A New Way of Seeing Things Ch. 19

(This story takes place in a fictional world with fictional people. Any similarities to people or things in the world we actually live in is coincidental.)

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A week of vacation for Walt meant an especially busy week for the other employees of Nelson Plumbing. Tim, Cliff, and the apprentices did their best to handle the increased workload, both trucks returning each day with the setting sun or beyond.

Gwen pitched in where she could, doing her best to keep things going both in the business and in the home, delivering needed supplies to jobsites for the overworked crews while making sure her husband had something warm to eat and nothing more to do when he pulled into the yard each evening.

The early mornings and late nights all but ruled out any physical intimacy as Tim would stumble in, eat, shower, and fall asleep, only to begin the cycle again early the next morning. Gwen resisted the urge to bring her toys out from the closet, feeling that tending to her own pleasure when her husband was working so hard was a kind of betrayal.

The time alone gave her plenty of time to think, in particular about Alison's questioning of her parents' love life. Her daughter's belief "that if you don't give guys...that, they'll find it somewhere," awoke old assumptions and suspicions. Gwen's mother had instilled her own version of that message as she was growing up, that men who would not demand the sins of the flesh were the ones worth marrying. In truth, Irene Curran had hinted more than once that all men were susceptible to the availability of easy women, and that all that could be expected of a husband was to be discrete in his affairs. In fact, provided it didn't become an embarrassment in social circles or produce unwanted challengers to the family fortunes, the infidelity might even be a blessing in disguise to a married woman as she would no longer have to perform those ghastly duties for anything other than producing legitimate heirs. Still, her mother took delight when the husbands of her circle of friends were caught in compromising positions. There was a special level of righteous superiority reserved for the few wives who fell into the same trap.

Gwen would not be surprised if her own father was that type of husband, and that her mother tolerated, if not approved, of the arrangement. He was a good father, perhaps a bit distant and formal, but he was a man, and she had never seen her parents share anything more than a polite kiss. However, he never seemed to be without an attractive, young, sometimes single, sometimes not, secretary, even having her travel to conferences with him on occasion "so they could get some work done", just as most of the other partners in the firm did...Adam was the only partner who had an assistant older than the man she worked for.

Tim's not like that, the Lady would always argue defiantly. Tim has never given you any reason to believe he might be doing that on the side, even if your sex life has not been...perverted. There's no need to stoop to being a slut to keep a man who has been true to you. But if he's not getting what he wants, the Slut would counter, how long before he does wander?

What more could he possibly want? She had loosened up quite a bit these past couple of months, was more free with what she allowed him to see, their lovemaking had been more frequent ...she was even using her mouth on him, for heaven's sake! The knowledge that she had done these things for her own deviant needs, and not necessarily his, haunted her. Even her boudoir shoot, done as a gift for her husband, had devolved into her flaunting her naked body for a strange man.

You could ask what he wants, the Slut suggested. The Lady harrumphed at the suggested invasion of privacy and the idea she might find out more than she wanted to know, but evenings spent waiting for Tim to come home wore her down, her refusal to combat the stress with sexual relief only making matters seem more urgent. The dreams returned several nights, awaking her each time just before Liz's hand caressed her face. It became not an issue of whether to ask, but how.

The work week ended mercifully with Tim making it home at a decent hour on Friday, early enough for a regular meal and a swim before bedtime. Gwen looked forward to spending the weekend with her husband, content to let him sleep tonight and satisfy her urges in the morning. Cliff had the emergency call duty for the entire weekend, and there was nothing to interrupt the couple's alone time. She hoped she would be able to find the right moment to ask him what he really wanted from their love live and quell her fears.

"Oh, hey, meant to tell you," Tim sleepily called over his shoulder as they lay in bed that night. "Me and Ed are taking his boat and going fishing tomorrow. I know I'm behind on stuff around here, but I really need to get out on the water for a bit after the week we had. You don't mind, do you?"

Gwen did her best to hide her disappointment. "No, no, of course. You should get out for a while—it'll do you good. There's nothing around here that can't wait." A vision of he and Ed, out on the boat with a pair of buxom young women aboard, her husband using a different kind of pole to fish with, began to form.

