Mark and Sandra Thomas were by definition still newlyweds. At just under three years since their wedding they were still getting a feel for each other, and learning their way around the finer points of their relationship. It had been a very loving marriage, just as their long courtship had been. Romantic evenings filled with candle-lit dinners and moonlit walks on the ocean. To this point it had been a fairytale relationship in every sense of the phrase.
One of the dreams they had shared early on was to buy an old house far outside the city and renovate it. They had agreed on nearly every detail, right down to the dark green shutters on the windows and the rows of white and yellow flowers lining the driveway.
As their third anniversary approached, they found the perfect house. It was about and hour and a half outside of the city, and an easy commute for Mark. It needed a great deal of work, and was more expensive than they had originally planned for, but they were doing well financially. In the end they simply could not resist this chance to start working on their dream.
So that is how Mark and Sandra found themselves closing on their dream only two short months before their third anniversary. Within two weeks of signing, their lives had become a model of complete chaos, with a flurry of contractors and sub-contractors, decisions and deadlines; and they loved every minute of it. They were completely oblivious to everything but the end result; that perfect country home with dark green shutters and flowers lining the driveway.
Mark and Sandra had decided to live in one of the small bedrooms in their new home while they were renovating. Contractors were used for the larger jobs, but they insisted on undertaking several smaller tasks themselves so they could remain involved in the process. They often found themselves working late into the night, long after the contractors had left for the day, laying tile or sanding floors.
Almost a month into the renovation, Mark and Sandra started feeling the stress associated with it. The initial joy of realizing one of their biggest dreams was wearing thin. Tempers were shortening, days were grinding longer and longer, and their romantic life was taking a downhill turn. By the time the first “incident” occurred, Mark and Sandra hadn’t been intimate for nearly two weeks. They hadn’t been civil to each other in nearly as many days.
It was a Tuesday morning, as they would later recall. Mark and Sandra were both taking the week off from work to try and finish up some of their projects which seemed to be stretching way past reasonable amounts of time. Hammers pounding on the other end of the house woke them up around 7:30 am. Apparently the contractors were off to an early start. Hoping to reconcile, Mark reach over to touch Sandra’s shoulder, but she was already climbing out of bed, reaching for a clean, white tank top hanging over a chair by their bedroom door. She sensed his hand reaching for her and let out an annoyed sigh. She turned to face him, slipping the tank top over her shoulders, down over her full, white breasts, and finally resting at her hips.
“Mark, you do the same thing every morning…you reach over and try to grope me. It’s getting old…as old as this damn renovation. Sex is not going to solve our problems, and it’s certainly not going to get this place finished any faster.”
Mark now felt yesterday’s anger creeping back in, picking up exactly where it left off last night when they drifted off to sleep. “Dammit, Sandy…are you going to parade around the house again today with no bra? You know it pisses me off, seeing all those sex-crazed workers gawk at you all day long. Can’t you at least give me that one small courtesy?”
Sandra’s blood began to boil. In her mind she knew that was exactly why she had stopped wearing a bra, but Mark had no business telling her what to wear. “Look…it’s fucking hot working in this house with no air conditioning, and I don’t have the patience right now to conform to your dress code.” She felt as shocked as Mark looked from her choice of language. Sandra was not the type of girl who went around swearing like a sailor. Mark wanted to say something, but he couldn’t put the words together. He simply watched Sandra finish dressing, pulling her cut-off jeans up over her thighs and slipping on her white sneakers. She grabbed a hair clip from the dresser, angrily pulled her hair up into a pony-tail, and stomped out of the room.
Mark eased out of bed, still feeling the stiffness from the day before. Every muscle in his body ached, and he had to resist the urge to fall back onto the soft mattress. He walked slowly over to the chair by his side of the bed and picked up a t-shirt, slipping it on despite the protest from his upper body. He gazed out the window which overlooked the massive back yard. A few weeks ago he took in this view and imagined how beautiful it would look once he had a chance to landscape and manicure the bushes. Now he simply peered out and wondered when his own private hell would end. Suddenly he heard a door slam below and Sandra emerged, making her way across the lawn to the make-shift supply shed that sat at the edge of the tree-line in the yard. She was incredibly beautiful, her jean shorts complimenting her long legs, now perfectly tanned from their weeks of work. Her breasts, which only minutes ago had been the focus of their heated discussion, flowed gracefully up and down beneath her tight tank top. Even though her back was facing him, he could imagine how her nipples must be poking through the thin fabric, leaving nearly nothing to the imagination. Her beautiful dirty-blonde hair beat rhythmically down the middle of her back.
