The Boss's Wife

The Boss's Wife

It was three summers ago when the foreman from the factory, Angelo, asked me to give him a hand building a deck off of his porch. We weren't friends at the time, not exactly; I was "the new guy" at work and hadn't made any friends yet, and Angelo was a good guy to know, so I said yes. After all, he was the guy who made my schedule, decided whether I'd be turning wrenches or degreasing machinery all day, and whether my vacation time took place in balmy July or the frigid winter.

Angelo liked to get pretty tied on Friday nights so he told me not to come before two o'clock on Saturday, in the high heat of the afternoon, but a large poplar in his yard and a steady breeze made it bearable. I pulled up his driveway at just before two, parked, and approached the side door where the deck was to be built. Lumber was stacked waiting, and four concrete feet for mounting the posts were laid out marking the layout measuring only about eight feet in length by four feet in depth; all in all, a pretty simple job.

I knocked on the door and waited.

After receiving no answer, I knocked and waited.

Looking around, I noticed that Angelo's black Dodge wasn't there, and I realized that he wasn't either. I'd just turned back towards my car when a woman's voice called out to me from the yard, "Hey, you looking for something?"

I spun around to find a tall woman in a red bikini leaning against the side of the house, she was barely thirty, and I initially assumed she must be Angelo's daughter. Her hair was the color of fire, and my eyes immediately appraised her despite the fact that she was looking right at me. Her bikini bottom was tied by a bow on each hip, and I felt my jeans get tighter at the fantasy of pulling two little strings, and the heavenly treasure that surely laid behind that little triangle of pink spandex.

Realizing that I was staring directly at her crotch and that she was watching me stare, I diverted my gaze to the pile of lumber. "Sorry, yeah... I'm... (what WAS my name again) Chris, I'm looking for your father... I'm supposed to help him with the deck."

"Cemetery," she said, smirking.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Well," she explained, taking several steps towards me, "if you're looking for my father, that's where you'll find him. I'm Angelo's wife, Angie."

I couldn't hide my surprise; she had to be close to two decades Angelo's junior, and her beauty made me wonder what hidden talents he must possess to have been blessed with such a gift. My heart began to beat faster as she approached and extended her hand, palm down as though she was expecting me to kiss it (and I considered it,) her tightly toned body jiggling ever so slightly with each step until she stood before me. I awkwardly took her tiny hand in mine, marveling at its warmth and gave it a brief shake before taking a step back. "Nice to meet you."

She gave me a good long look before teasing, "Don't worry, I don't bite... much."

Just then, Angelo's truck rumbled up the driveway behind us, he climbed out and approached carrying a box of nails. Apparently he'd forgotten to buy them when he'd purchased the lumber. Upon seeing his wife standing there in all her majesty, he barked at her, "Angie! Go inside and put something on!"

With that she gave me a wink and turned towards the house and I saw that her bikini bottom was a mere thong, and her beautifully round ass was totally exposed. I quickly averted my eyes and found Angelo glaring at me suspiciously.

"What were you talking about?" he demanded.

"Nothing!" I said, a little too loudly. "I just got here!"

He looked as though he was about to say more, but then took a deep breath and wiped his mouth before giving me a slap on the shoulder, "Okay, forget about it... let's get started before it gets hotter."

We worked throughout the afternoon and into the early evening, it was a long hard day made even harder by the fact that I couldn't seem to do anything up to Angelo's standards aside from handing him tools and carrying the lumber. I kept my head down and did as he said, but my mind was never far from Angie; her chiseled features, and those two little strings keeping her bikini bottom on.

It was almost seven by the time we finished, and my stomach had been growling for hours with nothing in it except warm water from the garden hose. When we were finally finished, I was tired and my clothes were soaked through with sweat. I couldn't wait to leave. I helped Angelo collect the tools and carry them to his modest garage and got my first glimpse at the backyard, which he clearly took pride in.

A flagstone path ran from the house back to what appeared to be a shed disguised as a cottage surrounded by a garden of colorful Geraniums and Lilies. Seated on the little porch of the shed on a rocking chair, Angie sat reading a book from under a wide brimmed sun hat with her long tan legs crossed. She'd put on a pair of cut-off shorts and a white t-shirt over the bikini, but it did nothing to diminish her beauty. I immediately diverted my eyes, only to find them drawn back to her for another glimpse; a huge risk with her gorilla-sized husband standing so close to me.

