Lagoona Lane Ch. 01

Author's Note: This note was originally put at the beginning of chapter two, but I felt it was better to put it here, so... Just a warning: this is a very wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am approach to sex, and one which I would never, ever practice in real life. Half the stuff in here I'd never even want to try, but I'm writing it for some reason, so I hope it's good. However, knowing myself, I'm sure some kind of emotional aspect will creep into the plot sooner or later. Probably sooner, as you might guess from this chapter. Anyway, hope you like it. Enjoy.

Edited to add: a few people have been claiming this as a rip-off of the television show Desperate Housewives. All I can say to that is that whilst I may have (read: did) poach the idea of Mrs. Dunn's relationship with Oliver from the show, the rest of the story has been in my mind for months and I just never got around to writing it. I don't expect everyone (or anyone) to believe me, but hopefully the story is good enough to justify your attention anyway. Thanks.

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Chapter One: Meet the Women

Mrs. Stacey Prewett of number three Lagoona Lane was a happy woman. She lived with her husband and two children in the rather wealthy suburb of Pennington, where houses were always clean, lawns always mowed, and maids and gardenersalways employed. It was a pleasant enough place to live. A nice balance had been struck between contemporised urban living and the fresh air and spaciousness of open parkland; there was almost no crime to speak of, and everyone in the neighbourhood was as kind and cheerful as a community could be. There were no bad eggs, no untamed youths and certainly no unhappy marriages. Everyone in Pennington, and on Lagoona Lane, just got along.

Mrs. Prewett is forty-one years old. She moved to Pennington seventeen years earlier at her husband George's prompting. "We're going to need a much bigger house to raise the twins in," he told her. At first she had been reluctant to move, not because she was particularly attached to their previous home, but because all of the houses her husband showed her were far too big. They were mansions. "We'll never use all the space," she told him. "And think of the cleaning!" "We'll get a maid," her husband replied. "We have all this money now, Stace, let's start living the high life." In the end, Stacey smiled and watched her husband sign the deed.

She never regretted it for a moment afterwards. The house was enormous, but then so was the heart of the town and its residents. Pennington was simply a fantastic place to live. Stacey felt as though she had moved into a neighbourhood from an old fashioned television show, where everything was perfect. And it was – just perfect.

The twins were her life. Luke and Lisa thrived in their new home. Both were top students at school, both well-liked by their classmates, and neither of them ever threw so much as a sharp word at each other. They were the perfect children, and Mrs. Prewett was proud of them.

Her husband George was a lawyer. He had entered into a partnership six years ago, and now he co-ran Prewett and Waterman, which was the most prestigious law firm in Pennington, and for several towns over. He was good at his job, and loved it too, and the money he made went a long way towards pleasing his family. At forty-three years old, he was as happily married as a man could ever wish to be.

Mrs. Prewett loved her neighbourhood, and her street especially. Lagoona Lane was full of wonderful people, all brimming with kindness and generosity that never failed to amaze Stacey. Almost all of the houses on the street were occupied by married couples, usually with children. They were wholesome people who demonstrated the old-world values that seemed to be so lacking in today's society. Mrs. Prewett had befriended them at once, and now her group of girlfriends had swelled to an impressive number. She could always be sure that, when she walked outside her house in the morning to check the mailbox, she would see a friendly face. "Hi, Cathy," she would say to number four as she waved vigorously. "Oh, hi, Stacey, how're the kids?" "Good, good. Luke's earned himself another award for his writing. He's going to read one of his essays to the school on Monday." "Oh, you must be so proud." And Mrs. Prewettwas proud.

She spoke with the other women on the block almost every day, to exchange gossip or recipes or sewing tips. They were a colourful bunch, and they almost always had stories to tell. Mrs. Prewett always listened eagerly, even though she herself could never measure up to the interesting tales her neighbours related to her. In fact, she had come to realise over the years that she was perhaps the most normal woman in the street.Shehad certainly never engaged in some of the activities her compatriots told her about. But she enjoyed listening to them all the same. It gave her quite a thrill.

