sucking. I arched, feeling everything below me contract sweetly. Two of his fingers slid inside my pussy, and he began to caress me from the inside, rhythmically and deeply. The orgasm hit me quickly, a deafening, warm wave rolling through my body, causing me to cry out. He drank in my wetness, relishing my reaction, not stopping until I released. With a trembling hand, I pulled him up, wanting to feel his weight on me. The robe fell open, and I saw his penis. Large, with a wide, swollen head. I reached for it with my lips, moistened it with my tongue, circled it, and took it into my mouth. His slightly salty taste drove me crazy. I pleasured him, helping myself with my hand, trying to give him the same pleasure he gave me. He was breathing heavily, his fingers tightening in my hair. At some point, he gently pulled away, whispering, "I don't want it so fast." He laid me on my back and, spreading my thighs wide, entered. Slowly, centimeter by centimeter, filling me to the brim. I wrapped my legs around him, whispering something incoherent. He moved smoothly at first, letting me get used to his impressive size, and then faster and faster, bringing me closer to a new peak with each thrust. These weren't just frictions; it was a dance in which we moved as one. The orgasm wracked me with renewed vigor, and I dug my nails into his back, squeezing his cock inside me. Feeling my spasms, he groaned and, pulling out of me, after a few strokes of his hand, ejaculated onto my stomach. A thick, hot stream of semen splashed onto my tanned skin. He collapsed next to me, breathing heavily, and pulled me close. We lay in silence for a few minutes, catching our breath. The silence of the country house, and only the distant cuckoo's call. He took a damp cloth from the nightstand and gently and carefully wiped my stomach. Then he poured us each another sip of cold beer from the bottle. “Incredible,” he said, stroking my back. “This day is perfect.” I kissed his shoulder. A feeling of complete, lazy satisfaction spread through my body. I began to fall asleep to the rhythmic beating of his heart, feeling enveloped in the languor and warmth of this summer day.