I was dressed in true Christy fashion—like a horny slut. Awake before the sun rose above the mountains, then seeing John off to work, I lounged on the porch, enjoying the new deck chairs, wearing the most scandalous dress I owned. It was a skin-tight, bodycon dress, too short to wear in public, with short, cap sleeves, a deeply scooped neckline, and so stretchy and thin that the outlines of any undergarments would be plainly seen. No garment lines broke the smoothness of the tight fabric over my body; not wearing anything else assured me of that. The salmon and pink horizontal stripes made it sultry and fashionable. I purchased it at a lingerie store that also sold club wear some years ago, only wearing it once, to surprise John.

I’d taken my good, sweet time in the shower that morning, leisurely shaving my entire body silky-smooth. Feeling pride for my homeland, my morning beverage was spiked with Tennessee whiskey, although, by my third cup, I was drinking almost pure liquid courage. The sun warmed the land, chasing away the dew; it was going to be a scorcher of a day. I was enjoying the buzz from my early-morning drinking, plus the edibles Christy had given me. Sitting there, tipsy, slutty, and horny, I mused that the only thing separating me from Christy was some red hair dye…and Glen.

Passing the time by perusing Plushtales, I was excited to see that a new story by Christy Scarlet Whitehorn had been published. Titled “Horny Dress,” the tagline described her watching her neighbors have sex. I knew it was going to be a hot one. Rather than immediately reading the story, I browsed her online activity, the psychologist in me still intrigued.

Damn, that woman was a mess. Glen this, Glen that, Glen the other thing…me, me, me, me. Going back to her earlier posts and status updates, then reading her stories, she was a basket-case. I mentally scoffed at her behavior, feeling pity for her friends. Once one got past her vapid bimbo facade, Christy was actually a creative, articulate, intelligent, and strong woman. However, as soon as Glen was added into the mix, she became a constantly-panicked, whimpering mass of sex-crazed weakness. On the one hand, it was refreshing to know that I wasn’t the only one affected by him that way. I’d never met a man that had such a lust-inducing effect on me, before.

Then, I read about her life and all the cute, little, thoughtful things he does for her. She either didn’t or couldn’t see it, but he doted over her, treating her like a princess. I felt even more empathy for her friends, as she seemingly spent the entire past year running around, freaking out over his daily gestures. Her statement, “all men should take Glen lessons,” echoed in my mind. Perhaps she was correct.

Shut up about him, already, I thought to myself as I read. We get it; he’s the best, most handsome, sexiest man ever, and you are correct in your assumption that he’s far too good for you. In fact, he’d do much better with, say, me, for example.

I pushed such covetous thoughts from my head, concentrating on Christy’s new story. The beginning of the story grabbed me, instantly, and I found myself hanging on every written word. The woman was many things, but she had a knack for evoking lusty emotions in her writing. While I was named “Mary” in the story, it was evident that she was writing about me and John. The story detailed all the hot and nasty events of the previous evening, making me wonder how she wrote so quickly.

So, the bitch has the perfect body, a perfect life, and a doting, sexy demigod for a husband. On top of that, she churns out a compelling story in a day or two. Life is so cruel.

Reading about how much she wanted me, how horny I’d made her, and how dirty she felt basically giving my husband a lap dance, I found myself absentmindedly stroking my pussy. When I got to the part where she watched us have sex on our front porch, I had to fight the urge to cum right there. The way she described our perverted fucking was rife with horny emotion. Florid details of her watching, mentally encouraging us to get nastier and naughtier, her fingers fucking her dripping hole had me extremely aroused, and made me furiously finger myself.

Just then, as I was debating finishing myself off or edging, Glen pulled up. He parked beside the driveway, rock music blasting on his stereo. Even dressed for manual labor, he was a sight to behold. Tight, worn and faded jeans hugged his lower half, disappearing into leather moccasin boots. Frayed holes and white threads showed in spots. His upper half was encased in a form-fitting, white tank top that did nothing at all to hide his well-muscled body. Those grayish, hypnotic eyes, offsetting his beautiful, hump-worthy face, bored into my soul as they lit up when he saw me.

Waving jauntily, that impish expression on his too-perfect face veritably glowed as he admired my appearance, one of his manly hands brushing his hair back. Although I tried not to gawk, a gasp escaped my mouth as he turned, his back to me, and bent deep into the cab of his truck. His position gave me a perfect view of his tight, perfect, denim-clad butt. My mother always told me that ladies don’t ogle men. Mom was full of shit. I ogled.

