I never thought it would happen to me. Never in my wildest imagination, when I agreed to marry Mr Jones, did I think I would become the bored, ignored housewife, desperately clamouring...craving...for something...anything...to brighten up the gilded cage my life had become.
I’ve become such a cliche. As I stood at the window watching my gardener pull up the driveway in his beat up Ford Ranger I wondered how I became this. I guess it’s easy when your husband’s never home. It’s easy when he’s much older and has decided he doesn’t want to fuck as much as you. On my back with the lights off is what I got twice a month and if he went limp in the middle of that I could recite his speech about stress at work perfectly and silently did so in the dark quite often. I loved my husband but struggled with his lack of interest for what seemed like an eternity and finally gave up the day I met Kyle.
My husband had decided we should change lawn services and I’ll never forget the day Kyle came by to give an estimate. In the shower that night with my dildo I remembered his strong, thick legs walking through the yard, his well-defined ass in his jeans and the way his black t-shirt fit tight across his wide chest outlining the definition. I slid my toy in deep, squeezing my tits as I imagined his body all over mine. Imagined riding his thick piece until my thighs burned. Picturing his semen smeared all over my sweaty body. This session was made all the hotter by the fact that my husband lay in the next room oblivious that his young wife was imagining fucking another man in the bed we sometimes shared. This aspect seared into me. It put a clean edge on the blade. I was so tired of feeling like I wasn’t desired. I was craving that sweltering lust; the thought of being covered in another man’s cum.
I stood at the upstairs bedroom window and watched him walk to the back of the yard. Kyle’s not young; he is a mature man. He’s in jeans and an old t-shirt. I put my hand inside my shirt and pinch my nipples making them hard. I take my whole breast and squeeze it. I’m only half conscious I’m touching myself. He is so unbelievably thick. His chest and back are surely suffocating in the tightness of his shirt. I want him so bad and I feel my pussy getting hot and wet, preparing itself for on onslaught of friction from a thick hard cock. He gets all the tools he needs from the shed at the back of the yard and as he walks towards the pool I can see the sweat start to trickle down his face. It’s also made a small stain at his stomach and I can see his weathered skin through the white of the shirt.
I walk out to the pool and he tries to pretend he doesn’t see me but he’s a liar. I see his eyes looking up in my direction even though his head’s down. He’s bent over a broken rake trying to fix it with a well placed screw. This isn’t the first time he’s been subjected to my presence. He’s seen my tiny thong under my skirt as I bent over at the fridge to get him a soda. He’s seen me sunbathe while he cleans the pool, watched me rub the slick oil over my body. I hope his stomach’s in knots knowing I’m coming his way. I hope he feels dizzy at the rush of blood to his cock. Stand up straight, let me see. Let me imagine my wet, full lips around it’s silky power while your hands press on the back of my head, forcing me to gag on your length.
“Hello, Mrs. Jones.” He straightens up. He can’t even look me in the eye. He smiles and looks at the sky knowingly. God I love it when they’re confident but act unsure of themselves. So much to play with.
“You know, we can just buy a new rake. Don’t worry about it.” He smiles and nods his head. His body is exquisite; a life working with his hands in the outdoors lends itself well to a man. His proportions are like sculpture. His upper body is so thick and defined all I can think about right now is his naked chest against my small frame. I want him to overtake me and pick me up in his calloused hands to back me against something solid, spreading my legs and pushing my thin shorts aside. I want him to fuck me like an animal.
“I don’t bite either.” This illicits a short chuckle from him. “Not unless you want me to.”
“Am I making you uncomfortable?” I muse
“A little.” His eyes looked right into mine and he smiled, looking down again, checking to make sure his cock wasn’t pressing to conspicuously on the zipper of his shorts.
“How old are you?” I rested against an old picnic table, it’s demise triggered by termites.
“Forty eight.”
“Why do I make you uncomfortable? You’re a grown man who I’m sure has been with loads of women. I’m sure you’ve been flirted with before. What is it about me that makes you nervous?”
