Summerhouse Blues

"Tell you what, darlin', seeing as you ask so nicely, I'll let you diddle yourself whilst I watch. Now, come along." And with that she marched off to back garden with me following behind.

"There, just there." She pointed at a patch of mud. "Hang on, I'll get it ready for you." She reached for a hose that she had been using, turned it on and soaked the ground until it was covered in puddles. "That's better, now take off your dress and kneel down in the middle," she ordered.

I was in a daze, I didn't know what to say or do so I just followed her instructions. Slipping off the dress I dropped it on the grass before kneeling down in the muddy puddles. The water was cold but it didn't cool me down one little bit. I sat back on my haunches as I felt my knees sinking into the soft mud.

"Lose the bra and move your knees apart," Rhonda ordered. "Good girl. Now scoop up some mud, rub it into yourself."

I reached into the puddle between my knees and scooped up some mud from the bottom. Now that I was committed to this I wanted to make a show of it, to show Rhonda what she was missing. I started with my tits, smearing the mud across me, rubbing it in. It felt so good I took both hands, scooped up some more of the mud and pushed it up from underneath, each hand cupping a breast and oozing across my rock hard nipples. I've no idea how seductive it was for Rhonda but it was turning me on like nothing on earth.

Rhonda was busy doing something with pipes that involved the part we had just picked up from Wickes but I could see that I was distracting her. More and more I put on a show, so that I was soon covered with mud, just as I had been in the dream. If she were to reach out and touch me now I would have exploded but she just watched, the pipes now quite forgotten. I scooped up another handful and, this time, ground it into my pussy. I could feel the grittyness against my sensitive flesh, I was effectively forcing it inside me but I just didn't care, it felt so dirty, it felt so good. Taking both hands I scooped again and pushed the mud against me until I exploded. It felt so good, so good, so incredibly good. Despite Rhonda's instructions I locked my knees together to intensify the pressure and, as I did so I slumped forward and rolled up into a ball, lost in the moment.

"Look up," I heard Rhonda say when my breath finally came back. I looked up and there she was with her phone taking pictures.

Now that the pressure was off, now that the itch was resolved, I began to feel really foolish. With only the slightest of prompting I had ridden half naked through the centre of town and then made a spectacle of myself like one of the tarts down at Jack's nightclubs. No, worse than that, the tarts were doing it for money, as a business transaction; I was doing it because I was a randy little cow who couldn't keep her knickers on.

"I'd best go and clean up," I said sheepishly.

Rhonda just smiled and returned to her pipes.

I picked up my dress and bra and headed back to the house. Fortunately Rhonda hadn't ordered me to take my trainers off so, when I did so at the back door, my feet were clean and I could get to the shower in the gym without traipsing mud through the house. It seemed to take forever to get clean; starting with my hair and heading south the mud was caked all over me and down there it had worked its way into every nook and cranny. Once I was clean I had to wash the shower down as it too had become streaked with mud.

When I finally emerged I looked at the clock and it was gone twelve. I went to the back door and, feeling incredibly cheeky, stepped out still not wearing a stitch of clothing.

"Lunch in half an hour," I called out. Rhonda waved in reply.

I had just started peeling the spuds when I heard Jack's Merc pulling up outside. Quick as a shot I raced upstairs to put on a tracksuit and was just in time to meet him in the hallway.

"Hi darling," I greeted him. "You're home early."

"Yeah, I've just stopped by to pick up some papers. Look at the state of you; what the fuck have you been up to?"

"Just a work out in the gym," I replied. That would explain not just the outfit but my hair which was still wet from the shower.

"That bloody gym, you'd spend all day in there if you could," he remarked. "What's for lunch?"

"I was going to make Rhonda egg and chips," I replied. "Ready in half an hour, is that OK?"

"I suppose it will have to be," and with that he stomped off to his study.

Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn! I was hoping to serve Rhonda her lunch the same way as I had done yesterday. Now we had Jack to contend with. I went down to the kitchen and continued preparing the spuds. Half an hour later the three of us were sitting round the kitchen table eating egg, chips and beans.

"Well, she may be a dozy cow but my Tracey sure can cook," Jack said to Rhonda. "I hope she's looking after you OK."

"Yeah, no problems," Rhonda replied.