He emerged from the depths of his vehicle with a folder in one hand, his other hand slinging a sledgehammer over his shoulder as if it were weightless. Still smiling, he took two steps toward me, each footfall making my heart stutter.

“Forgot something,” he chuckled, turning once more and bending over the bed of the truck.

Please let it be a hardhat, please, please, my inner vixen requested. It wasn’t; he produced a long strip of black cloth, what looked to be a torn-off portion of a t-shirt, and tied it around that warrior-hunk hair of his to keep it at bay. My thighs clenched together to prevent a spontaneous orgasm.

Glen the wet dream approached, walking as if he hadn’t a care in the world, his body language making me horny, his body making me wish I had chosen more revealing clothes. I fought to find something clever and witty to say; I struggled to breathe.

“Good morning, Glen,” was all I could manage before I lost my powers of speech.

He paused, his eyes roaming over my body. Keenly aware that he was examining every detail of my face and body, I tried to be offended, but my body caught fire under his gaze. I loved it and wanted more.

“I thought this was the most beautiful, perfect morning in all creation,” he proffered, his eyes focusing on my eyes, face, and lips. “But it pales when compared to you.”

“Aah, um, thank you.”

“The estimate I promised you days ago.” He handed me the folder. “There’s also a list of my last thirty clients, with their phone numbers, in case you wanted references.”

I merely glanced at the estimate, stunned that it was roughly ten percent of the previous lowest bid, and told him to go ahead and get started. My jaw dropped when he began hammering on the damaged spots in the driveway. I’d been to an all-male strip show during my bachelorette party, and, other than the fun factor, I wasn’t overly impressed with the way the guys looked or moved. This, however, made my blood boil.

Hot sinewy muscles rippled as he raised the sledge, his entire body flexing. Pounding the pavement in time to his music, he more or less danced about to the rhythm of the music, making a ruckus. Sweat beaded on his body as he sang and hummed to the music, paying me no heed. My jaw dropped when he bent, paused, shrugged in my general direction, and peeled off his tight tank top. His chest glistened with sweat, his arms were covered in dust and dirt, and his face beamed with delight as he pummeled, smashed, and then pried out huge chunks of concrete, casting them aside with ease as if they were pillows.

I moaned when he reached into the bed of his truck and pulled out a wheelbarrow, one-handed. He was that sexy, and I was that smitten. Producing a whisk broom, then getting down on his hands and knees, I watched as he cleaned out the broken and damaged areas, crawling all over the driveway. There was something primal, sexual, and potent about the way he moved. It was like watching a panther stalk its prey; oh, to be his quarry.

Mesmerized, I watched that hunk of sexiness go about his business. To me, he looked like the cover model for those cheesy romance novels one sees at the checkout line of the grocery store. His movements were confident and graceful, muscles rippling, all covered with dirt and sweat as he worked. Singing to the music, his voice quite nice, he loved what he was doing.

As he finished demolishing our driveway, looking at me with a shrug and an impassioned, lusty smile that made my pussy heat up, he said, “fear not; by this afternoon your driveway will look like new.”

He stood, stretching his back and running his fingers through his long hair. The sun chose that moment to shine upon him, making him look like a beefcake pinup. Crossing his arms before him, he grabbed the hem of his shirt and slowly peeled the sweat-soaked tank top off his torso.

With a newfound appreciation for the male body, I blatantly stared as his firm stomach, muscle lines evident, was slowly revealed, inch by inch. A needy itch throbbed in my clit and sent tingles up to my nipples. As his chest came into view, my heart stopped for a second, then erupted with explosive intensity. His pectoral muscles were perfect and pronounced, just the right amount of muscle to make me wet without going overboard and looking like a bloated steroid freak. Lithe, covered in muscle, and made from the stuff of sexual fantasy, he was everything I found sexy in a man. I scanned my brain to think of any other jobs we could hire him to do. The worst part was that his personality was so endearing that he could look like a mutant and one would still be magnetically drawn to him.

I couldn’t help but reach between my legs and massage my pussy as he turned and headed toward his truck. He pulled out two empty buckets and turned to me. I stopped fingering myself but didn’t dare remove my hand, lest he noted that I was touching myself over him.

