FIRE! 

That single, shouted word violently altered the trajectory of my day, sending it hurling toward a chaotic tumult. The powers of the universe, allied with Murphy’s Law, sought to undo all my work. Disaster upon calamity struck, repeatedly, and it all began just seconds before “FIRE” was screamed into my ear. 

With my husband gone, having left early that morning, and the house all to myself for a few hours, I did what every housewife would do. I opened the living room curtains, letting the warm, morning sunlight into my abode, stripped nude, and fingered myself while I stood near the window, watching Bobby Crenshaw, with a brand new lawnmower, mow his yard. 

His muscular torso glistened with sweat in the heat of the unseasonably hot weather, and my fingers glistened from the juice flowing out of my pussy. He looked so handsome, with something primal and sexual about him, that I stared at him through the living room window, fingering my aching cunt. Just as I rubbed my swollen clit to an intense orgasm, three things happened. 

Loud sirens reverberated through the neighborhood, red, flashing lights blazing off the other houses and reflected in my window. That caused Bobby to stop mowing and look my way. Then, my phone rang; it was Ginger, already blowing up my cellphone. 

I was mortified when I noticed that he was looking directly at me through my bay window. There was a distinct possibility that he had seen me. Luckily for me, the large, red fire engine roared by, its sirens blaring, sexy men in uniform hanging off of it. As I answered my phone, I realized that the commotion gave me plausible deniability. I wasn’t standing in the window with my robe open, masturbating over my young, sexy neighbor; I’d received a phone call alerting me of the fire engine and had absentmindedly, in my excitement, forgotten to cover my nudity. 

Figuring that she was still in a panic over the looming show this evening, I quickly answered Allison’s call, greeting her with a cheery voice. I only managed to get one syllable out. 

“Hell…” 

“FIRE,” she screamed into my ear, so loudly that the speaker crackled. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Ginger’s voice sobbed. I could tell that she was crying and nearing hysterics. “I was trying to cook a piece of ham and got distracted. My kitchen caught fire and is ruined! I’m in deep shit. Ben’s going to kill me.” 

“Are you okay?” 

“Yes, I’m fine, but,” she whined between tears, anguished caterwauling, and unladylike snorts. “the entire wall is black, and the curtains are ruined…. and the ceiling. Oh, fuck. It’s still smoking.” 

Then, it hit me! The Mary Jane Show was supposed to take place in the kitchen because that’s where one wants to find a hot, horny housewife. “Sit tight, Ginger. I’ll be right over. Don’t worry. We’ll fix this.” 

Without thinking, I threw on the first bit of clothing my groping hands found in the closet. It was a thin and airy sundress of white cotton. As I walked past the mirror on my way out, I noted that the bouncing of my breasts beneath the thin material was obvious, and the dark circles of my nipples were glaringly obvious. I didn’t care; nobody would notice or care. Allison, my friend and business client, was distraught, and I needed to console her, as well as save the day, because, no matter what, the show must go on. 

I was wrong about one thing. My scanty attire was noticed, and somebody did, indeed, care. Bobby Crenshaw was still outside. I had simply thrown the thin, somewhat transparent dress over my nude body and stomped out the door. Since his eyes were already riveted on me, I called out to him, sternly. 

“Bobby,” I gestured at him as I shouted. “Come here, right now!” 

Bobby approached me, his face riddled with guilt. I realized that he figured he’d been caught leering at my nude body through the window. I then realized that I was pretty much dressed like a sex-starved whore, and panicked. It was too late to change into something more appropriate, so I pretended to not notice the fact that even as he hurried across the street, to meet what he thought was his doom, his eyes were glued to the dark circles of my nipples. 

“Yes, Missus Mary Anne. Do you need something?” he asked my tits. 

“Yes, actually. I need you right now,” I intoned. My voice was a primal purr, imparting my arousal more than I’d intended. An idea had just struck me. “Follow me to Ginger’s house.” 

“Who?” 

“Allison Gephart, down the street. The redhead with big boobs? You did construction work in high school and your first two years of college, correct?” 

“Oh! Yes, I did,” he told my cleavage.

“I have a rush job for you, an emergency, very important.” 

