Lounging on the deck, sipping my Mike's lite, I lifted my body off the lounger and scooted my thong down over my ass, over my thighs, past my calves, and slipped it over my three-inched heeled sandals and let the tiny white fabric fall onto the wooden deck beside me. I was now naked, other than my sandals and the shell necklace hanging from my neck. Not really needing it, but doing it anyway, I pour a healthy amount of tanning oil over my body; over my breasts, my stomach, and my legs, and haphazardly rub it into my body, preferring the oil running down my body, pooling in all the hollows and valleys, as the sun beats down on it. I spread my legs on the lounger, allowing the rays of the sun to heat the skin of my inner thighs, the slit of my vagina glistening, oil pooling there, the rose above my slit looking as if it is on fire, matching the fire running through my veins. Taking another sip of my Mike lite, my eyes scan the glistening of my body, and even I'm excited by what I see.
Taking one last large sip of my Mike's lite, I place the 3/4 full bottle on the shady side of my lounger and lean back, my body facing south, towards the sun as it reaches its apex in the noon sky, but more importantly, towards the side of the house where the workmen might emerge. I close my eyes, my mind swirling with thoughts of what might happen next; my imagination apparently has no limits.
Images pass quickly through my mind, one moment I'm naked, holding a paintbrush in my hands, making large up and down brushstrokes on the garage wall as the three men all stand around me, all wearing only their shorts and boots. None of them are painting, their only concern is watching me. In a flash, in the blink of an eye, in the time it takes to fire a synapse, I am now standing in the middle of the large garage, the men now completely naked, their hands dripping with the white silky paint from the bucket. Their hands are caressing every part of my body, the cool silky paint beginning to cover every inch of my naked body, feeling it drip down my breasts, my stomach, and my thighs. A wet finger slides between the deep mounds of my ass. I raise my arms above my head, giving the men better access to my body.
An image of my husband invades my thoughts. He is sitting across from me at a fancy restaurant, he is smiling. My body tenses slightly as I ponder why the image has appeared. I consciously push the image back and am rewarded with a new image. Down on my knees on a paint smattered tarp in the middle of the garage, the four men (yes, there were now four men for some reason) stood surrounding me, their bodies partly covered with the white paint. As the images flash through my mind my hand, my real hand, slides down my body resting above the slit of my vagina, warm oil has pooled there. Spreading my legs further apart, my left leg now over the edge of the lounger, my left foot resting on the hot surface of the deck, I bend my right leg upwards towards me, my right foot resting just below my ass.
Leaning my right bent leg outwards, my legs are spread wide now as my two fingers easily slip between the folds of my vagina, while my fantasy hands sink deep into the bucket of the cool silky white paint, emerging from the bucket dripping with the gooey paint. My paint dripping hands, and I think I have four, are now vigorously covering the four men's cocks with the paint, my hands seeming to be constantly dripping with the paint as my hands and fingers explore every part of their cocks and balls, sliding up and down sinuous, slippery shafts that seem impossibly long and thick. My mouth opens as one of my hands pulls a thick long white cock towards it...
RING! RING! RING!
The sound of the phone startles me from my daydream. I am confused for a brief moment and then RING! RING! RING! I spot the wireless phone sitting on the table next to me where I had placed it earlier. Picking up the phone, pressing the green button I say, "Hello."
"Hey, it's me," I hear my husband's voice say on the other end of the line. "Just wanted to let you know I arrived safely," he adds.
"Oh," I say, still a bit dazed but coming around quickly. "Thanks for calling." I reach around the back of the lounger with my free hand and pull the back upwards, allowing my body to lie in a more upright position. My left leg still hangs over the side of the lounger, my left foot resting on the deck, while my right leg is bent upwards, my left hand now reaches forward and grips onto my left ankle as I close my legs slightly, trying to compose myself.
"Yeah," he quickly replies, "we're on lunch break." There is a brief silence before he asks, "So, how's it going with the workers, everything fine?" There is a subtle change in his voice as he asks the question.
"Oh," I quickly reply, trying to sound nonchalant, "yes, everything's fine. I brought them coffee earlier. They're busy in the garage painting." I then add, trying to sound concerned, "Do you want me to check on them? See if everything is going OK?"
"No, no! I was just wondering if anything came up." Again, there is a slight change in his voice as he asks, "What about you? What are you up to?"
I wanted to say I was inside sewing or something, but I thought he might be able to detect from the sounds on the phone that I was outside, so instead I say, "Oh just doing some gardening in the backyard. ...going to head in soon for lunch myself."
Just then I hear a sound coming from the side of the house and I see Jim heading out towards the deck. He stops at the edge of the deck as he realizes that I am on the phone - and that I am completely naked. He gives me a quick look as he is about to turn around and head back out to the garage. I hold up my hand and wave him forward towards me, and as he approaches the lounger I put my index finger to my lips in a 'be quiet' gesture as my husband now quizzes me on my attire.
"Wearing a skimpy bikini are you?" he asks in a joking manner, but I can tell he is not joking.
NO!" I say, sounding offended by the question, and at the moment it was true, I was indeed not wearing a skimpy bikini. I hold up one finger to Jim, letting him know I will just be another minute and point to the end of the lounger that lies empty, gesturing him to sit. Jim, wearing only his jean shorts and boots, sits on the empty half of the lounger, on the left side, where my one leg rests over the edge and as he turns his seated body towards me his bare lower leg presses against my leg, while his bare arm presses against my right upwardly bent leg, the toes of my right foot practically resting under his ass. The moment practically overwhelms me; a stranger sitting next to my naked body, his body touching mine, while my husband questions me on the phone. My breathing becomes fast and heavy, I can feel my breasts heaving as I breathe, the heat from the sun, or from my veins, begins to press down on my body, I feel flush, slightly feint, no longer composed.
"OK, good," my husband says. "Are you going out at all today?"
Jim adjusts his position on the lounger, moving backwards a bit and up closer to my body, his left leg presses more firmly against my own left leg that rests over the edge of the lounger, forcing me to spread my leg slightly. Moving my right foot now behind his body, my leg now only halfway bent upward, the long oily lower half of my leg now presses against Jim's bare back, forcing my right leg to spread open, Jim's body now sitting between my two spread legs. My mind in a fog, I try to remember my husband's question, something about what I was doing in the afternoon. I give him a partial truth, "Well I was thinking of going out to wash my car, but I didn't know if it was OK to leave the workmen by themselves."
