We Have The Builders In

Chapter 1

'I have to tell you something,' he seemed embarrassed and uncomfortable, fidgeting with fingers rough from many years of contact with sand and cement, shifting uncomfortably from buttock to buttock.

I looked at his face, but he averted his gaze, looking everywhere but at me.

'What is it?' I asked, expecting bad news, perhaps he would have to up the price or maybe he had uncovered some additional problem with the foundation work.

I was taken aback when he said, 'It's your wife,' he paused and now looked me in the eyes.

'She's been flaunting herself,' he paused and looked at his hands, still fidgeting, 'I think she likes the attention.'

I nearly fell off my chair and would have done had I not found myself standing, the abruptly empty chair teetering backwards but recovering.

'She what?!' suddenly the idea of sinking foundations seemed a minor problem.

'I know,' he paused looking flustered and not a little ashamed, 'I know how this sounds.'

'How it sounds....?' I was lost for words and stood gaping like a beached fish before dropping down heavily, almost missing the chair and consequently failing to complete the image of a stranded fish!

'Have you not noticed?' he said, his eyebrows were raised questioningly, disbelievingly. 'She takes every opportunity to give the boys a treat.'

'What do you mean, no I've not noticed anything,' I hadn't, stupidly I didn't know what he meant.

'When we arrive in the morning, she comes down and offers tea, but she isn't always dressed.'

Not always...?

'You really haven't noticed?'

I thought about it. 'I know she makes tea,' it sounded lame.

'She makes it in her bath robe and she lets it slip sometimes.'

'Accidentally...?' I knew it was a naïve question.

'Perhaps,' he said, 'but she seems prepared.'

'Prepared?'

'She dresses very provocatively under it.'

Something stirred inside me. I'm embarrassed to admit that I wanted to hear him tell me more.

'What do you mean?' I knew what he meant.

'She dresses like...well, I'm sorry, but she dresses like a whore under her robe, stockings and suspenders, very sexy and erotic underwear.' I detected a change in his attitude in the telling, he seemed to be growing in confidence now that he had broken the ice on the subject.

I felt myself becoming aroused, 'You've seen this?' I asked, trying to sound as detached as I could.

'Yes, I've seen it, and other things.'

'What 'other things' have you seen?' I felt a strange and unfamiliar mix of increasing arousal and dread.

'Sometimes she doesn't wear any knickers.'

He clearly enjoyed telling me that, talking about my wife's most intimate clothing, or rather, lack of intimate clothing – I believed he had told me he had seen what lies between her legs. There was no denying it now, the conversation was exciting me.

'How do you know that?' I asked the obvious question, I wanted him to say it.

'Her robe fell open when she was sitting in the kitchen with us, I saw.'

'What did you see?'

'We saw your wife's pussy,' now there was no vestige of embarrassment, his smile was broad. He had emphasised 'we'.

'Who was there with you?' I asked, my cock hard as I squeezed it between my thighs, surreptitiously - and felt wetness.

'Two of the boy's – the plasterers – were here for the day,' he said, 'she knew we could see.'

'How do you know they could see, how did she know,' I asked, wishing I had seen too.

'She was sitting on your swivel chair, she turned it toward each of us as we were all chatting, besides, it was pretty obvious because of what happened next.'

I waited expectantly for him to continue.

He hesitated, uncertainty seemed to have crept back and with it his discomfort had returned.

'I want to know,' I said, helpfully.

'Look, I'm sorry about this,' he said, 'I like you and your wife and I'd hate to cause any problems.'

I laughed at the absurdity of what he had just said.

'Don't you think that you might already have done that?' I asked, grinning widely to relax him.

'I guess so,' he said, 'but what happened next is probably a step beyond a little exposure.'

'Go on,' I said encouragingly, 'you are only being honest and I appreciate it.'

'Well, she had been letting the robe slip open a little at a time but when she stood up to collect the cups, it slipped right off her shoulders and she just left it there and collected up the cups as if nothing had happened. It couldn't have come off like that accidentally and she didn't try to stop it or put it back on.'

'She was naked?'

'No, she was wearing a bra – but, yes, naked below.'

I tried to picture it, my own wife wearing only a bra as she went about a normal kitchen chore, watched by three men, no doubt with their eyes on stalks!

'You all got an eyeful then,' I said, 'you saw everything?'

He was back to grinning.

'Her pussy and her backside,' he said, 'we all watched her and she acted as if nothing unusual had happened, it was very hot, like happens in a porn movie.'

