Maggie and the Builders
We were married eighteen months before finding our dream home on the outskirts of a village in rural Norfolk. It needed a ton of work but we knew it would be perfect to eventually raise a family.
A friend drew up some plans and Maggs was taking a three month sabbatical from teaching to act as Project Manager. She had seen it on Channel 4. Easy.
He didn't look that impressive but Ted and his small band of building misfits came recommended from that most highest of arbiters, the village noticeboard. He was a tubby little man in his fifties who seemed more interested in my young wife than her ideas, but his quote was six grand cheaper than the others so an August start date was agreed.
The big day arrived and Ted's van pulled into our gravel drive. With him was an elder chap and a pimply labourer and to be fair, they seemed like a decent bunch. Maggs was more excited about wearing a yellow safety helmet than choosing something suitable to wear, and she had to quickly throw on a short khaki dress. Not particularly appropriate but if she didn't climb any ladders...
When I left for work, Maggs was fielding Ted's questions while holding the plans upside down, and she was still bubbling with enthusiasm when I got home.
She dragged me outside to where excavations had begun, and then showed me what was left of our stripped out kitchen. Basically a standpipe and a washing-up bowl. It was when she bounced up the stairs and I caught a glimpse of her white underwear that the butterflies took flight.
She didn't do it intentionally, she's not that sort, but the backs of those thighs wouldn't have gone unnoticed and I wondered what the men thought of having a young woman skipping around telling them what to do?
"Were the builders okay?" I asked casually.
"Oh they were lovely" she laughed, "I've never made so much tea! Mind you, the amount of times they had me going up and down these stairs. So many questions!"
Quiet honestly, I'm surprised they got any work done at all.
I forgot to mention. The house came with a burglar alarm and a second hand CCTV system. The cameras were rubbish but they doubled as movement detectors so they did offere a little peace of mind when we were away. The system covered most rooms and had 24 hour recording straight to a very basic hard drive.
Second morning I watched Maggs drop her nightdress into the laundry basket before slipping into some fresh undies. This time she held up a denim dress, perhaps an inch longer than yesterday, but one that still hovered above her knees.
"This okay?" She asked.
In a world where men weren't misogynistic cunts it would've been entirely appropriate, but I could only manage a guilty nod before it was slipped over her shoulders.
If anything untoward did happen during those first few days, Maggs certainly wasn't phased by it, and from what I could tell a procession of tradesmen and delivery drivers had come and gone without any problem. However, she did mention Ted saying how pretty she was.
"What did you say?" I asked.
"Nothing. Blokes do it all the time. He even got me to join them for a group photo. It's something they do with all their clients apparently."
Good lord! I was definitely checking that hard drive tomorrow evening.
I was right about the image quality but managed to find the beginning of a 24 hour loop showing Ted and Maggie chatting in the kitchen and another feed where the elder chap was sawing timber.
The only person missing was that pimply labourer who I eventually found coming out of our bedroom carrying what looked like a pair of Maggie's knickers fished out from our washing basket.
The question was, did Ted know what that little bastard was up to?
I got my answer after fast forwarding the tape to lunchtime and Maggs handed over three mugs of tea before disappearing into the garden to make a phone call. When she was gone Ted produced her knickers from his tool box and held them under his nose and took a big overdramatic lungful, before passing them around.
Everyone seemed to find it incredibly funny.
What to do? Chucking them off the job would be messy financially and Maggs would be really embarrassed, so I did nothing and hoped the problem would go away. It didn't, and a week later she complained that some of her knickers were going missing. A big deal apparently because with no washing machine, this would mean resorting to her most expensive (sexiest) lace panties.
"You don't think someone's touching my underwear do you?" She asked.
"Don't expect so." I lied.
"It's just that I think that labourer had his phone up my skirt!"
My cock reared it's little head and not wishing to waste an opportunity, I grabbed Maggie's hand and closed those slender fingers around it.
"Oh you are terrible." She groaned, but still began slowly pumping my cock up and down.
"I suppose it's only natural Maggs. Tell me about it." I suggested helpfully.
She described how she was looking under the stairs while the electrician explained something about the fuse board, and when she stood up, the labourer was behind her and hurriedly hiding his phone.
"I was too embarrassed to say anything in case I was mistaken." She said.
"Well if he did take some pictures, he's probably wanking over them right now." I said.
"Do you think so?" She pondered.
A few minutes later when she lowered her mouth over my cock, I had a sneaky suspicion she wasn't choosing a colour for the bathroom tiling.
The weather was perfect that summer. Every day sunnier than the last and you should've that little bastard's face when Maggie started wearing lightweight maxi dresses that reached safely past her knees.
Much to my surprise she settled into her new role as Project Manager, and had even swapped her yellow safety helmet for a wide brimmed summer hat that matched her pink clipboard.
