Mrs. America Ch. 01

Author's Note: A reader suggested that I do a series of stories about contestants in the Mrs. America pageant. What a fine idea. However, I have of late had a fascination with tee-shirts that say things on them. I found a website (I can't remember the URL anymore) with a number of printed tee-shirts appropriate to this kind of story. So, both elements – Mrs. America contestant wearing a naughty tee-shirt – will be present in this series. I apologize in advance for those readers that enjoy the MILF genre, but not the Cheating Wife Genre, as this series, almost by definition, falls into the latter.

Elizabeth stirred as she felt her husband's weight return to their bed. His lips brushed her scrubbed cheek and he whispered in her ear.

"We'll be back around 4 or so, sweetie."

"Mmm," she murmured, groggy with sleep. "Where are you going?"

"Will and I are going hiking up around Bogus Basin. Remember?"

She groaned in response.

"I told you about this early in the week. You said no problem."

"Whatever," she mumbled, rolling away from her errant husband. The truth was, she did remember him telling her that he and their twelve-year-old son were going to be gone for the day. She wasn't happy about it when he informed her Tuesday night, and she sought to remind him of her consternation again this morning.

His weight lifted off the bed and she listened as he walked from the room. She lay in bed for a few more minutes, ears attuned to the garage door opening and the rumble of his Expedition as it sped down the driveway, leaving her alone in the house.

Elizabeth rolled to her back and stared at the ceiling, wallowing in self-pity. Her husband was one of the vice-presidents for a large construction concern headquartered in Boise, Idaho. He was senior enough in the corporate hierarchy to afford a comfortable lifestyle, nicely supplemented by her interior design business. But his status was low enough that his travel schedule was horrendous, often seeing him away on business three weeks out of any given month.

This month was no different. He didn't return from Kansas City until 8:00 last night and would be leaving for Utah Sunday afternoon. And rather than spend his Saturday – their Saturday – as a family, he abandoned her for the day, preferring instead an afternoon hiking around the foothills above Boise.

What made his conduct even more maddening is the utter aloofness with which he had approached her involvement in the Mrs. Idaho pageantry. He lent little support during the events leading up the pageant. Instead of offering to pick Will up at school on those afternoons when she was in sessions with her pageant coach, he begged off, claiming that all of his traveling required him to work late on those nights. And while he attended the pageant itself (parts of it actually), all she received upon her crowning as Mrs. Idaho was a congratulatory dinner and a vase full of flowers. The Syringa, to boot. So what if the Syringa was Idaho's official state flower?

Elizabeth wiped these thoughts from her consciousness and lifted herself from the bed that she shared (on rare occasions) with her husband. After starting a pot of coffee in the kitchen, she sauntered back to their bedroom and started the shower, luxuriating in the scalding water that cascaded over her tanned shoulders and down her lightly muscled back.

She slid the bar of soap over her supple thighs and flat-tanned stomach, gently lathering her trimmed pubic area. Her sudsy fingers traced up her torso, slowly circling the soft breasts that filled her 34C bras, closing in on the rubbery nipples that sat as bulls-eyes at the center of her milky white globes.

Cleansed, she stepped into a pair of khaki shorts and an old tee-shirt and returned to the kitchen for her morning ritual of coffee and croissant. Mug in hand, she padded through the house in bare feet to her home office and, setting the coffee on the desk, opened her brief case and extracted a set of plans for the Blodgett home that she had brought home to review over the weekend.

She loved the Blodgett house. Mrs. Blodgett had given her carte blanche to redecorate the mountain-side home she shared with her husband, an executive with a large forestry and paper products corporation in Boise, and their children. Given that the entire house was being redone, she and Mrs. Blodgett had decided that accomplishing their goals in phases was best. They were just completing the first phase and starting the second one.

After reviewing the various prints and plans for an hour or so, Elizabeth decided that she'd drive up to the house to check on the carpenters' progress in what was to become Mr. Blodgett's home office. Eventually, the room would be oak-paneled with a private bath, recessed wet bar and a flat-panel TV mounted on the wall opposite a large oak desk. Now, it was just an empty shell as the carpenters trimmed and mounted the wood wall panels.

Though it was Saturday morning, Elizabeth had no qualms about visiting the house and disturbing the Blodgetts' weekend. Mrs. Blodgett had informed her that the family was taking vacation in Laguna Beach for two weeks, though their eldest son, Zach, would not be joining them.

