The Painter Pt. 01

She felt certain that he had been flirting with her for the past few days while he painted her house. It was really nothing much more than warm friendliness, when she really thought about it, but there was always a slight glint in his eye when he was addressing her. And if she was honest with herself, she had flirted back a tiny bit, enjoying a little attention from the young, cute worker. It was all harmless fun. She hadn't even thought that much about him. True, she had come around a corner once or twice to find him up a ladder, and had taken an extra moment or two to enjoy a glance at his ass from below. But that was just a natural reaction to a situation she had no control over. And there was a moment in the kitchen where she felt sure she had caught him peeking down her tank top while he painted above the cabinets, but it was possible that was just her imagination.

It was not like she had been scantily clad or anything. Perhaps that tank top did show a bit of cleavage, if she was being honest with herself, but she hadn't worn it on purpose. She had not even thought about him when she got dressed that morning - or at very least, for nothing more than a passing moment or two. She had not made her decision to wear a revealing top solely based on the painter's presence. That she knew. Of course, she had known he would be in the house that day, so she was aware that he would see her in whatever she happened to put on...but in any case she felt fairly certain that she had not bent over the counter underneath him with the expressed goal of teasing him. Not consciously, anyway. And even if she had, she reasoned with herself, it wasn't really a big deal. It was all harmless fun. He probably hadn't even been peeking.

Not that she wasn't peek-able, she thought to herself. She knew she was still an attractive woman who garnered attention from men fairly regularly. Even with her husband seeming to have lost all interest in her as a sexual being, she still managed to have a fair amount of confidence in her appearance. At the moment she was dressed to go downtown to do some shopping, and the skirt and blouse she was wearing highlighted her curves in a far from unflattering way. But the painter was young, and even though his eye contact with her lingered in a way that felt intimate and made her feel flushed, she just assumed that he had an equally young girlfriend to occupy his mind...and any other parts of him.

He was upstairs, working in the hallway when she called out to him, "I'm heading out for a couple of hours - see you later!" "Ok", came the reply down the stairs. She opened the front door, her keys jingling in her hand, when she realized that she had left her wallet upstairs in the bathroom. She closed the front door again, and for a moment second guessed herself, spending some time rooting around in her purse for the wallet. Not finding it in there, she climbed the carpeted stairs to the second floor, passing her bedroom on the way to the bathroom.

Her bedroom door was 3/4s of the way shut, a position that she took note of immediately because she never left it that way. Just before she passed the doorway, she caught a glimpse of the full length mirror through the crack in the door, and stopped in her tracks at the sight of the painter in her room.

For a brief moment she was flushed with confusion and anger, thinking perhaps he was rooting around on her dresser for money or something to steal. Her husband had at least 3 expensive watches on his side table, but from her vantage point, hidden behind the doorframe and looking at the mirror, she couldn't see his side of the bed. But before she could even fully form the thought that the painter might be trying to rip her off, she saw him gingerly open her lingerie drawer... and she started to feel something different than anger.

She knew she should still be angry. She suddenly imagined telling her girlfriends about what was happening in front of her, and she figured all of them would be disgusted and incensed. But as she watched him running his fingers through her silky and frilly underthings, she was feeling something she didn't even want to admit to herself. She was feeling aroused.

She stood perfectly silent and still as she watched him carefully touching her lingerie, totally absorbed by it. Despite the fact that her husband never even seemed to notice what she was wearing, she had a real fondness for fine lingerie, and she indulged herself by buying whatever she fancied. The drawer that the young man was peeking in contained a fine collection of lacy bras and panties, silk stockings, garter belts and other alluring garments.

She knew what was happening was wrong. She knew that the right thing to do was to throw the door open and kick him out of the house, but her mind and her body seemed to be at odds. At the moment she could barely breathe she was so excited, while the rational part of her brain was trying to ignore the tingling between her legs.

