Bad, Bad Housewife
Manda McNay
ｩ 2012 by Manda McNay
All Rights Reserved
Smashwords Edition
“Dammit!”
Mrs Jones slammed the oven door shut. Mr Jones would be home any minute now, and the roast was ruined.
She hadn't meant to lose track of the time. But she'd been peeking out at the neighbour's landscaper again, his ass in the air as he bent to weed the garden next door. The sheer curtains hid her from view, but she liked to think that at any moment he'd turn and catch her, exposed behind the glass. She wore only a flimsy apron and thigh-high stockings. Her tits were completely uncovered.
She had her apron hiked up and a hand down the front of her panties. His ass bounced as he tugged the stubborn plants out, and she was picturing herself underneath him as he thrust his hips.
She'd been pinching the nub between her legs until it swelled with excitement. Mrs Jones imagined what it would be like to have him here beside her in the parlour, his dirty boots on her freshly vacuumed rug and his sweaty cock rubbing hard against the opening of her pussy. Her fingers dove inside her, jostling for space as she pushed in another, and another. She managed to fit all four fingers, and fucked herself hard in time to the man's swaying ass. Her hips rocked, and her cheeks flushed as she watched the sweat bead down the gardener's tanned back. She wanted to taste him, to run her tongue down the long valley of his spine.
She'd been knuckles-deep, legs open and panties damp, when she'd smelled the smoke.
Now she looked over her shoulder at the front door. The rest of the house was in order, just the way Mr Jones liked it. Maybe if she gave him a stiff cocktail when he came in he'd overlook her naughtiness...
She straightened up and looked herself over. Her heels were red, and painfully high, just how he preferred. She ran a hand down the backs of her legs. The seams on her thigh-highs were straight. It was chilly in the house, with just her sheer panties and apron on. But she liked doing things as he liked, and he liked to see her nipples hard at all times.
Just then she heard the sound of a car door shutting in the drive. She smoothed down her apron and hurried to the front door. One last check of her cherry-red lipstick and she opened the door for him.
He didn't say a word. His eyes moved slowly up her body, relishing her standing exposed to the street in the doorway. He paused there a moment to make sure she knew anyone going past could see her.
She thought she saw a glint of approval when he noticed the new nipple jewelry she'd put in. She flushed with pleasure.
“May I take your things for you, Mr Jones?” She kept her eyes carefully lowered as she held out her hands for his coat.
He hung it on her arm nonchalantly and threw his keys and cellphone in the bowl on the table.
“It was a long day at the office, Mrs Jones. You better have my dinner ready.”
She hung his coat and came to kneel in front of him in supplication. The well-polished wooden floor was hard under her knees. She waited to be addressed, as she'd been taught.