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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 istanbul travesti 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; istanbul travestileri 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 travesti istanbul 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.”

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