John and Maria lived in romantic and scenic wine country, a result of one of John's many business ventures. Maria knew as soon as she saw it that she had to have it. She convinced John to invest, and his keen business acumen soon found multiple angles for generating a profit. Only in the back of his mind was her happiness.
So when they purchased the property, with acres abound and the home with stories above, they couldn't do it themselves and decided to hire help. They brought in rotations of gardeners and groundskeepers, housekeepers and maids, doing everything that Maria didn't have to, since John believed a woman's place was in the bedroom. He bought her countless lingerie, and they seemed happy. But she was restless, and John tasked her with checking up on the help when he wasn't around.
"Good morning," came Maria's stern voice into the guesthouse. The man blinked his eyes at the light and saw the smiling face in the window. It was false, of course, lips pursed a little too tightly. The man was still in his underwear at 10 am, and she apparently needed him for a task. Or just an excuse to get his lazy ass up. What she didn't understand is that he worked far harder than she imagined, a father making sacrifices for his children who were thousands of miles away from him now. He sat up in bed, his muscled exterior showing decades of hard work.
"Morning," he replied as he looked around for a shirt.
She quickly cut to the chase. "Do you think I could take some pillows from you? I've got guests coming and need to make another bed."
The man had been given a room in the staff quarters, a large bed with many more sleeping and decorative pillows than he needed. He felt like quite a little princess, and happily agreed to give up more, grabbing a handful and reaching it out to her.
She took them through the large open window. "Thanks, I'll see you in a little bit," she added in a meaningful tone and whisked off, her bob bouncing off the nape of her neck as she turned.
But as soon as she was out of sight, her rhythm slowed. The jeans she had pulled on this morning were impossibly tight, and she couldn't move too quickly if she didn't want to hike them up every few steps. Women's styles had their pitfalls and the ability to express yourself clearly sure had its drawbacks. But maybe it would all be worth it.
She went to work in the kitchen, the traditional role that she had assumed for the sake of her wheeling and dealing husband who was always pacing about talking on his phone to someone very important a million miles away. He couldn't even be bothered to mess with attentive tasks like cooking for the time being. She made sure to invite him to eat with them, or else he wouldn't get fed and his pounds of fat would melt away. Maybe that wouldn't be so bad, but she did her civil duty and called him to breakfast.
"John, time to eat!"
He appeared in the doorway, his thinning blonde coif bouncing against his forehead where sweat was already beading. His wooden chair scraped against the floor as he pulled it back quickly and sat down to attack the meal.
"I've got important stuff to do day, so I need you to keep an eye on the help."
She nodded the corner of her mouth turning up in a suppressed all-knowing smile.
"I'll do my best."
John devoured his meal and flew out of the room, not even waiting for Maria to sit down. When she finally did, she went slowly, gazing out the window, her mind somewhere else as she picked away at her meal. Once she was finished she stood up to wash the few dishes, only breaking away from her thoughts when she heard a polite know at the kitchen door.
It was Clyde, dressed in beat up working jeans and a shirt that stretched tightly over his muscled upper body. He had a thumb through his belt loop and his hand on a thigh, in one of those awkward stances a model stands in to look natural.
"Whatchya got on the schedule?"
"Oh nice to see you finally! Just like me finish putting away the dishes and I can show you what you can do for me with those muscles."
She put the plates and cups in the cupboard, then bent over to slide the pots and pans into the lower cabinet.
"Do you need my help with any of that as well?" he asked as she began pulling out and trying to rearrange miscellaneous pots and pans.
"No, thank you very much."
So Clyde stayed in the doorway watching her jeans snugly tug her behind as she reworked the cookware in variety of different ways. After a few failed attempts she finally found something that worked and closed the cabinet door victoriously, standing up in a huff and twirling on Clyde, whose eyes immediately jumped up to her face.
With a hand she quickly brushed her hair back into position, then said, "Okay you can follow me. But watch your head."
She led him down into the basement wine cellar, dusty from years of underuse, and pointed out a few small crates of bottles.