Sitting at her desk, sipping the remains of her coffee, her mind drifted to Zach, the ne'er-do-well of the family. Twenty-four going on sixteen, Zach had graduated from Arizona State the previous December and returned home, not having a job to go to. This did not surprise Elizabeth, as she understood that Zach had taken six-and-a-half years to graduate college.

He sure is fresh one. Whenever Elizabeth visited the Blodgett home to check on the redecorating progress, Zach was always there, lounging by the pool or playing Xbox 360 (she recognized the gaming console because her son had the same one). He was always sure to say hello to her with a lecherous smile and a gleam in his eye, holding her hand a little longer than was appropriate.

Elizabeth glanced at her watch and saw that noon was approaching. She unlocked one of the drawers in her desk and pulled the Blodgetts' house key from it. After gathering a note pad and her car keys, she slipped into a pair of sandals and made her way toward the garage. Her slender fingers grasped the knob but she paused, recalling the last time she had seen Zach.

* * *

It was about a month ago, right before he had left for somewhere in South America for a backpacking trip. She and Mrs. Blodgett were standing and talking in the great room, which was part of the second phase of redecorating. It was a massive room, with a vaulted ceiling and stone fireplace big enough for a child to stand in. The exterior wall contained floor-to-ceiling windows and two sets of French doors that let out onto the pool deck, which itself overlooked a wide, shallow valley.

Elizabeth had glanced outside to see Zach napping on a lounger beside the pool, his skin a deep bronze that glistened with sweat and sun tan oil. After a few minutes, he had lifted his head and seen her talking with his mother, and gave her a flirtatious wave. She had turned away, focusing her attention on Mrs. Blodgett's ideas for the room.

About ten minutes later, Zach came in through the French doors and said hello to his mom. He took Elizabeth's soft hand in his own, again holding it a little too long. He had left his shirt by the pool and several beads of perspiration rolled down his well-defined pectorals. From the kitchen, the phone had rung and Mrs. Blodgett excused herself.

"It's good to see you, Elizabeth," he said, as though they were life-long friends.

"You, too, Zach," she responded, her voice clipped. "Are you enjoying your summer?"

He smiled like the golden boy he was. "Every day's summer when you're unemployed. A little bored, though. I don't have any friends here and I dumped my girlfriend when I graduated from ASU."

"Well, there are plenty of women in this town your age. I'm sure you'll make out alright." Elizabeth was anxious for Mrs. Blodgett to return from her phone call so that they could conclude their business and she could be on her way.

"Yeah, well, speaking of that. Too bad you're married. I'd make you my girlfriend." The lecherous grin surfaced, and she blushed at his round-about compliment; despite the awkwardness of the situation, her nipples hardened beneath her blouse. Thankfully, Mrs. Blodgett returned before the inappropriate conversation had gone any further and Zach had retreated into the depths of the house.

A week or so later, Elizabeth was on-line searching for a tee-shirt for her nephew, who was just turning one. She happened upon a website that sold all sorts of shirts with slogans on them. Many were vulgar and not appropriate for a one-year-old. Scrolling through the pages, she found one that intrigued her for its humor value. It made her think of Zach and, as a joke, she had ordered it.

* * *

Pulling herself from the memory, Elizabeth released the door knob and skipped up the stairs to her bedroom. She pulled the ratty tee-shirt over her head, careful not to disturb the blonde tresses she had gathered into a ponytail at the back of her head. She stepped into the walk-in closet and dug through the several bags that were piled beneath her rack of clothes. After rummaging through a few of them, tags still on the purchases, she found what she was looking for.

She held the tank top up in front of her, trying to judge what it would look like on her slight frame. She tore the tag from it and pulled it over her head, tugging the ponytail free. She adjusted the snug fabric so it sat properly on her slender torso, exposing two or three inches of bronzed flesh at her belly. Stepping in front of the full-length mirror, she surveyed her appearance: comfortable sandals on her manicured feet; the khaki shorts ending mid-thigh; the white, ribbed tank top with blue lettering across her substantial chest: "Define Married."

Satisfied that she looked presentable – a relative word, to be sure – Elizabeth bounded down the stairs, got into her car and drove through town toward the mountain pass road that led to the Blodgetts' home.