“I don’t know if…” 

I cut off his protests. “I’ll pay you well, and I won’t tell your mother that I caught you staring at me through the window like some little pervert.” 

Bobby did as instructed, literally following me. Every time I looked back, his eyes were focused on my butt. I snickered at that. As stunningly handsome as he was, and so filled with vitality, I was certain that he had his choice of many young women. Nonetheless, it made me feel all hot and desirable to have a sexy young man lustily appraising me.

 “Allison accidentally caught her house on fire,” I explained as we walked. “I want to see if you can fix it for her.” 

“Umm.” he mused and stopped walking. “I don’t know if I can.” 

“Just have a look.” I almost added, “At something other than my ass,” but I didn’t want to get myself into trouble. Being lustily ogled by a young, handsome man with such a sexy body could easily lead me astray. I was already entertaining fantasies of seducing him. 

Ginger was a hectic, sobbing mess. Her makeup was smeared all over her reddened face, and she’d cried her eyes pink. Proving that I’m not as good of a friend as I thought, I laughed out loud when I saw the damage. Despite the fire truck and a veritable army of sexy hunks dressed in fireman uniforms, the carnage was minimal. 

“Bobby,” she said through her tears. “What are you doing here?” 

“He’s here to see if he can repair this so your husband doesn’t care.” 

I consoled Ginger while Bobby looked over the damage. When I’d calmed Allison down, he said, “The damage is really just superficial. Some new trim and some paint, and it’ll look like nothing ever happened.” 

“Really?” Allison said, her tone ecstatic. “How much?” 

Bobby put his hand on his chin, mumbling some numbers, then paused for a moment. “Is two-hundred dollars fair for you?” 

“Two-fifty if you can do it right now. I don’t want my husband to get upset.” 

“Deal. I’ll go get the stuff.” 

Ginger shrieked when he reached out to the window overlooking her kitchen sink and tore a charred piece of trim off from under the sill. 

“Needs replaced,” he apologized. He pointed at it. “So I can match the pattern at the hardware store.” 

Because I knew Bobby could be trusted, Ginger gave him the house key, letting him know that there was way too much beer in the fridge, and I stole her away to my house to chill out. 

“Get it together, Allison,” I enthused as we returned to my house. “Your debut show is in a few hours, and you need to be happy and horny.” 

“The show’s off! I have no kitchen. It’ll just need to be the same old stuff. I’m sorry.” She started crying again. I considered slapping her across the cheeks until she came to her senses. 

“Nonsense,” I scolded. “I have my time and my money invested in you, and you’ll be successful whether you like it or not!” 

“But… but how?” 

“Get your stuff, and we’ll use my kitchen. It matches the promos, anyway. You have just over two-hundred pre-sales; this isn’t my first rodeo.” 

“Really,” she meekly smiled. “You were in a rodeo?” 

“Cut it out, Allison. I’m the blond one! Go get your stuff, and bring lots of weed. You’re a mess.” 

Hours passed. During that time, I managed to get dressed in comfy shorts and a T-shirt, finally donning a bra. I also cheered up Ginger, and she slowly began to resemble the too-perfect, incredibly sexy woman I remembered. We managed to set up all the lights in the kitchen, run through some test cam sessions, and do all the mundane, preparatory work. 

Wine and weed flowed, and, before too long, we were laughing and joking, all giddy and happy. In the early afternoon, Bobby knocked on my door. He was sweaty and dirty, with some paint on his body. That somehow made him even hotter. I momentarily wished I’d worn panties because although I refused to look, I’m sure the hot, sexual lava that flowed out of my slit when I looked at him had left an instant wet spot on the crotch of my too-short shorts. 

Seeming to be over his embarrassment of catching my cumming over him, Bobby looked me up and down. I basked in his gaze, trying to neither smile at his attention nor reach out and grab his cock. 

“All done,” he said, holding out his phone. “Here are some pictures.” 

He did good work. I paid Bobby, making him promise to not tell Ben or anyone else about the damage. In return, what happened earlier would be our little secret. He also promised me that he’d be over tomorrow morning to trim my grass. 

“Bobby saved my ass,” she mentioned. “Maybe I should fuck him.” 

“You dirty slut! You wouldn’t.” 

“Want to bet? We have time. I’ll go over right now and fuck him until he breaks. He’s so hot.” 

