The Devil s Dew
- 4 years ago
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I remember a year or so after we'd moved into the house, I'd risen late one Saturday morning, sleeping in after having been rudely awoken by Tanya bouncing up and down on my morning wood. You spurt under those conditions, you just gotta get another couple hours sleep.
The late rising put me a little behind in the stuff around the house I needed to get done. I know, it was nuts. Before a single sip of coffee I was trying to remember and sort out and prioritize tasks. I stumbled into the kitchen, and there was my golden angel. She had a fresh pot of coffee ready, and was working at the stove on some sort of brunch.
"Sit down," she smiled, "I'll bring you some coffee."
But she was busy at the stove and I was still standing. The quickest route to a cup of coffee was to fetch it myself. I poured a mug, then left it by the coffeemaker to sweep up behind Tanya and wrap my arms around her waist. "You are my golden angel," I whispered, spooning the words into her ear with my tongue.
"Just making sure my man gets all of his nourishment."
I moved my hands up to caress Tanya's sexy little apple-sized breasts. The nipples stiffened under my touch, feeling like the erasers on those fat first-grade pencils. Something else was starting to stiffen as I pressed my crotch harder between the cute mounds of her tight little ass.
Hot kitchen sex wasn't going to happen, not right in front of a hot skillet full of hot oil. I gave my coffee an eye. "You're the only nourishment I need," I said giving her nipples a final tug. I held her at the waist and gave a toothy kiss to the side of her neck. I gave a final light slap on her ass as I moved down the counter to my coffee.
That was when I first truly noticed this glass candy jar thing, with a lid, there to the side of the coffeemaker. Set there like a nag. All it held was a handful of crumpled and folded strips of paper.
"What's that?" I asked, pointing pointedly.
Tanya turned away from the stove brightly. "It's this great idea I heard about. It's called your Honey Do Pot. See, what I do is..."
"I know how they work," I nodded, finally sitting down at the table with my day's first mug of coffee. I then ate a delicious meal, and then Tanya brought it over from the counter and I had to pick. The strip of paper read weed front flower bed -- thanx! Tanya gave me a tongue-filled kiss, then went off to get dressed.
Well, sure, the flower garden needed weeding, but that was because the gutter and downspout right there were messed up. The weeds loved all the spillage when it rained; the flowers, well their foliage went all limp sick light green from all the extra watering. The gutter problem had been #1 on my list; the weeding was about twelve. Though I already knew it was much higher on her list.
The one thing I knew for certain was that I was not going to let my marriage devolve into this cutesy Honey Do bullshit.
While Tanya was away, I washed up all the dishes, except the skillet, which I set to soak in the sink. Then I went back to the table and put the strip of my chore back in the pot. Then I picked the whole thing up and carried it over to the garbage can and dumped out the contents. I replaced the container on the table, then found pen and paper and added one folded strip. Then I sat back down at the table and enjoyed my coffee while waiting to be rejoined by my wife.
Tanya came in the kitchen, beaming at me. Then she took a look at the single piece of paper still in the glass, and her face shifted. Even I was not that much of a Miracle Man to get all that done in the fifteen minutes she'd spent dressing.
She reached in and pulled it out.
The strip of paper read: do honey first, then ask nice and sweet.
Tanya doesn't look like she's strong--she's very much the willowy type girl. But she had me and my chair yanked out from the table in one grab. Then she dropped to her knees before me. She fumbled with the front of my pants enough to get my cock in her mouth. By the time she got me out, I was about ready to burst the fabrics. Not to be too indiscreet, but Tanya gives a mean blow-job.
I was left gasping, paralyzed from the waist down. Tanya backed away, smiling, her tongue swirling around to catch the rivulets of my stuff trickling from the corners of her mouth. She started to speak, but I shushed her, pressing my limp cock against her lips like a finger.
Just to mess with her, I went out and fixed the gutter/downspout problem first. Next I was out of her line of sight, off in the garage with a saw and lumber replacing some old termite damage. But you better be damn sure that before I walked back in the house done for the day, there wasn't a fucking weed left in the flower bed.
Tanya granted me her splendid thanks deep into the night.
I woke up really early. It was before eight on a Saturday morning. I had chores to do, but still, it was crap I could knock out in the afternoon. Saturday was sacrosanct--my sleep-in day.
I would've been pissed off, except the reason I woke up was to find my lovely wife with my stiff cock in her mouth. Tanya gazed over at me with big eyes when she realized I was awake. A blow-job like this, I might be persuaded to mow the lawn!
But then her lips left my cock and moved up to kiss me. That changed the dynamics. As she settled back down upon me, this time, well, she reached for my cock and guided it between the plump lips of her very ready cunt. I grabbed onto her ass and just tried to hold on. And hold off. Sex this fantastic, who wanted it to ever end? Especially when you're still mostly asleep.
Tanya started coming, which made me let loose, which only heightened her orgasm, upgrading my own to totally intense.