'Nobody said anything?'

'The conversation halted completely for a minute or two and she washed the dishes,' he was remembering and looked distant for a moment, 'but then we started trying to make conversation between us, about the job, but still watching her as she stood at the sink, she has a great arse.'

'I think she does,' I said.

'Then she turned around so we could see her pussy, though we could only see the hair. She leant back against the sink, holding its edge and listening to us, she didn't join in but acted completely normally. Then she suddenly said she'd let us get on and we watched her walk past, enjoying the view, then she was gone.'

'That's was it?'

'Yes, we were all a bit gobsmacked, one of the plasterers said 'what a sexy lady', but we just got on with the job.'

'Doesn't sound like builders,' I laughed, 'They are usually much cruder than that!'

He looked embarrassed again, 'I'm afraid they were the next time,' he said.

Chapter 2

'What happened 'next time'?' I asked, he had piqued my interest and I realised it was no accident.

'It was around 11 a.m. and we were all working outside, the whole crew, when she came out with a basket of washing to hang out,' adding quickly 'fully dressed!'

'She does do the washing sometimes,' I said a little sarcastically, not a little disappointed that she had been 'fully dressed' as he put it.

'I'm not so sure she does it in the same way she did that day,' he said, pausing for effect.

'I'm intrigued,' I said, because I was!

'The dress she was wearing was wringing wet,' he said with a triumphant grin.

It seemed that she had put on one of the dresses she had washed. It clung to her like a second skin, he told me with relish, she was wearing a black bra, he told me, but her thong was invisible. It occurred to me that if it was invisible then how could he know she was wearing one? I had a feeling that would soon be revealed - just as the thong had been!

That 'great arse', as he referred to it, was clearly visible, 'wobbling' through the clinging wet cotton of the powder blue dress.

'I love her in that dress,' I told him, sadly, 'but I've never seen her wearing it wet – and it looks good enough dry!'

I stared into the middle distance, imagining the scene. I had missed a lot of fun and my premonition was working overtime, I had the feeling that he was itching to tell me of more I had missed.

'Work pretty much stopped,' he said 'everyone was watching and there were a few wolf whistles. I had to rebuke a couple of the guys for making - err -inappropriate comments.'

Apparently she had dropped some of the clothes as she was hanging them, having to bend down to retrieve them caused her dress to ride up over the full round cheeks of that 'great arse' and expose the thin black line of her thong disappearing between her legs. She didn't bother pulling the dress back down after retrieving the clothes that had made a bid for freedom, it clung wetly over the curves of her buttocks and water droplets ran down her legs, sparkling colourfully in the bright sunlight.

He didn't wax lyrical, but that's how I imagined it would have been!

When she had finished hanging the clothes from the basket onto the rotary line, much to her audiences delight (his words), she grabbed the hem of the dress and in one swift motion she had dragged it over her head and off.

Calmly she had bent over to retrieve some clothes pegs, presenting what he described as 'a glorious view of her almost naked bottom' and then, ignoring the applause, wolf whistles and lewd suggestions that met the sight, she hung the dress on the line. To their even greater delight, she reached behind her and unhooked the strap of her bra, slipping it quickly off her shoulders before hanging it alongside the dress. When she turned around, she held the basket so that her breasts were actually lying in it like a pair of pink melons, though tipped with very prominent swollen nipples!

Without acknowledging the catcalls and whistles she disappeared back into the house, leaving them with the memory of a very small black lace triangle, sinking in the cleft between her legs as she strode.

Chapter 3

He sat back, smiling and confident now that he knew there was little he could tell me that I might take issue with. 'She really is gorgeous,' he said, 'you are a very lucky man!'

Truth was I had hoped for a little more.

I had another premonition.

To be continued...

He made no attempt to get up, I assumed that he hadn't finished, and if he hadn't finished it could only mean one thing, there was more to come.

'Do you know her friend?'

I knew she had friends, she was a gregarious person.

'Which one do you mean?'

'I mean the lesbian.'

He definitely had a talent for taking me by surprise and I had no talent for hiding my surprise.

'You don't do you,' it was a rhetorical question.

'Well, if you mean did I know one of her friends was a lesbian, no I didn't. I'd be interested to know which one and how you come to know that about her!'

'Of course it may be that she isn't actually a lesbian,' he said, 'after all, I'm assuming your wife isn't...?' he let the question hang in the air until I plucked it out.

'No she isn't,' I replied, thinking that this was only going to go in one direction, 'do you have a reason for this line of questions, or is it wishful thinking!'