Across the road from Mrs. Prewett, at number four Lagoona Lane, was Cathy Maple, who lived with her husband Ron and her son Joey. She was the same age as Mrs. Prewett, and a rather timid woman; she usually said even less than Mrs. Prewett at the neighbourhood gatherings. She had been living at Lagoona Lane since before the Prewetts moved in, and she had learnt to turn a deaf ear to some of the things the other women spoke about. She had no idea how some of them could engage in such acts when they were considered respectable ladies.

Her husband Ron was a dentist, and seemed happy enough with his job. He often told Cathy about his patients while they ate their dinner, and Cathy was a faithful enough wife to feign an interest in them. "Did he really?" she would ask. Or, "Imagine that." But whilst dentistry failed to hold her interest, so did everything else. She was a simple woman that engaged in her daily routine, usually consisting of household chores, running errands and the occasional spot of daytime television if she could manage it. Her life was quite mundane, but, remarkably, this didn't bother Cathy one bit. She was perfectly happy, and wouldn't exchange her lot for the world.

Just like Mrs. Prewett, Cathy's child was her life. Joey was a wonderful son who never gave his mother any grief; he loved her as much as she loved him. Cathy was careful, however, not to smother him or embarrass him in front of his friends, and as a result, he showed her a good deal of affection. Cathy didn't think any other boys on the block still kissed their mother good night. She loved Joey dearly.

Whilst she never said anything to anyone, Cathy was always slightly disapproving of her neighbour Mrs. Dunn. Gwendolyn Dunn of number six was a beautiful woman; she was half Spanish, and whilst she had none of the accent, she had all of the charm. Her skin was a lovely tanned colour, and her dark brown, almond eyes heated many a collar around town. Her hair was her pride and joy; it fell a little past her shoulders as soft sheets of jet-black silk. As black as it was, however, it always seemed infused with rich browns and warm reds when the sun caught it.

It had come as no surprise – to everyone in the neighbourhood – that Gwendolyn Dunn was an ex-model. She was twenty-eight years old and as ravishing as any supermodel in the industry today. Her figure was the envy of every woman in Pennington, and the dream of every man. But Pennington was a wholesome town, so no one ever made this known.

Mrs. Dunn had no kids, and lived with her husband Antonio, who himself looked like an ex-model. He was the youngest man on the block and a highly-paid executive for a well-known accounting firm by the name of Donovan Kingsley. He specialised in mergers and take-overs, which was again no surprise, as his considerable charm would obviously lend itself well to potential buyers and sellers. There were some women on the block who spoke of Antonio Dunn in the same tone they used when speaking of Cathy Maple's basil puree. And they all agreed that Gwendolyn was a lucky woman.

Gwendolyn, however, would say otherwise. She and Antonio were not happily married. They were happy with certain facets of their marriage, but not all. Antonio had promised Gwendolyn everything she had ever wanted when he'd asked for her hand in marriage. And he'd delivered. He had given her a diamond ring and several pairs of diamond earrings, a large house, a flashy car and a wardrobe that would make Julia Roberts jealous. But it didn't take long for Gwendolyn to realise that she had wanted all the wrong things.

It was a lucky thing, however, that she never wanted a faithful husband. She no longer even bothered asking about the lipstick stains on his shirts or the smell of perfume in the back seat of his car. If Antonio wanted his own play things, so be it. Gwendolyn didn't mind. She and Antonio were more like associates than husband and wife. Gwendolyn would agree to accompany Antonio to all his business dinners and parties, and in return, he would lavish her with gifts. The only time they saw each other, other than at formal gatherings, was in bed at night, where they would sate each other's desire without speaking. It was a good arrangement for Gwendolyn, but she had made it better.

The boy that tended the Dunn's garden was named Oliver. He was only eighteen years old and he was making a fortune – for his age – by working for them. He had no experience in gardening or agriculture, but Gwendolyn had quickly learned how he'd landed the job.

He was a promising student in school, and had begun down the path of a business career, hoping to one day work for a company like Antonio's. Donovan Kingsley was an obvious choice for Oliver when it came time for work experience. He'd secured one of the few spots on offer and learned a great deal in his time there. Perhaps the most important thing he'd learned was the value of keeping one's mouth shut. It seemed that he had walked in on a rather sordid scene in Antonio's office, and, after promising never to breathe a word, had become the Dunn's young gardener. Both Gwendolyn and Antonio had expected the young desk-job hopeful to abandon his job within a week, but he had surprised them both with his commitment and quick learning ability. He had no fear of getting his hands dirty, and he did an excellent job of keeping the garden neat and tidy for the Dunn's, who only cared about the aesthetic value of their plants, and how they appeared to the neighbours.

