Marigolds

Felicity hummed to herself as she pulled on her marigold gloves, and bent over the kitchen sink. She put the plug in the sink hole, brushing back a strand of her dark brown hair as she did so. Happy, and newly married, she was waiting for her husband to arrive home from work, and was whiling away the time doing some menial household chores.

Her husband's dinner was cooking in the oven, and the kitchen itself was a testament to her fastidious tidiness. Everything was in its place, and she knew that if she looked into the work surfaces, she would see a perfect reflection of her pretty brown eyes and her full lips.

Married for only two months, the time spent since she and Kevin had arrived back from their honeymoon had been spent renovating what had been a ramshackle ruin of a house. Her parents had helped them, of course, and Felicity had to admit that without their financial aid, they would have been stuck living with Kevin's parents for much longer. As it was, the glorious rush of having her own house still filled her with a thrill every time she thought of it.

Kevin worked away in the city as a stockbroker, and the long hours that he kept was the only cloud on an otherwise sunny horizon for Felicity. Plans to have a baby together were already in the making, and she smiled as she imagined what a child would look like on her slim form. She stretched her flat stomach as far forwards as she could in her loose-fitting shirt, and laughed to herself that she could soon be a mother.

The doorbell rang, and Felicity sighed as she took off her marigolds (inside out of course) and laid them on the draining board. It was probably another neighbour calling around to wish them well, she thought. The nosiest had already been around, of course, but there was always the chance that some had been too shy, or simply too antisocial to introduce themselves yet. She walked through to the hallway of the big house, her bare feet feeling the cold lacquered wood as she padded over in her baggy jeans. Had she been given the choice, she would have welcomed neighbours in something classier, but she had been caught short, and thought that all the meet-and-greeting had been done.

She opened the whitewashed door into the porch, ready with a friendly neighbourhood smile, and prepared to accept yet another bottle of wine or batch of cakes as a price for having a stranger snoop around her home for fifteen minutes.

What she saw was a middle aged man. He was wearing what looked like an expensive suit, and his silver hair and glasses which were obviously designer gave him a cultured look. He looked about fifty, and not the type of man who would be cold-calling to sell double-glazing on a cold night like this one. He stood tall under a large, black umbrella that protected him from the few spots of rain that were falling.

"Hello" said Felicity, giving the man her most welcoming smile, and showing off a set of dazzling white teeth. "Can I help..."

Felicity stopped talking. The man had taken off his glasses, and revealed a pair of the most astonishing blue eyes that she thought she had ever seen. She was aware of the man smiling a charming, disarming smile, and then saying something too quietly for her to hear. Not that she was trying to listen. It was all she could do to try and stop staring at those eyes. They seemed to bore through her, and she stared dumbly for a minute, transfixed by them. Felicity had the sensation that the man's pupils were growing, but that, of course, was impossible.

She was aware that she had missed whatever the man had said, and, in order not to appear rude, she stood back and let him in to the house. It seemed like the polite thing to do. The man tucked the umbrella that he had been holding under his arm, and wiped his feet on the mat as he entered the house.

Felicity was worried that she might appear rude if she continued to say nothing, but found that her breathing had increased to such a rate that she was unable to speak for the time being. Just as well, because the sight of those blue eyes seemed to have driven all sense from her mind. The man closed the door behind him, before hanging up his umbrella and coat on the hooks by the door. Felicity was not quite sure why she did it, but she locked the door and kept the key in the keyhole. He turned to Felicity and said something, again almost too quietly for her to hear. She did, however, catch the word "tea" and sighed with relief. That, she could manage.

She padded her way back towards the kitchen, her brain still reeling. A thought flitted across her mind that it was remarkably foolhardy of her to invite a man into her house for tea without knowing his name, or why he was there, but the thought blew away like mist on the wind, and she concentrated on boiling the kettle.

Filling the kettle up, she was aware for a brief moment of the man's eyes travelling down her body, and she felt a murmur of discomfort run through her. Only a murmur though, because almost as soon as it was there, it was replaced with a regret that she had not worn something more revealing for her guest. Such a distinguished man surely deserved to see her at her best, and she thought regretfully of the figure hugging dresses she had upstairs.

Felicity realised with a start that the man was talking again, and that, yet again, she had missed what he had said. He spoke so quietly and yet with such authority. She was saved embarrassment again, however, when he pressed a small bottle of clear liquid into her hand. He had big, strong hands, and when they touched hers, a shiver of electric pleasure seemed to burst through her. Not enough for him to notice, she thought, but enough to make her pretty cheeks redden slightly. What would her husband think? What was his name again? Kevin, that was it.

Whether she had understood more of what the man had said than she thought or not, it seemed obvious what to do with the vial of clear liquid. She added tea bags and milk to two cups, and strained the tea bags, making sure not to spill any drops on her immaculate surfaces. All the while the man watched her, a strange smile on his face. He watched as she took out the tiny stopper from the bottle, and emptied the clear liquid into her own cup. She took a teaspoon from the drawer, and stirred both cups, making sure to stir his first, so as not to get any of the liquid in it. His smile deepened as she handed him the mug, and he gestured at the washing up bowl in front of her.