"Thanks honey, I appreciate it. I really just need a little time on the lake. I'll get stuff done when I come back, I promise." Tim rolled back enough to find her lips. "Love you. Sleep tight."

"You too." Gwen lay there, staring at the ceiling long after the steady breathing coming from the pillow next to her told her he was asleep. They hadn't made love since last weekend. Was fishing more important than that? Or did he plan on rising early enough to do both? Was sex just not important to him anymore? Or was it just sex with her?" She knew she was being irrational, such a rare occurrence for her, and the lack of experience with it made it difficult to stop. The thoughts chased each other around her head until she fell into a fitful sleep.

The dream returned that night. It was the same familiar setting, only she was surprised to find Tim standing there as her keeper, dressed in the standard-issue Nelson Plumbing workshirt and pants, the riding crop in his hands seeming so absurd—he didn't ride!—while Liz climbed the low set of stairs. She reached to caress her face, finally making contact.

"Here you go," Tim said as if loaning out a tool, "maybe you can teach her a few new tricks. Just don't break anything, alright?"

"No permanent damage," Liz agreed with a confident smile, examining the chained woman who was doing her best to avoid eye contact. The hand left Gwen's face and reached between her spread legs...

She awoke with a start. "What the hell?" she thought groggily, finding the situation serious enough to swear to herself. She was certainly not her husband's property to give away, and most certainly not to another woman! Anger and arousal swirled.

The effects of the dream only worsened a few moments later when Tim awoke at first light and hurriedly dressed. Wearing nothing more than a t-shirt, Gwen offered to make him coffee for the road, but he declined the beverage while missing the more obvious invitation. Tim risked a quick squeeze of her bare bottom as he kissed her goodbye, and she stood on the deck, oblivious to the cool dawn air on her bare lower half, while he loaded his truck with poles and a tackle box. With a wave, he was down the driveway and gone.

Gwen returned to the kitchen and started some coffee while she tried to make sense of the situation. She had practically thrown herself at him; he had refused. Maybe he didn't find sex as important as she had assumed? Or was she boring and he was saving his energy for better things somewhere else that morning? She cursed Alison for putting the idea in her head, then quickly cursed herself. No, it's not her fault. It's always been there. You just chose to ignore it.

She sat in the kitchen for some time drinking coffee, thinking, not caring who might walk in on her in her state of undress. Practical ideas—barn chores, laundry, a ride, fought with more irrational thoughts. She should go down to the landing and see if Tim's truck was there. That would just prove he's on Ed's boat, she knew. No telling who else was out there with them. And how would she explain it to him if she was sitting there, waiting for him, when they came back? Hi honey, just wanted to make sure you didn't find someone younger and prettier and willing to satisfy your every need. What would you like for dinner? Her irrationality seemed to mock her inability to control it.

A masturbatory session was considered; if he didn't want to take care of her, then she would take care of herself; but the notion that his lack of action somehow required revenge did not sit well with her. In the end, she passed the time by tending to the barn while the horses nickered nervously at the obvious smell of stress coming from the human in their midst. A ride up the ridge followed, and laundry followed that, her time spent thinking only strengthening her resolve to be everything Tim might desire in the bedroom and win him back from the naked women on the boat. What exactly 'everything' might be, and whether it would be enough, worried her.

Gwen did her best to put on her calm and composed face when she heard Tim's truck coming up the driveway well after lunch. His scowl and stiff-legged walk as he climbed the deck stairs told her he had not had the relaxing morning he had hoped for. A strong smell of gasoline swept over her instead the hoped-for smells of a day spent around bait and fish.

"So, we get halfway across the lake when the outboard quits. We spent two hours trying to fix it—Goddamn Ed doesn't keep a real toolbox on board—and when we finally get it going, it's painfully slow. We had canoes passing us, for Christ's sake. And I couldn't even troll while we were on the way back, because I had to keep the fuel line from falling off while Goddamn Ed drove. Then we get back and I had to help take the Goddamn outboard off of Goddamn Ed's boat and put it in the back of his truck so he can get it looked at. Sure as hell I'm gonna be busy when he needs to put it back on." Tim paused, out of breath and out of story. "Hi. How was your morning?"