"Angie!" he barked at her, causing me to jump.

She lowered her sunglasses and smiled back at us, "Yes dear?"

"Get dinner on the table, we're finished."

Angie snapped her book shut and dropped it on the chair as she rose and crossed the yard towards the house. "Is the boy staying for supper?" she asked.

Angelo looked at me for a moment; he clearly would rather I didn't, but after a moment he sighed and nodded, "Yes, the boy eats too."

"Kay," she said, smiling. "We're having pork chops... should I do them in the oven?"

He flapped his hand at her, "No, you don't do them right in the oven, I'll do them on the grill."

As Angelo headed for the grill just beside the deck we'd built, muttering something to himself, Angie pointed at me and curled her index finger. "Come on inside and freshen up, I'll show you the guest bathroom."

At the suggestion, my heart began to pound. I half expected Angelo to say something in protest, but he seemed focused on the grill. I followed her inside, willing myself to NOT stare at her ass as I did. As we entered, she tossed her hat on the kitchen table and pointed to a set of stairs leading down into the basement.

"Bathroom is downstairs, there's towels under the sink."

I turned to thank her but she'd taken a plate full of raw pork chops from the counter and was carrying it out the way we'd come in before I got the chance. I padded down into the basement where Angelo had made himself something of a rec-room with an old recliner parked in front of an even older t.v. and a small wet bar with a frosted mirror.

I followed the hall until I found a small bathroom with a tub-less shower and a dirty sink; obviously unused by anyone except Angelo. I took a towel from under the sink and held it under the faucet while I stripped off my shirt before ringing out the towel and wiping myself down.

"Need anything?"

Angie's voice made me jump and I spun around to see her leaning against the bathroom doorway. "Jesus... what are you doing down here?!?"

"I live here," she said plainly as she came inside the bathroom, backing me against the wall and pressing her body against mine.

"If Angelo catches us down here he'll tear my..."

I didn't get to finish the thought; Angie pressed her face against mine and plunged her tongue into my mouth, swirling and twisting like a snake as her hands found the drawstring on my shorts, loosened it, and yanked them down. I continued to resist her feebly as her mouth left mine and worked its way down my neck to my chest, then down to my stomach as she dropped to her knees. "No...please, don't do that... we shouldn't..."

She reached up with one hand and placed it over my mouth as she began to draw circles around my navel with her tongue. Her other hand pulled my shorts the rest of the way down and off of one leg, my cock was throbbing so hard it actually hurt. Angie inexplicably stuffed two fingers into my mouth; not knowing what to do with them, I twirled my tongue around them until she took them out again. She grabbed hold of my cock in one tiny fist and began stroking it while the other hand slid up my inner thigh and between my legs.

Angie took my cock into her mouth and simultaneously slipped her two wet fingers up my ass and began repeating the 'Come here' gesture she'd made outside. My jaw dropped open as I tried to tell her to stop, but no sound came out as she began sucking my cock and making love to it with her tongue. Within seconds I began to feel an orgasm building, and no sooner had I registered the sensation, I exploded into her mouth, biting down on my lip to keep myself from screaming as my entire body jerked and writhed.

I felt her fingers slide out of me at the same time as her mouth slid off of my cock; I was leaning against the wall with my eyes closed, panting heavily as I tried to comprehend what we'd just done when her face was once against jammed against mine, and her tongue forced its way back into my mouth, but that wasn't all. Her mouth was still full of cum, MY cum, and she began pushing it into my mouth. As I began to protest she grabbed hold of my hair and pinned my head against the wall insistently. I was overwhelmed with panic as I found myself unable to stop her without resorting to violence. She took her mouth away and replaced it with her free hand as she growled at me, almost angrily, "Swallow it... I said, SWALLOW IT."

I swallowed.

Standing there with my dwindling erection, I looked at her in a mix of confused revulsion as she wiped her mouth and winked at me on her way out. From outside, I heard Angelo's voice as he bellowed, "Angie, set the table! Five more minutes!"