'Oh yes, there is a reason,' he said, clearly now enjoying being fully in control of the conversation about my wife, 'no need for wishful thinking.'

I sighed, 'come on then,' I said surrendering the initiative completely, 'what happened next, I know you are dying to tell me.'

'Your wife has a friend, red haired?'

I nearly choked, 'You are joking right?'

The idea that Suzanne, my wife's business partner, was involved in any of the shenanigans he had been recounting was absolutely unbelievable. She was a stunning redhead, an ex-model turned professional photographer. She totally deserved the overused word 'stunning'. She was six foot tall, elegant, though small breasted, her gorgeous long legs seemed to go on and on, all the way to the top, more than compensated for any shortfall in the breast department! Believe me, Helen of Troy had nothing on Suzanne, she had not only a face but an arse that would launch a thousand ships!

The phrase 'grinning ear to ear' was a perfect fit for my builder, he was hugely enjoying this!

'Not joking. From your reaction I think it's the same lady, though I don't actually know her name. Tall, legs to die for, red hair, little tits, lovely face?'

I nodded dumbly, the possibilities jostled in the limited space of my mind like a crowd in a telephone kiosk.

'So to your knowledge she isn't a lesbian?'

I shook my head, 'Neither, to my knowledge, is my wife.' I didn't mention to him that I had often entertained the idea, not without a little desire that it should be the case.

'I like that even better!' he said, clearly very pleased with this revelation.

'I'm listening,' I said.

'She...Suzanne you say?' I nodded, he continued, 'Suzanne then, called me over to the kitchen door. She asked if I was the boss, I said I was. She told me your wife had asked her to fetch me, apparently she wanted to discuss something 'important'. Of course I thought that it was odd, your wife sending this woman to fetch me like that, but I had an idea this might not be anything to do with the building work, so I didn't ask why she couldn't have come to speak to me without using a messenger. I took off my boots and followed her into the house.'

'She wasn't in the kitchen?'

'No, frankly I hadn't expected her to be, honestly,' he looked me in the eyes and his expression was earnest, 'you didn't expect me to say she was did you?'

I looked away, embarrassed that this man had seen my wife in a way that had undermined the normal relationship between a supplier and his customer.

He didn't wait for an answer, continuing, 'We went out of the kitchen into the hall and Suzanne started up the stairs and I hesitated at the bottom, feeling uncomfortable. She realised I hadn't followed and without stopping or turning around she said 'follow me','

'Where was she then?' I asked, nervously.

'In a bedroom, the master bedroom, your bedroom,' he said, 'the marital bedroom?'

I nodded mutely. This was emasculating, though nothing had happened as yet, he had a reason for emphasising the status of the room!

'I followed her into the room, the curtains were closed and apart from the light that came into the room from the door we had come through, the only light came from the bedside lamps.'

This was easy to imagine, it was my bedroom he was talking about. The lights produced a soft subdued light and I'd often complained that I couldn't read in bed, though they created an ambience that was ideal for an occasional, though increasingly rare, sexual interaction. What he described next was a little more difficult to imagine.

'She was on the bed, arms and legs akimbo and bound with what appeared to be black ribbons around her wrists and ankles. Her eyes were covered with a black blindfold. She was completely naked.'

He paused, I assumed for dramatic effect.

'She?' I asked stupidly.

'Your wife, of course,' he said, the faintest of smiles communicating his satisfaction.

'My wife of course,' I said distantly, 'my wife naked and tied to our bed...how?'

He allowed the smile to break through, 'Suzanne, obviously, had tied her.'

'She is a photographer,' I said, realising that Suzanne might not just have tied her.

'There was a camera on a tripod at the foot of the bed,' he confirmed, 'Suzanne put her finger to her lips, signalling me to keep quiet, then pointing at a chair in the corner of the room. It seemed I was to be the audience.'

...her right nipple responded as she felt the touch of silk sliding across her breast, stiffening as much through the image of Suzanne leaning across her as to the touch.

The warm wetness of a tongue slipped across lips which parted to invite invasion, the invitation was accepted and she responded by probing with her own tongue. She revelled as she tasted lipstick from the lips of another woman for the first time, a moan escaped as she felt Suzanne responding even as she had.

She had often imagined what it might be like to kiss a woman, but she had never imagined it would be so sensual. Of course, she had never imagined that when she experienced her first feminine kiss she might be naked, blindfold and bound, or have an audience!

To be continued...