The painter delicately pulled a garment out of the drawer and held it up in front of him. It was a beautifully detailed corset with embroidered lace and ties up the back. She had bought it over a year ago with the hope of re-sparking some sexual flame with her husband, but he had barely taken notice when she wore it one evening. He had not even made love to her that night, if memory served. The corset had had no effect on him at all.

The same could not be said of the painter. He studied it intently, turning it over in his hands. He was holding it out in front of him as he stared at it, and she realized he was imagining her in it. He was thinking about her, standing in front of him... wearing it for him, and suddenly she wished she was. While she was imagining modelling it for him - perhaps getting his help doing up the string in the back - he let go of the corset with one of his hands. For a moment she thought he was grabbing his phone, but instead he rubbed himself through his pants. She took in a quick - and she hoped silent - breath. It felt like he had just run his hand over her pussy. The tingling she had been feeling was quickly intensifying, and she pushed her hand against the front of her skirt almost without thinking, needing at least some stimulation.

He removed his hand from the growing bulge in his pants and went to put the corset back in the drawer. As he was placing it back in its original spot, he paused for just a moment, and it was all she needed to feel the surge of realization. She felt awash in a confusing mixture of embarrassment and breathless excitement when it occurred to her that there wasn't just underwear in that drawer.

He set the corset down on top of the dresser, and the next thing she knew he had her vibrator in his hand.

She again thought of how wrong this all was. This was an invasion of her privacy on such a grand scale she could barely believe it. She thought of how bold the young painter was - of the sheer audacity to be going through her intensely private things like that. Just who the hell did this young, hot (yes, she thought, be honest - hot) man think he was?!

She thought of all these things - the indignity and injustice of it - while he wantonly examined her sex toy... but she also thought of how many times she had pushed that vibe in and out of herself, driving herself to orgasm. She could only assume this is what he was thinking about, too. He was staring at the vibrator and thinking about her pussy - a pussy that was so damp at this moment that the vibe would slip right into her. She wondered if he could imagine the frequency with which she had leaned back in the very bed he was standing next to and let that thing buzz away inside her while she fantasized about someone who burned with desire for her. Someone fucking her. Someone like him. She thought of the times she had squatted over that toy, one hand holding it firmly upright against the mattress while her other hand squeezed one of her tits. In those moments, with the vibrator buzzing away against her clit, she imagined it was a lover's tongue pleasuring her from below. She was in charge then, instructing him to lick, nibble and suck her until she said it was enough. As a treat for him - if he was a good boy and did as he was told - she might stop playing with her tits and lean down into the full sixty-nine position long enough to run her tongue down his formidable cock...from the tip of the head, down his hard shaft to his exquisite balls. If he was a good boy.

The memories of those masturbation sessions filled her with deep longing as she watched the painter holding her vibrator. She thought of how good that vibe would feel against her engorged clit right now. Well, she thought of that for a moment before chastising herself for not being honest, even in her own head. She then allowed herself to have the thought that the rational part of her brain - the part that was aghast at this young man's actions... the part that was losing the argument with every passing moment - wasn't allowing her have. She thought of how good it would feel if the painter was using the vibrator on her - rubbing the tip over her clit while she squirmed and moaned under him. She imagined him totally in control of her, firmly holding her down on the bed with one hand - the strict look of a disciplinarian on his face - while he used her own fuck toy to tease orgasm after exhausting orgasm out of her.

It was as if there was some sexual synergy between her and the painter just then. The moment that she envisioned him touching the tip of the vibrator to her clit, he raised the vibe up to his face, and ever so gently, touched the tip to his lips.

The intimacy and eroticism of it almost buckled her knees. The one degree of separation he had just created between his lips and her pussy. She bit her lip to stifle an intense moan, and at the same time put her hand up under her skirt and immediately rubbed her wet pussy through her panties. It occurred to her, as her fingers teased her engorged clit, that no matter what happened from here on out, she would think of that painter's sexy lips touching that toy tonight - and many nights to come - while she gave herself a good fucking with it.

