I'd moved to a quiet little suburb about forty minutes from Hank and Becky's. Mostly for work, I told myself, but I knew I'd only taken the new job because it put me closer to them. Of course, the first thing I did was invite them to dinner and a moving-in party. Hank and I caught up and Becky peeked around the place, giving me pointers on decorating and fixing up my new flat.
Over dinner we talked about houses and the neighborhood and work. Becky promised to help me with some shopping for my new place, and I ended up promising to come by the next weekend and help paint their guest room.
Hank was going to be in Nevada on business, but he'd promised Becky to get this honey-do item done and I was his backup. It shouldn't take long and we'd have a chance to do some shopping in the city. "Besides," he added, "Becky's really good with the trim. Just needs some help with the grunt work."
I arrived the next Saturday morning in an old pair of jeans, an old chamois and a t-shirt, ready to start painting.
Becky met me at the door barefoot, in an oversized scrub shirt already spotted with various drips and smears of paint from past bouts of decorating. She showed me to the project and true to her word, she had it taped up and trimmed in neat order, with drop cloths laid out and taped neatly to the moldings all around. There was even a drop cloth taped across the hallway to the bathroom door, covering access from the guest room up to the tiled floor of the bath. On the sink, cleaning stuff and stacks of clean rags were laid out neatly.
"Looks like you've done most of the work already. This should go pretty fast."
"Well, we'll see. You know there's always something with projects like this."
"You can hang your things in the hall closet - and there's a clean smock on the sink for you. I'll get us some coffee."
"That sounds great."
"How do you take it? Black, right?"
"Sure. That's fine."
I shucked off my boots and chamois, depositing them in the closet and went to investigate the bathroom. I used the facilities, relieving myself of the coffee I'd had on the drive over and then checked out the scrub she'd laid out. I held it up for size - it'd fit fine. I whisked off my tee shirt and donned the scrub then padded out into the hall.
Becky met me with two mugs of coffee in hand and took in my painting outfit.
"Oh, you don't want to get paint on those, do you? You can put them in the closet too." She indicated my jeans.
"Oh - they're old; they'll be fine."
"I was thinking of your car on the drive back - you wouldn't want to transfer any smudges. You can - oh, I hadn't thought - you do have underwear on, don't you?" She looked meaningfully at my crotch.
"Yeah. Yeah, I do. I guess you're right."
"I've done this a lot before. I know how things get messy when you paint a room. I'll just set your coffee on the ladder."
I pulled off my socks and stuffed them in my boots, and hung my jeans neatly on a free hangar. The smock covered well enough; the legs of my black boxer briefs showed just below its hem. I'd be fine; modest enough - unless of course I started to sport an erection, and around Becky I knew that that was always a possibility.
I joined her in the guest room. She sat with her legs crossed on a small step stool, sipping her coffee. In the vee of her smock, tan lines highlighted the generous top of her cleavage. The side of her thigh shown smooth and curved and tanned below the hem of her smock. Her bare foot dangled in the air and fluttered nervously.
I took my mug from the ladder and rested against a step at just below butt height, raising my mug in salute.
She raised hers as well, leaning forward to clink mine. As she did, the front of her smock fell away. Through the generous neck, the view of her cleavage expanded until I could see her nipples bobbing crinkly and dark atop the pale creamy curve of her breasts.
I locked eyes with her to keep my arousal in check and sipped quickly at the coffee; rich, dark and strong.
"Mmm. That's great coffee, Becky. Thanks."
"Glad you like it." She settled back, removing the titillating glimpse of her breasts from my view. I tugged nervously at the hem of my smock and moved my legs a bit to conceal the slight bulging beginning in the front of my shorts. She noticed the movement and flicked her eyes at me, searching my waistline and the edge of the coverall. I covered with some small talk.
"So, nice color you've picked out." It was a tawny gold, just shy of too bright. It would be pleasant in most daylight, and cozy under lamplight.
"Thanks. I like it. It didn't look quite right in the can, but it dries to a nice, warm, bright color, don't you think?"
"I do. It'll go nicely with the sheets. I mean -" I started, remembering an encounter in this very room. I covered, "and with the molding and furniture."
"Well, I think so - but we'll have to see," she mused with an indecipherable wink.
"So, how's moving in going?"
"Fine - getting settled. Looking forward to some help with the finer points."
"We can go shopping next weekend if you like. I'll give you some help picking things out."
"That's be great - thanks. I think the place needs a woman's touch."
"You've probably got lots of women's touches to choose from. I'm flattered you picked mine."
"Well, not at the moment. But I trust yours anyway."
"What, no girlfriend?"
"Left the last in Chicago; haven't gotten into the social scene locally yet."
"Then we'll just have to fix you up in that department, too, won't we?"
"Well - you know me, I hardly ever say no."
"That's one - just one - of the things I love about you," she winked and grinned broadly.
"So, shall we get started?"
"By all means. What would you like me to do?"
"Ceiling first. I think we'll work top to bottom. Cover mistakes as we go. And the ceiling's the hardest. We can take turns to stay fresh. You first. I need your reach to get the detail work around the fanlight."
"OK."
I moved the ladder over under the motor of the ceiling fan. She or Hank had already removed the blades, but she was right, it would take some reach to get around the thing carefully. I settled the ladder and looked over to where Becky was bent over an open can of paint, stirring furiously with a dowel.
If she had panties on, they were a pretty severe thong. The back of her smock rode up most of the crevice between her shapely ass cheeks, without a hint of cloth showing between them - or even a tan line for that matter. She concentrated on her work, stirring furiously. With one hand she reached behind to scratch. As she rubbed her fingers into the soft muscle at the top of her thigh, her ass cheeks parted slightly, revealing the pale skin between her cheeks, bare pussy lips and a whiff of curly hairs.
"Um, can I do something to help?"
She looked up and around over her shoulder at me, spreading her feet apart for balance. Between the vee of her legs, her smock hung open. I could see all the way down her curled belly to where her breasts dangled freely, dark nipples ringed with small triangular patches of pale behind her bikini line. I looked quickly from this and tugged again at my own smock.
Becky grinned, "Yeah - grab that roller pan over there." She turned further and pointed, the tanned side of one breast showing through the armhole of her shirt.