We fell apart, eventually, gasping and panting.
Finally Tanya replied to my loving gaze, "Garage."
"Oh, babe," I moaned, "it's Saturday."
She kissed the tip of my nose. "You can snooze some more. Me, I'm strangely wide awake, and feeling really really fucking good. Wonder why?"
I went down for nearly three more hours. When I finally staggered out of the damn bed, I was so groggy I felt like a zombie retard. A quick shower helped, though as always I was sorry to erase the smell of my wife from my body.
I came into the kitchen and sat down at the table. Nearly instantly, Tanya had a mug of fresh coffee in front of me. "Poor baby," she cooed, "you look so worn out. Whatever in the world happened to you?"
"My damn wife apparently has a life insurance policy out on me."
She smiled, and went back to the stove. She was putting together some sort of breakfast-meets-lunch thing. Then I had a plate of it before me. Tanya served herself a smaller plate--no doubt because she'd eaten a real breakfast hours ago.
We sat down and tucked in, and then the phone rang. I wasn't answering, so Tanya got it.
While I ate, I finally gathered that it was Charlotte. Asking for a favor of some sort. Charlotte was a very self-reliant gal, so no doubt the favor involved me. Something too large or heavy for her to manage herself.
Tanya wasn't doing much of the talking. A really? or an uh hum, and a couple quick glances my way. Then phone wanderings took her out of the kitchen. Today was Garage Day, so I was sure she was negotiating whatever favor off onto Sunday.
I started wondering why the hell us guys live with women anyway. The way they're always bossing us into chores they just sort of make up, or true stuff that could just easily be put off until later. Then I remembered my wake-up call, and shut the fuck up on that line of thought. Of course no payment of that sort came from a Charlotte job, though Tanya always paid in proxy. Though, you know, what lazy Sunday afternoon did I not wind up between my wife's thighs anyway? That was nearly a given. I was getting gypped for my labors!
It wasn't but a month after Tanya and I bought and moved into our house that Tom and Charlotte did the same with the one across the street. Tom struck me as a blowhard at first, but I instantly had a schoolboy crush on Charlotte.
While I totally lusted after my willowy wife, compact Charlotte certainly drew my eye in contrast. Five foot barely and olive skin, a big head of crazy assed hair, with a well-rounded bottom and tits to match. Mostly the two of us got along and thought alike. The hot bod didn't hurt. I hung out with them a lot, and got to know and appreciate Tom. I wound up hanging out at their house frequently, on my own.
Until the afternoon when I opened the front door and Tanya quickly asked where I was going.
I shrugged, "Over to Tom and Charlotte's to watch the game."
"What game?" She knew I didn't give much of a shit about sports.
"The game that's on," I sort of squirmed.
"Game can be on our t.v. too." She let that thought hang in the air. It hung out in the air long enough to dry. "Charlotte has a husband to watch the game with. I have a husband too. Maybe I want him in our house. I'd watch the game with him, and make it worth his while."
With that she led me into the livingroom, sat me on the sofa, and turned on the game. I was amazed Tanya knew the proper channel, because I certainly didn't.
She didn't even bother sitting down beside me before she started taking off our clothes. My wife held me with her eyes, and I looked nowhere else, except her tits of course. I stayed seated there on the sofa even as my clothing disappeared. Sharon knelt down and gave me a nice sucking. Then she rose up and forward, and mounted me. She totally blocked my view of the game. But that was never the important game anyway. The fans were going wild, and so was I! I knew from my soaked crotch that as I blasted off, Tanya was on round two, or maybe three.
Charlotte remained hot, but I was cured. I knew my Tanya. She'd fuck any thoughts of other girls right out of my mind. That's why I married her; that's why I do chores for her. Instead, the four of us wound up becoming good neighbor friends.
Christ, Tom and I became fishing buddies. I'd never fished in my life, and had no interest in learning the nuances. I learned that guys have fishing weekends together as an excuse to drink beer at any hour, and escape from wives and their list of chores. All you had to do as proof was bring home a couple of blue gills no one wanted to scale anyway and were already close enough to spoiling only a sporting man would want to fry them up.
I'd chuck my couple of the allotment raw out in the alley, hoping to poison some rats.
The tragedy was nearly four months ago. An off-duty cop in a take-home car had a take-home six-pack in his car after a long evening of bar patrol. Apparently, the trial confirmed, the cop had heard a call on his radio, and decided the wisest thing after a night of drinking was to respond. Without turning on sirens or lights, just roaring through every red light. Tom, in his tiny car, got in the way, and died immediately from the impact. Charlotte was set to receive a huge payout, at the end of appeals, as if that compensated her for anything.
I went across the street and rang the doorbell. There was nothing for several minutes. I figured maybe Charlotte was in the shower or something. I'd just turned around to walk back home when the door finally opened.
"Charles, good to see you. C'mon in," she gestured with her arm. "Sorry it took so long for me to get the door. I was getting ready. You caught me stepping out of the shower."