As if he was cruelly trying to test if she could continue stifling her moans or not, the painter then lightly flicked the tip of his tongue against the tip of the vibrator before pulling it away from his face. She quivered at the sight, an almost unbearable yearning for that tongue to be darting across her clit hitting her. She continued to drag her fingers along her covered, swollen lips as her other hand cupped one of her breasts through her blouse. She pinched her nipple and felt a surge of pleasure as she watched the painter place the vibrator back in the drawer, gently replacing the corset on top of it.

He went back to rubbing the bulge in his pants with one hand - rubbing his cock, she thought to herself, the word itself turning her on - while he continued to search through the drawer with the other.

He pulled out one of her lace garter belts, and for a few moments held it up with both hands, letting the garters dangle down. His obvious attraction to her lingerie was practically intoxicating to her after he husband's long apathy, and she found herself imagining the young, sexy man on his knees in front of her. Her dressing servant. Forced to be so intimately close to her, but totally submissive - only allowed to do what is asked of him. And all the while she would know that he is burning to have her.

In her mind she stands in front of him - above him - in a satin dressing robe, its mini-skirt length revealing her smooth, shapely legs to his adoring eyes. She turns around, facing away from him, and undoes the robe at the waist. She pulls it off of her shoulders and lets it slowly fall to the floor in front of him. She is now completely naked with the painter on his knees behind her, his face at level with her ass. She leans forward a tiny bit and pulls a cream colored bustier off of the bed. She slips her arms through the shoulder straps and then demands that he rise. She instructs him to clasp the eyelets up the back. He works his way up her back slowly. Methodically. She pulls her hair to one side so he can do up the top few eyelets, and he is close enough for her to feel his breath on the back of her neck. She turns around to face him, and raising her arms a bit, she directs him to grab the bottom of the garment and gently tug it down until her breasts are housed just perfectly in the lace cups.

He does just as he is told, adjusting the bustier until her cleavage is perfect, but she does not thank him, and instead coyly admonishes him for staring at her tits. She commands him to get back on his knees, which of course he does, and she hands him two silk stockings off the bed. He rolls the first one up and she holds her foot out in front of him. Once he has rolled it over her foot, she lowers her leg for balance, setting her foot in his lap, her toes just inches from his crotch. He slowly rolls the stocking up her leg, his hands feeling delicious on her soft skin. She knows, from his vantage point, that it is impossible for him not to sneak a peek at her exposed pussy, which is almost at his eye level. She catches him looking - his eyes stealing a quick glance at her perfectly smooth lips - and again she reprimands him, telling her servant to keep his mind on his work. When he has rolled the stocking right to her upper thigh she offers her other foot, and as he runs his hands up her leg she rests her foot squarely on his crotch, certain she can feel his erection growing under it.

When he is done adjusting the second stocking - not daring to even glance at her sex for fear of her disapproval - she turns her back to him again. She leans over and reaches on to the bed - her still bare ass so near his face - and grabs a pair of skimpy panties off of it. She bends right over at the waist, he legs tightly together, her ass pushing slightly closer to her slave - and places them gently on the floor in front of her feet. She carefully steps into them, and looking over her shoulder, gives her servant a stern look, ordering him to put her panties on her. The servant does just as he is told, and taking the delicate waistband in his fingers,he drags the lacy underwear up her silk covered legs. She does not make the task easy for him, teasing her servant by shifting and pressing her legs tightly together. A playful bit of fun for her. She loves the feeling of power - knowing that while she momentarily locks her knees together, making it nearly impossible for him to slide the panties any further up her legs, that he can say nothing to her - he just has to put up with her little games. Complete control.