Most days I was usually gone before the workers arrived, but on this particular day I was still loading my car when Ted's van pulled onto our drive followed by two more containing plumbers and electricians. I thought it was a bit strange when they hardly made eye contact and rushed past me into the house. I managed to stop Ted though.
"Morning Ted everything okay?" I called.
"We're all grand." He answered in a slow Norfolk drawl.
"Maggie giving you plenty of tea?" I joked, pointing over my shoulder towards the house.
"She was a bit slow early doors but I threatened to put her over my knee if she did it again, ha ha."
He was definitely watching for a response.
"Good luck with that one mate." I warned.
We joined the others crammed into the kitchen where the back wall had now been demolished, leaving a large opening facing the garden. In front of it was a tea-making workbench and my young wife pouring milk into eight mugs of tea. I realised what the rush was all about!
With the morning sun streaming in behind her, everyone could see the outline of her body through the thin cotton dress. She looked practically naked, and as she handed out the mugs I clearly saw the pattern on her underwear. Jesus! Did this happen every morning? No wonder that fucking labourer arrived early.
Driving to work that day felt like I was leaving Maggie in a lion's den of hairy arses and sweaty bollocks.
............................................................
The Builders Part 2. Mr Pink.
Living through a home invasion isn't easy and after two months Maggs began struggling with all the moans and groans of builders, roofers, plasterers and an entire scaffolding company. So when she suggested taking Thursday afternoon off to visit the hair-dressers, I told her it was a great idea. Only one problem. While the cat's away!
Maggie may know her way around the works of Shakespeare and Oscar Wilde, but that doesn't help with the slippery fuckers we share this planet with. Trusting to a fault, she is always willing to forgive those who trespass against us. Not me. Since her underwear started going missing I made sure any private stuff, especially her bag of toys, were locked safely inside two suitcases on top of the wardrobe.
So when I checked Thursday afternoon's footage, I couldn't believe my eyes!
Her favourite pink vibrator was being passed around during the afternoon tea break? Dirty fingers over something she liked to place inside her sweet vagina. Ted even spat on his grubby hands and rubbed them all over it like lubricant. The cunt!
Calling out this behaviour would mean admitting to spying on everyone and still leave me explaining to Maggs why I let it go on for so long. The finish line was in sight. Once again I let things slide.
Friday evening. No builders for forty eight hours. Maggie and I shared a take-away and although everywhere was covered in a layer of dust, we settled down with a bottle of Merlot. Her new hair style looked exactly the same as the old one, but she seemed happy and when those long legs were laid across my lap and I was asked to play with her toes, I knew it wouldn't be long.
"Go get my toy will you. It's in the bedside table." She said.
Bedside table? That explains it. She must have had a little dabble when I was out playing snooker on Wednesday night.
I'll be honest. I had been making some elaborate plans for this Friday night.
We were going to make an erotic home movie. Never to go on general release but one to be poured over to make us laugh, and cry and hopefully, a little horny. At that moment she knew nothing about it and, in all likelihood, I was probably aiming way too high. But as Rodney Trotter once said; He Who Dares...
I scampered back downstairs carrying her pink vibrator AND a camcorder, to find her swaying dreamily to Careless Whisper.
With one eye pressed to the viewfinder, I called across the room.
"Ahem, I think it's time you took off that dress."
She spun around, smiled, and within seconds was walking towards me wearing only a pair of lilac coloured French knickers and a matching lacy bra.
"Do you like them?" She smiled.
New haircut, new underwear? Our bank balance must have taken one hell of a beating. I couldn't have cared less. Instead of choosing a career teaching 5 to 11 year olds, my wife could've easily been a lingerie model, albeit a very naughty one.
"Want to see how wet I am?" She asked.
Our bathroom was currently acting as a store for power tools which meant Maggie having her nightly wash down with a basin of hot water in our bedroom, incredibly inconvenient when one is trying to read War and Peace. Anyway, not shaving her pussy was a by-product of this upheaval and there was a noticeable five o'clock shadow when she gathered the lilac lace to one side.
"What will you give me for this?" I said, dangling her pink vibrator like a cat's toy.
"Anything. I'll do anything." She gulped.
She'd had a few glasses. She was getting into character. Who would it be? A distressed damsel trapped in a castle dungeon, Tara King surrounded by hoodlums, or a dishevelled Anne Darrow waiting for King Kong?
Pushing gently down on her shoulders I kept my fingers crossed for Tara King.
"No please, I don't want to." Tara pleaded. All pantomime of course.
When she was on her knees I began pouring more red wine into her upturned mouth until it cascaded onto her breasts.
My cock slapped her face before forcing it's way past those perfect lips. She choked, she cried, she whimpered. Then she repeated the whole thing again and again until Dick Dastardly ejaculated over Tara's stunningly gorgeous face.
