It seems as though my marriage has reached a seven-year itch. My name is Victoria and I have been married to my husband John for exactly seven years today. However his job sends him around the world almost every month, leaving me home alone for at least a week. It is even worse that I am a housewife with no children and no job. I live in an extremely large and lonely home. I spend most of my days cleaning things that have already been cleaned, vacuuming carpets that are almost never walked on, and dusting expensive shit that is never touched. The rest of my time I spend drinking and reading next to the pool. When John comes home we embrace each other as if we have been forcibly separated for months, and then basically ignore each other for the rest of the night. That is unless we have mediocre sex, which would be the highlight of my week. I think to myself, I am only twenty-eight, how is this my life?
About a month ago John decided that it was imperative that we build a pool house in the back yard. We worked out the plans, got our permits, found a construction company, and then John said he would be leaving for Paris for what he said was "no more than two week." I was so pissed that he had left me at home, first to go to Paris with out me, and secondly he left me in the middle of major construction. Yet there was nothing I could say to change his mind, and he left early Saturday morning. I spent the next two days in a drunken stupor, and when the doorbell rang at eight a.m. Monday morning I was completely perplexed by the five ruggedly handsome men standing at my door.
I swear I am an attractive woman, yet as I stood hunched over in the doorway my hair reeked of booze and chlorine, mascara was smeared down my cheeks, and the expensive sexy lingerie I had put on the two nights before to make myself feel better now looked horribly trashy
"Hi Mrs. Ryan, I'm Mark . . . with McLaughlin Construction . . ."
I am almost positive I stared at him for about a minute before responding.
"Yeah, no, yeah, here come on." I stammered as I lead them through the house to the back yard. "Um ri. . .right there ok. . .gimme twenty minutes." I could feel them staring at me in disbelief as I walked back into the house. I passed out for about an hour until I was awoken by a very loud and annoying machine.
"Shit!" I had completely forgotten I had let the construction crew in and that I looked like the bride of Frankenstein. I quickly showered fixed my hair and makeup and got dressed in a somewhat low cut, a little above the knee, black cotton dress. The tits my husband had bought me now looked phenomenal in the dress and I was somewhat tan from passing out by the pool.
Ok Vicki look domestic and womanly. Clean something. What the fuck am I going to clean? I grabbed a bunch of clean dishes from the cabinets and brought them to the sink so I could look at the men in the backyard. Mark the man who had introduced himself looked over and gave me a hesitant wave. I picked up a plate and a sponge from the sink and waved the sponge at him. You're an idiot. The sexiest man I had ever laid eyes on just waved at me and I shook a sponge at him.
As I busily scrubbed my already clean dishes I stared out at five of the most incredibly handsome, tanned, and muscular men I had ever laid eyes on. My legs went weak as I saw Mark take off his shirt. His body was wonderful, his washboard abs were absolutely amazing and as the sweat dripped off his body I felt a flush and then a tingle in my pussy. I was getting so wet watching him shovel the dirt and lift heavy boards. I was biting by lip and staring lecherously at him when he looked back up at me and smiled. I had made my mind up I wanted him so horribly bad and I was going to have him. I would just have to find a way to initiate that.
Ok bring them something its hot outside. Lemonade! Construction guys like lemonade. Why would construction guys like lemonade? They like beer . . . I like beer. I need a drink. Ok I'll make the lemonade and put vodka in mine. I grabbed a basket from the kitchen, walked into the backyard and headed for the lemon tree. Ok look sexy. What is the sexiest way to pick lemons? . . .? I decided that reaching with my ass out and then bending over and placing them in the basket would give Mark a great look at both my ass and tits. When I placed the last lemon in the basket I got the courage to look up at him, and our eyes met. I couldn't help my eyes from telling him that all I could think about was fucking him.
I went back inside feeling very proud of myself and feeling incredibly sexy. I made the lemonade, spiked my own and took a few hearty gulps before I went back out. Mark dropped the shovel and jumped out of ditch and the others followed. He was covered in dirt, which only made him look sexier and manlier.
"Hey, did ya'll want some fresh lemonade?" I asked as I placed the tray on a small table.
"Oh hell ya, I'm dying of the heat out here," one of the guys said as he walked over and I poured him a glass. The others followed suit except mark who stood there looking me over.
"Mark, was it? Did you want a glass? It's nice and cold," I said as I put my glass to my neck. I saw his eyes chase a drop of water down my tits before it disappeared into my dress.
"Ya of course Mrs. Ryan . . . that looks great. Thank you."
"It's Vicki, call me Vicki," I said as I stepped a little too close to him to hand him his drink. Mark towered over me, and I noticed his thick sexy lips as he parted them and looked down at me.
"Thank you, Vicki," he said taking a sip, and letting a drip fall down his chest washing away the dirt as it fell.
"Hey this is a great pool Mrs. Ryan. How deep does it go?" I broke my stare with Mark to look over at the other extremely handsome Latino man, who had asked the question.
