Seth Fans The Flames

I love him to death. I really do. He's a wonderful husband, and the greatest dad in the world. I've been working so many hours and running back and forth to Chicago that he has had to practically becum the full time dad and part time mom. I regret the time I spend away but I'm becoming more and more successful, more and more renowned and I don't want to lose this. I've faded into the background for much too long; it's time for me to make my mark in the world.

I've lost weight. I'm working out more than ever before and I want to be sure that when we retire, we can retire in great comfort - traveling, playing golf, doing whatever we want with no worries. I will pay off this house in the next five years so I am busting my ass at work to go further and further and further.

However, at the same time, because he has to do the "mom" thing as well, the house is starting to cum apart at the seams.

First, the chandelier in the dining room went out. Before he was able to do anything about that, the light over the kitchen sink died, then the light over the foyer and now the light over the front porch. What is up with this? I wonder. I am inconvenienced by this but more than that, I am concerned about a possible fire hazard since it seems there is a circuitry problem here.

I am concerned enough, in fact, to talk to a couple of guys at work about it. They tell me that I should really hire an electrician, since, although he IS the worlds greatest dad and he has many, many other gifts, I believe it was I who had to explain to him the difference between a flathead and a Phillips head screwdriver. So this is liable to never get taken care of otherwise. And I live in fear that I will drive home from the airport to find a smoking heap of ashes.

I know he will be upset if I spend the money to hire someone but, once it's done he really can't complain. I hope. I check my calendar and find I'll be available next Tuesday from noon through the end of the day. I get the telephone number of an electrician from a guy at work. It's his son's best friend and he has recently been out of work, and would really appreciate the side job. I call and arrange to have him come by.

I am just excited about the prospect of not having to worry about it anymore and arrange for him to meet me at the house on Tuesday around noon. I explain to him what I need done; he tells me there is really nothing to it. By Tuesday at 11:00 a.m., I am finished at work and I've decided to replace the ostentatious chandelier in the dining room with a ceiling fan and I run by Home Depot on my way home to choose one.

I'm wearing something that is a little bit of a departure for me today. When I was shopping last, I found the prettiest little short pink on pink silk wrap skirt, almost like a sarong and it catches the slightest breeze when I walk and it feels so good against my bare legs. I've opted to not wear stockings today because of the temperature outside. Also, I'm wearing a white blouse that I may have dried just a little too long in the dryer. It seems to be pulling across the bust a little and that one critical button has popped open at the most inopportune time this morning. I normally have safety pins in my desk but it seems I've loaned them to people who have failed to return them. Note to self: Replace safety pin supply.

And I silently curse myself for wearing these black 4 inch heels into the store. I can never get over how huge this store is. And because of my lack of time and my choice of footwear, I am more aware of it today.

I am surprised at the attention I am receiving here. It seems as I round each corner and reach the end of each aisle, I am met by male associates asking if they can be of assistance. Did I hear "MILF needs assistance in aisle 13b"? I guess the sight of a woman in a skirt and heels is a rare one here. I am frustrated that I am running later than I anticipated but I know what I'm looking for, having searched the website previously to choose just the perfect fan.

I'm bending over to read the price tag on a low shelf when a guy approaches and offers to help. And while I've already made my choice, he fortunately, offers to carry the fan box to the cashier for me, since in my haste, it didn't occur to me to grab a cart. I pay for the fan, hurry to the car and rush home to meet "Seth." He is patiently waiting for me in the driveway when I arrive.

I pull into the garage and pop the trunk open to allow access to the new ceiling fan as Seth steps out of his truck. He has apparently pulled on a denim shirt and is buttoning it as he approaches me. He reaches out, takes my hand and introduces himself. I cannot believe how good looking this young guy is. He has blonde hair cut short on the sides, longer on the top and parted left of center with the bluest eyes I have ever seen and lips that look like a cherubs "bow." Even with the long-sleeved shirt he seems extremely well built. I flush as he holds my hand in both of his a moment longer than I expect and looks searchingly into my eyes and grins broadly.

