©January 2002 by Bob Peale
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Author's Note:
This story was originally distributed as 6 chapters.
It may not be reproduced in any form for profit without the written permission of the author.
This story may be freely distributed with this notice attached, as long as no charge is made for it and it isn't changed in any way. If it is archived or displayed, it is done so with the understanding that the author will have unrestricted access to the archive or posting.
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Bev tried not to let show how much the idea of being in the house with Ryan AND Paul terrified her. But that night, lying in bed next to Paul, all she could think about was fucking Ryan!
His cock had felt so thick, so nice, lodged between her legs. And being watched – goddamn that had been hot! She reached under the sheet and gently rubbed herself through her panties. The cotton was so wet it felt like she was holding a sponge down there.
Her hips and quads ached from struggling to hold still. She didn't want to wake Paul, didn't want to explain why she was so horny again. Her fingers sped over her covered mound, teasing her lips and clit, but she managed to keep her arm and wrist stationary. When the white-hot blaze of her orgasm struck she let out a soft low cry and stuffed the palm of her free hand in her mouth.
It felt like someone had turned on a faucet deep inside her; hot sticky liquid squirted out and soaked the bed under her. She so wanted to thrash her head, spread her legs wide, stuff her fingers in deep, ride it out like a bucking bronco, but of course she didn't dare. Instead, she continued rubbing and stroking herself softly through her panties, tears of pleasure and frustration streaming down her cheeks until she collapsed into a labored, tortured sleep.
If Paul noticed the thick smell of sex or the still wet spot on her side of the bed the next morning he didn't let on. The first thing she did while he was in the shower was strip the bed, flip the mattress and replace the mattress pad and linens.
As was their practice, Cudgins Painters showed up promptly at the crack of dawn (8:00am to normal people), while Bev was making breakfast.
"Mmm mmm, that smells good," Ryan said pointedly as he brushed passed her.
"She sure can cook," Paul agreed.
Bev felt her face flush. She didn't think Ryan was referring to the bacon she was frying, and Paul's innocent corroboration made the comment sound that much more lecherous.
She was wearing a threadbare teddie under a thin robe. She'd put off showering until after breakfast - now she wasn't so sure that had been such a good idea.
While she and Paul ate breakfast the painters attended to their prep tasks.
"So, what's on your agenda today?" she asked, trying to sound casual even though her mind was already reeling.
Paul shrugged. "Well, can't watch TV with them painting. Maybe I'll work on bills and catch up on some paperwork."
"I was thinking of going food shopping. Is there anything you need me to pick up?"
As soon as she set eyes on Ryan again she knew it would not be a good idea to stay in the house. The temptation was building so strong now that he was here in the flesh. Already it was taking every ounce of willpower she had not to reach under the table and play with her pussy.
Paul shook his head. "Sorry hon, we're running a little low on cash. You'll have to wait until next week when I get paid. I've put in a lot of time, so we should have a big check coming."
He stood up and kissed her on the forehead and exited the kitchen.
Fuck, she thought as she cleaned up the dishes. She looked out of the window: cloudy and gray. A storm was coming – she couldn't even hide out in the yard and do yard work.
In the hallway she walked past Junior and he pressed against her meaningfully. She felt two successive waves of arousal: one because he'd managed to rub against her nipple, and another because his actions meant that he probably knew what happened yesterday.
She showered and dressed hurriedly, deciding that her best bet would be to curl up with a book and try to forget there was anyone in the house. Retrieving one from her nightstand, she padded past the den, where Paul was hunched over his desk with papers everywhere, into the guestroom.
She'd intended to sit in the big easy chair that had been moved in from the living room while it was being painted. Instead, she found Chris, his white tank top soaked down the middle with sweat, painters cap turned backwards, and his shoulders dappled with the pale blue color she and Paul had picked for this room. The chair was still here but it was covered, as was the computer and the rest of the furniture, it all pushed into the middle of the room.
She stood there, watching his muscles alternately bunch and flex as he applied the paint. She was so hypnotized by the slow even motion of the roller and the liquid movements of his body that she didn't register that he had turned around and was staring at her until he called her name several times.
"Sorry," Bev apologized. "I didn't sleep well at all."
He placed the roller in a drip pan at his feet and walked toward her. She sidestepped and backed up until she was in the corner, unable to go any further.
"You seem tense," he said placing a hand on one side of her. "That can't be good."
He was standing less than 3 inches from her. She could smell his sweat as well as the sharp sweet icy scent of his breath mint. And underneath, another smell, this one more primordial, more base.
She shook her head weakly. "I'm fine Chris, honest. It'll pass."
