A New Way of Seeing Things Ch. 06

(Author's note: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real people, places, and/or things is coincidental.)

Thank you to all who have written with feedback and story ideas. Writing is so much easier when the audience approves of the effort and has an interest in where the story is going.

The dream did not return that night and Gwen slept soundly, her husband's body wrapped around her own nude form. Still, she awoke several moments before the sound of alarm, more out of habit than distress, listening to the steady breathing of the man behind her. Gwen reveled in the feeling of warmth and security his body gave her, and she tried to wriggle even closer to him.

A sudden change in Tim's breathing announced his awakening a few minutes later. Gwen could hear her husband's pillow rustle as he turned to look at the clock, His body rolling away much to her regret, but only long enough for Tim to turn off the alarm before it sounded. He rolled back and captured her again, giving her a strong one-armed hug.

"Morning," he grumbled softly behind her neck.

"Morning." Gwen hugged his draped arm closely against her body, flattening her breasts beneath it. The two lay there for another fifteen minutes, lightly dozing while enjoying the feel of each other, before Tim reluctantly flipped back the covers and rolled of his side of the bed. "Got that job over at the Urgent Care clinic today," he reminded her as he shuffled towards the shower. Gwen watched his firm butt ripple and sway across the room before he disappeared behind the bathroom wall and she rose to make breakfast. She thought briefly about just throwing on a robe over her naked body before deciding against it as too risky, donning her traditional nightgown and panties instead. She allowed herself one small breach of propriety and omitted a bra.

After they had eaten, Tim made his way out to the shop while Gwen cleaned up the kitchen and headed for her own shower. The nightgown-clad woman carefully disrobed and turned to step under the hot spray before stopping short as she caught a glimpse of herself in the wall mirror. Turning back, she examined at her uncovered body, something she normally avoided doing any more than necessary, as she had always believed it to be a conceited act. What caught her attention was the vee of dark hair between her legs. Gwen gently touched the matted thatch, finding her husband's efforts the night before had left her coarse hair stiff and clumped with their dried secretions. The Lady was repelled at the thought, but Gwen smiled to herself, remembering how unconcerned Tim had seemed at touching her down there before she had made herself presentable, and how good his attention had felt. She also smiled at the sheer perversity of her actions once she had reached the bathroom after her climax.

Gwen ran her fingers through the reminder for several minutes, ostensibly to "comb it out," before stepping into the stall. The folds of her sex got the same thorough attention the patch above it had received as the daydreaming woman thought of her husband's callused fingers, and soon she was working herself into self-induced resolution to the rapidly growing feelings of pleasure radiating through her body.

The Lady put a stop to it, brusquely reminded her Tim was waiting in the workshop, and the boys would be there any moment. Touching herself was wrong at any time, but with responsibilities waiting—no way! Reluctantly she pulled her hands away from her crotch and her mind away from her arousal, finished her shower, and joined her husband across the yard.

The day was like any other after that, trucks dispatched, horses tended to, ordering done and invoices generated. It was nearly 3pm before she glanced in horror at the calendar that reminded her the Chamber of Commerce dinner was 5 days away. Despite all of her trips to the mall, she had still not found a dress! She resolved to go that night, after Tim had returned and been fed. The idea that there might be more people there after work crossed her mind as well...she made her way back to the house and selected the appropriate attire for her shopping trip with the idea she would leave right after dinner.

Walt was the first back that afternoon. Walt Phillips was nearing retirement and had been working for the company since before Tim and Gwen bought it from old Mr. McGilvary. If he had been upset that the business had been sold to that young man fresh out of trade school, he never showed it. Instead, he had been a solid and dependable employee all these years. "Evening, Gwen," he called out as he opened the truck door and extricated himself from behind the wheel. Tim often wondered in private how the man could get into some of the tight spaces necessary to work given that belly, but somehow the job always got done.

"Hi Walt," she replied as Andrew, the big plumber's apprentice for the day, gingerly slid out of his side of the cab. Gwen quickly spotted his pained movement. "Andrew? Are you alright?"

"Andrew here learned a valuable lesson about the thermal retention properties of copper," Walt said with mock seriousness before the young man could answer. Gwen's confused look made him continue. "He leaned back against a live hot water line."

