I’m just a normal guy, making a living in a tough world. My name is Dwight
Mitchell and I’m the maintenance foreman at the tractor factory just outside
of town. Most everybody in the town works at that factory so it’s pretty
important to us. The town would die without it and we’d have to move to a
big city and nobody wants that.
Mary-Anne, my wife, works as a clerk at the local bookshop and we get by. No
kids yet but after five years of marriage we have a little clap board house
and a small car which Mary-Anne drives to the shop. I drive a battered
pick-up from the factory.
We’re pretty happy. We have good friends, we know everybody and everybody
knows us. Mary-Anne teaches dancing at the ladies club and I play in a
little country music band on Saturday nights at the roadhouse. Life is
pretty good.
It all started one Saturday in spring.
Mary-Anne has a tradition of Spring cleaning that she got from her mother
and, after five years, I know better than to try to talk her out of it.
Rachel, our next door neighbour came over to help Mary-Anne in the house
while I tidied the yards. I say yards because I got the job of doing both
yards, ours and Rachel’s.
Rachel was a nurse at the local hospital and had been our neighbour for
about a year after she moved into town. She and Mary-Anne had become friends
and I like her as well. She was about the same age, blonde and well built.
No current boyfriend, though a lot of the guys from the factory have tried
but no luck. Mary-Anne tells me she was still getting over some guy back
east. Maybe that’s why she chose to move to a little country town out here.
So, I worked in the yard, dressed in work clothes while the girls did the
house. Rachel brought out some lemonade for me and I admired her shapely ass
in the tight cut-offs as she walked back to the house. She gave me a cheeky
grin over her shoulder and I guiltily started raking the grass cuttings up.
When I finished, I walked back into the house and found Mary-Anne dressed to
go to work as usual on Saturday afternoons.
“Where’s Rachel?” I asked.
“Gone home,” she said, checking her face in the hall mirror and brushing her
long dark hair back.
“Did you get it all finished?”
She shrugged. “Most of it. Rachel and I can finish off tomorrow. I have to
get to work, honey. See you tonight.” She pecked me on the cheek and dashed
out the door.
I heard her car drive away as I made a sandwich, then, clicked on the TV and
watched a little sports. After a while, I sauntered down to the basement.
Amongst all the usual stuff down there, I had a secret stash of girlie
magazines and, when Mary-Anne wasn’t around, I made my self comfortable on
an old mattress and leisurely jerked off while looking at the pictures.
Some of the girls were really hot and I enjoyed a few favourite fantasies
while building up to a big spurt.
Switching the light on, I noticed the boxes had been stacked and the area
cleaned up in the spring cleaning marathon. Grinning in anticipation, I
knelt in the corner and pried up the loose floorboards and reached down for
my packet of magazines.
Nothing!
Frantically, I felt around in the hole but found nothing. The magazines were
gone!
Stunned, I knelt on the floor and frantically groped in the hole again but
the magazines were definitely missing. Replacing the floorboards, I shakily
rose to my feet. Mary-Anne must have found them. How embarrassing! I’m going
to have to admit to my wife that I jerk off over pictures of other women.
She’ll understand. It means nothing, she’ll know that! I knew I was kidding
myself. Sex with Mary-Anne was pretty straight and she was pretty
conservative and I understood that. I didn’t go down on her and I definitely
didn’t feel comfortable about asking her to go down on me.
No, she would think this was pretty dirty and sick. Switching the light off,
feeling sick to my stomach, I stumped slowly up the stairs. I was dead, I
just had to wait for her to come home to kill me.
After showering, I slipped into some running shorts and a T-shirt and
started to wash the pick-up. As I was hosing it down, I suddenly froze.
Mary-Anne was ok with me when she left, didn’t appear pissed. Maybe she
didn’t find the magazines, someone else did.
Rachel! It had to be Rachel. The hose jetted water over the pick-up as I
turned to look at Rachel’s house. No sign of her. if she found them, maybe
she’s just waiting to tell Mary-Anne.
I had to find out. Turning the water off, I dropped he hose and started
walking over to Rachel’s house.
Rachel was seated on the porch, bare feet resting on a chair and smoking a
cigarette. I noticed she had changed into a pretty cotton dress with buttons
down the front.
“Hi there, Dwight,” she said, smiling.
“Hi Rachel,” I said self consciously, wondering where to start.
“I’ve just made some coffee. Want some?” she said, stubbing her cigarette
out and standing.
“Sure.” I followed her into her kitchen and sat at the table while she
poured some coffee into some cups. Smiling, she placed the coffee in front
of me and sat opposite me.
I took a sip. “Nice,” I said nervously. “Uh,” I began, swallowing. “Rachel,
uh,…..”
Rachel giggled. “Let me guess, Dwight. You’re missing something.”
Shocked, I looked up at her grinning face, a strand of blonde hair hanging
across her blue eyes. “Uh, what do you mean?” I began but she interrupted.
“Your porn magazines. They’re gone.”
I blushed. “Uh, where did they, you know….” I tailed of lamely.
“Go? I’ve got them.” She sipped her coffee.
I felt a little relieved at that. At least Mary-Anne didn’t have them. “Does
Mary-Anne, you know….”
“Know about them? Not yet,” she said calmly. “I might tell her about the
tonight. I’m sure she’ll be interested.”
I tried to gain control of the conversation. “Rachel, they’re only
magazines.”