When she pulled into the driveway, she was not surprised to find Zach's dirty Jeep parked haphazardly in front of one of the garage doors. 'Probably went out and got drunk last night,' she thought, noticing that the front wheel of the off-road machine was, in fact, off-road, planted firmly in a flower bed.

Putting her car in Park, Elizabeth got out and walked up the path to the front door. She rang the doorbell once, twice. When no one responded, she opened the heavy oak door with the key the Blodgetts had provided her.

"Hello?" she called out, pausing in the slate-floored foyer. "Zach? Are you here? Zach?"

Nothing.

Shrugging, Elizabeth made her way down the long foyer toward Mr. Blodgett's office to see how the carpenters were coming along. She entered the dusty room, sunlight filtering in through dirty windows. Dust hung in the air, highlighted by intermittent rays of light, casting an unnatural glow throughout the room.

A workbench sat in the middle of the room, a pair of unused sawhorses next to it. Uncut wall panels lay on the floor. The carpenters had managed to mount four panels on the lower part of one of the walls.

Elizabeth picked her way across the room, careful to avoid nails, scraps of wood and other debris. She bent at the knees to check the fit between two of the panels. Satisfied, she scooted over to the next joint. Moving to the third, she heard the soft padding of feet outside the office just before a voice called out.

"Well, if it isn't my pretty little Mrs. Idaho."

Startled, Elizabeth jerked her head around, her ponytail swishing across her bare, tanned shoulders.

"Come to see me, Elizabeth?" Zach asked, that same lecherous grin creasing his features as he looked down and across the room at the pretty woman on her hands and knees.

"No, Zach, I'm not here to see you. I'm just checking on progress," she responded, getting to her feet, bending to brush sawdust from her dimpled knees.

"Mm-hm." He leaned against the doorframe. "Oh, by the way. Congratulations. My sister told me about your coronation. Is that what they call it, a coronation?"

Elizabeth straightened. "Thank you," she began as her eyes fell upon the young man.

He merely smirked at her.

"I uh . . . I . . . I rang the door bell but no one . . . no one answered," she stuttered, her bright blue eyes traveling down his perspiring, muscled body.

After a moment, she gathered her wits. "I just let myself in. I hope I didn't disturb you."

"No, not at all. Didn't even know you were here. I was just going back to my bedroom and heard some rustling around." He paused, craning his neck. "Whaddya got there?"

"What?" she asked, turning her head left then right, looking behind her.

"There," he said, pointing, moving closer to her. "On your tank. What's that say?"

Elizabeth looked down at her chest, fully aware of what was printed across her bulging breasts. She looked back up at him, standing only a few feet away from her now. Grasping the bottom hem of the tank top, she pulled it away from her body, causing the fabric to become taught. "It says, 'Define Married.'"

"Hmph." Zach crossed his arms across his sweaty, hairless chest. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Well . . . nothing, I guess. I just . . . I thought it was funny. I ran across it on-line and I thought of what you said to me the last time I saw you." Elizabeth shifted her weight from one foot to the next. "I . . . uh . . . I thought I'd wear it . . . you know . . . uh . . . for you."

A look of concentration crossed Zach's unshaven features as he strained to remember their last exchange, but his memory failed him. "You got me, Elizabeth. What did I say to you last time?"

"You said, 'Too bad you're married.' Or something like that." She shifted back again, apprehensive.

Zach paused, considering. After a moment, he responded. "So, 'Define Married' means what? Everyone has their own definition of being married?"

"Yeah, I guess so." She paused, not sure of herself, or of why she was in this house on this day, wearing this tank top. "Sure."

"And what's your definition of being married, Mrs. Idaho? Was that one of the questions the judges asked you?" Always the smart-ass. He moved a little closer to her.

"No. That's not part of it." She nervously pulled at one of the straps of her tank top. "I just have to be married to be in the pageant. They don't really ask about the contestants' marriages."

Zach stepped closer to her and Elizabeth took a step back. She felt one of the sawhorses behind her and stopped, her arms extending behind her to brace herself against it. Her breasts thrust forward and swelled beneath the soft cotton fabric. She felt her nipples pushing against the cups of her bra.

"You still haven't answered my question. What's your definition of being married?" He eased closer to pretty woman, now just inches in front of her softly trembling body.

