Work Ethic Ch. 4

©January 2002 by Bob Peale

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Author's Note:

This story was originally distributed as 6 chapters.

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Bev tried not to let show how much the idea of being in the house with Ryan AND Paul terrified her. But that night, lying in bed next to Paul, all she could think about was fucking Ryan!

His cock had felt so thick, so nice, lodged between her legs. And being watched – goddamn that had been hot! She reached under the sheet and gently rubbed herself through her panties. The cotton was so wet it felt like she was holding a sponge down there.

Her hips and quads ached from struggling to hold still. She didn't want to wake Paul, didn't want to explain why she was so horny again. Her fingers sped over her covered mound, teasing her lips and clit, but she managed to keep her arm and wrist stationary. When the white-hot blaze of her orgasm struck she let out a soft low cry and stuffed the palm of her free hand in her mouth.

It felt like someone had turned on a faucet deep inside her; hot sticky liquid squirted out and soaked the bed under her. She so wanted to thrash her head, spread her legs wide, stuff her fingers in deep, ride it out like a bucking bronco, but of course she didn't dare. Instead, she continued rubbing and stroking herself softly through her panties, tears of pleasure and frustration streaming down her cheeks until she collapsed into a labored, tortured sleep.

If Paul noticed the thick smell of sex or the still wet spot on her side of the bed the next morning he didn't let on. The first thing she did while he was in the shower was strip the bed, flip the mattress and replace the mattress pad and linens.

As was their practice, Cudgins Painters showed up promptly at the crack of dawn (8:00am to normal people), while Bev was making breakfast.

"Mmm mmm, that smells good," Ryan said pointedly as he brushed passed her.

"She sure can cook," Paul agreed.

Bev felt her face flush. She didn't think Ryan was referring to the bacon she was frying, and Paul's innocent corroboration made the comment sound that much more lecherous.

She was wearing a threadbare teddie under a thin robe. She'd put off showering until after breakfast - now she wasn't so sure that had been such a good idea.

While she and Paul ate breakfast the painters attended to their prep tasks.

"So, what's on your agenda today?" she asked, trying to sound casual even though her mind was already reeling.

Paul shrugged. "Well, can't watch TV with them painting. Maybe I'll work on bills and catch up on some paperwork."

"I was thinking of going food shopping. Is there anything you need me to pick up?"

As soon as she set eyes on Ryan again she knew it would not be a good idea to stay in the house. The temptation was building so strong now that he was here in the flesh. Already it was taking every ounce of willpower she had not to reach under the table and play with her pussy.

Paul shook his head. "Sorry hon, we're running a little low on cash. You'll have to wait until next week when I get paid. I've put in a lot of time, so we should have a big check coming."

He stood up and kissed her on the forehead and exited the kitchen.

Fuck, she thought as she cleaned up the dishes. She looked out of the window: cloudy and gray. A storm was coming – she couldn't even hide out in the yard and do yard work.

In the hallway she walked past Junior and he pressed against her meaningfully. She felt two successive waves of arousal: one because he'd managed to rub against her nipple, and another because his actions meant that he probably knew what happened yesterday.

She showered and dressed hurriedly, deciding that her best bet would be to curl up with a book and try to forget there was anyone in the house. Retrieving one from her nightstand, she padded past the den, where Paul was hunched over his desk with papers everywhere, into the guestroom.

She'd intended to sit in the big easy chair that had been moved in from the living room while it was being painted. Instead, she found Chris, his white tank top soaked down the middle with sweat, painters cap turned backwards, and his shoulders dappled with the pale blue color she and Paul had picked for this room. The chair was still here but it was covered, as was the computer and the rest of the furniture, it all pushed into the middle of the room.

She stood there, watching his muscles alternately bunch and flex as he applied the paint. She was so hypnotized by the slow even motion of the roller and the liquid movements of his body that she didn't register that he had turned around and was staring at her until he called her name several times.

"Sorry," Bev apologized. "I didn't sleep well at all."

He placed the roller in a drip pan at his feet and walked toward her. She sidestepped and backed up until she was in the corner, unable to go any further.

