Here's Looking at You

He followed her glance to his naked left hand and said, "I've not been so lucky." Then he laughed and looked at his cousin's husband. "Or maybe I've been lucky enough to have remained single."

Frank flushed slightly and Kate wondered what Kelly might have witnessed while staying with his cousin and her husband.

Kelly continued speaking. "I've had my share of close calls, mind you. Most recently there was a girl who was a real wild cat. I never had a dull moment with Cherise. She gave me some ride, let me tell you, but I got off before the fare came due. You wouldn't believe the things she--"

"So, Nate," Frank interrupted, "what about those Yanks, eh? You think they're going to win the pennant this year or what?"

Kelly got the hint and shut up but he didn't look happy about it. He looked like he really wanted to tell Jocelyn about all the wild things that his last girlfriend had done for him.

Sports talk sustained the conversation until the main course was finished. Kelly must not follow sports because he had little to contribute.

When Jocelyn rose to clear the table for dessert, Kelly sprang to his feet and began helping her collect the dirty dishes.

She was surprised because Kelly didn't seem like the kind of guy who would pitch in, especially to do "women's work" but she didn't object.

In the kitchen, while she was putting the dishes in the dishwasher, Kelly said, "When Kate introduced us, you seemed familiar to me. I feel like I know you already. But I don't know where I might have seen you."

Jocelyn felt herself flush as she bent over the dishwasher. Kelly seemed like the kind of guy who would look at a lot of porn on the Internet. If Nate were posting videos of her, Kelly might have seen her. Bare ass naked. Pushing carrots into herself.

She didn't dare answer for fear that her voice would crack.

"You didn't go to high school in Indianapolis, did you?"

"No," she forced herself to say. "I've never been in Indiana."

"I didn't think so. I don't get a high school vibe from you. What do you do?"

If he was hoping that she would say that she was an actress in amateur porn videos, he must have been disappointed when she said, "I'm a graphic artist. Mostly I sit in my studio all day and draw illustrations for catalogs." But as soon as she said the words, she feared that she had said too much. If Nate were secretly recording her and posting videos on the Internet, then those videos would mostly show her sitting on her stool drawing because that's what she did all day.

Kelly might recognize the scenario and remember where he had seen her. And how she had been dressed.

Apparently, he did not because he said, "Nope. I've never had any business with any graphic artists."

She sighed in relief. That had been a near miss. "I guess I just have a common appearance. I look like a lot of people. Some people say that I look a little like Anne Hathaway."

He looked at her face for a long moment, then said, "Nope. I don't see that. You look a lot better than her. Nope. I'd think that if I'd seen you, I'd remember where. You're not the kind of woman that I'd forget."

"Thanks."

She had cooked a pumpkin pie from fresh pumpkins -- no canned pie filling for her guests -- and had to whip up the cream -- no cream from aerosol cans, either. When she set the cream to whipping, Kelly changed the subject.

"I love whipped cream," he said, putting his head close to her to peer into the bowl. "I used to like it all right, but when I was with Cherise, I learned to love it. You should have seen what she did when she had a big bowl of the stuff. She gave me a real incentive to lick up every drop that she served, if you know what I mean."

Jocelyn knew that she should be offended by Kelly's racy innuendo, and the pre-spycam Jocelyn would have been, but the post-spycam Jocelyn was intrigued. She made a mental note to cover herself in whipped cream for the benefit of Nate's cameras some day soon.

Instead of telling Kelly to get a grip on himself, she shocked herself by saying, "Maybe some time I'll give my husband an extra special dessert."

Kelly grinned. "I bet he'd like that a lot."

"He already likes whipped cream."

"He'll learn to love it." He leered at her. "He won't even mind the occasional hair."

"Oh, that's no problem," she said casually. "I've already taken care of that. There's no risk of him finding a single hair in his whipped cream."

Kelly could not help but look down at her crotch, trying to imagine what was hidden beneath her skirt. His eyes were almost bugging from his head.