Oliver wasn't a brawny kid, as Mrs. Dunn had imagined young gardeners would be. He was slim at first, and of an average height, but the constant work in the Dunn's garden had given him a rather decent physique. He would always be slim, but he could never be called weedy.

Gwendolyn hadn't spared a single thought for her young gardener in the beginning. After asking Antonio why there was a strange boy on their property and why he was pruning their bushes, she had come to ignore Oliver's presence, even when he walked right past her. But a loveless marriage did make a woman lonely, and there was something intriguing about the boy's innocence. He looked like the faithful type and was sure to make a girl happy one day. But for now he was a teenager, and Gwendolyn was well aware of how teenage boys functioned. She knew exactly how attractive she was, and there was no way a boy like Oliver could fail to glance at her when she sunbathed by the pool or walked through the house in a sarong. Gwendolyn had caught those glimpses, once they began, and she had delighted in them.

She had begun to wear smaller and smaller outfits during the day, when Antonio was out and Oliver was pruning shrubs outside. She relished seeing the boy sweat and swallow and turn away to hide his obvious erection. At first she had simply enjoyed teasing him, and benefited from the boost to her self-esteem, but before long she was craving those nervous looks and sweaty palms like sex itself. She would watch him watch her and start to sweat, just as he did. And she would whisper to herself the things she wanted to do to him – the way she would make him a man and the way he would make her a girl again. She took long showers during the day and pleasured herself with thoughts of Oliver running rampant in her head. But that wasn't enough for her, so she did something about it.

It was during one of Pennington's prolonged heat waves, when Oliver was pruning a rose bush and wiping sweat from his brow. It was usually Elaine, the maid, who brought him drinks when it was hot, but on this particular day, Gwendolyn told Elaine to take the day off and decided that she would take Oliver his drink instead.

The sun was a white orb in the sky, bathing the Dunn estate in rays of blistering hot light. Gwendolyn began to sweat the moment she stepped outside, and soon her head was swimming with thoughts of what it would feel like to have Oliver's young body sliding slickly against hers. As soon as she saw him she bit her lip and resisted the urge to touch her crotch. She checked her hair and makeup in the window and approached Oliver with the glass of water in hand.

"I thought you might like a drink," she said, smiling softly.

Oliver turned around and smiled back. "Thanks." He took the glass of ice-cold water from Gwendolyn, making momentary contact with her fingertips. He was shorter than she was, and looked so very young beside her. He drained the glass in one go and, after hesitating, handed it back to Gwendolyn.

"You're a thirsty boy," she said, smiling more broadly. Oliver shifted his weight nervously and stared down at the ground. Gwendolyn put the empty glass on the table beside her and took several steps forward, until she was close enough to reach out and touch Oliver's chest. And that's exactly what she did; she drew circles on it with her finger and smiled coyly at the boy. "You know," she said in a rather seductive voice, "Antonio's going to be out all day...and it's so lonely inside the house. Maybe you could come in and keep me company." She whispered the last three words, and felt Oliver's heart jolt nervously inside his chest.

"You– you want me to..." he stammered.

"I'll tell you what I want," said Gwendolyn, stepping closer so that her lips were less than an inch from Oliver's left ear. "I want you to come inside and fuck my brains out."

The effect her words had on Oliver filled Gwendolyn with immense pleasure. She felt his entire body shake against her and heard his breath come in ragged puffs. He wanted it, she knew, but would he take it? To help him along, Gwendolyn unfastened the top three buttons on her blouse so that Oliver could see her black bra beneath. Her chest was slippery with sweat, and when she ran a finger across it, Oliver's eyes closed and his mouth opened. It took Gwendolyn a moment to realise that he was having trouble controlling himself. She also realised that there was no way he'd ever make it upstairs to the bedroom in time, or even over to the wall, so she put her lips near his ear again, gripped him tightly and whispered, "I'm gonna suck it for you."