* * *

I barely touched my dinner, a fact that didn't go unnoticed by my hosts, and several times I made the mistake of making eye-contact with Angie and found her smirking at me. "What's the matter," she asked at one point, "full already?"

Truthfully, the taste in my mouth and the little cuts inflicted by Angie's fingernails were making me nauseous, and I was afraid that I might throw up all over my plate.

The moment dinner was done, I thanked them both for the meal and got the hell out of there. When I next saw Angelo at work on Monday, I wasn't sure what to expect; perhaps he remained oblivious to what his wife and I had done, if not he probably would have beaten me to death with a blunt object. On the flip side, if he didn't know, he might make a show of his appreciation for my labor and give me a nice cushy job to do... but neither of those things happened, leaving me to wonder.

For the rest of the week I kept my head down and went about my business, and by the time I finished work on Friday I'd become convinced that it was over, and that I was in the clear. But just as I settled in for a quiet night at home, my phone buzzed on the coffee table with a text message. I didn't recognize the number, but the message explained why.

'Chris, it's Angelo. Busy?'

Skeptical, I wrote back, 'I don't recognize this number.'

His reply convinced me: 'MY FUCKING TRUCK BROKE DOWN LEFT MY PHONE IN IT USING WIFES PHONE CAN YOU HELP OR NOT?'

'Sure, of course. What do you need?' I responded.

'A ride. Come pick me up at my place.'

His story seemed feasible enough, and his current mood seemed about right. His place was only fifteen minutes away so I told him I'd be right over.

When I arrived, I sent him a text to let him know I was there; I didn't dare knock on his door lest Angie answer it. 'I'm here.'

A minute passed before the reply: 'I'm getting some tools out of the shed, come help.'

I killed the engine and climbed out, walking into the back yard without even questioning why Angelo would keep his tools out back rather than his well equipped garage. Light was spilling out from the cottage inspired shed's open door and I walked towards it quickly, feeling as though Angie was watching me from the house.

"Angelo?" I called out as I reached the shed and entered.

The shed contained no tools whatsoever; a small day-bed was pushed against the back wall and a small desk stood beside it with a small white chair. The door slammed shut behind me, startling me, and I spun around to see Angie leaning against it, blocking my escape. She was wearing a black satin robe, a pair of matching panties, and nothing else. Her breasts were peeking out from behind the robe and she was pleased to see me taking her in.

"Angie," I said, suddenly angry as I realized what was happening, "get away from the door, I'm leaving. Don't EVER do anything like this again."

She chuckled as though amused, crossed the small shed to the desk and sat down on it with one bare foot on the chair and her legs wide open. "Suit yourself, but if you leave you may want to consider leaving town tonight."

I ignored the statement and headed for the door, stopping just short of leaving. "Wait, what does that mean?"

She shrugged, "Just what I said. After I tell my husband about us, he's going to come for you."

I charged over to where she was sitting and pointed at her angrily, "Don't even THINK about it."

"He will," she said plainly. "Oh, he'll probably slap me around a little too, but nothing compared with what he'll do to YOU."

My heart was pounding in my chest; I could see she was serious and that she was willing to blow up her life and mine along with it, but why?

"Why are you doing this to me?" I said, pleading with her now.

"Boredom mostly," she said through a small sigh. "My husband isn't the most exciting person, as you know. But what we did last week... THAT was fun, the most fun I've had in a long time."

"That was a mistake," I said firmly. "It should have never happened."

"But it did happen," she pointed out. "Are you going to stand there and pretend like you didn't enjoy it?"

"No,' I admitted. "But it was wrong. You're a married woman, and your husband is my boss."

"Mine too... at least he treats me that way. In case you haven't noticed he's not very nice to me. Sometimes he's a little more than not nice, and I've accepted that about him. He wasn't always like that, but he's gotten worse over the years..."

I held up my hand, stopping her, "Look, I'm sorry your marriage isn't working out, but there's nothing I can..."

She went on, "I'm basically his slave, he orders me around like he owns me, and the only time he's nice about it is when he wants me to go down on him. Thirty seconds later he's back to treating me like crap. 'Angie where's my dinner? Angie clean the house, Angie get in bed, Angie roll over,' and it's always about him and what he wants, never about me and what I need, never has been. Well I'm tired of being treated like I don't count, and for once I'm going to get my way."