“Just need to get some water, and we’ll be getting started on the fun bits.” Glen walked to the spigot, shaking the grime out of his hair, and filled both buckets, carrying them to the topmost part of the drive.

“I fucking need you inside me,” I blurted out when he poured one of the buckets of water over his head, soaking his body.

“What was that, Lyn?” he asked, smiling at me with what I sincerely hoped was raw desire.

“I, um, I said…ah, ‘I fucking need a drink from inside for me.’ I’ll get one for you if you want me.”

If you want me? Did I just say that? Had I not been so horny, I might have been embarrassed.

“I’ll take anything you offer,” he said with an inflection that made it sound like an invitation to seduce him.

“I think I have something you’ll like,” I sprung up, not even bothering to pull my too-short dress down to cover my butt, and ran inside. I knew he was checking out my behind, and I liked it. If this was what Christy called Glen Fever, then I had it bad.

Using the kitchen counter as cover, hiding my body from the waist down, I plunged two fingers into my dripping cunt, sloshing them around before I drummed my clit into vibrating horniness.

“Coffee?” I shouted to him rather than moaning out loud. “How do you like it?”

“Like you,” he shouted back. “Hot, sweet, and bold.” Damn, he knew how to make a woman horny.

I stopped fingering myself at the cusp of orgasm; then, naughty inspiration struck. I poured two cups of coffee, spiking mine with more whiskey, and ran my cunt-soaked fingers over the rim of his cup, seasoning it with my juices. After licking my fingers clean, savoring the taste of my arousal, I carried the cups outside, adding extra sway to my hips and intentionally bouncing my breasts. I was never the blatant, man-chasing type, but my good-girl resolve evaporated in his presence.

Stopping closer to him than I needed, I handed him his cup and watched as he thanked me and slowly raised it to his lips.

“Wait!” I cried out. “Don’t.”

“And why? Did you poison it or something?” he laughed.

“Ah, um, ah,” I stammered. “I’m so sorry,” I felt a wave of guilt wash over my soul, “this is so embarrassing. I kind of got some of my bodily fluids on your cup. I’ll get you a new one.”

I reached out for the cup, but he didn’t offer it to me; he just looked at me with that impish look on his face, those glowing eyes piercing my soul as if they could read my mind and knew that every thought in my brain involved him nude, slamming his hard cock into me while I begged for more.

His lips parted into that dreamy, crooked, roguish smile of his. “Like blood, puss, earwax?”

My entire body felt hot; I blushed from head to toe. “No,” I stammered. “Well, you know what happens when a woman is aroused, I’m sure. Sometimes it just happens all on its own. I maybe kind of got some on the rim of your cup.”

“Oh,” he laughed. “Nothing to be worried about.” With a conspiratorial wink, he raised the cup near his lips, his tongue snaking out to taste my nectar. He licked, smiled, then drank deeply, looking me in the eye all the while. “Damn fine coffee if I do say my damn self. Perfectly seasoned.”

I died a little inside, but he was nonplussed. “So,” he asked, “why did you and John decide to move out here to the country?” He took another sip of coffee, making an, “mmm,” sound.

Glen began repairing the breaks and cracks, talking to me the entire time. It was bad enough that he was a living, breathing aphrodisiac, but did he always need to be so charming? A surprise inspection of my morals revealed that I was ready and willing to cheat on my husband if I could have some of that. Without realizing it, at least at first, I discovered that I was following him around like a lost puppy, and talking to him was so easy. Before I knew it, I’d given him my entire life story, confessed all my hopes and dreams, and even confessed all my sexual preferences, fantasies, and hidden desires—things I’d never told my husband. I was stunned when the psychologist in me reminded me that I’d just told a man I’d only known for a few days, my neighbor, that I had a fantasy of being spied on while I masturbate or have sex. 

”I think I have some binoculars stowed someplace,” he chuckled. “Anything to make a wonderful, amazing woman happy.”

Glen had this way of allowing me to reveal my soul in a safe and appreciative environment. He also kept up with that innuendo and constantly hinted at sexuality. His looks, personality, and demeanor were a devastating combination. I loved how he made me feel, how attentive he was, his humor, his wit, and his body.

