They had been slow to settle completely into their new home. Between Kate's mom's illness the previous fall, Mickey's attempts to get to know the new congregation, and Kate learning a new real estate market, there had been little time to fully unpack anything beyond their regular needs. Kate knew that she needed to start pulling her summer wardrobe out (though it was clear that "spring and summer" meant something far different in Vermont than it had in Texas) and that meant thinking through what she might need for Jamaica.
She was in the basement, working her way through the scattered boxes that had lay unopened since their arrival several months ago. They had hastily added their fall and Christmas decorations to the pile at the end of each season, making her job even more complicated. But after an hour or so, she had begun at least to create several smaller piles with some sort of order.
In the farthest corner of the unfinished basement was a door that opened to a small storage room. She had only looked in it the day they moved in. She thought she remembered shelves along the wall and determined that it would be the ideal place for those seasonal things. The room was dark and she found no switch on either side of the small door. After finding a flashlight she saw a single bare bulb on the ceiling with a long string hanging from it. A tug of the string produced no light, so it was back upstairs to find a bulb.
Now in the harsh light, she could see that the room she remembered as a closet was little more than a small hallway that revealed two more doors. One was the storage room she remembered. The other appeared to be set up as a workroom. It was too dark and dusty to be an office for her, and Mickey didn't work with his hands, so the possibilities the room offered would be wasted on them. The other room, however, was perfect for her needs at the moment.
She carried in the first of the boxes, sliding them easily onto the large shelves. She turned back to the door and spied a suitcase in the opposite corner of the small room. She recognized it immediately. It was the case that Mickey had brought to Jamaica last year with the wardrobe items he had purchased for her. She was surprised to see it so well hidden, but a second thought reminded her that Mickey probably left it there to keep it out of the hands of their daughter. She picked it up and was surprised again to find it locked.
It took her only a minute back in the main area of the basement to find the box that contained the dresses that she wore on their vacation last year. They were all safely taped in their cardboard hideaway. She made her way back to the suitcase and tugged at the latches again, curious as to what Mickey might have squirreled away. Realizing she wouldn't get inside, she returned the case where she found it and resumed her work. As she did, she remembered each outfit from the previous year. She was tempted to slide one on but knew that she didn't need the distraction.
Fifteen minutes later she was aware that she didn't need to wear the clothes to be distracted by them. She remembered the beautiful paisley print, and how much of her legs the dress revealed. She blushed, thinking of how exposed it made her feel, then smiled as she realized that what she wore later in the week was far more daring. She could sense the fabric, even now, brushing against her naked nipples, revealing her breasts to anyone who cared to glance. She remembered the club, and the man, and - most of all - the rush she felt exposing herself each evening.
She was happy to see that Mickey was already preparing for this summer and was eager to see how far he was planning on "pushing" her. The reality, of course, was that she required no encouragement at all at this point. That thought scared her a little. How far, she wondered, would she allow herself to take things? She knew, of course, that any real interaction with others was out of the question. But she thought about the club, dancing, and the possibility of letting others get close to her, maybe even as she exposed herself.
Her thoughts turned to the man she had seen at church. Then the men hunched over her car as she masturbated. The inevitable warmth began to push itself from her crotch, invading her thoughts. She felt her breath quickening at the mere memory of her behavior. She glanced at the clock. Her daughter would be home soon.
She went back into the small workroom, flicked the switch to the fluorescent tubes overhead, pulled the door closed behind her, and walked over to the workbench. She tested it by pushing down on it, then unsnapped her pants, lowering them just below her hips. She leaned forward again, resting her left hand on the dusty work surface and sliding her right to her sex. She was wet, her clit swollen, and the thoughts of the last few minutes had prepared her well. She slid her index finger down her slit, pushing her slightly swollen lips aside. As she brushed her clit she shuddered with the anticipation of what was about to follow.
Her finger returned to her warm nub, and she stretched the second one to meet it. Together, they made small circles around the clit, pausing occasionally to flick it, before returning to their lubricated path. Kate inhaled deeply, absorbing the sensation and letting her mind run free through the images she had collected over the last few years. Rather than settling on a single scenario, her brain hopped and skipped randomly through the "naughty" experiences she had enjoyed. She seemed to cycle through them, landing frequently on the images of the men who lusted for her. She thought of the cocks she had seen, and wondered how many more she might see - and tease - this year.