I break the gaze (what did I see in his eyes?) and turn toward the trunk of the car to reach for the ceiling fan to find as I've driven, it has slipped to the farthest part of the trunk, forcing me to bend and reach for it and at this angle, my ass is pointing skyward.

I feel my skirt hem rise as I reach and am both embarrassed and emboldened by this at the same time. He reaches for the fan as well and for a brief moment, our arms brush against each other and I don't know about him, but I feel an instant intense physical attraction and momentarily consider asking him to return when someone else is home.

But I really want this project completed and I really hesitate to inconvenience him so I suck it up and allow him to retrieve the fan from the trunk. I unlock and open the door from the garage into the house and welcum him into my home.

Because it is a split level house, the garage is on the lower level and you have to climb first six stairs to the landing then seven steps to the upper level. I am all too aware of this as he follows behind me carrying the box up the stairs. I can feel his gaze on my bare legs and wonder if, from his vantage point, he can see up my skirt or if he can see the moisture starting to spread there, for I am excited by him, his good looks, the masculine smell of him, his nearness and the fact that we are here in the house alone, together.

It did not even occur to me that he would be attractive, much less this attractive. Damn it. And as frequently as I've discussed "changing it up in the bedroom" with my husband lately, he's just not interested in anything that consists of more than the "missionary position" and for longer than about 3 minutes on anything but odd dated Saturdays. And I am FEELING it at this point.

I drop my purse on the counter and begin to point out my perceived problems with the wiring. I lead him to the dining room and point out the hole in the ceiling through which wires protrude awaiting the new ceiling fan and show him the lights over the sink, foyer and front porch that I think must be on the same circuit.

We walk to the end of the hall where outside the master bedroom suite in the ceiling, he finds the door to the attic. He reassures me he will be able to help. He indicates he should be able to correct all of the aforementioned problems by completing the circuit when he finishes the wiring of the ceiling fan. But he explains he will have to get into the attic to check that the existing brace is strong enough to hold the fan I've purchased. He will need a ladder to get up into the attic and I tell him it's in the garage.

I excuse myself to use the restroom and I hear him going down the stairs to the garage to retrieve the ladder. I go into my master bath and look closely at myself in the mirror. I'm forty years old, but am told I don't look it.

I try to take care of myself. I work out, and eat right. My eyes are flashing again, for I am attracted to but know I must resist starting anything with this guy. I run my fingers through my hair and smooth and flatten the front of my skirt with my hands. I straighten my blouse, I was going to change clothes but I like the way this outfit makes me feel and I see no reason to soil another.

And yes, I hate to admit it but I touch up my lipstick.

I remember one other thing I wanted to ask Seth and I leave my bedroom to walk smack into the ladder in the hallway. I assume since the ladder is here and the attic door is open, he must be up there. I carefully ascend the ladder and squint into the darkness of the attic.

"Seth?" I call no answer. I am carefully descending the ladder still in my heels as he silently closes the distance between us in the hallway. I am at the bottom of the ladder and as I bring my left leg to the bottom rung, I feel his arm against my calf. I gasp, startled by his presence.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I thought you were in the attic and there was something else I wanted to tell you." I start to turn but am still on the ladder. He reaches out and places both hands on either side of me, effectively trapping me. And much to my shock and surprise, he reaches wordlessly for my face, leans in and kisses me, muffling my protests with urgency evident in his soft lips. He pointedly flicks my upper lip with his tongue and pulls away for a moment and, while still holding my chin, looks into my eyes for what?

Assurance? Resistance? I am powerless to offer either.

My knees are weak and while I know I should be offended, I am all at once surprised and immensely aroused. I guess because I don't move, because I am unable to move, trapped on the bottom rung of the ladder between his strong, powerful arms, unable to react, unable to respond -- except to perhaps subconsciously lean my body forward into his, he does it again.