"You seem tense," he said placing a hand on one side of her. "That can't be good."

He was standing less than 3 inches from her. She could smell his sweat as well as the sharp sweet icy scent of his breath mint. And underneath, another smell, this one more primordial, more base.

She shook her head weakly. "I'm fine Chris, honest. It'll pass."

He raised one eyebrow as if to say, "What do you think I am, stupid?"

"Chris, we can't. As much as I may want to, my husband is just on the other side of this wall," she whispered.

Chris flashed her a simple, innocent smile.

"Then I guess we'd better be quiet."

He reached out with his other hand and unbuttoned her blouse, then freed her breast from the cup of her bra. Her nipples were already dark and protruding; any further protests would have been an insult to his intelligence.

Bev felt a delicious feeling of expectation. That little voice that is supposed to keep you out of trouble shouted that she was crazy – how could Paul not hear them? But she was as prepared to put a stop to this as she was to walk on the moon.

Chris cupped her left breast. His touch was so warm it burned, but she found herself leaning into it, trying to force more of her breast into his palm. With the same easy precision she observed earlier painting the wall he ran a thumb over the distended nipple, strumming, unlocking feelings that Bev had been struggling to suppress for almost 24 hours. She arched her back, struggling to find a way to derive even more pleasure from his manipulations.

"Do you want me to stop?" he whispered quietly.

She'd be crazy to let this end! He squeezed the nipple and Bev had to fight back the urge to collapse in a puddle of orgasmic bliss. She felt like a woman holding tight to the side of a house while a tornado blew over.

Chris moved closer, his face level with the center valley of her cleavage. Switching hands, he now held her right breast. He ran the light, invisible stubble of his face across the soft flesh and she started to pant. Darting rapidly, he moved his tongue from first one nipple then the other, and Bev had to hold on to his shoulders for support. A moan bubbled out from between her lips.

"Honey, are you alright?" Paul called from next door. "What's wrong?"

She felt her heart gripped by panic even as she spread her legs.

"I'm fine honey," she yelled, maybe a bit too loudly. "My foot fell asleep and I tried to stand on it."

"Are you hurt? Do you need help?"

"No," she shouted, her voice bordering on a scream. "I was just surprised."

Mentally, she begged him to stay in his den.

"Okay. But call me if you need anything."

She would have slumped against the wall with relief if Chris hadn't chosen that moment to slide a thick finger under the elastic of her panties and drag it upward until it brushed her clit. Oh shit, was he trying to get them caught?

He stroked between her legs firmly, alternating his mouth between her breasts as he did. She wondered why Paul hadn't said something; surely he heard them. That thought raised her arousal to fever pitch.

Outside, the gentle mist turned into a first rate downpour. Rain battered against the side of the house, the staccato pulse matching the hammering in her chest. The wall was vibrating and she prayed it was from the torrential downpour and not the product of their sex play.

Suddenly the room filled with a violent flash of light, so bright it looked like sunlight. Seizing the opportunity, Chris stuffed first one then another meaty finger in her pussy and twisted them both as the light waned. Unable to control herself Bev let out a deep groan as thunder boomed, shaking the house as it was plunged into total darkness.

Sweating, Bev shook as she continued to come, slumping against Chris as her body was wracked with the intense physical sensations of her orgasm.

Even before she was done Chris lowered her to the floor and quietly slipped out of the room. Several minutes later a flashlight beam swept the inside of the room, settling on her sprawled form, and Paul came running into the room.

"Sweetheart, are you alright?" he asked, his concern obvious.

She nodded, her eyes fluttering open.

"I guess I tripped when the lights went out. I'm fine honey, thanks."

"That was some fall. You're all disheveled," he said, pointing to her blouse.

He helped her to her feet and they made their way into their bedroom. Ryan called out that they had lanterns in the truck and that they'd like to keep working. Paul got Bev comfortable and went out to discuss it with them. She was asleep before he got out the door.

*******

Disclaimer:

This story is a work fiction. None of the characters or events herein are based on real people, either living or dead.

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