That made sense; she certainly smelled shower-fresh. Even if she seemed dry, and quite dressed in a ribbed wife-beater tee and a short pink skirt. But if she was showering to get ready for something, and wound up dressed like that, maybe my timing was off. "Is this not a good time?"
"It's a perfect time." Charlotte shot me a sultry look that disarmed me. Maybe I'd misread her face. That happened to me. Reading women was like reading Tolstoy, in the original Cyrillic.
Things were seeming kind of weird, so I rubbed my hands together. "So, Tanya said you needed my help over here with something?"
Charlotte arched her brows, then gave a little smile. "She didn't tell you with what?"
"Nope. So I don't even know what tools I might need."
"Oh, trust me, the tool you'll need is already in the house."
That made sense. Tom had been handy around the house, and had a little workroom in the basement. I doubted that Charlotte had tossed his tools. Everyone needs a good hammer now and again.
"So, where are we off to?"
"It's upstairs in the bedroom."
"Lead the way," I swept my arm magnanimously.
I of course knew the way myself, but it was always a great pleasure to follow Charlotte up a flight of stairs.
Following a few steps behind her, all I saw was the constant advertisement for her gorgeously rounded ass. Swinging side-to-side with every stride. A sexual pendulum. A perpetual motion love machine. I tried to dismiss these thoughts of my friend, but it took awhile. And never really took. Face it, Charlotte had an awesome bod. I'd trained myself to focus on other things, but nevertheless. I'd thought these thoughts when Tom was still alive. I could certainly control myself as she still grieved. And get some job done that she couldn't do herself.
I was hoping it didn't involve a roof leak and soggy drywall.
Charlotte stopped at the door and showed me in.
Normally there's an air of unspoken excitement when a woman, however innocently, shows you her bedroom. You think of her in bed, sexing or sleeping, naked or nightie. You see her at the dresser, opening the lingerie drawer, trying to decide which pair of panties to pull over her hips today. Smiling in the mirror at herself, admiring her breasts before she hides them away in a brassiere.
This time, though, I just felt sad, thinking of poor Charlotte, every night going to sleep by herself in that great big bed. Waking each morning alone, just her and the covers and the cold comfort of a few soft pillows. I was about to tear up, so I decided to shake those thoughts, chipper up a bit.
"Alrighty," I said, scanning the whole of the room, "what needs fixing in here?"
I turned, hearing the door quietly latch. Charlotte just stood there, giving me a steamy look. "Me."
"Come again?"
"Me, Charles. I'm broken ... and I need fixing."
I couldn't help myself. I stared at her tits. As impossible as it seemed, I thought I could see her nipples visibly tauten under my watch. They looked much larger around and out then Tanya's, but what fascinated me was the shirt-swelling around. The girl had puffies was all I could conclude.
Charlotte waved a hand across my line of vision. My eyes returned to hers, and I was embarrassed. "It's okay to look," she consoled me. "I know you've been wanting to see the girls for a long time." With that she plucked at the hem of the shirt, and then in one long fluid motion pulled it up and over her head, tossing the garment off and away.
I just stared at the magnificence.
Her breasts really were large enough that a bra would be the logical choice of a constant companion, except she didn't really need a bra for support. They defied gravity. I knew for a fact, from a drunken conversation years before, that nothing artificial was involved. She'd been a flat-chested twelve year old, and then she'd grown, and been the talk of all the thirteen year old boys.
She took a step forward, and I took an immediate step back.
"Listen, Charlotte," I said, without any further words lined up to speak.
"Listen," she replied. "Tanya gave her okay." She took another couple steps, close enough she could grab my wrists and move my hands to her breasts.
My hands were definitely having fun!
"But you're so gorgeous," I whispered, "you could have any man you want."
Charlotte gave a wry smile. "Thanks. But it's way too early for me to even think about that. I'm not even sure I ever want to find a Tom 2. But still, I feel so lonely at times. So small and lost in that great big bed," she whimpered, moving her lips dangerously close to mine. "I so missed being touched. What I want is to be touched by someone I know and love and trust." She moved against me. "Is that asking too much?"
Her lips brushed against mine. There was no way I could refuse her. Much as I was enjoying fondling her breasts, when we began kissing in earnest she crushed against me, her heaving bosom pressed to my chest. My hands didn't mind the change of locale. My arms wrapped around her and they were free to troll up and down her naked back. And come to rest on her skirt-clad ass. The skirt was so tight it was an impediment.
"Time to lose the skirt?" I asked. She moved one of hands to her hip with a smile.
"The zipper's right there."
Loosened, the garment dropped to her ankles. She gingerly stepped out of it. And then there she stood before me, moving back in for a kiss, a goddess in just a brief pair of panties.
In turn, she pulled off my shirt, then fussed with the belt and underlying elastic until I was naked from the waist down as well. My cock stood out in all its glory, ready to populate a continent. Charlotte stroked it my staring me in the eyes.
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