Elizabeth tilted her head to look up at him, her doe-like eyes nervous, dancing. With her left hand, she tucked a few loose strands of blond hair behind her ear, the diamond of her engagement ring sparkling in the cloudy light. "Well, I guess it means . . ." she began before Zach cut her off.

"Does it include being alone in a room with another man?"

"Uh . . . probably not," she stammered, the shake of her head barely perceptible, evidenced only by her swaying ponytail. A few locks of hair fell from behind her ear again.

"How 'bout with a kid who's half naked? Does that fit into the definition?"

She chuckled uneasily as Zach reached out and, with the back of his hand, brushed the hair from her pretty face. "Definitely not," she whispered, her eyes downcast, avoiding his intense gaze.

He leaned in and softly placed his lips on hers, breathing in her scent. Elizabeth raised a hand to his bare, damp chest and lightly pushed him back, away from her.

"Don't Zach," she ordered, her voice soft, meek. "It's not appropriate."

"'Not appropriate?'" he questioned, a hand moving to her hip. She squirmed slightly, as if to retreat from his touch, but his hand followed her, remaining planted firmly on her soft flank.

"If anything's not appropriate, it's this," he intoned, the forefinger of his other hand tracing lightly beneath the depraved words printed across her now-heaving chest.

"Please," she muttered. "Don't touch me like that."

"If anything's inappropriate, it's this," he repeated himself, this time with his finger tracing a soft circle around a hard nipple. He leaned in again and kissed her on the lips, more forcefully this time.

"And this," he breathed into her panting mouth, his fingers dancing across the soft top to her other breast, forefinger and thumb finding the other nipple, pinching it lightly.

Elizabeth's knees buckled and a moan escaped her throat.

Zach's lips parted and his tongue swiped across her soft, full lips, seeking entry to her warm mouth. His fingers took a stronger grip on her turgid nipple, increasing the pressure.

She groaned from deep in her throat and her lips parted, allowing Zach to slip his tongue into the parched confines of her mouth, finding her tongue waiting for him. Their tongues swiped at each other, seeking entanglement.

Elizabeth's heartbeat – and her breathing – increased as Zach manipulated her engorged nipple between his strong fingers, lightly pinching and twisting and tugging and pulling. Her knees felt rubbery and almost buckled when he briefly, slowly, twisted the nipple halfway around, distorting the soft flesh of her breast.

With soft pressure on her hip, Zach prodded her a few feet to her left, toward the work bench. Their lips still locked, tongues dancing, he pressed her against the table and released her nipple from this strong fingers. With both hands, he grabbed her bottom and gently lifted her to the table.

Elizabeth's legs part involuntarily and Zach stepped between them, pressing his sweaty body against her. The thrashing of their tongues became more insistent and their front teeth knocked against each other, her tanned arms wrapping tightly around his sweaty neck.

She breathed hard through her nostrils when Zack, with one hand, reached behind her head and pulled it into his own, their lips smashing, teeth grinding, tongues dueling. He twisted her flaxen ponytail around his fist and held her tight while his other hand kneaded the soft but firm flesh of her breast. Her nipples throbbed, aching to be released from her bra, and he felt one pressing against his palm. He strummed his fingers over it, feeling it thicken further, before grasping it between his fingers and twisting it gently, tugging it, pinching it.

"Oh, gawd," she moaned into his mouth, her hips slowly rotating atop the workbench.

Zach released his grasp on her ponytail and dropped his hand to her bottom, pulling her closer to him. Her legs parted further, widening the gap into which his sweaty body fit. His hand slowly traced along her lower back, caressing her flesh at the top of her shorts, sending shivers up her spine. The rocking of her hips increased, gently tugging her panties against her hypersensitive clitoris.

Encouraged by the way Mrs. Idaho was responding to his ministrations, Zach slid his hand up the back of her tank top, pulling the fabric up with it. The taste of her lip gloss lingered on his lips, on his tongue, and he felt the air expelling through her nostrils as she bucked her wildly gyrating hips at him.

His hand exited the back of her tank top at the neck line and he again took a fistful of hair. He gently yanked it down, causing their lips to separate, her head pulled back, exposing her slender neck. Elizabeth released her arms from around his neck and placed them behind her, palms down on the workbench, bracing herself.