"If you can, try to bring up a few of these. Last time it took a dozen or so of us to finish off 28 bottles," she laughed.
He didn't ask for details, though he imagined the stumbling debauchery.
"Will do ma'am, anything else?"
"First let me show you where I want them."
He grabbed a crate that was more awkward than heavy, even for his long arms. As she made her way up the stairs ahead of him, he nearly fumbled it as he watched her hips sway side to side, more than he had expected.
"Be careful," she chastised. "Here, just stack them next to the wine fridge for now. I'll be baking here in the kitchen, so just let me know when you're finished." With that he turned and headed back to the basement door, turning to glance as she bent back down to fish out some more pans.
He didn't linger, but quickly went to work hauling crate after crate. Each time he came up he couldn't help but steal a glance at her well-framed behind, either as she reached into the upper cabinets or turned to sort through a drawer. He kept focused enough on his task, though and managed to juggle both activities at the same time. Soon he was done.
Now he was to set about the yardwork, a solitary task he enjoyed because of how much it let his mind wander, but today all he could think about were class differences between the married couple and himself. He knew the wine meant that his boss was one of these rich fuckers let their wives have wild sex parties to keep them happy, allowed drug and alcohol-fueled debauchery to make up for otherwise lackluster sex lives. Clyde had recently gotten out of a difficult relationship, but with child support it was more of a financial burden than chaotic fun.
So he was kinda pissed, chopping at the branches aggressively, thinking about how on the other side of the tracks these rich husbands let their wives get fucked by other studs, experiment with all sorts of fancy toys, acts of bondage, and even other less savory acts that don't appeal to every palate. It pissed Clyde off since he was stuck doing yardwork to support his own family instead of dicking down Maria.
If life had dealt him a different hand of cards, perhaps he'd be whipping out his sizeable cock and letting Maria suck on it. Maybe even let her fat husband watch if the roles were reversed. He thought about how he'd like to bend her over, take that fat ass out of those tight jeans and fuck the shit out of her. Even if she asked to ride on top, he'd make sure to smack her substantial breasts and ass to make them jiggle all around.
But as the branches fell in front of him, he knew he had to stop this train of thought. He could feel himself bricking up, his member now restrained, pushing against the limits imposed by his jeans. He glanced at the house as the sweat dripped from his brow, and thought he saw Maria staring at him before she then disappeared from his sight. He wiped the sweat off with an arm, shook his head, and put the hedge trimmer back to work with his veiny arms, his shirt having been removed a while ago.
When he was done he knew he'd have to wait outside patiently for her to come back outside, since he didn't want to enter rudely and uninvited, especially since her husband seemed to catch a watchful eye, and would get rid of him if there was any suspicion of messing around. But like before, she sometimes delayed and took a while to come back outside. He wasn't going to miss picking up his kids like he'd done the last time. He decided to bust in if she made him wait for too long.
Back in the house Maria was making her way back upstairs to her own bedroom, separate from that of her husband's. Typical of a "power couple" like this, both of their schedules made this setup more convenient. And this way Maria had privacy, without being bothered by her husband's requests on the few nights they spent together. And Maria needed her privacy right now, having been watching Clyde work in the yard all morning, a manly stud in comparison to her portly husband. But married life was treating her well, and the money kept pouring in, so she had to keep her mouth shut. Even if she needed to cover it again, avoiding escaped moans.
She unbuttoned her jeans and tried to slip them off, but because they were so tight she wasn't able to get them farther than just below her well-rounded ass cheeks. She decided to sit on the bet to gain a little bit of stability as she tried to get them the rest of the way down. No rush. She had plenty of time to make it to the stupid social event her husband needed to attend. The sacrifices she made...
But for now she didn't want to think about those obligations. Swirling inside her head were mental image of Clyde as he worked, his broad back and well-rounded shoulders attached to well-toned guns whose veins throbbed as he worked and held various tools. But when Clyde turned around to face her that's the image that was burned into her brain in the most intricate detail. It wasn't his abs or his chest that caught her attention, but the v-cut that led suggestively into his jeans. It had been enough to send her away from the wind and upstairs straight away.
