Doing The Floors

"Were you planning on washing the floors today?" Henry asked.

Lynn glanced up from her breakfast. "Well, yes," she said, looking puzzled.

"Can I help?"

Lynn blinked three times before she could answer. She looked into his blue-gray eyes, glanced at his whitening hair, checked his expanding waistline. It seemed to be her husband all right. But never in thirty-two years of marriage had he offered to help wash floors.

"Don't you have to work?" she asked.

"I have an hour or so. Think of it as an early coffee break."

Years of dealing with children had given Lynn quick wits. She decided to ask no more questions and just take the offer. Before something could jinx it.

"Well, sure, Henry, I'd like that."

"Just call me down when you're ready." Henry tousled the reddish-colored curls on her head and whistled on his way up the stairs to his home office.

Lynn shook her head in disbelief and got ready to do the floors. She squatted before the dungeon that lurked under the kitchen sink. She braved the dark recesses and rustled around for a pail. She also unearthed the cloths made of "miracle cleaning fibers" and the oil soap. Antique oak floors were one of the treasures in this old Victorian house. But after a weekend of grandchildren's visits, the golden oak needed serious attention.

"Henry? I'm ready now," Lynn called up the staircase of elaborate woodwork.

He came down immediately. Lynn hid her amazement behind a smile and handed him a cloth.

"I usually start here by the front door. Why don't you start there under the coat hooks, and we'll meet at the living room entrance."

"Sounds organized to me," Henry replied cheerfully. His eyes crinkled in true amusement.

Lynn almost reached for his forehead, to feel if he had a fever. Instead, she knelt and began wiping up mud spots. Just a few minutes later, their rumps bumped against each other.

"That didn't take a long at all," Lynn said. She could get to like this!

She moved the pail to the middle of the living room. "You start over there by the TV. I'll start at the bay window. Can you reach the bucket ok then?"

"Sure, babe. I've got long arms." Henry grinned at her. Lynn smiled back. It was an old joke – how short she was, how tall he was. How much he could reach that she couldn't.

Soft swishes of rags across wood lulled Lynn into a meditative state. The muted sunlight of February glowed on the warm brown and tan grain.

"Lynn?"

"Yes?"

"Would you take you shirt off?"

Lynn jerked up from her rubbing. "My shirt?" she repeated dumbly.

She stared at her husband's face. Open, vulnerable. A little boy who had asked for the cherry lollipop. Asked for his favorite and too scared to say anything more.

"Well, sure, Henry." She reached for the bottom edge of the grubby sweatshirt she wore for housecleaning.

But a thought stopped her.

"I'm no young perky thing like in some porn movie, Henry."

He looked back at her like she had just spoken Martian. Obviously irrelevant for him.

She grabbed the edge of the sweatshirt and pulled it off over her head.

She wore no bra.

Lynn watched as Henry's eyes caressed her curves.

Lynn began to smile. And got an idea.

Instead of turning back to the window, she faced Henry and dipped her cloth in the bucket. She stayed there, in full frontal view of her husband, and began to wipe again.

Her hand went right, her breasts swung left. Back and forth, a counterpoint of mopping movements.

Henry sat on his heels, his hands lifeless, his eyes glued to his wife's chest. Just how long had he held this fantasy?

Lynn smirked to herself and found a stubborn heel smear on the floor. She scrubbed intensely. Her tits bobbed and wiggled. She resolutely ignored how her belly hung loose and wobbled also. She checked Henry's gaze. If Henry wasn't noticing her belly, why should she?

She got another idea.

She stopped her cleaning and crawled over to her mesmerized spouse. "Here, Henry. Let me show you where."

She reached over him, letting the nipple at which he stared rest against his arm. She took his lax hand with the rag and placed it on a mud spot behind him. Her breasts pressed against his chest.

"Like this, dear." She used a sultry voice. She moved his hand in a circle. Her knee pressed up against his crotch. No, his concentration was not on the floor.

Lynn sat back. The old jeans she wore for housework had worn away on the inside seam. As she sat cross-legged in front of her husband the hole pulled open. His eyes devoured the glimpse of flesh.

Slowly, she closed her legs and went back to her own side of the room.This time she turned her backside to him. She went to work again, her butt wiggling more than required for a shiny floor. She dipped her head to see if Henry was still watching.

He was. Completely.

She turned to the left, ever so slowly. Her jeans pulled tight across her ample ass, and now her left breast came into his view again. Swaying, bouncing in time to her strokes.

She worked farther towards the left. Now he could see both breasts past her rocking rear end.

"You know, you had a good idea," she said.

Henry, not quite drooling, made no reply.

"It is more comfortable without clothes." Lynn stood up, faced him, and shimmied out of her jeans. Her panties came with them. She stood in the filtered sunlight, naked, backlit by the windows, nipples erect.

Slowly, she turned and bent to her work. Literally. She bent at the waist, reaching into the bucket for her cloth. She let her heavy thighs part, and her womanhood slid from between. She heard a grunt, almost a moan, from her husband. She smiled.

Lynn placed her hands on the floor, her ass high in the air. She rocked her hips side to side to mop the floor. She heard Henry's breathing become raspy.

She spread her legs wide and looked between then. "Are you ok, honey?"

Henry nodded, still mute.

"Maybe we should have you lie down?"

Henry's eyes got wide. He nodded enthusiastically.

Lynn stuck one hand out to her side, the other still on the floor, holding her bent double. "Here, help me up, will you?"

Henry leaped up and held her hand as she stood up. She dropped her cloth into the bucket as he pulled her naked body into his. The passion of his kiss melted her knees.

She followed as he pulled her up the stairs. He held the bedroom door open for her, and she had another thought.

Just what other house chores might she be able to get help with?

(Dear Reader, if you would be so kind, please post a comment and tell me which sections of the story most "worked" for you. I'd be very grateful. Thank you, Andi).