“What about Ben?” 

“Out of sight, out of mind. Go on; dare me.” 

“We have work. Let me see if the earpiece shows on camera.” 

As we had work to do, and we were running way behind schedule, I forced my overheated fantasies of being roughly taken by Bobby Crenshaw, on his freshly-mowed lawn, out of my mind. Ginger wasn't the only one whose thoughts were on Bobby. My body, however, kept circling back to that hot, sexy tingling feeling in my cunt when I realized that he not only saw me fingering myself but liked it. My nipples were so hard that I found myself shaking my torso just for the sensation of my hard nipples tingling. I ignored my needy body and forced myself to concentrate on work. 

She put the earpiece in, and we ran through some sound checks, adjusting the volume and equalization until she was happy with it. It didn’t show up on the camera, being so small. Her blond wig also covered it, so nobody would be able to tell that she was being fed information from off-camera. 

“I can manage on my own,” she protested. “I don’t need you in my head while I’m performing.” 

“Ginger, we’ve been over this. Mary Jane is attentive and knows everything about her partners. I’ll snipe your users’ profiles so it seems like you know everything about them. You do you, and I’ll handle everything behind the scenes.” 

It was true. A good housewife is invested in the lives of those around her. She knows their desires, hopes, dreams, and even their fantasies. 

“Okay. You’re the boss. You haven’t steered me wrong, yet, and our numbers are through the roof.” 

“Your numbers. I don’t exist. I’m like a plumber. If I do my job right, nobody notices.” 

“Or like Bobby,” she laughed, finally in a decent mood. “Speaking of which, have you fucked Juan, your plumber, yet?”

 “Ginger! I’m married.” 

“Your loss. Can I have his number?” 

Even though there was still over an hour before show time, Ginger’s logistics were way above my projections. When I’d first begun marketing her as a brand, her cam was buried several pages down in the list of models. However, the constant marketing on the cam site, plus the social media campaigns, had really paid off. Even though she wasn’t online, her cam site playing prerecorded, promotional videos, and targeted, user-interaction blurbs and polls, she was in the top one hundred. That meant front-page exposure, which was money in the bank. Princess Scarlet, her online nickname, was poised for stardom. 

I read the latest poll results. “Well, your fans up-voted the black, floral romper as the preferred wardrobe. It seems that the purple skater-girl skirt is a somewhat close second.” 

“What should I wear?” Allison asked me, taking a hit from her water pipe. 

I started to respond, but my doorbell rang. I answered it. 

“Hi, Missus Mary Anne,” Bobby said when I opened the door. “You paid me too much.” 

“Thank you so much for bailing Ginger out,” I said to him. Because I’d also been partaking of intoxicants, I rationalized that into an excuse to hug him tightly. The feel of his rock-hard muscles against my body was a sexy delight that stoked the embers of my lust into an inferno. 

Swearing that I felt his young, virile cock swell against me, I chanced a quick glimpse down when I broke the friendly embrace. I was not disappointed. “That was a bonus, and I’ll see you tomorrow bright and early, tomorrow, okay?” 

Feeling his eyes on my behind when I turned, I gave them some extra sway. This wasn’t because he was young, sexy, and hard for me. It was because I’m a good wife, and good wives prop up their husbands by making everyone else admire their spouses. I returned another wad of dollars. 

“Another bonus to ensure that Mr. Gephart never hears about this. Let’s keep this as our little secret as agreed.” 

Bobby, as well as his glances over my body, lingered. I politely shooed him out the door, not caring that he noticed that his horny stares made my nipples stick out even more prominently. My pussy drenched itself under his gaze.

”He’s got it bad for you, Mary,” Ginger giggled. “Here’s to you, Mrs. Robinson.” 

“Ginger, please!” 

“Your neighbor has the hots for you,” Ginger coughed out through a thick cloud of smoke. “You should fuck him.” 

“Husband, you slut. Remember?” I held up my left hand, showing off my gorgeous wedding set. 

“Whatever. But that wedding band would look so hot with your hand wrapped around his hard cock. Just sayin’.” 