His response was immediate and non-verbal. He gasped for air over Gwendolyn's shoulder as, for the first time in his life, he came with another person nearby. Gwendolyn made hungry groaning sounds and pushed her body against Oliver's, marvelling at the softness of his skin and the slimness of his arms. He was just a boy, and she wanted him more than she'd wanted anyone before in her life.

After Oliver had finishing coming, which took quite a while, Gwendolyn, determined that the fun not be over so soon, led him inside the house and up to her bedroom, where she taught him that there was more to pleasing your employer than simply pruning her bushes. The young boy leaned more about the human body in five hours than he had in five years of biology class.

Oliver's guilt when he got home that day was immense, but just as teenage boys always do, he bounced back, and soon his personal time with his female employer became a regular thing. Mrs. Dunn was not a stay-at-home woman however, and she could most often be found browsing the boutiques on Carlisle Avenue, purchasing anything that was devoid of a price tag. So it was not every day that Oliver got to satisfy the lovely Mrs. Dunn and quench his urges in the process.

That was seven months ago, and now Oliver, still eighteen, was finding it increasingly hard to complete his gardening duties. Firstly, because whenever Mrs. Dunn was home, she occupied most of his time, and secondly, because whenever Mrs. Dunnwasn't home, she occupied most of his thoughts. Gardening just seemed so mundane in comparison to Mrs. Dunn's silky soft legs, and the way they wrapped around him when he had her pinned beneath him on the bed. It was these thoughts that distracted Oliver, and often left him staring into space with a pair of hedge clippers in his hands.

Mrs. Dunn was not the first beautiful woman Oliver had paid attention to. The truth was, Lagoona Lane was full of them. And it made sense, really: the wealthiest men married the best looking women, and together the couples moved into a street like Lagoona Lane, where they had children, including daughters, who benefited from the same attractive genes as their mothers. So there were always two generations of statuesque beauties living in Lagoona Lane, and boys like Oliver reaped the benefits.

Mrs. Maple at number four had been the subject of his tamer fantasies on occasion. She was a pretty woman, with a nice, motherly face and a generous body. Oliver had no doubts about her morals and her faithfulness to her husband, but he found it hard to respect these things when the thought of Mrs. Maple's ample chest crossed his mind. That was before things with Mrs. Dunn had started though, and now that they had, Oliver had little thought left to spare for other women.

Back before Mrs. Dunn, there was one girl in particular that caught Oliver's attention. She was different to all the other beautiful women on the block, in that she was Oliver's own age and aroused more than just his body. Lisa Prewett was the object of his affection, and he wanted nothing more than to ask her out on a date and tell her how extraordinarily beautiful she was. But he was far too afraid to do that, and so he had never breathed a word of his crush to anyone. Well, apart from Mrs. Dunn.

She had found it amusing that he was so infatuated with young Lisa, and taunted him about it to no end. It was one of the most intense feelings to hear Mrs. Dunn talk about Lisa whilst Oliver was in bed with her. "Do you think she'd let me hold her while you fuck her?" she would ask, with Oliver's rock-hard cock grasped in her hand. "I could make her suck it for you. And if she said no, I could pinch her pretty little pussy until shebegs you to stick it in her mouth." And Oliver would always come like a spring tide.

But Lisa Prewett was not the kind of girl who had her pussy pinched by her thirty-four-year-old, female neighbour. She had never even dated a boy before, and she was one of the sweetest girls you could ever meet. She liked to arrange her blonde hair into pigtails sometimes, and even though they all bit their lips when they thought it, there were men around town who would have killed for a simple touch from Lisa Prewett. But she was a good girl, so those men were out of luck.

On a Tuesday morning at her father's office, George Prewett had picked up his phone to find his secretary on the other end. "Yes, Carol?" he said.

"Luke and Lisa are here, Mr. Prewett," Carol replied.

"Send them right in," said George, and hung up the phone. His children were not at school today, and they had been shopping in town at their mother's behest (who said they should spend some time together), when they decided to stop by their father's office. Their brows were both dampened with sweat and they looked thoroughly exhausted.