"Regardless of the consequences?" I challenged her.

"You're goddamned right. I got on my knees and gave you something of value, something many men would destroy their entire lives for... you owe me something."

As angry as I was, I was also taken by her passion and her beauty; she truly was an exceptional woman, and I couldn't imagine very many straight men who would have or could have refused her if they'd been in my position last week. She could probably have any man she wanted, married or otherwise, but for reasons of her own she'd chosen me, and I'd given myself over to her. Now she had all the power.

"What do you want from me?" I asked, resignedly.

Realizing that she'd won, she pointed to the floor in front of her. "Come here."

Reluctantly, I approached and stood before her.

"Now... strip."

"Excuse me?"

She rolled her eyes and repeated herself, "Strip."

Upon seeing my hesitation, she tried to set my mind at ease. "My husband is playing poker with his buddies like he does every other Friday, he won't likely be back before dawn, but just because we've got all night doesn't mean I've got all night, understand?"

I nodded dumbly.

"Good, so take off your fucking clothes."

Her voice suddenly had an edge to it, an aggression I hadn't heard before almost like it was her husband talking. I reluctantly began to undress; kicking off my shoes and unbuckling my jeans.

"Faster," she snapped.

I hurriedly took off my pants and kicked them aside, then my t-shirt until I was standing there barefoot in my underwear with my hands covering my crotch. Angie rose from the desk and said, "ALL of it."

I took off my underwear and kicked them aside, my pulse jack-hammering in my temples as my face grew hot. She opened her robe and slid her panties down, stepping out of them one foot at a time before dangling them in front of me from the end of her finger. "Put these on," she commanded.

I stared at her, confused, sure I must have misheard her until she said it again, "Put... these... on."

I shook my head, "I can't do that."

She regarded me coldly as though she was explaining something very simple to a child who kept asking 'Why?' over and over again. "You can and you will."

I

stared at the panties, unable to comprehend what she wanted.

"My husband bought these for me, men have been buying me things like this for as long as I've had tits, and I've always wondered why women are always the ones who have to dress up for their partners. Why not men?"

I shrugged and began to point out that men are stimulated visually when she cut me off with: "I was a rhetorical question, stop stalling and put them on."

I took them from her with shaking hands; they were warm with her body heat and impossibly soft. Feeling as though I might faint I bent over and stepped into them with mixed feelings of relief to no longer be naked, and revulsion to be wearing women's underwear against my will.

Satisfied, Angie returned to her seat on the desktop with one foot parked on the chair and she once again pointed down to the floor below her. "Come here."

I stood before her and asked, "What do you want?"

"Something I haven't had since before I met Angelo. Get on your knees."

I knelt before her and she reached out and seized hold of my head by twisting her tiny fist in my hair and pulled my face between her legs. She jammed my face into her crotch and began to grind her crotch into my mouth until I capitulated and began to service her. "Good boy," she purred. "With a little training I think you'll work out just fine."

I closed my eyes and began drawing circles around her clit with the tip of my tongue, Angie hooked her legs over my shoulders and pulled me in closer, shoving my face down into her. She was very sweet, and very wet, and within minutes her body was twisting and writhing. She slapped the top of my head three times in quick succession and I took it as my cue to stop. When I looked up I saw that she was holding a cell phone in one hand, and that she'd been recording me.

"Hey!" I cried, reaching for the phone.

She yanked it away and used her feet to shove me backwards onto the floor, and continued to film me. "What are you doing?!?" she exploded, feigning surprise and outrage. "I thought you were my husband! What do you want? Why are you wearing my underwear?!?"

I launched myself at her and wrenched the phone away from her, but whatever she'd intended to do, it was already done by the time I got hold of the phone, and she began to laugh. "Boy, you could NOT have made that any easier."

Looking at her phone, I saw that she was logged onto some sort of adult live streaming service. A box was open indicating that the video she'd just made was being uploaded. "What did you do?" I gasped.

Smiling, she held out her hand and took the phone back from me. "Do? I didn't do a thing... I was just laying here taking a nap while I wait for my husband to come home from his Poker game. What you're doing here is another story. This video might be kind of hard for you to explain, don't ya' think?"