Felicity chided herself for leaving dishes out where a visitor, particularly one as distinguished as this man, could see. She immediately put on her marigolds again, and set to washing the plates and cutlery in the soapy water. She was aware of the man talking again, but the low, sonorous sound of his voice made it so difficult to pay attention to what he was saying. He sounded like he was asking her questions, but all she could think about still were those piercing blue eyes. She was aware of him coming up behind her, and reaching around to her front. He had seen that the sleeves of her shirt were getting wet in the washing up water, and leant around her to fold them up, pressing against her buttocks as he did so. She thought she let out a moan of pleasure as he did so, but when she opened her eyes again, he was standing at her side, smiling once more as though nothing was wrong.

The man gestured towards her cup of tea, which Felicity realised she had rudely left sitting on the countertop. She sipped the liquid, which was still slightly too hot for her, and tasted something bitter. She knew better than to ask for sugar though; that would be rude. She drank the tea as fast as she was able, and started chatting away to the man as though she had known him her entire life. The man just stood watching her, and occasionally nodding, and always smiling.

Felicity worried that she was not entertaining her guest sufficiently, but her mind seemed to be working extra slowly for some reason. She could think of nothing witty or erudite to say, and the mindless gossip she was coming out with was bound to be boring the man. After a moment's torture thought, she had it! Here was a man, and men liked women's bodies! Although she was only in a pair of old jeans, Felicity knew that she had a killer arse. Her husband (and she couldn't put her finger on his name at the moment) had told her. She knew it was rude not to entertain house guests, so she made a point of sticking out her bottom as much as possible as she cleaned the dishes. Perhaps that would keep the gentleman happy.

After a while the dishes seemed to start to become very heavy in her hands. She could barely lift some of the plates to wash them, and once, when she dropped one back into the bowl, she shot water all over her shirt, soaking her lower stomach and breasts. Giggling, she drunkenly grabbed a towel from the rail, and started scrubbing at her front. She was babbling now, slurring her words, and feeling delightfully horny all of a sudden. The man laughed out loud as she scrubbed her breasts with the towel, and beckoned her through to the living room with him.

She stumbled through after him, finding it breathtakingly arousing how much her jeans rubbed against her as she walked. Her nipples were like bullets poking through the soaked shirt, and she wondered what time they could expect to be interrupted by her husband. What was his name again? Didn't matter.

Felicity slumped down onto the sofa, whilst the gentleman sat opposite her, still in his suit, primly sat. Felicity giggled again as she slid down the sofa, her shirt riding up to reveal her stomach. The man gestured at her top, and, after a moment of confusion, she understood. Her fingers, numbed by the solution he had given her, fumbled with the shirt buttons. She was still wearing her marigolds, which made the operation that much more difficult. She knew she was making a job of getting the shirt off, and by the time she had finished she was flushed and breathless. More importantly, however, she was wearing only a bra on her top half, and the tops of her peachy cleavage shone in the lamplight. All she needed was a look from the man, and she reached around to her back and unclasped her bra, releasing her big, beautiful breasts with their garnet nipples.

She proudly thrust her chest out at the man, almost overbalancing and falling off the sofa as she did so. Whatever desperate warnings her body had tried to give her when the man had first arrived at the house with his huge, hypnotic eyes had completely disappeared now, and Felicity was under the spell of both the man and the potion he had given her. She thanked the heavens above that she had shaved her legs that morning, as, at another gesture from the man, she unbuttoned her trousers, and, not without difficulty, slipped them off onto the floor. The French knickers she wore were somebody's favourite, but she couldn't quite remember who. It didn't matter. All that mattered was that this man liked them.

He certainly seemed to, because before long he was holding out his hand for them, and Felicity was only too happy to oblige, and handed over the crumpled silk, which the man put into his pocket. Felicity giggled again, and ran her hands over her naked body, loving the ecstasy that she felt at parading herself in front of this man. She licked her lips, and hoped, no, not hoped, prayed, that the man would come over and fuck her.

The doorbell rang again, and Felicity almost cried with frustration. Everything was alright though, because the man was getting up to answer it. She heard him walk over to the door, and then she heard low voices talking. That voice seemed to speak to her very soul, and she reached down to play with her clitoris. She wasn't sure that she would be allowed, but the man had made her sooo horny. Before long Felicity was strumming herself so vigorously that she never heard the two men enter the room.

Kevin walked into his living room in a daze. He had been momentarily confused as to why his front door had been locked from the inside, but the man who had answered the door had assuaged that worry. In fact, he had taken away all Kevin's worries, and he showed little or no surprise when he walked into his living room behind the silver haired man to find his wife of two months, naked apart from a pair of marigold washing up gloves. She was on all fours on the carpeted floor, one gloved hand furiously masturbating, whilst the other twitched in ecstasy. It had been made clear to Kevin that he was to have no part in the forthcoming proceedings, and so he sat in the armchair whilst the silver haired man strode purposefully over to Felicity. The man had explained that Felicity wanted him more than she wanted Kevin, on a subconscious level, and Kevin thought that the sight in front of him made that very hard to argue with.

As the man entered his wife, Kevin saw Felicity look back over her shoulder at him one last time, her dark brown locks falling around her face. The look in her eyes was the look of a woman who no longer recognised her own husband, and of a woman who had abandoned herself to pleasure. Kevin felt a momentary sadness at the loss of his beautiful young wife, and then felt his trousers begin to bulge as her cries of pleasure filled the air.