He flicks his tongue over my lips, then softly, ever so slowly covers my mouth with his and plunges his tongue into my mouth and I find mine responding, dancing with his in this erotic scene. I reach up and lock my fingers in the damp curly hair at the back of his neck and lean involuntarily into him, kissing him in return. He slides his hand from my chin to my breast, kneading first softly then urgently and forcefully. I reach behind him and grab his ass, pulling him to me. I can't help but grind my hips against the growing bulge in his jeans. And growing it is. Pretty impressive from what I can feel.

He continues to run his hands over my upper body; it appears we are equally at fault at this point, equally guilty, equally into each other and oblivious to anything else as I reach to unbutton his shirt. I caught a brief glimpse of him earlier as he pulled the shirt on when I was driving into the driveway, I am impressed as I finish unbuttoning his shirt and push it off his shoulders, pulling first one sleeve then the other from his arms and allowing the shirt to drop to the floor. I run my hands over his chest, his impressive chest; he too obviously frequents the gym.

I try to push him away just a bit, he whimpers a slight protest and I cover his lips with my finger in a "shhhh" gesture. I step down from the bottom rung of the ladder and reach for the buckle of his belt and the zipper of his jeans. I am more than curious now. I want to see this, need to touch him, must taste him now as I unbuckle, unzip and drop to my knees in front of him.

His huge cock springs forth, unleashed finally from its denim confines. And I am speechless at the sight of him, the size of him. He is far longer than anyone I've ever seen and much bigger around. I am momentarily interrupted; I cannot get this into my mouth, regardless of my best intentions. I don't know how I will fit all of his beautiful cock into my mouth.

Always the competitor, however, and much to his benefit, I know I will try my best. I start by lightly cupping his balls and rolling them gently in my hand and run my tongue up the underside of him. I can feel the pulse in his cock with my tongue as I slide it up and over the tip, finding there, already, and a slick drop of pre-cum. I swirl my tongue around it, delighted by the musky taste of him and still wondering if there is truly any way to deep throat him. I hear his satisfied low moans as I continue to devour him. He reaches for my shoulders, the back of my hair, and begins to twist his fingers into my hair. And . . . the doorbell rings!

We are both shocked and frightened. I jump to my feet and he quickly attempts to force his still hard manhood into his briefs, zips his jeans and buckles his belt while I grab his shirt and attempt to push it onto his shoulders.

I run to the top of the stairs and descend the first flight, peeking through the shade to see the UPS man walking away from the house, having left a package. Damn it. They always do that. They ring, drop and run. I should have thought of that. I shouldn't have panicked. But YOU try not to panic under the circumstances. I remember now that I was awaiting the delivery of a pair of shoes from Nordstrom.

Seth, in the meantime, has climbed the ladder into the attic, not sure what is transpiring. I retrieve the box, walk back down the hallway and apologize. For frightening him, for "going there", for the whole situation. I explain the box I'm holding and he asks me if I'd care to model them for him. I am a little apprehensive now. That was close. It may not have been the best idea. I tell him I'll think about it and ask him if maybe he could start working on the fan instead for right now. He has to have been startled as well but we both know now that the possibility exists that something could happen and I am even more than a little curious now, having seen with what god has gifted him!

I begin attending to household chores that have been long neglected with all the time I've spent working. I finish loading the dishwasher with the dishes the family has left from breakfast; I am not annoyed they didn't do these themselves for I am thinking about Seth and his healthy attributes.

I wipe the counter and the stove mindlessly, for I think about Seth. I step outside on the deck to shake out the throw rugs and think about Seth. I am struggling with the whole right and wrong here. My pussy is so wet, slick and pulsing with thoughts of Seth.

I need some sort of satisfaction. I am frustrated. It's been too long. One can only work out one's frustrations at the gym for so long. I want Seth. Or I must extract myself from this part of the house to satisfy myself. But I know that neither the hand held shower massager nor the vibrator I have stashed under the sink will take care of this urge, not now, not today. Not with Him this nearby.

I wipe off the kitchen table and lean a little deliberately against the edge, pressing my pelvis against it, grinding into it and teasing myself. I heard Seth in the attic a moment or so ago and determine he must be about finished placing the brace in the ceiling. I wonder if I can quickly vacuum the dining room before he needs to move the fan in there. I retrieve the vacuum and turn it on.