"'Cos she sits around the house all day doing fuck all whilst I'm out working all the hours god sends just to keep the little bitch in the luxury to which she has become accustomed so the least she can do in return is look after you." Jack's low opinion of me was clear in every word. I hated how unfair he was being but knew enough to keep my trap shut.

"No, she's been very helpful," Rhonda assured Jack. "We even went shopping together."

"What, two birds out shopping; how many dress shops did she drag you round? I'm not paying you to go shopping, you know," Jack blustered.

"Nothing like that," Rhonda replied. "I was short of a forty mill 'U' bend for the waste disposal so we went to Wickes together."

"My Tracy in Wickes? Don't make me laugh!" Jack snorted. "She'd be worried she'd break a fingernail, wouldn't you, doll."

"Yes, Jack," I replied meekly.

The rest of the meal was torture for me. Jack never seemed to let up; it was put down after put down after put down. Rhonda was really nice about it but it still hurt. Finally, come two o'clock, with a 'don't wait up, I'll be late tonight' he finally left. I saw him out and went back to the kitchen where Rhonda was standing by the back door.

"Thanks for the grub, darlin', I'd best get back out there."

"Rhonda, you're welcome, I like cooking for you," I replied.

"Do you? Looks like it suits both of us then," and with that she was off.

I cleared up the kitchen and stacked the dishwasher. Another empty afternoon loomed ahead of me so I wandered out into the garden to see how Rhonda was getting on.

"Do you mind if I chat?" I asked as I approached.

"Nah, don't mind me, you chat away."

And chat away I did. Somehow Rhonda's broad shoulders seemed just the place to put all my troubles. I told her about this and I told her about that and I told her about the other. Sometimes I wondered if she were really listening but then she'd cut in with a pithy comment and I knew she'd taken in every word I'd said. Talking, just talking and not being afraid to say what was in my heart was just wonderful, almost as good as the sex, well, almost. And all the while Rhonda was fitting pipes or laying bricks or doing some other builder type thing and soaking up every word.

"D'ya know somthin' darlin'?" she said eventually.

"What, Rhonda?"

"That husband of yours is an arsehole, d'ya know that?"

"Rhonda, he's not that bad, you don't understand him," I replied.

"Oh, I understand him all right. He beats you, doesn't he?"

"No!" I replied but I couldn't stop my hand going to my eye where the bruising was still only just going down.

"Don't you lie to me, darlin', don't you ever lie to me. I know he beats you, you know he beats you and that ain't right."

"But I've nowhere else to go," I said, an even to myself that sounded pathetic.

"Give me your phone." Rhonda put her tools down and reached over. I dug in my pocket, found my phone and passed it over. She fiddled with it for a moment or two and then gave it back.

"Next time, or better still, before next time, you call me, got that?"

"Yes, ma'am," I replied.

"I'm not joking, girl. Really, I'm not."

Work on the summerhouse seemed to continue far too fast for my liking. By the end of the week all the foundations were laid and the drainage was sorted, or so Rhonda said. She told me that that was the worst of it done and she'd be finished in another week. I'd got used to having her around and I knew I was going to miss her when it was over. During the time she was there we talked and we talked and we talked; well, to be honest I did most of the talking but she listened and let me babble on regardless. Much as I wanted to we didn't go on any more bike rides; I started dropping more and more heavy hints but Rhonda just never seemed to pick up on them. This, of course, was driving me crazy. We'd got to Thursday in the second week and I was making her lunch as usual when something inside me flipped out and, instead of putting the plate on the table I just tipped it all over Rhonda's lap. She just looked up at me with a bemused smile.

"You did that on purpose, didn't you?" she said calmly.

"No, Rhonda, I didn't, honest I didn't," I replied blushing.

"And now you're lying to me. What did I say about lying?"

"You told me I wasn't ever to lie to you." It may have been more than a week ago but that event was forever locked in my memory.

"So first you've been a stupid little girl and then you've lied to me. I think you're trying to provoke me; I think you want me to smack that pretty little bottom of yours, the one you've been flashing at me all this past week."

"No, no..." I started until I saw the look on her face. I couldn't lie to her then, or ever again.

"Please, Rhonda, please will you smack my bottom," I asked.

"Maybe I will, maybe I won't," she replied, "but first of all I'm not going to sit around in these jeans all day, am I?" She stood up and the remains of her lunch fell from her lap to the floor exposing the greasy mess that was her jeans.