"Oh my goodness, Andrew, are you alright?" she asked, her motherly concern quickly taking center stage. "Let me see!"

"I'm alright ma'am, really," he replied without much enthusiasm.

Gwen didn't believe a word. "Take that shirt off, young man so I can see if you need a doctor," she commanded. Reluctantly, Andrew loosened his belt and removed the blue Nelson Plumbing t-shirt, gingerly pulling it over his shoulder blades. The anxious woman only had a moment to admire the well-sculpted hairless chest and abdominal muscles of the sandy-haired youth before gently grabbing an elbow and turning him so she could examine his back.

A bright-red welt ran from halfway up one blade across to the other, only a small patch of unblemished skin breaking up the straight line. "No blistering yet," she said softly while taking a closer look. "You'll have to keep an eye on this, but I don't think you'll need to see a doctor—unless you want to, of course," she added quickly.

"No, I'm fine, really ma'am," he replied as he turned back to her. "It just feels like a sunburn." Andrew moved to put his shirt back on, but Gwen stopped him.

"DO NOT put that rag back on--that thing is filthy," she admonished. "Come with me. I've got some burn ointment and a clean shirt in the house. Walter, why didn't you call this in when it happened?"

"He didn't tell me it happened. I just noticed he moved quick, then a while later he was movin' funny. I didn't get the whole story out of him until we got in the truck and he couldn't sit back."

"Well, for not noticing, you get to unload the truck on your own. Andrew, come with me."

She didn't see the older man smiling as the two headed across the yard.

"Wait here," Gwen directed as they stepped into the kitchen. She made a beeline to where she kept the ointment—she knew exactly where it was, she knew exactly where everything was in her house—and returned, salve and wet washcloth in hand.

"Sorry in advance if this hurts," she murmured as the washcloth was applied to the red stripe. "I just want to clean this off first." Andrew said nothing, stoically accepting the gentle pats of the cool fabric. Gwen glanced down as she worked and caught her breath. The young man's work pants were a bit too big for him—why didn't I notice before, Gwen thought to herself, I would have gotten him something that fit better—and the lack of a shirt between the waistband and his skin formed a gap. A gap that showed that if he was wearing briefs, they were very brief indeed, as the top of his buttocks was very evident. Another might have laughed at the thought of genuine "plumber's crack", but Gwen was entranced at the sight. A curve of hairless skin ran down the small of his back and formed the tops of two muscular globes, the dark space of his crevasse separating them. She continued to stare while absentmindedly working the washcloth, only reluctantly admitting the burn was clean enough.

Gwen grabbed the ointment from the nearby counter. "This has Lidocaine in it—it should keep this from hurting for a little while." She squeezed an ample amount on to her fingertip and daintily applied it to the man's skin. He flinched at the touch, but said nothing and let her work. She again found herself glancing down while she worked the cream into the taut muscles of his back, the visual and physical stimulus building up something inside her. It took her several moments and nearly a quarter of the tube before she knew she had to stop.

"Better?"

"Yes ma'am, thank you," Andrew replied, nervously holding his shirt in front of his waist. "I should, uhh, go help Walt."

"Wait," Gwen told him. "You cannot wear that shirt. Give it to me—I know Tim's got some old clean ones in his closet—you can have one of those." She reached for the garment, but the young man seemed reluctant to give it up.

"That's OK, this is fine."

"If you start to blister, that shirt will get them infected." She grabbed at the fabric and pulled, Andrew releasing it and turning away as she did so. It was only a glance, but did the front of his pants seem a little more...full...than normal? Gwen dismissed the thought and moved down the hall to their bedroom, returning moments later with the promised t-shirt.

Thanks, Mrs. Nelson, gotta go help Walt," he called over his shoulder as he shrugged the covering on and hurried out the door. Gwen looked out the window to see the other trucks had come back. She stayed in the kitchen a moment longer to collect herself. The feel of arousal was tinged with a panic caused by a thought that she had crossed a line, that by touching another man and enjoying it, no matter how innocent the touch had been intended, that she might have been unfaithful. The Lady nodded sagely while the Slut purred at the memory of that delightful butt. Gwen managed to shelve the debate for another time and went out to greet her husband.

