It was mid-morning, and I had to pee. I rounded the corner heading into the bathroom and saw Mrs. Solomon squatting next to the shower, picking a clump of hair out of the drain. She was wearing nothing but a little pair of white bikini panties with pink hearts on them. They cupped the cheeks of her perfect ass lovingly, and highlighted her deep tan. She was naked from the waist up. I stopped short, taking in the sight of her perfect body even as I was formulating an apology. Maybe she wouldn't see me!
Within an instant, though, I saw her head whip around at the sound of my heavy boots on the carpet, and she was looking at me from the corner of her eye. She stood quickly, her arms going protectively across her breasts as she spun around to face me.
"Oh, it's you, Brad," she said, obviously startled, but now acting as if my presence in her bathroom was perfectly normal.
"God, Mrs. Solomon," I exclaimed, "I didn't know you were in here. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sneak up on you." I tried not to stare at her gorgeous body, but I couldn't tear my eyes away. "I just had to use the toilet, and you said..."
Her eyes took in the sight of me as I babbled my apologies, and I saw her arms droop just a little from her breasts as she smiled at me. Her nipples were now almost in view. It was clear that I was a lot more embarrassed than she.
"Oh, that's okay, Brad," she said softly. "I told you you could use the bathroom anytime. It's my fault for not putting on any clothes. Besides," she added, "I'm sure it's not something you haven't seen before." With that, she lowered her arms, and I was gazing at a pair of the most beautiful breasts I had ever seen. They were full and firm, with deep tan lines defining their shape, and the nipples were a soft pink. Her chest went out proudly, and they swelled a bit more. "See?" she said. "They're just breasts." She moved a step closer to me.
"No, Mrs. Solomon," I said, suddenly longing to reach out and touch them. "Those aren't just breasts. Those are perfect breasts."
She laughed softly, and put her hands on her hips, posing just a little. She seemed so confident, this 25-ish young wife standing almost nude before a 52-year old stranger. "Why, thank you, Brad," she said. "It's nice to have someone admire them for a change. And you don't have to call me Mrs. Solomon." She took another step forward, putting herself within arm's reach, and said seductively, "Would you... want to touch them?"
Oh, god, would I? More than anything I wanted to wrap my rough hands around their fullness and gently squeeze them, tease the nipples with my thumbs, and drag my tongue across them. I held my position, though, unsure of just how far I could go. She was, after all, the wife of the owner of this house, and as such, one of my bosses. I was just a worker, hired to re-shingle the roof. She was half my age, and I also knew that her husband was around the house, somewhere.
She sensed my conflicting thoughts, and laughed again. "It's okay," she said, leaning around me to push the door closed. Her breasts rubbed against my chest as she did so, and I saw her nipples stiffen visibly as they scraped the rough denim of my shirt. "I don't mind. Really."
She leaned back now, her ass against the edge of the vanity, and put her hands on the countertop. I didn't need any more of an invitation than that. I reached for her shoulders, and pulled her into me, forcing my mouth onto hers. She spread her legs, and I stepped between them. We kissed passionately, our tongues intertwining with one another's, our teeth gnashing together. She thrust her hips forward, and her soft center made contact with my denim-clad hardness.
"Ooooh, yeah!" she growled, and began to hump against me. She rested her ass on the edge of the vanity top, and wrapped her legs around my hips. I still wore my tool belt, and she hooked her ankles over the pockets behind me, spilling nails onto the carpet as she dug her heels into my ass. "That feels so-oo-oo good," she grunted, as she rubbed herself violently against my hard-on.
I slammed my mouth down over hers again, trying to keep her quiet, and she groaned loudly. Her hands were now tearing at my shirt buttons, trying to rip it off me in her haste.
"Easy," I said, taking her hands in mine. "You want your husband to hear?" I leaned back, watching her closely. She looked like a tiger in heat. Her eyes were full of lust, and her chest rose and fell rapidly. Her little snatch, clad only in white cotton, still rubbed lewdly against me, and I saw the material was soaking wet already.
"I don't care," she stated flatly. "He's a wimp anyway. He couldn't please me if he tried, not like I know you can. I've been waiting for this. Now c'mon; are you gonna fuck me, or not?"
"Oh, yeah," I said, still holding her hands in mine. "I'm gonna tear you up. But first, I'm gonna taste that sweet little pussy of yours,"
I let her hands go, and she leaned back against the mirror, bracing herself with her elbows against the countertop. Bottles of nail polish and shampoo tumbled into the sink. She spread her legs widely, inviting me. I stepped back and began to undo the buttons of my work shirt, my eyes glued to that wet spot between her legs.
Her eyes were likewise glued to me, and she sported a wicked smile. As I pulled my shirt off, she said, "Leave the tool belt on." Okay, I thought. I can live with that!