Her orgasm built slowly and the climax was satisfying, though her concern for her daughter's arrival kept her from fully releasing herself to the pleasure she was experiencing. She would tell Mickey what she had done tonight and knew that the orgasm she would enjoy with him would be just the payoff she needed.
She was surprised, however, when she found it difficult to tell him what she had done. In the intervening hours, as she thought about her behavior in a less aroused state, she wondered what kind of a woman would hide in a dirty room in a basement, touching herself while fully aware that her child could be so close by at any moment. Why was it that she needed to touch herself when she had a husband to take care of that need for her? Was her action some sort of "unfaithfulness" to her husband?
By the time dinner was over and her daughter safely tucked into her bed, Kate's afternoon adventure spilled out of her like a confession, afraid that her husband would be disappointed and upset with her. By the time she finished her rushed account of what she had discovered and how she reacted to it, Mickey was smiling.
"Show me," he said quietly.
"Show you?"
He nodded. "Imagine the dresser is that workbench. Show me how you did it." He stretched himself across the bed, opening his pants as his confused wife moved to the dresser.
He was already fully erect by the time her round ass slid out from her pants and panties. It pushed toward him as she leaned forward slightly, steadying herself on the dresser. Kate was surprised to find that her sex was still wet. Or had it become wet again? The mirror allowed her to see both herself and her husband. He gently stroked his shaft while she touched herself. She pulled her eyes away from him and noticed the flushed arousal on her face. She felt a mixture of guilt, pleasure, shame, and exhilaration that she didn't fully understand, but the intensity of those feelings drove her quickly to her first orgasm.
Her second followed as Mickey entered her from behind. The third came, surprisingly enough, when he erupted in her mouth as she knelt in front of him, cupping his balls and stroking him as she sucked her juices from the head of his cock.
It wasn't until the following morning, after Mickey had gone to the office, that she realized that she had cum the last time without touching herself or being touched. She wondered what had driven her arousal to that point. The sex had been fairly brief. While Mickey felt good inside of her, he wasn't there very long. Her story, or the sight of her masturbating, seemed to drive him to a quick climax. Maybe, she thought, it was the fact that he had watched her masturbate. After all, she had learned that she liked an audience. Or maybe it was just the culmination of everything that had happened throughout the day.
She brushed aside an accusing voice that reminded her that a respectable mother and minister's wife wouldn't find herself masturbating in a filthy room in the middle of the day. She knew that was true. And she wondered why Mickey hadn't been more concerned about that. She had expected some word of warning from him, at least. Or maybe his instruction to replay the scene in front of the mirror was intended to show her how depraved she had become.
She grew more somber as she thought. As the day wore on her thoughts extended to everything that had happened over the last few years: spying on people as they had sex, blatantly watching others, exposing herself in front of strangers, teasing, fantasizing about more. A sense of guilt soon turned to fear as she wondered what she might be capable of. She worried that maybe she and Mickey had headed down a dangerous path.
She concluded that they needed to talk, and she had her concerns well-organized and prepared to present to Mickey by the time she started preparing dinner that evening. Her plan was derailed when he called saying he would be late. Something about the Pearson's son. That boy was always getting into trouble.
In the light of the next morning, her concerns seemed overblown. Or at least she told herself that they were. She knew she would talk to Mickey about them at some point when the time was right.
They had driven a couple of states away for a regional conference the following week. Mickey wanted to stay in a different hotel than the one hosting the meeting, hoping to recreate what they had experienced in Texas a few years before. But there were few other options available to them and he was selected to lead a workshop during the event, so his room was provided for him. He knew there would be no chance for them to do anything other than enjoy sex with his wife in a hotel room, which was never a bad thing. The trip home, however, provided an unexpected opportunity.
They weren't even an hour from the hotel when traffic began to slow. Mickey silently hoped that things wouldn't get worse as they worked their way north. By the time they reached the Massachusetts state line, he was trying to find a radio station with a traffic report.