Hair and makeup took longer than I expected. Luckily, we had the time. As she primped herself in my bedroom, I got all her props ready. For the time being, they’d be out of sight, off-camera.  Getting her toys ready was an educational experience. I’m no prude, but remotely-controlled vibrators, glass dildos, and nipple clamps were not something I’d seen first-hand. 

“Does Ben know you have so many kinky toys?” I shouted to her. 

“Know? That pervert bought most of them,” she yelled back. 

When she finally emerged from the bedroom, Ginger looked like a whore’s version of playing at being a housewife. Her blond wig, makeup, lack of a bra, and the cut of her one-piece romper screamed, “fucking slut.” It was perfect. 

“Show time in twenty,” I told her. “There’s lots of chatter in your room, and the videos have gone viral.” 

“I can’t,” was all she said. With those two words, all my plans for launching her into cam-girl superstardom shattered. 

“What?!” 

“I’m too nervous! This whole day…” she was nearing hysterics, on the verge of tears once more. “I’ll clam up. I know how to act slutty, but I can’t play a part. I’m so scared that I’m shaking.” 

“We’ll just have to get you in the mood,” I responded, nonplussed. 

Going to her toy box, I pulled out a cordless, vibrating wand. All the arousal I’d been keeping pent up was released with fury as soon as I grabbed it. 

I slowly said, “Spread your fucking legs and leave it to me.” 

Allison, looking like my slutty twin, looked at me in aroused shock, her mouth agape. “Mary Anne, what are you doing?” 

“A good housewife is always cheerful and confident, not a quivering mass of doubt. You need to relax.” I thrust her water pipe into her hands and crawled between her outstretched thighs. “Big toke, Ginger.” 

She followed my instructions, but her eyes grew as wide as saucers when I turned on the vibrator and smiled up at her. Noting the hidden snaps in the crotch, I gave her a lust-filled look as I licked my lips, desire pulsing through me, and revealed her cleanly shaven pussy. Despite her claims that she was too nervous, her slit was wet with dew.

 I hit the only button on the handle, and it hummed to life, tingling my hand. “Who are you?” 

“Um. Allison….oh, fuck. That feels good.” 

“Wrong!” I shut off the toy. Her crestfallen expression was much better than her panicked, nervous look of insecurity. “You are Mary Jane. Try again.” 

I turned the wand back on and held it against her clit for a few seconds. As soon as her expression changed to one of pleasure, I asked her again. “Who are you?” 

“I’m, oh fuck…so good. I’m Mary fucking Jane. Shit, shit, shit! Horny…ummm… aaah housewife… always wet and stoned.” 

“Good girl,” I smiled. “And what else?” 

”So fucking horny. Aaaah!” 

Her hips were bucking into the vibrator, and her head rolled back as she moaned in pleasure. 

“What are you?” 

“More, turn it up! I’m going to cum. I’m…oooh, yes, yes, fuck! I’m always fucking horny, so horny. On the verge… I’m so wet. I live to fuck my husband.” 

Feeling horny and an overpowering lust for my friend, I took advantage of her aroused state and gently, tentatively, reached out and lightly brushed my fingertip over her labia. 

“Ooh, fuck, yes!” Allison screamed. “Finger my cunt, please. I want you. I haven’t... oooh, you’re so good… had a woman in so long. Make me cum.” 

“Remember, this is just business.” My tone was business-like and even, but my cunt was on fire. My thighs were probably scorched more than Allison’s kitchen had been. 

“Whatever.” Without prompting, she mirrored my actions from the night before by grabbing my outstretched finger and shoving it into her cunt. “Fuck me.” 

Other than a drunken and stoned weekend when I first began my career in marketing, I hadn’t had any sexual contact with another woman since college. Feeling lust consume me, I thrust my finger in and out of her quivering snatch, with the wand buzzing away on her clit. 

“How does Mary Jane act?” 

“I’m a slut, a whore…fuck, fuck… oh, your finger’s in my cunt, you’re fucking me. Aah. I’m a tramp, a whore… I need… umm, ah… so close. I need to fucking cum!” 

“Whose slut?” 

“I’m your slut, Mary. Please, please make me cum; I need it.” 

Sadistically, I turned off the wand and withdrew my fingers. As Ginger stared at me in shock, I stuck my saturated fingers into my mouth and sucked off her juices. My arousal was so extreme that I moaned at the taste of her. Then, I leaned in close to her pussy and slowly, gently licked her glistening lips clean. 