But he is a diligent and committed servant, and eventually he gets the waistband up and over her hips, pulling the thong up between her cheeks. The little bit of pressure it causes on her pussy is a delight. She looks over her shoulder at him again and informs him that he needs to make sure the tiny little panties are covering her properly...but also points out in no uncertain terms that her pussy is not for his fingers. With that sultry admonishment she leans forward slightly at the waist, pushing her ass back toward him as she spreads her legs. She doesn't even need to imagine what that view is doing to her submissive servant, because when she feels his fingers fumbling under her, trying to arrange the small bit of lace so her lips are covered, while struggling to not touch her pussy...she can feel his hands shaking with pent up need. She can almost taste his frustration, knowing that he would never step out of line - never take any liberties beyond the odd lascivious look at her body - but if he could, he would surly like nothing more than to push her onto the bed, spread her legs and bury that rock hard cock of his deep into her, fucking her until he grunted his climax like a wild animal...

She had gotten totally lost in that fantasy, her hand still up her skirt, while the painter played with her garter belt. She was broken out of it - before her fantasy slave could even put a garter belt on her - as the painter put that item back in the drawer and fished out a pair of lacy black panties. They were a particular favorite of hers, the pair he had pulled out, an expensive pair that were very soft against the skin. She also knew she looked very good in them.

The painter held them up, using two hands again, as if she was in front of him, wearing them. He was slowly bringing them closer to his face, and when she saw him close his eyes she knew what was going to happen next. Her hand seemed to know, too, and she began rubbing herself a little faster just as he brought the panties to his nose and inhaled.

She could just barely hear the voice of reason in her head through the haze of sexual hunger and need washing over her. It was again telling her how unbelievably outrageous this was - of how she had a disgusting pervert violating her personal space right in front of her. It was also trying to tell her that it was inappropriate to find the scene unfolding in front of her arousing in any way - it was kinky and dirty and wrong. But as she watched the painter holding those sexy panties to his face with a look of pure lust, she knew rationality had nothing to do with it. As if to silence that part of her brain once and for all, her hand slipped under the waist band of the panties she was currently wearing, and for the first time since she masturbated last night - thinking about the painter, if she was being honest with herself - her fingers made contact with her very wet pussy lips. She suppressed a grown as pleasure rushed over her.

Another moment of sexual synergy seemed to pass between them, for as she began touching her bare skin, she watched the painter lower his hands - her panties still dangling from one of them - and proceed to unbutton his pants.

She had kept thinking, at every step of this parade of kinkiness in front of her, that she couldn't feel more intense sexual need. When she had seen the painter lick the tip of her vibrator, for instance, she thought she would never feel more turned on. But now, as she watched him pop the buttons on his work pants, she felt like she was going to melt with want and desire. She thought, almost amusingly, of those moments in movies where someone is about to covertly see something they really want to see - usually something titillating - and it is right at that moment that some random circumstance ruins the opportunity. She almost felt panic when she imagined this happening right now - of someone knocking on the front door just as he got to the last button, the painter doing up his pants and shutting the dresser drawer in a frenzy of nervous energy. She found herself intensely willing that not to happen, praying that she would not break into the worst timed coughing fit of her life. In that moment she reflected on how that intensity indicated just how badly she wanted to see him complete what he was starting. Which was very, very badly.

No one knocked at the door, and no coughing fit caused a frenzied closing of the lingerie drawer. Instead, she watched with lustful concentration as he continued unbuttoning his pants. From her desirous perspective, it seemed to take forever. Finally he undid the last button and pulled them open. Her tongue unconsciously ran over her lips, wetting them as he pulled on the waistband of his boxer shorts... and released his cock.

She almost came when he did it, her middle finger thrusting up inside her at the sight.

He had a beautiful cock... just as she had felt certain he would. He was rock hard, of course, obviously in a state of intense arousal. He had a patch of very neatly trimmed pubic hair just above the base of it, but the taut, pinkish skin of his hard shaft looked perfectly smooth. Smooth like her pussy, she thought to herself, enjoying the comparison. It turned her on to keep her pussy clean shaven, even if she was the only one enjoying the results. She loved the way it felt under her fingers - how sensitive everything was. She had shaved in the tub, as a matter of fact, the night before last, and yes, as she rubbed baby oil on herself afterwards, she had thought once or twice about the young man now standing in her bedroom with his cock in his hand.