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It’s all part of the job. But just don't go typing to my wife that I am rubbing your neck as you chat.”She smiled and said "Okay, I am good at keeping secrets."I stood behind her, rubbing her neck, softly, and then a little harder. Liz let out an occasional sigh. My cock was at a bursting point as she moved her hair to the side to give me better access to her shoulders. It also gave me a better line of sight down her top. I started to get a bit bolder. First, I ran my hands over her shoulders, and very slightly down her front, just below her neck, to see if I would get a reaction.She didn't stop me, but she had did stop typing, and put her head back, resting against my chest, as I slowly moved my hands lower. Just light circles, but then lower, to the tops of her tits, rubbing a bit harder, her breathing became deeper, and heavier, as I very slowly pushed my hands inside her top, and then back out. Liz didn’t protest so I figured it was all or nothing. I pushed my hands back down,. She would pay me, as I was currently her favourite, with cash sometimes or free stuff from the shop. Dad would get his tobacco from her, other stuff and sit and chat outside in the sun.It was one of those days. The Warburtons big bread van was due in and she was out back sorting some empty plastic pallets to go back, while I watched the business. That morning, there had been Jennifer Laurence with her baby buggy in for some stamps, Minnie Drover posting something abroad and George Mooney who brought his mother in for some bird food. It was all regular stuff, trade brisk in terms of footfall but how the fuck Olive kept going I don’t know, guessing her Post Office salary would deal with the limited requirement.On an aside, dad did a bit of gardening round and about and I was obviously one of his confidantes, like who else could he talk intimately to, probably a big chip off the old block, as he would chuckle and tell me about, what he spotted, what was hanging on their washing lines.
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