"No, ma'am," I replied.

"You caused this, you can sort it out; I assume you have a washing machine somewhere, the sooner they're in the sooner they're clean and dry so get on with it," she said and stood before me with her hands on her hips. For a moment I stood around like a dummy until I twigged what she wanted and, kneeling down in front of her, I reached for the buckle of her belt and started to take down her jeans. I slipped them to the floor and she stepped out of them. I looked up and there she was, stood over of me in her tee shirt and a pair of men's boxers. Of course I hadn't expected lacy panties but neither had I expected boxers but they suited her just fine. I started to get up but she stopped me so, still on my knees, I shuffled to the utility room and got the washer-dryer started.

When I returned Rhonda just pointed at the mess of food on the floor. Still on my knees I shuffled towards the cupboard under the sink to fetch a cloth but, again she stopped me.

"Pick up what you can with your hands and the rest, lick it clean. I just hope for your sake that you're the proud housewife I think you are."

I went over to where the food had fallen, reached up and took the empty plate from off the table and scooped what I could onto it. Then, putting my hands on the floor in front of me so I was on fours, I started to lick up the rest. Rhonda then told me to put my hands behind my back which made it harder and, inevitably, my hair fell forward and into the mess.

How can I explain it; well, I can't even explain it to myself. If it had been anyone else, especially Jack, I'd have rebelled; if anyone else had done this I would have been seething with anger and told them to fuck off in no uncertain terms but, because it was Rhonda, because, for the first time in my life I'd found someone who understood me, behaving like this was both liberating and intensely sexy. With Rhonda, as I licked up the mess from the floor, I felt a freedom, a freedom to be, as my mum used to put it, a mucky-pup. A freedom to indulge, a freedom to get down and dirty. By the time I had finished my face was covered, my hair was covered, and, because I'd finished off by wiping the floor with my tits, the front of my tee shirt was also covered with gunk. I was filthy and in heaven.

With the floor now cleanish I knelt up and grinned at Rhonda.

"Go and get cleaned up. When you're ready I'll be waiting in the lounge," Rhonda ordered.

I nipped upstairs, threw my dirty clothes in the wash and dived under the shower. I thought carefully about what I was going to wear; I've got this cute little pleated tartan mini skirt that I bought back in the days when I was still trying to pique Jack's interest in me. That, plus the tightest plain white blouse I've got with not too many buttons done up.... Panties, there's a question. I nearly didn't wear any but, if I'm to be the naughty little schoolgirl, then that didn't quite work for me so I settled on plain white cotton. On the other hand I didn't bother with a bra. I'm a bit floppy when I do that but, again, I'm going for the naughty little girl look. White ankle socks and plain shoes were perfect to finish it all off. I dried my hair, brushed it out and used a couple of scrunchies to give me pigtails either side. I posed in front of the mirror; say it myself what shouldn't, I didn't look too bad. I sashayed downstairs to where Rhonda was waiting in the lounge. Still wearing only her tee shirt and boxers she was sat on the sofa with her feet up on the pouffe reading the paper. Feeling rather pleased with myself I went over and stood in front of her.

"Please, ma'am, I'm ready to be punished," I said in a little girl voice.

Rhonda looked up at me. "Play with yourself," was all she said.

"What?" I replied.

"Stand there, put your hand down your panties and play with yourself," she repeated.

I looked at her and she stared right back at me. In this battle of wills there was only ever going to be one winner so I reached for the hem of my skirt, lifted it up and slipped my other hand under the elasticated waistband of my panties and reached for my pussy with my fingertips.

Rhonda nodded briefly but then just returned to her paper. Slowly, agonisingly slowly, she read every single page of the damn thing including the sports pages and the financial section. I mean, once you've finished with the bits about which celebrity is shagging which other celebrity what else is there? Who wants to know how stock prices are doing or whether Spurs are beating Chelsea; well, Rhonda apparently. I was frantic and furious. When she'd asked me to play with myself I assumed I'd be putting on a show for her but now she was ignoring me. I tried upping my game, moaning a lot and playing with my titties through my blouse but that didn't do a thing. Then I went the other way and just stood there.

"Did I tell you to stop?" Rhonda asked with out looking up.

"No, I just thought...."

"Don't think, just get on with it," and with that she returned to her paper.