Gwen smiled, amused at the outburst she knew to be her husband at his angriest, and horrified that she could ever have suspected him of cheating.

"I'd kiss you, but I'm pretty flammable at the moment," he called out on his way to the bedroom before she could answer. "I should have just stripped on the deck in case my shirt catches fire."

"Are you hungry?" She called out as she followed him down the hall, collecting his shirt while he stood and attempted to remove his boots.

"Very. But I want to get the smell of unmaintained outboard off of me before I eat." Tim managed to extricate himself from jeans, underwear and socks without touching furniture or bedding before making his way to the bathroom, Gwen watching his muscular rear with appreciation, She collected his clothes, doing her best to keep them at arm's length on her way to the washing machine, then made her way to the kitchen to prepare him something nice. With a smile, she reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a beer, carrying it back to him.

She could see his foggy outline behind the shower glass, scrubbing as the various nozzles sprayed him down from all angles. "I brought you a beer. I thought you might like one."

The form behind the glass stopped. "You have no idea how much I love you. Thanks—just leave it on the counter and I'll grab it when I get out."

Gwen smiled and opened the door. "That's alright. I can bring it to you." Stray droplets of splashing water began to collect on her shirt and jeans.

Tim turned to her, eyes wide with surprise, and tentatively reached out for the can. "Uhh, thanks."

"Want me to wash your back for you?"

"Uhh, yeah, sure, that would be great, but your clothes are getting all wet."

"That's true. Hold on a second." She stepped back and closed the door while he was left standing there, shocked look on his face and open beer in his hand. Gwen opened the door again a moment later, clothes no longer an issue. "Hand me that sponge and the soap." Tim sorted out the logistics, finally deciding to hand the items over one at a time while he held the can out of the shower's spray. The couple looked at each other for a moment, Tim confused, Gwen expectant.

"You have to turn around if I'm going to wash your back."

"Oh, yeah, of course."

Tim turned and faced the shower controls, very unsure what to do, finally deciding on sipping his beer while standing in place. This had never, never been something Gwen had ever offered before; this kind of episode with his girlfriends before her had always quickly devolved into frantic humping against the shower walls before much of anything had been washed.

It was with practiced hands that Gwen began to work soap and sponge into her husband's shoulders. This was part of the service Miss Ritter had expected from her after a day's ride and before an evening's tutelage, and the tall Nordic woman had been meticulous in teaching her how to perform it. It was a slow, languid process, decadent and erotic, gradually working down his back in soapy, sweeping circles. Tim was in heaven, the warm water and the scratch of the sponge making every nerve tingle. His buttocks received the same treatment, and Gwen was faced with her first choice. Miss Ritter had always insisted on a complete cleansing of the crevice between the two cheeks, culminating with a soapy finger vigorously rubbing the anus clean before being inserted up to the second knuckle. The finger was inserted and withdrawn five times—never four, never six—before moving on to the thighs and calves. Gwen had been shocked the first time it had been done to her—that part of her body was not meant to have things put in it!—but she found the sensation of her rosebud being touched not unpleasant, and the insertion of Miss Ritter's finger was at least not terrible. Reciprocating for Miss Ritter had taken all of her will the first time she had washed the lean blonde down there. It also prepared her for later events...

But this was her husband. Would he be upset if she touched him there? She contented herself with 2 quick swipes of her finger down his crevice, relieved that it had brought no adverse reaction, before kneeling on the wet tiles to move down his body. Tim instructively moved his legs apart ever so slightly as she began to scrub from the outside in around his upper thigh. Gwen found herself marveling at the novel view of her husband's testicles dangling heavily on the other end of the open space between his legs, using her hand to soap the skin behind them, fingers making gentle contact with wrinkled skin beyond. Reluctantly, she continued down, knees, calves and ankles all given the same attention his back had been afforded.