“Save your orgasms for the show.” I looked at the timer ticking away on my laptop screen. Allison had her own setup in the kitchen. “Your show starts in two minutes.” 

“Fuck you, you dirty slut! I can cum in two minutes. I’m so close. Please?” 

“Just business, remember?” If Allison believed that what I’d just done was purely to save my investment, my dripping cunt surely didn’t. 

“You fucking bitch,” she smiled. “Thank you. I’m good, now. Let’s go get ‘em.”
She walked into the kitchen, in view of her cam. I blacked it out for the regular viewers, but could still see her on my screen. Despite her telling me that she was ready, her face didn't support her words. 

Taking my station in the dining room, I made certain that everything was absolutely perfect. The chatter in her room, prepaid members only, had reached a crescendo. I turned on my microphone, the theme to 2001 playing into the chat room, and stole some lines from Jim Morrison. 

“Is everybody in? Is everybody in? The ceremony is about to begin.” 

Suddenly, the constant stream of text messages ceased. 

“I present to you, straight from the kitchen, the one, the only, Mary Jane, the horny housewife. Sit back and release your cocks, men; finger yourself, ladies. Princess Scarlet brings you the first-ever, special show. You are all honored guests in the hottest, horniest, webcam show you’ll ever witness.” 

I had Ginger’s webcam blacked out. Slowly, I let it fade into the scene. Everything was, of course, perfectly placed and well-lit. As we determined, Allison was there, in her outfit, the black romper, but she’d also thrown the purple skater-girl skirt on. She had this incredibly horny glow of arousal about her that, even on camera, was enthralling. She looked like she was on the verge of cumming her brains out. I mentally patted myself on the back for that. 

Leaning over my immaculate counter with a spoon in one hand, a mixing bowl, and a tray of cookies to be baked before her, she smiled into the camera. 

Even on cam, I could plainly see her nipples poking out from the black fabric of her clothing. I quickly scanned the members that were watching, and the initial outburst of comments, though crass, dirty, and banal, were positive. 

Ginger, however, just stood there. She stared, blankly, into the camera, a half-terrified and half-orgasmic look on her face. 

Clicking my mic over to her earpiece, I gently said, “If you’re ready to begin, say something dirty to your members.” 

Allison still just stood there. Her chest was heaving, and loud, impassioned pants were coming out of her mouth. She looked so horny, completely erotic, but she needed to perform. 

“Ground control to Major Ginger,” I yelled into the mic. “Showtime. Get it together, Allison.” 

“Aah..” she paused and looked around. “Umm.” My friend’s expression changed. A slow, impish smile of horny, lust-consumed guilt on her face. 

“Allison-fucking-Ginger! Fucking say something!” 

For better or worse, Ginger and I were in the thick of it. As any good branding and marketing expert can tell you, the show must go on. However, this one had just begun, and it was up to me to pilot her through this fragile beginning. 

I watched the disaster unfold before me, my screen vibrantly broadcasting my pending failure in high definition. But, suddenly, Ginger straightened herself, smoothing the blond wig over her real hair. She smiled into the webcam, a hungry look of unbridled desire crossing her countenance. 

“I’m so fucking horny,” she purred. “I'm so close to cumming that my entire boy is throbbing.” 

My jaw dropped as she ran her hands up and down her body, stopping on her erect nipples. She tugged on them, moaning, then looked at the baking props on the counter. 

“Who wants cookies? My cookies are hot and juicy, and made with not only love but something extra.” 

Although not scripted, my friend, possessed by the character of Mary Jane, ran her free hand down her stomach, and her fingers disappeared under her romper. 

“I’m so wet. I need fucked hard.” 

The text messages in her cam chat went insane, an endless flurry of horny men and women commenting. My mouth was agape when the spoon followed the example of her fingers, running under the hem and emerging saturated with her very tasty liquid sex. 

”Let’s bake something hot and sweet.” 

Ginger was more than ready; I’d seen to that. I did, however, wonder why my pussy was drenched. That actually helped matters. I was here to make everyone want to fuck Mary Jane. I steeled myself, ignoring my aching cunt. It was showtime!

To be continued…