I don't hear Seth as he enters the room behind me and presses himself against my back, reaching around for my breasts. I am startled because I didn't hear him, I am startled because I think he knows everything I've been thinking and I wonder if I should actually get into this.

He is kneading my breasts, rubbing my nipples through my blouse as a moan escapes my lips and I lean involuntarily back into the heat of his body and I turn off the vacuum and turn toward him. I just can't hardly resist now. I feel the wetness of my pussy dripping past my panties and down my inner thigh. I keep thinking of the size of his cock, having never seen anything like that and am almost afraid of what damage he might do if we were to fuck.

He presses forward again and puts his hand behind my neck, pulling me forward to both whisper encouragement to me and to kiss me. And I am such a sucker for a good kiss. When he flicks his tongue over my lips and into and out of my mouth, sucking gently on my lower lip and tongue, nibbling and biting, I can feel it transfer the very same flicking, sucking and nibbling feeling to my clit and I am losing the battle of resistance.

He is kissing me and moving me ever so carefully over to the dining room table. My ass bumps against the edge of the table and I am again trapped. He reaches around and places his hands on my ass, gently lifting me onto the table.

His hands slide from my ass to my thighs and he pushes aside the flap of my wrap around skirt.

He runs his hand, fingernails pressing lightly into my flesh, up my left inner thigh and reaches with his fingers past the satin of my panties. He is surprised; I can tell and delighted, smiling conspiratorially as he finds how I've reacted to his presence, his touch. He lowers himself to his knees in front of me. He pushes my satin panties to the side and leans in, still playing with my pussy with his fingers but now determined to taste me. He spreads my lips apart and lightly licks my clit, just like he was kissing me.

Damn, I knew it! As young as he is, he still fucking knows what to do to make me crazy. His tongue becomes more insistent as my breathing quickens and I whisper his name. He slides a finger into me now, then two, deeply, and continues to lap up the juices of my pussy, which have begun to spread onto the dining room tablecloth. He removes his fingers, but just for a moment, to slowly draw them from the top of my clit down and slowly back into my waiting hole. And he does this again. And slowly, again. All I can do is to beg "Harder, please harder". The rhythm of the presence and then the absence of his touch, of the pressure on my clit, are making me crazy. I am leaning backward, my hands propping myself up, my head thrown backward.

I know nothing now. Except for the incredible pleasure he is providing me. I feel involuntary contractions begin; I know I am going to cum. I reach forward and grab his head, urging more and more, faster, harder... his fingers are more rhythmic, reaching deeply within me and his tongue is making me crazy.

For all of the inner turmoil I felt initially, I'm sorry I resisted and I lose myself in an incredible orgasm. I push him away momentarily; the feelings are too intense as wave after wave crash over me. I pull his face to mine, I want to taste myself on him, and this seems to surprise him. I kiss him for a moment, whispering thanks in his ear. He returns his attention to my pussy, licking, and cleaning every last drop of cum. When he finishes, he takes both of my hands, pulls me off the table to stand in front of him, places his hands on either side of my face and asks "now... how was that?", fully knowing the answer.

He gently turns my head to the side and whispers breathily and hotly into my ear, "You know... now you owe me," and turns my face back to his so I can do nothing but look directly into his hungry eyes. My legs are shaking, I can barely stand.

"Yes, I um, I guess... I owe you...," I can barely reply. He drops his hands from my face, turns and walks, no - saunters - cockily into the kitchen and picks up the tools he left before he interrupted my vacuuming. For the moment, he seems satisfied to have rocked my world, knowing full well he has at least another hour of work to do and at least another three hours alone in the house with me before he needs to become... a distant memory...

"He did not", I think to myself.

I am incredulous. I am floored that this cocky, talented, well endowed young man - slapped my ass as he walked away. And said I owe him. How he could know about my competitive nature, I wonder. How could he know that now I want to do for him what he did for me? But better, longer, harder, faster, slower. It's like I am an open book to him and it was only an hour or so ago that he walked in my garage and into my life.