Gwen stood. "Would you like your front done, too?"

"That would be great!" There was no confusion this time, and Tim turned to face his wife. Gwen was pleased to see his penis was showing its appreciation as well.

She smiled and lathered the sponge, working it into and around his neck while Tim closed his eyes in obvious pleasure. Slowly she worked her way down, not spending as much time on her husband's chest as she had on Miss Ritter's as he had less that needed washing than her boss had. His stomach was thoroughly scrubbed, and she again kneeled, his semi-erect manhood now at face level. Gwen thought to ignore it for now, to work elsewhere and save it for last so it would not appear as though she were teasing, but Miss Ritter had demanded consistency and efficiency in her shower routine just as with everything else, so his manhood had to be next. She put down the sponge and thoroughly lathered up before gently taking his length in hand and soaping. Gwen watched with fascination at how fast it grew to full length, straining towards her, seeming to quickly fill one hand while his sac was gently soaped with her other.

Now would be the time to move to the bedroom and offer him relief, she thought, to do otherwise would be most unfair. But Miss Ritter had not stopped there, even after her employee's clitoris had been cleansed to the brink of orgasm, and neither could Gwen. Reluctantly, she continued on down his muscled thighs and calves, scrubbing the tops of his feet before standing.

"I'm going to go get your lunch ready," Gwen said as she took the empty beer can from the confused naked man in front of her. "Relax and take your time." She had barely closed the door behind her and reached for a towel when the water was shut off behind her. Gwen had to step forward to let her husband out.

"I was kinda thinkin' we could do something else before lunch?" Tim said as he reached for his own towel. Based on the erection he was waving about, Gwen had a pretty good idea what that was.

"I'm sorry if I teased you in there. It's just that I always-should I meet you in the bedroom?"

A puzzled look crossed her husband's face, but passed. "Well, we don't NEED to go that far, but, yeah, that's fine."

Gwen was out of the bathroom first, flipping back the covers and lying back on the bed with ankles crossed and hands folded. Tim was not far behind, his still damp skin evidence he had things on his mind other than drying off. He quickly made his way to the bed and lay down beside her. She waited for him to roll to his side and perhaps kiss or even mount her, but he lay there a moment, as if thinking.

"Gwen I know this is kinda selfish, but I was uhh, wondering, well, you were doing such a good job in the shower, would you, uhh, mind finishing up that way?"

He sounds as nervous as he did when he proposed, Gwen thought, and stifled a giggle. "Of course," she said, rolling to her side. "If there's anything you want, just ask. Anything." The nude woman looked at her husband with as much meaning in her eyes as she possibly convey before propping herself on one elbow and looking down to reach for his only slightly-diminished erection. Gwen gently stroked his member back to full bloom, spreading the slippery liquid beginning to bubble up from the tip down the head and shaft, occasionally petting and fondling his testicles. Gradually she tightened her grip on his length as his hips began to twitch while a hand lightly scratched her back in time to her strokes. Her mind wandered a bit as she played, imagining the cock sliding through her fingers—she smiled in surprise at her choice of that word—doing the same inside her, pushing deep then withdrawing. She resisted the urge to put her lips around the soft pink head and coax it into shooting onto her tongue, deciding that if her hand was what her husband had asked for, her hand is what would give him his pleasure.

His thrusting became more urgent and Gwen dispensed with gentleness, gripping hard and forcing her fist down his shaft , turning the velvety head an angry red, skin sliding against the hardness beneath in time to her efforts. She hoped she was doing it right; this was one of those things she had never gotten much practice at.

A sharp intake of breath and the first jet of pearly white liquid shooting from his tip told her she had least been satisfactory. She watched it arc across the rigid muscles of his stomach to land just below where her head hovered over his chest. The following shots chased the first up his body, never quite reaching the landing spot of the one before it, before finally he was reduced to weak pulses that slid from his opening to drop wetly below. Gwen looked back at her husband when she thought he was finished, unwilling to let go until she was sure.

Tim smiled back contentedly back at her. "Thank you—I needed that! Let me go get cleaned up and I'll return the favor."