More than once, I excused myself and ran into the house to collect my nerves and get myself under control. Knowing that it was impossible, I fingered my cunt to orgasm, watching him work. On my third masturbation trip inside, I pulled up the pictures of him that Christy had posted on Plushtales. I felt so deviant finger fucking my pussy while my eyes looked at his mammoth cock on my phone and his perfect body just outside my window. My orgasms were intense, but they did nothing to quell the volcano in my nether regions.

Finally, I decided that I had to be more aggressive. Sitting on a porch chair, facing him with my legs spread wide enough for him to see my bare, newly-shaven pussy, I kept talking with him, dropping sexual hints. He either ignored my flashing or chose to not acknowledge it. Upping the ante, I slowly rocked my legs back and forth.

He noted my efforts, smiling, but didn’t push things. Instead, he carried on the conversation, his words dripping with sex, but they could also be completely innocent. Damn him. The day flew by, with me getting more and more worked up, Glen not only enabling my arousal but driving me further and further into wild abandon, all while never once making any move for me.

It was horny, sexual torture of the best kind imaginable. Not having sex with Glen was better than most of the sex I’d had in my whole life. I felt seen, known, appreciated, and desired. He made me feel like everything about me was strong, admirable, and sexy. He loved my humor, my life, my wit, and my ideas, and he didn’t hide the fact that he also loved my body.

My phone dinged; I had a new message on Plushtales. It was from Christy. Guilt pangs consumed me. I was lusting after her husband, our plan forgotten. She was also forgotten. Ashamed, I read it.

“Is my eye-candy husband driving you insane, yet?”

“God, yes,” I typed. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to make you mad at me, but he’s amazing.”

“Why do you think I’m so horny all the time?”

“BECAUSE YOU’RE A NYMPHOMANIAC SLUT?”

“Well, that, too! Kisses. Dinner tonight?”

“Sounds good. Bye”

I turned to Glen, noticing for the first time that the driveway looked almost completely repaired. The other contractors said that it would be a two-week job. “Do you want some iced tea?”

He stopped, stretching as he pulled off his work gloves. He was a mass of dirty, sexy muscle and grime. I wondered if he’d object if I got on my knees and sucked his cock right there.

“I’d love some, my divine goddess.”

“More seasoning?” I winked at him to get my meaning across.

“Love it!”

Far too soon for my liking, he finished. “Now, we have it all repaired. Tomorrow, we’ll do the stone and brickwork. If you want, you can help; it’s so much fun if you don’t mind getting down and dirty, that is. You like being dirty, don’t you?”

“I’ve been thinking about getting dirty all day,” I shot back. Two can play the flirting game.

“Excellent. See you bright and early, tomorrow, then.”

“You mean tonight? Your wife invited us to dinner, again.”

“Even better! I’ll have two perfect women around me to brighten my mundane existence.”

Glen bent, gently taking and kissing the back of my hand, then turned to his wash bucket, poured more water over himself, and wiped away most of the dirt and grime with his shirt. His wet, denim jeans clung to his body, the outline of his cock dominating the front. I was crestfallen when he reached into his truck and pulled out a fresh shirt to cover his body.

“This evening, then. I have another client to take care of, but you should be able to walk on the drive in about two hours. Tomorrow morning, we’ll do the texturing.”

He drove off as I stared like a fool. His tank top still lay on the driveway; he must have forgotten it. Knowing how foolish I was acting, I jogged over to it and snatched it up. Grabbing my phone and running inside with the soggy shirt, I tossed it into the kitchen sink, barely noting that I had a text message. When I had collected my thoughts enough to look, I noted that it was from John. My husband had to travel for work for some last-minute thing and wouldn’t be home for at least two days.

“Okay, love you,” I texted back. He was the furthest thing from my mind at that moment.

I immediately opened up Plushtales on my phone, going right back to Christy’s story. The fingers of my free hand were flying over my clit before I’d even found the section I’d left off at. Unknown to me, seconds after I’d gone back inside, Christy called Glen over to the front yard, her desperate need for his “huge, thick, steel-hard shaft” in her mouth.

Fingering myself hard, three fingers fucking my overheated cunt, I read about how she dropped to her knees, fingering her clit as she crammed as much of his cock down her throat as she could manage, and sucked and stroked him until he came all her breasts. I moaned and screamed at the top of my lungs as she detailed how she kept on orally pleasing him until he was hard enough to push her down and take her in the driveway, right out in the open.