His predictable reaction made her feel powerful. She could jerk him around like a marionette. She halted the beaters, scooped a dollop of half-whipped cream out of the bowl and licked it off slowly off her finger.

He licked hit own lips absently as he watched every movement of her finger, lips, and tongue.

"That's about as sweet as it should be," she said.

He nodded in silent agreement.

She almost laughed at him as she turned the beaters back on.

"Why don't you join the others in the dining room? I can bring the coffee and pie out myself when it's ready."

He looked like he was going to object, then grinned and said, "Some other time, then," and left her alone in the kitchen.

She wondered what he thought was likely to happen some other time.

She grinned at the thought occurred to her. Some day, Kelly might be looking for some amateur porn on the Internet and find a video of himself leering at her as she licked her finger.

If he did, he would likely remember where he had seen her.

Kelly called the next day. And the day after that. Both times, Jocelyn assured him that she was faithful to her husband and he would have no hope of ever getting into her pants. Ever.

She was surprised that he did not phone a third time. She expected hope to spring eternal in a horny man's breast and was ready to threaten him with a restraining order if he didn't stop calling.

A couple of weeks later, when Kate reciprocated with a dinner invitation of her own, Jocelyn asked after Kelly, idly curious. Kate said that her cousin had decided to cut his vacation short and return home much earlier than expected. Only the two couples would be dining together this week.

Recalling the tension between Frank and Kelly at her dinner, Jocelyn suspected that she was not the main reason for his unexpected early return to Indianapolis.

That was the only time that she ever spoke to anyone that she suspected might have seen her videos on the Internet. She doubted that Kelly had, really, either. He had seemed genuinely surprised when she had indicated that her pussy was shaved.

But she was warmed by the thought that she might have fans like Kate's cousin. Distant, anonymous fans who would never see her in real life.

* * *

Thereafter, if Nate did not provide special clothing sometime during the week, Jocelyn took one of the previous outfits from her special drawer to wear for a few hours. As Nate gave her a more extensive wardrobe of exotic clothing, she could mix and match items, sometimes wearing red lace underwear with black stockings and garter belt, for example, or the pink bikini bottom with a leather halter-top.

Sometimes she wore regular clothes differently, like wearing jeans but leaving her torso naked or wearing nothing but a long tee shirt that was certain to creep past her crotch whenever she sat down or reached over her head.

On those days, Nate never failed to make love to her with special enthusiasm when he came home.

She enjoyed her lace and skin days more than she would have guessed. They added interest to what was otherwise a fairly boring occupation.

Her new mindset continued to add a naughty spice to her work. Now that her designs had been turned into actual murals, the Woodland Mall clients were ecstatic about them. Not only had the city paper published a laudatory article about the mall in the Arts section, attendance was up, both compared to last year and compared to other malls in the city this year.

Important people were talking about her talent.

Potential new clients were contacting her. If more than a couple of them signed contracts, she was going to have to hire some help.

One Friday, she found an oddity among the clothes that she had laid out. She had not expected Nate to leave anything because she had meetings with new clients all day and had told him so. That was reinforced when she had laid out a business suit to wear.

She thought that he understood that she did not dress erotic outside the home.

Whereas her outfit was had always been replaced with fewer clothes than she had laid out, this time more had been added. A note on the top of the pile read:

I'm going to have to work at the office tomorrow, even though it's Saturday. Love, Nate

She took her business suit off the pile and found a second set of clothes beneath -- a French maid costume, complete with a low-cut black mini-dress, white lace apron and hat, black stay-up stockings, and black high heels. The outfit included a feather duster with a fat handle and long downy plumes.

Nate's intention was clear.

Normally she and Nate shared the housework on Saturday morning. Today she would go to her meetings as planned, properly dressed, but tomorrow, she would be doing the housework by herself, wearing the erotic maid costume.

She was a little miffed at being stuck doing all the housework alone, but it wasn't that big of a deal.

As long as he didn't expect this to become the norm. This was a once-in-a-lifetime performance.

Well, maybe a couple-times-a-year performance. She could handle that much. After all, he did do almost all the yard work by himself.

