I looked at myself in the mirror, transformed from an alluring housewife into a slutty vixen on the prowl. Perhaps my scarlet lipstick was a bit heavy, but the thinness of the provocative, white bikini’s material was very distracting, drawing attention away from my whorish makeup. The additional fact that it was so stretchy and clingy tipped the scales from sultry to aggressively seductive, almost trashy.
The skimpy front of the bottoms clung so tightly to my body that my pussy crease was evident. The back was even more scanty. Even at the very top, the back only covered two-thirds of my butt. As it tapered down toward my crotch, the inverted triangle of gauzy white barely covered the crack. If I spread my legs too much, my most taboo of holes peeked out.
The barely-there top piece was even sluttier. The “cups,” if one wants to call a three-inch-wide, elongated pyramid shape a cup, left almost nothing to the imagination. My nipples, already tingling in anticipation, made dark circles and stuck out so much that they tented the bikini top’s contours. Except for my shining wedding ring with that impressive diamond, I looked every bit like the horny nympho.
Only one thing was missing, something that any good wife should be attentive to.
“Hiya, tiger,” I purred into my phone. Mike answered my call on the second ring. “How’s your getaway going?”
“Mary Anne! I was just thinking about you.” My husband sounded elated. “It’s so nice to get away, but I miss you so much…”
My sexy breadwinner went on and on about how quiet and peaceful that cabin was, how the fish were biting, what he’d caught, and what they did. I listened attentively, paying attention and interjecting the appropriate “oohs,” and “aahs.”
Finally, he got around to asking about me and what I’d been doing. “So, what have you been up to?”
“The usual,” I replied, using my horny, seductive voice. For handling husbands, it’s a little bit motherly, a little pleading, and a lot of near-orgasmic inflection to make it sound loving, nurturing, and highly arousing. “Ginger and I spent most of last night doing some fashion-type shows. You know, dressing up for your fans, saying what they want to hear, so they’ll spend their money.”
“Just like when you were in college, and you made that band into their own brand. Who was that? Hard-ass Soho, or something? They were a heavy metal band, right?” my husband asked.
“That’s so sweet! I love you so much,” I cooed.
Most men would have forgotten years ago, but, while he didn’t remember the details, Mike at least remembered. In college, while studying marketing, I helped a few local bands grow into their own by marketing them as a brand. In essence, it was the same thing I was doing with Allison, only with music. The reputation, fame or infamy, and perception are what matters, not the actual product.
I continued. “The band was called Chaos Dojo, and they were Hair Metal.”
“So, how did it go with Ginger?”
“Well, she’s making enough to pay for your trip.”
“What are you doing today?”
“Well.” I paused to let my sultry tone sink in. “I’m just sooo horny without you here to ram that big, hard cock in me and fuck me like I deserve.” I let my tone and breath portray my words as desperate, highly arousing, and needy. “And I know how hard you get when I’m naughty.”
“Oh, yeah,” he sighed. I could hear the arousal in my husband’s voice.
“So, I was thinking about putting on that skimpy, white bikini, putting on whore warpaint, and lounging in the hot tub while Bobby from across the street mows. You know, just to tease him and make you proud of what a sexy slut your wife is.”
Mike was mostly silent. I could hear his labored breathing as if he were out of breath, but he didn’t speak. His breathing became rapid and sharp.
“Are you okay?” I said, my voice full of trepidation.
“So fucking hot,” he blurted out. “I’m so hard for you right now. Does it even still fit?”
“Oh, yes,” I moaned into the phone. Having experienced the horny passion of Ginger, as Mary Jane, last night, I emulated her impassioned tones and added my own. “I just tried it on. It’s so tiny that my tits spill out, and my hot, juicy cunt can easily be seen. The crotch of it squeezes between my cunt lips, giving me a camel toe.”
My husband’s breathing grew even heavier.
“And you already know that the back covers less than half of my ass. If I do my makeup heavy and tease out my blond hair that you like so much, I’ll look like a hot-to-trot slut. Do you want me to go tease Bobby?”
“Fuck, yes,” he practically screamed. “Make him hard for you. Tease him for me.”