Right after my second orgasm from reading her story, my fifth or sixth one that day, my incoming message bell chimed. I opened it, from Christy, of course, to see a picture of her on her knees, in their driveway, with Glen’s mutant penis in her mouth.

“I just came to your picture,” I typed in response, right after I exploded with an earth-quaking cum.

“So hot,” she shot back, “now you have me fingering myself, too.”

“Bullshit.”

Ten seconds later, a new picture popped up. It was Christy, a selfie of her soaked pussy. Her lips were swollen, totally saturated, and a finger was near her clit, thick strands of cum dripping from it. A large pink sex toy was buried in her snatch, also covered in her wetness.

“I’m jealous. I don’t have any toys.”

“We’ll go get some. I’ll come get you”

“Can’t. No money. We spent everything we had to get into this house.”

“I’ve got this. Sponge Bob VISA rides again.”

“???”

“Glen’s credit card, no limit. Three minutes.”

I’d just gotten up, intending to go upstairs and change into something publicly acceptable, when she walked right in.

“You look so fucking hot. I could eat you up! I bet my husband loved the way you looked.”

“I’m so sorry. I got caught up in our plan and tried to entice Glen. He didn’t react, and I ended up...”

She grabbed me and pulled my face to hers, cutting off my speech with a passionate kiss. My brain screamed for me to not let it happen, but my heart and libido won the battle of wills. Instead of stopping her, I grabbed her butt, moaning into her mouth.

Pushing me down to the couch, her red hair fell over my cheeks, and her hands ran over my body, further igniting my already overheated lust and plunging between my legs. Rather than telling her to stop, I spread my legs and pushed my pussy against her hand.

“Is this okay?” she asked, pulling away but not removing her hand.

“Please, yes. Please.”

I was stunned by her sensual beauty. There are beautiful women and then there are women that radiate horny sex. She was both. Taking her time as the temperature in my core rose to feverish levels, we kissed and caressed each other until every breath I took consisted of sighs and moans.

Kissing her way down my body, her hands kneading my flesh exactly how I like, I uttered incoherent gibberish when her tongue gently licked my bare pussy. Not knowing what else to do, my hands grabbed her silky hair and I held her in place, gyrating my hips to get her tongue exactly where I wanted. There was no need for me to guide her; Christy knew what she was doing.

Her hands traced the contours of my pussy, gently probing the perimeter of both my holes. Never invading, only stimulating, her fingers played with my flesh as her tongue dove deep inside me, savoring my arousal.

“That feels so good,” I moaned.

Bliss, pleasure, and lust overwhelmed me when her lips lightly closed over my clit. The sensation as she sucked with just enough pressure to pop it out from under the clitoral hood caused me to scream in primal ecstasy.

“Fuck, fuck, fucking shit,” I screamed when she gently inserted one of her fingers inside me, her tongue becoming a whirlwind over my clit. “I’m cumming….hard…oh, fuck.”

Reality switched itself off. In its place, only rapture, bliss, and sexual release remained. My orgasm lasted forever, her tongue, lips, and fingers drawing it out, making me crest again and again. All I could do was writhe and moan.

Panting, unable to move, she finally let me come down from those wonderful heights. “I don’t think I’ve ever cum so hard in my life.”

She smiled at me, her face damp with my juices. “Nobody can lick pussy like another woman,” she paused. “Except for Glen; that man is the best at devouring your cunt. Some nights, he licks me until I cum so much that I pass out.”

“Um, should I do you, now? I’ve never, well, not with a woman.”

Christy giggled. “Nope, not right now. That was just for you. I know that look all too well. If you didn’t get some good relief, you’d be a quaking mess, sister.”

“I can’t believe I just let that happen.” My heart grew heavy. “I just cheated on John.”

“No, you didn’t,” she reasoned. “President Bill Clinton said that oral sex is not adultery, for one. Furthermore, no man worth staying with will ever be upset that you let a woman lick your pussy…most especially if you let him watch the next time.”

“But still. I shouldn’t have.”

“How’s this? Tonight at dinner, I’ll seduce him and suck him off. Then you two will be even.”

“He’s away for work for a few days, so he won’t be here.”

“Oh, just us girls, then? That’ll be fun.” Christy stared at me for a moment. “Stop worrying and leave your husband to me. Everything will be fine.”

She reached into her purse and pulled out a credit card. The cartoon graphics showed Sponge Bob. “Let’s go shopping! Glen’s buying.”

To be continued…