Of course she knew exactly what she was doing and it was only moments later that I cracked, grabbing the paper, hurling it across the room and I throwing myself on my knees in front of her.

"For god's sake, Rhonda..." I wailed.

"Ooh, temper, temper." Rhonda scolded but she took her legs off the pouffe and put one foot between my thighs and, instinctively, I moved forward until I was effectively humping it. I lifted my head and looked her straight in the eye.

"Please, Rhonda," I begged as I worked my pussy against her foot. "Please..."

"Please, what, darlin'?" she said, wriggling her foot.

"I need... I need..." Did she really want to make me beg? Of course she did. "I need to come, Rhonda, I need it so badly."

"But I'm not stopping you. I sure you have a vibrator in that bedside table of yours," she said calmly. I was anything but calm.

"I need you to make me come!" I almost shouted. "Please, please, it's special with you, it's always special with you and you'll be finished tomorrow and I'll never, ever see you again."

There, it was all out in the open. I was too ashamed to carry on and, as the tears rolled down my face, I slumped back away from her foot.

"Come here," was all she said. I looked up again and, this time, her face was the face of compassion. She held out her arms and I knelt up and she hugged me, she kissed me, she took me, she possessed me. Up until then it had just been fucking; right there on the sheepskin rug in front of the fireplace Rhonda showed me how to make love. My clothes, our clothes, were torn from our bodies and with her hands, with her tongue, with every part of her body she ravished me.

Was she rough, I guess she must have been judging by the bruises all over me when I washed myself that evening but although she was rough she was never violent and when her hand gripped inside my pussy squeezing until I screamed it was a scream of joy, not a scream of pain. And then, when she pinned me to the floor and sat on my face I wanted to give back all the joy she had given me, I wanted to make her juices flow the way she had made mine.

At last, exhausted and satisfied like never before, she wrapped me up in those big strong arms of hers and we lay on the hearthrug just being together.

"I never did get round to smacking that cute little tush of yours," she joked as she kissed the tip of my nose.

"Ooh, yes please," I joked back.

"Maybe another time." She kissed me once again. "Now, we'd best see how those jeans of mine are doing. I can't lie about her all day, I've got work to do."

"Oh, please, ten minutes more," I pleaded.

"OK then, but after that...."

And, after that reality returned. I got up and, still stark naked, went to the washer-dryer and found that it had indeed got to the end of the cycle and Rhonda's jeans were clean and dry. I insisted on ironing them for her which Rhonda found hilarious and it's quite a feat to iron jeans when your lover is standing close behind you and has her hands all over your body. But, even so, we couldn't spin it out any longer and, eventually, Rhonda had to go back out and finish off the summerhouse.

The only problem was that, when it came to getting dressed again Rhonda couldn't find her boxers. We both made light of it at the time and, five minutes later, it had totally gone from my mind.

The very next day the summerhouse was finished. Rhonda was gone and I really thought I'd never see her again.

And then, two weeks or so later, it's two in the morning and Jack staggers in pissed as a fart. I'm in bed huddling under the covers hoping he'll just pass out when I hear an almighty crash from the lounge and a bellow from Jack of "Oy, cunt, what the fuck are these?"

I slipped out of bed, put on my dressing gown and went to the top of the stairs. There at the bottom is Jack and, in his hand, there are Rhonda's boxers. He must have found them when he tripped over the sofa. I know there is absolutely no way I'm going to talk my way out of this one so I dash back to the bedroom and slam the door. Of course there's no lock, nothing to stop him and I can already hear him pounding up the stairs. I grab my handbag and dash into the en-suite which has got a lock. It's only a flimsy thing and it's not going to hold him long but as Jack's hammering on the door I find my phone, scroll through the address book, find Rhonda's name and press dial. Please pick up... Please pick up....

And then the door gives way and Jack is upon me. He doesn't even ask questions; he knows the boxers aren't his, he's put two and two together and now he's going to feed them to me, literally. And, after he's stuffed them in my mouth he starts in with his fists. I go down but he picks me up again and throws me out into the bedroom. There he really sets to and I'm in a living hell. Vaguely through the ringing in my ears I can hear the torrent of abuse, slag, slut, whore; all the words he loves to call me. I even passed out a couple of times but not for long, he's soon slapped me back to consciousness and started in again. One eye is closing and I can feel the blood trickling down the side of my face. I'll be lucky to keep my teeth at this rate.