“That should be easy. You know what happened on vacation. As soon as it got wet, it was see-through. Do you remember all those men leering at my nipples and drooling over my exposed pussy? You fucked me so hard that night.”
I had no idea where Ben might have been during our conversation, but Mike was obviously someplace private. I knew this because I could hear the distinct sounds of him masturbating.
Slowly, with sighs and impassioned moans between each syllable, my husband said, “Suck… his… cock.” He paused, moaning and grunting. “Fuck him.”
“Do you really want me to cheat on you? Does it turn you on knowing that your prim and proper housewife is a wanton whore?”
“Oh, fuck, Mary Anne.”
“Do you want me to ride his young, hard cock. Should I let him cum on me? Where do you want his jizz, stud? On my tits? How about he shoots it all over my ass, or paints my face?”
“Fucking cumming,” he shrieked into the phone.
After I got my husband off over the phone, a normal conversation ensued for a few minutes. We said our goodbyes, proclaiming our love for one another, and then hung up. My mission was accomplished; permission had been granted. Technically, I hadn’t lied to my husband. Since I hadn't actually walked outside in the sexy swimwear, I was still, officially, considering it.
Teasing out my golden locks and giving my nipples an extra tweak or three to ensure they were standing at attention, I slipped into some low but sexy heels, donned a pair of mirrored wayfarer sunglasses, and strutted my bikini-clad body outside. My timing was perfect. Bobby had been busying himself in the front. He’d opened the side gate and lugged his new mower into the back just seconds before I strolled out.
“Hi, Bobby,” I sang out. In my sunglasses, I could see his almost pop out of his head, then roam up and down my body, repeating their scan. “I hope you don’t mind. I thought I’d lounge in the hot tub; it’s such a lovely morning.”
“Umm, aah,” he stammered. “I’m good with that.”
"Perfect!"
I let my fingers momentarily dance on his broad, masculine shoulders as I sauntered past. Immediately feeling his eyes burning holes into my ass, I made a big show of bending dramatically as I climbed the two small steps to enter the hot tub. I knew his eyes were riveted to my figure, so I slowly kicked my legs up into the air, turning my body, so I could get in.
”Oooh,” I moaned. “The hot water feels so relaxing.”
Bobby was lost for words, his mouth agape. I lowered myself into the water, relishing the luxuriousness, knowing that my bikini would quickly become nearly transparent.
“Oh, darn! I forgot to turn on the water jets.”
A hungry smile crossed my lips as I stood up. Bobby was immobilized; his eyes fixated on my dripping body. A glance showed that the bikini had become completely sheer. I boldly met Bobby’s eyes, smiling.
“I need to turn on the jets. I just love turning things on.”
The switch was set far back from the tub, so water didn’t corrode it. Since I was standing in the tub, I had no choice but to bend deeply and stretch my arms out as far as I could. With my legs slightly spread, Bobby not only had an amazing view of my pert, taut ass sticking up and out, but the hump of my pussy mound could easily be seen. Although I could reach the switch just fine, I pretended to struggle with it, and each flailing of my arm caused my hips to rock back and forth with my movements, causing my butt to wiggle.
“Ooh, aah, umm,” I moaned out. The inflection and tone of my voice sounded more like cries of passion than me struggling to reach the switch. “Got it.” I flicked the switch, and the hot tub hummed to life, countless bubble and massaging jets spewing from the ports.
I turned and faced my neighbor. He looked away, suddenly bashful. Bobby’s cheeks were redder than my whorish lipstick. My young, college-age handyman was gloriously shirtless. His torso was all sinewy muscle, tanned skin gleaming with sweat, and just the perfect amount of dirt and grime to add to his robust, youthful sexiness.
“Don’t mind me. Just go about your work. Do your thing.” My voice was a husky, guttural plea for sex.
The hot tub’s temperature was turned down to its lowest setting, actually cooler than the stifling, humid air. The jets, however, were on full blast. My chosen seat had a few jet nozzles that were perfectly placed. If I swiveled in the seat just a little bit and leaned back against the side, one jet ran directly over my nipples, and another shot a continuous stream right between my legs.