She smiled at me over the rim of her coffee cup. “Really? Just magazines?
And I suppose you get them for the articles, eh?’
I flushed. “Not exactly.”
“Interesting pictures. You seem to have a little fetish for legs and
stockings. Does Mary-Anne know?”
Blushing, I shook my head. “No,” I said softly.
Rachel took a cigarette from the packet, nodding as she did so. “She’s a
bit conservative, isn’t she? How are you going to explain you jerk off while
looking at pictures of girls legs?” She lit the cigarette while looking at
me.
“Uh, um,” I spluttered, embarrassed.
“I’m guessing she’s going to be hurt that she’s not enough for you. And,
probably, a little disgusted.” She blew smoke out of her pursed red lips.
“What do you think?”
“You’re probably right,” I said softly. “Do you have to tell her?” I asked
hopefully.
“Well,” Rachel said slowly. “I don’t know. I might and I might not.” I
waited, wondering what she was going to do. “You must have waited for
Mary-Anne to go to work before you looked for the magazines. Right?”
“Yes,” I replied softly.
“Looking forward to jerking off this afternoon, eh?” she sneered and I
blushed, remaining silent. “Well?” she snapped. “Were you?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, I was looking forward to jerking off,” I said, embarrassed, looking
down at the table.
There was a long moment of silence as she stubbed her cigarette out in the
ashtray on the table. “I might keep this to myself if you’ll do something
for me.”
“What?” I said eagerly. “I’ll do any thing. Wash your car. Take your garbage
out. Anything.”
“Good,” she said. “I was hoping you’d see it that way. I want you to jerk
off for me.”
Stunned, I reeled back in the chair while she grinned at me. “What?” I
croaked, not believing my ears.
“You heard. You were going to jerk off anyway. This way, you have an
audience. No big deal.”
“But, I’ve never, you know….”
She shook her head. “No whining, Dwight,” she said firmly. “That’s it or I
tell Mary-Anne about your little porn stash. Take it or leave it.”
I was cornered and she knew it. I hung my head, embarrassed but,
surprisingly, my cock was starting to get hard in my shorts.” I’ll do it,” I
whispered.
“Good,” she smiled, leaning back in her chair. “Let’s get started.”
“Here?” I whispered, looking around at the kitchen.
“Why not?”
Slowly, I stood up, kicked my sneakers off,, unbuckled my shorts and let
them drop around my ankles. I felt humiliated as I stood there in my under
shorts with Rachel coolly watching me. Hooking my thumbs in the waistband, I
pulled the shorts down and my half erect cock sprung free.
“Lose the T-shirt,” she said and I pulled it over my head to stand naked in
front of her. “You keep fit, Dwight. Good to see.” She giggled. Why don’t
you pour me a nice vodka and ice?”
She was enjoying this and I knew I had no choice so I padded over to the ice
box, made the drink and handed it to her, my cock now fully hard. Rachel
sipped her drink and looked at my hard cock, now inches from her face. “I
think you should do it there,” she said, pointing at the kitchen floor in
front of her and I walked to the spot.
“Kneel,” she said and I slowly got top my knees. Do you need any hand cream?
Lotion?” she asked sweetly and I shook my head. “I don’t think you need your
magazines,” she giggled. “You’re hard now. Still, you do like to look at
something while you pull your cock, don’t you?”
Blushing, I nodded slightly. “I know, ” she said, “you can look at my legs.
Would you like to look at my legs while you jerk off?”
My throat was dry and I nodded again while she grinned at me. “Ask,” she
said softly.
“Can I look at your legs?” I croaked.
“And?” she prompted.
“Can I look at your legs while I jerk off?” I asked softly, blushing madly
and thoroughly humiliated.
“I thought you southern boys were polite,” Rachel taunted.
“Please can I look at your legs and jerk off?”
Slowly, she raised the hem of her cotton dress to her thighs and I stared at
those lovely long bare legs.
“Go on,” she whispered and I slid my hand around my cock and slowly started
pumping, my eyes fixated on her legs. I started getting close in a hurry and
watched as she uncrossed her legs and crossed them again.
Humiliation at the mental image of this scene swept over me. Here I was
naked, on my knees in this woman’s kitchen, jerking myself off while she
showed me her legs. It was humiliating beyond comparison.
It was too much and, with Rachel giggling, I groaned and spurted over the
kitchen floor. Body heaving, sweat running down my chest, I slumped on the
floor and waited.
Rachel broke the long silence. “Well, that certainly was quick,” she
commented, pulling her dress down. “Are you that quick with Mary-Anne? She
must be disappointed.” I wanted to protest at the veiled insult but felt so
embarrassed that all I wanted do was get the hell out of there.
“Well, get dressed. But wipe that up first,” she said pointing at my cum on
the kitchen floor.
Hurriedly, I used my under-shorts to wipe up the mess, got dressed and stood
there uncertainly, my soiled under-shorts in my hand.
“Uh, I’ll go then,” I said embarrassed.
“Sure,” she said calmly, flicking through a newspaper that was on the table.
“What about the, you know, the magazines?” I hesitantly asked.
Rachel, looked up at me and smiled. “I said I wouldn’t tell Mary-Anne yet. I
didn’t say I would give you the magazines back. Goodbye, Dwight,” she said
sweetly. “Thanks for visiting.”
Face red, I opened the screen door and slowly walked home to wash my
under-shorts.