But she got a second shock late that afternoon when she came home from her meetings.

The entryway was clean. Someone had picked up the extra shoes and put the coats in the closet. There was no dirt on the floor. It had not only been swept, it looked like it had been mopped.

Supper was ready. A stew was brewing in the slow cooker.

The kitchen was spotless.

She went into the bathroom. The shower, tub, and sink were sparkling.

She ran around the house, looking for the mess, dirt, and disorder that she had left in the morning. She found none. Everything was as neat and shiny as new. The house hadn't been merely cleaned, it had been detailed.

Nate hadn't done this on his own. He wasn't that good. She would bet money that a professional maid service had been through her house.

On the morrow, whatever she did in the French maid costume, it wouldn't involve cleaning the house.

He said not a word when he got home. That suited her. She needed quiet to plan her performance. Nate deserved something good.

* * *

As on weekdays, when she got up on Saturday morning, Nate had already left for work.

As soon as she was wearing the French maid costume, she examined herself in the full-length mirror.

Like the black bustier, the bodice of the black dress laced up the back to draw tight about her ribs, pushing her breasts high toward the much-too-low-cut top, giving her amazing cleavage and revealing pink slivers of her areolas.

The lower half of the dress was reinforced with piles of white ruffled flounce that acted like fake petticoats to pushed the black outer layer away from the naked tops of her thighs.

The black stay-up fishnet stockings make her legs look like a streetwalker's.

She was provided with no panties to cover her sex. She could preserve no shred of modesty when she bent over. And housecleaning required a lot of bending.

The black heels were higher than any she had ever worn. She would have to walk slowly and cautiously.

A tiny white apron served only to draw attention to her crotch.

The outfit was completed with a little white cap that pinned to her hair and a small black bowtie choker that made her white neck look long and vulnerable.

She looked terrific.

How did Nate know that she would look so good in this costume?

She was nervous as she went into the living room. She glanced at the drapes. Nate had drawn them closed as he did on every day when he left her a special costume. Nate was always careful about that. He might be sharing videos of her with a million other people on the Internet but he never left a curtain open to suggest that she should let a neighbor see her in costume.

That made sense. It would be hard to live here if they had to hear neighbors whispering and see them leering every time they walked down the street.

Or maybe he was simply following her instruction that she would not perform for a live audience.

She wondered if she should relax that rule. How would she feel if the audience were strangers? If they saw her in a public place where there was no danger that they would try to accost her?

She wondered if Nate would like it if she "forgot" to wear panties under a miniskirt when they were out shopping together and "accidently" bent over to pick something off a low shelf. Or if she forgot to wear a bra and had a "wardrobe malfunction" with the strap that held her top in position over her chest. She could hold the ends of the strap together with a straight pin and tie a long thread to the end. A subtle pull at her waist would part the strap at her neck.

Two months ago, she never could have imagined herself doing anything like than. Today, the thought was making her wet between her legs. Tomorrow, she might make the fantasy a reality and see how Nate reacted.

Even if public exposure wasn't Nate's fantasy, he had instilled the desire in her.

She spent several minutes wiping the feather duster over already sparkling clean shelves in a pretense of doing housework. She contrived to strike poses that displayed her assets. She stretched her legs, made longer by the high heels; arched her back to reach high places; thrust her breasts forward, nearly pushing them out of the inadequate bodice, stretching the soft white fabric tight across erect nipples; pushed her naked ass upwards when she bent to dust low places.

When she walked in the heels, she crossed her ankles to ensure that her hips swayed dangerously from one side to the other. When she raised her arms, she drew the short hem of the dress high above her crotch.

The soft duster with its long black feathers was sensuous and she paused for a time to brush it softly over her face, then down across her neck to her shoulders. The back of the dress was cut as low as the front, enabling her to tickle her back softly.

She was breathing hard but the lace bodice constrained her diaphragm, making her chest heave in the low-slung neckline.