"I'm going to run down to town after we eat," she announced an hour later as they sat down at the table, "and try and find a dress for the Chamber of Commerce dinner this weekend."

"I'll go with you," Tim volunteered as he reached for the pitcher of tea. "I was just going to put that compressor back together."

"Oh, uhh, that would be nice honey, but you don't have to," Gwen demurred. "I know you like clothes shopping less than I do."

"But I like you more than that compressor," he smiled. "So let's clean up and go."

The Lady heaved a sigh of relief at the upheaval in plans while the Slut grumbled as the couple made their way to the other side of town. In truth, Gwen was somewhat thankful Tim had accompanied her—it removed any temptation she might have had for wicked mischief. And yet, she berated herself for the small part that did not appreciate his kindness, that was disappointed by his presence.

Tim was soon standing behind his wife as she flipped through the racks of semi-formal wear in Crandall's, humming to himself as she sought out the dress she had tried on last that first day. "That one looked nice," he said as she pushed a black number to the left.

"What, this?" she asked as she reversed direction and took it off the rack for them both to see. "Tim, it's sleeveless and much too short."

"I think you'd look great in it."

"When did you become a fashion expert?" she snorted. "Besides, I don't have a bra to go with this."

"So, get one that does. At least try it on."

Gwen looked at him and could see he was serious, turning the possibility over in her head. "Alright," she sighed. "I'll prove that this is not the dress you're looking for." Tim bashfully followed her into the lingerie department, making it obvious he was with her rather than ogling ladies undergarments while she found a bra that might work. More sheer and less fabric than she would normally choose, she told herself, but it just seemed to match what she expected the dress to be. Garments in hand, she made her way to the dressing rooms, wondering what her audience might have been like had she been able to partake in her perversion.

She was both relieved and disappointed to find the seating area empty. Taking the number from the elderly lady behind the counter, she made her way towards the hallway she knew so well. Tim stopped her. "What chair did your peeper sit in?" he asked in a low voice.

The question brought his wife up short. "Uhh, that one, I guess," she replied pointing behind Tim.

Her husband leaned into her, as if to deliver a kiss on the cheek, but instead whispered, "If you use the same dressing room and leave the curtain like you did last week, I can check and see if he saw anything."

Gwen drew back from him, shock written on her face. "What if someone sees me?" she hissed back.

Tim smiled. "What if that someone's me?" He raised his eyebrows conspiratorially and nodded his head towards the cubicles. Gwen opened her mouth to protest, to tell him no way, but instead just rolled her eyes and followed his direction, turning back at the curtain to see if he was serious. Her husband sat in the chair, smiling back good-naturedly. With a sigh, she pushed into the cubicle, hung the dress and bra, and turned back to tend to the divider between her and the world.

Inside her, a thrill was building. This night was turning out interesting after all, the Slut crowed! Showing off for her husband in a public place—the best of all worlds. A quick peek through the opening confirmed she could see Tim, and the change of his smile into a grin told her she was on display. She turned her back to him, as she had been with her other watchers.

With shaking hands she unbuttoned her blouse, pulling it out of her jeans and slipping it off her shoulders before carefully hanging it. Bra or pants next? She decided to play it like she had before, freeing the belt and buttons, then pushing the denim down her legs. Gwen resisted the urge to look back at her husband, to gauge his reaction, and instead reached behind her back to unsnap the heavy white garment enveloping her breasts. Her hands trembled wildly as she hung it on a nearby peg. The fact it was Tim watching her made this a very different experience. Was he aroused? Was he disgusted? Was he even still there? The fantasy dictated she could not check.

Gwen carefully seated her breasts in the bra she had selected, noting with sluttish satisfaction how the lacy fabric only obscured rather than hid her nipples, and how little the cups actually supported her. The dress was next, the thin straps and mid-thigh hem making her feel practically naked from the breasts up and sex down. She checked herself several times in the mirror, making sure what there was of the dress gave her at least some measure of cover, that bra straps were hidden under dress straps, that the plunging neckline did not plunge too low. Somewhat satisfied, she took a deep breath, turned, and slid the curtain all the way open. From her spot of refuge, she could see she had Tim's complete attention, his eyes wide, his head nodding vigorously, thumb up in approval. Gwen smiled and bashfully bowed her head before doing a slow turn for him. His reaction was the same when their eyes met again. She shrugged to show her acceptance of his desire and reached for the curtain to begin the process of changing back into wife and mother. A wicked thought raced through her mind. Leaving the drape open several more inches than when she had first entered the cubicle, Gwen looked at her husband for approval. It was apparent to her she had it, and she again allowed him a free look, taking a particularly long time to put her old bra back on after removing the new.

