Linda stared out the front window.
The neighbors were having their house painted, and she was watching Ken -- who was doing the painting.
It was hot, and he wore nothing but a pair of cutoffs. His tanned back flexed as he moved, the muscles shifting in a way that made her wonder -- was he a gym regular? He certainly had the build for it.
She had yard work to do, though it was almost too hot for that. Still, she slipped into a bikini, pulling cutoffs over the bottom, and stepped outside, ready to pull some weeds.
She couldn't watch him while she worked without making it obvious, and for a moment, she regretted not staying inside where she could see him better.
Had he noticed her?
Was he watching her?
She adjusted her bikini top, feigning nonchalance.
She knew she looked good in a bikini.
Glancing back, she saw he was off the ladder now, stirring paint. His gaze was on her.
She quickly looked away, her pulse quickening.
"Hi!"
She nearly jumped -- he had walked up behind her.
"Oh, hello," she said, recovering quickly. She stayed kneeling but tilted her chin up, meeting his eyes with quiet confidence.
"Too hot to be working, don't you think?" he said casually.
She knew that.
But was he just making conversation?
Or was he thinking about her -- about her body?
Or did he only pay attention to the flight attendants - the goddesses of the sky?
She scolded herself for the thought.
Ken was a pilot.
"What would it be like to be his mistress?"
"I just can't stand to see the garden looking like this. Do you garden?" said Linda forcing a casual smile.
He laughed. "Oh no, you're on your own there."
"Well, I don't need any painting done." she said, internally cringing. Her nerves were getting the better of her.
Did he know what he was doing to her?
"Don't work too long," he said with a grin before turning back to his task.
Linda watched him go, then sighed, gathered her things, and headed inside.
She meant to grab iced tea. Instead, she reached for a wine cooler. Sitting in the kitchen, she took a slow sip. She never drank during the day.
But today was different.
She was still restless, still warm from the encounter.
And the thought of being Ken's mistress? That thrilled her.
She imagined him leading her into his garage--messy, cluttered, smelling of paint and sawdust.
He would turn, catching her off guard, and kiss her. A smooth, unhesitating motion, as if he'd known all along this would happen.
His hands would frame her face, fingers tangling in her hair. Their tongues would meet in a slow, teasing dance.
Then he'd break away, his lips grazing her ear.
"I want you."
She blinked, snapping out of the daydream. Sitting in the kitchen, lost in fantasy.
Exhaling, almost laughing at herself, she stepped onto the deck, wine cooler in hand.
Ken was still painting, his back bare, glistening in the sun.
Her thoughts drifted again.
The garage--messy, cluttered, thick with sawdust and heat.
He would strip off his shirt, tossing it aside. Then reach for her, fingers grazing her skin as he unbuttoned her cutoffs, sliding them down, leaving her in just her bikini.
He'd take his time undressing her, savoring it.
She exhaled shakily, realizing her cutoffs were already unzipped, her fingers toying with the waistband of her bikini bottoms.
In her mind, she was already bare, and he would lift her effortlessly, carrying her as if she weighed nothing. He'd lay her down--on what? A couch? A workbench? It didn't matter.
She imagined herself stretched out, looking up at him, tracing slow circles on his chest, feeling the heat of his skin, the hard lines of his muscles.
His hands would explore her, gliding over her stomach, cupping her breasts, teasing, kneading. Then lower. Fingers brushing. Parting. His eyes never leaving hers.
Her own hand, in the fantasy, would slip beneath his waistband, finding him.
He would smile. Step back. Remove his hand from her body. Lean down, pressing one last teasing kiss to her lips. Then, with ease, push his shorts and briefs down, baring himself completely.
She wouldn't need to look. His eyes told her everything.
Then he would climb onto the bed, straddling her, his presence overwhelming.
Finally, she would glance down and see him--hard, throbbing, waiting.
He would wrap a hand around himself, offering. Inviting.
She would reach out, encircling him, squeezing gently. Slowly. Watching his face as his breath hitched, his mouth parted, his eyes darkened.
She would smile, savoring his unraveling. Then, teasing, she would slow her movements, fingertips tracing the sensitive underside, barely touching, just enough to make him shudder.
A groan. He would reclaim control, his hand closing over hers, lifting it to his lips, pressing a kiss to her palm. Then leaning down, his breath hot against her ear.
"I want you... now."
He would shift, positioning himself, and she would know--there was no stopping this.
His expression would change--half pleasure, half something deeper.
Need.
Then--
Archie's voice shattered the moment.
"Linda."
A shiver ran through her. Her eyes fluttered open.
He was standing in front of her.
Archie.
She jolted, eyes snapping open. He's standing in front of her, watching.
And she was coming. Again. And again.
Linda, lost in her fantasy, hadn't even realized Archie was there. Her body trembled, breath uneven, skin flushed with the aftershocks of pleasure.
When she finally met his gaze, she saw something unexpected -- curiosity? Amusement? Desire?
She was overcome with excitement at being caught.
Did he know what she had been thinking? Did he suspect?
Still reeling, she felt more exposed than if she had been fully naked.
Ken was stirring the paint again, just like before when he was watching Linda.
Linda didn't try to cover herself up, she remained as she was.
Archie saw.
She didn't know how much, but enough.
Her cheeks flushed, not with desire this time, but with anger, which she hid almost immediately.
"I was just... enjoying the sun."
Archie tilted his head, unconvinced.
This moment wouldn't disappear. He would remember.
And worse -- so would she.
He stepped closer, voice low.
"Tell me what you were thinking about."
Linda hesitated, pulse hammering. His fingers grazed her thigh.
"Was it me?"
Her breath hitched.
"It was... Ken."
Archie's expression didn't change, but she felt his interest sharpen.
"Ken?"
"I don't know! It's the way he looks at me. And Barbara too. I have this dream -- "
"Dream?"
She straightened up.
"They're both watching me. And telling me..."
She trailed off.
"Telling you to do what?"
Linda's voice dropped to a whisper.
"To undress."
Silence stretched between them.
"And then?" Archie pressed.
She clenched her jaw, but after a long breath, she went on.
"They tell me to pose. To touch myself. To do things."
Archie's gaze didn't waver.
"That's what happens in the dream?"
She nodded.
"Did you come in the dream?"
Linda didn't answer.
But the heat that bloomed in her cheeks told him everything.
Archie smiled.
"Okay," he said, his voice calm but firm.
"Give me your clothes."
Slowly, teasingly -- she slid her cutoffs down her legs.
Archie watched in silence.
She hooked her thumbs into her panties, pausing just long enough to let anticipation build, then eased them down, stepping out of them with deliberate slowness.
When she straightened, she met his gaze.
And then, still holding his eyes, she reached behind her back, unhooked her bra, and let it slip from her shoulders.
Wordlessly, she handed him her clothes.
She stood before him, bare.
She shifted slightly, parting her legs just enough for him to notice.
"You're very sensitive, aren't you?" Archie murmured.
She knew what he meant. Her nipples were hard, betraying her arousal.
"I guess so."
His voice dropped lower.
"Why don't you touch yourself? Just a little."
She willingly obeyed. Her fingers lifted to her right nipple, brushing over it lightly.
She kept her gaze locked on his.
Archie didn't glance at her body. Not once.
His eyes never left hers.
