Pink Lemonade

Dishes were not fun to do. Sometimes they were fun, if she had had three glasses of morning tea, but the problem with drinking that much tea is, it made her too jumpy, and then her afternoons were spent jumping from place to place with nothing to do.

Christie didn't want to do the dishes this morning. Who knew that the romance of marriage would be replaced by matters like doing the dishes. Actually, plenty of people had known and had tried to warn her, but she hadn't listened. Christie pouted to herself, and then pouted again, remembering that it has to be "Christine" now. She wasn't some twinkly eyed college girl, anymore.

But, of course, she wasn't that stupid or simple, either. When life gave you lemons, you have to make lemonade! Which reminded her...she opened up the refrigerator and got out the pitcher of lemonade, and poured herself a glass. She gulped it down, enjoying the cold, salty taste and the little drops that escaped her mouth and trickled down her chin. A little of it splashed on her t-shirt.

Lemonade may be the perfect drug, Christine thought, as she walked on to the back porch. The day was cold, but sunny, and the wind whipped around her. This, she thought, was what she wanted. She had her own house and the title Misses. Of course, the bank really had the house, but that was one of those things not to think about.

The wind whipping around her started to chill the little bit of lemonade she had dropped on her t-shirt. For some reason, she was thinking of the color pink. Perhaps it was the thought of "little pink houses" (even though her house wasn't pink) or perhaps it was the thought of "pink lemonade" (even though her lemonade wasn't pink). Perhaps it was thinking about looking cute and girly, and not like someone who had to do the dishes. She walked back inside and up to her bedroom. She opened up her wardrobe (which was very large and fancy looking, and which the bank also owned), and looked at her clothing. She picked out a cutesy looking pink dress and threw it on the bed. She stood in front of the mirror, and took off her t-shirt, throwing it on the floor, and unzipped her jeans and let them fall to the floor. She looked at herself, and realized that all of the stress that was going on in her head didn't reflect in her outside appearence. She still had the cute figure and face that she had when she had first gotten engaged. She did have full breasts and hips, but she had had those since she had hit puberty ten years ago.

She put on her dress and smiled demurely. Looking at her smiling, innocent reflection, she almost felt that the stresses and responsiblity of marriage were falling off of her. As an afterthought, she shimied off her white cotton panties and put on a pink pair. She thought about changing out of her sensible sports bra, but thought that that would be too much work.

She walked downstairs, feeling newly charged, thinking she might even take on those dishes. Well, maybe not, she didn't want to get this dress wet. Maybe some light dusting. Although she never really did understand the purpose of dusting. And she didn't own a feather duster, so maybe it would be the dishes.

The thought was totally out of her mind, of course, when she stepped up to the sink to do the dishes and a second later felt a hand over her mouth and one over her eyes.

"Surprise!" a voice whispered in her ear. His hand slid off her mouth. "Sorry, about that, but we can't have you screaming and having the neighbors finding out."

"No we can't. But I wasn't expecting you today...what if my husband comes back?"

Her lover gave out a cruel snicker... "That fool? He is too predictable!"

"That may be." she said (letting out a little gasp as his hands ran over her breasts) "...but I really do love him."

"But there is some things he can't do for you." he grasped her breasts harder. (she wished she had taken the time to put on the sexy bra now)

"A few."

"Like pinch your nipples?" he pinched them, making her give out a little gasp.

"And tell you you are a little tramp?" this made her give out another gasp, this time not quite as pleased.

"Well..." he said, reaching under her skirt to touch her panties "what type of woman wants to fuck a strange man when she is already married?"

"I think," she said, trying to defend herself "that he might be seeing someone too."

"Excuses, excuses..." he rubbed her through her panties "and you wore your fancy panties, too."

"A girl...needs some excitement."

"A trampy girl like you does, maybe..." he pulled off her panties, and she felt a whoosh of cold air against her. It reminded her of the lemonade feeling, which for some reason made her very horny. She could feel the flush go through her body.

"You just turned red, baby...I bet your husband wishes he could see you turn red." he parted her legs, and in a second she could feel his penis pressing in between her thighs, coming up to press against her mound from below. She was starting to get weak in the knees, and felt she might tumble to the floor in a minute, and end up getting taken on the tile floor. And the thought made her breathe harder, as did the lips on the back of her neck.

"Has your husband ever fucked you standing up like this?" he asked, running himself along her slit without penetrating her.

"Nuuu...no."

"Afraid of him finding out all of the devious little things you want..."

"Yes..."

"Well, dear, I am sure that one way or another he will find out. And actually, I feel a little guilty using a man's bride like this. So perhaps I will just leave you in this...state of excitement. And with that, he moved away from her, and by the time she had regained her breath, her mystery lover had disappeared.

The afternoon had taken a series of unexpected turns for Christie. Who knew what the evening would bring?