When she began to dust the mantle, she dropped the duster, making it necessary that she bend over fully to pick it up. She bent slowly and fumbled with the duster for a minute, bending from the hips and keeping her knees straight to give the cameras hidden in the room a long view of her naked womanhood. Nate deserved a generous eyeful.

When she stood back up, she was face-to-face with Nate's portrait, displayed prominently above the fireplace in a silver frame. She had put it there before going to bed last night.

Now, she reached out and caressed the glass that covered the image of her husband.

She picked up the portrait and pressed her cheek to the face behind the glass. Then she kissed the image of her husband's lips.

She set the picture on the coffee table, facing the couch, and sat down, looking at it. As she gazed into the eyes of the image of her husband, she pulled a small tube of K-Y lubricant from where it had been hidden underneath the couch and squeezed a dollop onto her fingers.

She slouched back and splayed her legs, sliding the dress up to her waist, rendering her hips and crotch naked. Slowly, languorously, she wiped the lubricant between her engorged lips, working it around, feeling the wonderful slipperiness of her fingers against her sex.

The feather duster had a round plastic handle that was too big to fit comfortably in Jocelyn's hand but was perfect for another use.

She squeezed another generous dollop of lubricant on her fingers and spread a thick coating around and down the length of the handle.

Slowly, she worked the handle of the duster against herself, between her lips, and inside, then pulled it in and out, enjoying the feeling of the ersatz dildo sliding past her inner lips.

With her slippery fingers, she began working around the little nub of hot flesh that was the source of her sexual pleasure. She did not touch it directly, but squeezed it softly between her lips and worked it back and forth, letting her plump intimate flesh do the massaging under the direction of her fingertips.

She worked for long minutes with fingers and dildo until she brought herself to a climax. She did not fake or exaggerate her reaction for theatrical effect, but she did not hide or suppress her moans, grunts and grimaces, either. As she gave herself over to pure pleasure, her hips jerked convulsively against the sofa cushions and her feet curled and pointed in her shoes.

Throughout her performance, she kept looking at the picture of her husband's face on the coffee table.

Though her mind was occupied by nearly overwhelming physical sensations, a small corner of her consciousness kept wondering what Nate was doing at that moment. She imagined that, as he watched her on a video screen in the privacy of his office, he was engaged in the male version of her onanistic performance.

That thought propelled her to a higher plane of ecstasy than the merely physical.

Another small corner of her mind wondered if video was streaming out into the world through the Internet. Had a million men around the world been doing what she imagined Nate doing? If so, she hoped that every one of them experienced the same ecstasy as her.

When she regained her breath, she stood, restored her dress from its obscene to its merely immodest state, and began dusting again.

After giving Nate's portrait a loving kiss, she put it back on the mantle. Then she worked her way out of the room and back to the bedroom. There, she shed the French maid costume and dressed in her standard jeans and sweatshirt.

Her entire maid performance had taken a little over an hour.

Once again, Nate said nothing about what he might have seen when he came back home, but, once again, he made passionate love to her before taking her out for a wonderful Indian meal. She had been his maid this morning and his lover this afternoon but he didn't want her to be his cook tonight.

* * *

Jocelyn's life continued to follow this pattern after they moved to a bigger house. Every few days she received costumes, sex toys, and her husband's passionate love afterward.

Two years later, she became pregnant with their first child. When the pee stick showed a plus sign, the sex games ended without comment or discussion. Her life became dull, normal, and satisfying.

She never found a single camera in either their old or new house and never knew if they had been removed after the games ended.

As well, she never knew if Nate had circulated videos of her performances on the Web or not. She tried searching for them more than once, but it was like trying to find a few drops in a sea of porn. She became bored and abandoned the search long before she had any hope of finding images of herself.

But she did find videos of MILFs -- Mothers I'd Like to Fuck -- who were often mature women.

Even as she entered her forties, gained some weight and felt gravity exert its relentless pull on her body, Nate still liked to watch her undress for bed. She wondered if, when she was fifty and their second child moved out on his own, she would awake some morning to find that her clothing had been replaced by black stay-ups, a bustier, and nothing else.