Mark felt his cock hardening in his boxers. His hand slowly moved downward, taking a firm grip around his shaft. For a brief moment he began to move his wrist in a stroking motion. Then suddenly he stopped. His anger returned, replacing the fleeting moment of desire that he had allowed to creep in.
“Fuck it,” he said, “I’m not about to resort to that.” He finished getting dressed and walked out into the hall, toward the guest bathroom that he had been working on for the past two days.
Sandra slammed the shed door shut behind her, stirring up a cloud of dust and dirt from the floor. She leaned back and closed her eyes for a moment, trying to calm the anger that had been boiling up inside her. She didn’t feel like crying….god knows she had done her share of that over the past couple of weeks. She was beyond that particular emotion. She had now graduated from a great sense of frustration into pure anger. Everything that Mark did or said lately only shook the hornet’s nest inside her head, and she was realizing that she was rapidly approaching her wits end; with the house, the renovation, and most of all with Mark. Part of her knew that he wasn’t the central cause of all this mess, but he was the easiest target. There was no gratification in getting angry at the house, or the contractors…Mark offered the greatest fulfillment in expressing her anger.
Sandra regrouped and started walking toward the far corner of the shed where paint was stored on a metal shelf. She was working in one of the downstairs rooms…a Study, she thought…and would need several cans of paint to get started. As she checked labels looking for the right color, she heard the door open behind her. She thought it was probably Mark coming in for a second round, and she felt the anger return to her once more. She spun around, ready to resume shouting, but realized that it was not Mark who had walked in. In the doorway was a muscular figure in a blue t-shirt and paint-dripped jeans. He had short, dark hair and chiseled features. She recognized him as John, one of the senior members of the work crew that had been here from the beginning of the renovation.
John seemed startled at first by her presence, but then quickly stepped in through the door and closed it behind him. He cracked a big smile, and told her good morning. Unassumingly, he walked over to a bench on the opposite side of the shed and began rummaging through some of the tools there.
It took a moment for Sandra to answer his greeting, and a few moments longer for her to break her gaze on this muscular, blue-collar man. Inexplicably, Sandra began feeling emotions that she had not had for weeks…a sort of heat emanating first from her midsection, and then gradually spreading to her hips, breasts and finally her face. She was thankful for the dark of the shed because she was sure her face was flushed at this very moment.
A sudden wave of shock and terror braced her as she realized fully what she was experiencing. She was feeling passion and desire in the presence of this man….something that she had not felt even for her own husband in what seemed like ages. She began to feel anger at herself for even entertaining these thoughts. Her mind was in a complete state of turmoil, and for a brief moment she thought she may faint.
Then something in her that appealed to her most base of human natures began to swell inside her. She started to entertain the thoughts dancing in her head…actually entertain them. Her mind was a swarm of random thoughts…how could she even consider doing this to Mark, how could Mark treat her so coldly the past few weeks, what if she did this and someone found them, how would it feel to be taken by this man……
The last thought triggered her instincts, and she immediately began to run on complete auto-pilot. Somewhere in the back of her mind she could still faintly hear the hundreds of objections to her impending actions, but they were safely in check now. As Sandra’s mind began to work, she thought of her past. She had only been intimate with one man other than Mark…a brief relationship in her junior year of college. But she remembered that as one of the most passionate times in her life, and a sudden swell of heat between her thighs pushed her on. She wanted to feel passion like that again. Now.
She called John from her position by the shelves. Her mind was such a blur she didn’t even remember the question she formulated to get his attention. Something about semi-gloss or flat…basically bullshit.
John walked over, still very unassuming, ready to help this beautiful woman in the white tank top. He had noticed her many times, particularly since she had stopped wearing a bra. All the guys on the crew had, and they commented on it very crudely over lunch and cigarette breaks. As he approached her he could sense a very strong heat emanating from her body. He did not know quite what to make of this situation.
“John,” she said trying to keep her voice from cracking, “I am going to start painting the walls in the study this morning, and I can’t remember what the original plans called for. On the walls by the bookshelf were we going to use the hunter-green flat?”
“Ma’am,” John replied, still confused, “I believe we were going to use the…”
John was suddenly acutely aware of the growing erection beneath his jeans, and it was growing even more rigid thanks to the hand of the beautiful woman which was now inching up his thigh. Sandra was now moving backward, pressing her body against John’s…this man who she barely knew…slowly running her hand up his thigh to the massive male member that was the focus of her new-found desire. Even clothed, Sandra could feel that John’s cock was massive…far more massive than Mark’s, and certainly larger than any she had ever had. She turned to face him, unsure of what she would say. She was relieved to see that John was smiling, albeit with a bit of a startled look in his eyes.
“Ma’am,” John began.
