Monica Sanderhoff walked barefoot over the springy runners of St. Augustine grass toward the edge of the big yard. She paused in front of the bougainvillea arbor that nearly concealed the presence of the high school wall behind it.
She wore her white bikini. The little triangles of clinging material snugged against the weight of her full tits, holding the ripe balls of flesh high and wide and letting the rubbery bumps of her nipples show plainly.
The panties were molded around her firm, rounded asscheeks and smooth flanks. They were damp from her dip in the Gulf just a few moments ago, and the material dipped into her deep asscrack. It pulled snugly at the lips of her puffy, virginal pussy, and the sensations against her cunt as she walked made the dampness at her crotch increase shamefully.
A sexual throb went through her flat tummy at the thought of what she was about to do, just the way it always happened, and she felt another charge of warm, slippery cunt honey seep from her pussy mouth into the crotchband.
She shivered slightly and stopped in front of the arbor, hugging her breasts in a furtive way. She turned around and shaded her eyes from the afternoon sun, which was over the Gulf now. She held small pruning scissors in her hand, and it should be clear to anyone watching that she'd come to clip some of the bougainvillea blooms.
The stucco wall at the edge of the yard went in a straight line toward the Gulf. It became a nearly solid barrier of thick timbers bolted to treated pilings driven solidly into the beach.
The massive jetty reached nearly two hundred yards into the shallow water. It provided a perch for pelicans and seagulls, a haven for small fish, a barrier to beach erosion, and an effective deterrent to anyone who tried to enter within the limits of her grandfather's estate.
The other side of the large yard was also wailed. The front was walled against the quiet street. There was a gate of iron grillwork across the driveway, but the little guardhouse to the side was unoccupied, now that the lock and the motors that opened the gate were operated by remote control.
The grounds were immaculate and planted with lush islands of palms and tropical exotics. One island made a visual barrier between the street and the entire interior of the Sanderhoff estate.
The straight lines of the stucco walls were cleverly camouflaged by the sinuous borders of the thick tropical growth. The atmosphere of insulation from the outside world was complete – except for the open stretch of beach on the Gulf, where passing boaters could gape and gawk into the private domain of long-retired oil magnate, Galt Sanderhoff.
Monica stood erectly in the slanting rays of the sun. Her smooth skin was tanned to a golden toast. Her auburn hair was sun-bleached and showed hints of coppery highlights.
Her lips were full and sensual, her cheekbones high, her eyes large and of a startling indigo. When she posed in front of the mirror at a certain angle, she looked just like the pictures of her mother, even though Monica was only fifteen and the pictures had been taken eleven years ago, the month before her mother was murdered.
Monica let her eyes scan over the big yard and the big house. She searched the veranda, the perimeter of the building and the triple garage to the side. She searched each window, but she saw no one watching her, keeping guard over her.
Just in case, however, she began clipping blooms from the showy vine and laying them in the grass. When she had entered into the screen of growth far enough to feel hidden, she dropped the pruning scissors into the sandy soil and squirmed fully behind the cover of the dense foliage.
She looked straight up along the massive solidity of the eight-foot wall and felt her heart begin pounding again. A rush of tingling heat swept through her and made the tips of her tits tingle and throb inside her halter.