Gwen finally exited the dressing room after several more checks in the mirror for propriety. "Well?" she asked somewhat breathlessly. "Did it look alright?"

"Yes. Definitely." She was somewhat comforted by his apparent approval, but still she approached the cashier with reluctance. The couple walked back to the truck with her purchases, Tim talking as though what she had just done was the most common of occurrences.

"I don't remember you ever having a pair of panties like that," he said casually as he pulled out of the parking lot.

Gwen blushed with embarrassment. She had put them on when she thought she was going alone and had not been able to change out of them after she found out she had an escort. "Natalie bought them for me when I was trying on bikinis."

"Tell Natalie I like her gift-giving style," Tim said quietly, a touch of humor in his voice. "When I first saw you in them tonight, I thought you didn't have anything on at all. Did she give you anything else?"

"No, not really," Gwen answered. Unless you mean advice and homework, she thought to herself.

"Are they comfortable?"

"Hmm? Yes, they're OK, I guess."

"You look great in them. We should have bought you some more while we were at the mall."

"Thank you," Gwen continued to blush. "Maybe next time."

The rest of the drive home was quiet, Gwen already wondering if her purchase had been made under the influence of the erotic situation she and Tim had created, and whether she would have the courage to wear the dress on Saturday night. It just seemed so brief...

She carefully laid the dress and bra over a kitchen chair when they entered the house. I won't put it away just yet, she told herself, I'll probably end up returning it tomorrow anyways...

Tim came up behind and wrapped his arms around her midsection. Gently kissing her neck, he murmured, "want to turn in a little early tonight?"

Gwen was surprised to feel his hard length trapped between their bodies. What had gotten into him? The dressing room couldn't have had that much effect, could it have? "I think I'd like that."

Her husband's hand found the button of her blouse just above her jeans and began to work it. He wasn't going to undress her here, was he? It was one thing to be seen in the bedroom, but the kitchen was a whole other story. Still, she let him work, deciding to lead him to more privacy if and when he threatened to expose anything that should remain hidden.

Tim's work cellphone, discarded on a nearby counter when he had walked through the door, came to life. "Damnit," he grumbled and released his hold on Gwen. While her husband was capable of using every known curse word known to the plumbing industry, around each other Gwen and Tim never used anything stronger than "damn" or "hell", and only in particularly stressful or disappointing situations.

"Nelson Plumbing, may I help you?" he answered in his best professional tone. "Yes ma'am, twenty-four hour service...how much water?...is the water still running?...no ma'am, I agree, it doesn't sound like this can wait until morning. What is your address ma'am, and I'll come right out." Tim began writing on a nearby notepad. "Yes ma'am, I'm leaving right now." He hung up the cellphone and turned to where Gwen was rebuttoning her blouse. "A Mrs. Olinski on Hart's Hill Road. Water on the laundry room floor and her husband's not home. Either a busted hose or bad water heater is my guess."

"Want me to call one of the boys and have them meet you there?"

"No, I'm guessing it will either be a quick fix, or just shutting things off until we can get back in the morning." Tim disappeared into the bedroom and reappeared moments later, dressed in workpants and a company t-shirt. "Don't wait up." He kissed Gwen goodbye and headed out to the shop, taillights disappearing down the dirt driveway moments later.

Gwen briefly thought about waiting up anyways, but knew from experience these late night calls were almost never as quick as Tim would have her believe. She set about locking up the house before making her way to the bedroom to change into one of her more traditional nightgowns. Anything less would have been out of the question without Tim in the house—she felt as if her choice of nightwear was a form of protection against intruders and things that went bump in the night. Her thong as replaced with a more modest pair of fullback panties.