Blue Summerhouse

And that takes us to lunch.

Instead of my normal sandwiches I'd picked up some Pot Noodles from the corner shop and, of course, they need some boiling water to bring them to life. I could have just gone into the kitchen and helped myself but that didn't seem right so I go and find her in the gym. As she's still facing the window she doesn't see me enter and, for a while, I just stand there watching. It's even better, now I'm up close. She must be as fit as a fiddle, she's been giving that rowing machine some welly for quite a while and, although she's hot and sweaty, she doesn't look like she's that puffed out. I coughed discreetly but she's got her iPod going and doesn't hear so I walk up beside her. Suddenly she sees me, stops rowing and pulls out her earbuds. I can hear the scratchy sound of the music from where I stand.

"Can I use your kettle, darlin'?" I ask.

"Pot Noodles! Please, Rhonda, I can do better than that. Let me see what's in the fridge and I'll cook you something proper to eat."

"Nah, don't bother, Pot Noodles is fine by me."

"Please, Rhonda, I want to, please." She's sounding almost desperate. She looks up from the rowing machine with those big puppy dog eyes and I just melt.

"Well, if you put it like that," I laugh, "who am I to deprive you?"

"Look, give me five minutes to get ready and I'll make something nice for you."

That's fine by me so, as she gets up from the rowing machine, I head for the kitchen to wait.

No, don't go, please, stay and talk," she calls out. OK, I can do that.

"I'll just...." She points at the shower area in the corner of the gym so I plonk myself down on the multi gym while she nips behind the curly wall that keeps the showers private. And that's all there is, just this curly wall. I can hear her turn the taps on, hear the water running, I can hear her getting under. It doesn't take too much imagination to see right through that old wall where.... I'm getting quite hot just remembering.

And then the water turns off, there are a couple of seconds while she towels herself down and then out she pops. Wowser! She's fresh and clean and cute as a pixie and all she has on is this towel that she's wrapped around herself and knotted at the front. The towel is just, and I mean only just, long enough to cover the naughty bits. My eyes are popping out of my head.

"There, that's better," she says. "Let's see what I can find in the fridge." And she sashays off towards the kitchen. I follow on with my tongue hanging out.

When we get there she takes the Pot Noodles from me and puts them on the work surface. Then she's rummaging about in the cupboards and in the fridge. Does she know that every time she does so the towel is riding up at the back, you can bet your bottom dollar she does but, fucked if I care. I'm too busy enjoying the view. In the end she turns back towards me and in one hand she's got a pork pie and in the other she's got some of those tomatoes that come with half the plant attached.

"Is this OK?" she asks.

God, yes, absolutely fucking perfect. And the food's not bad either. Still, I'm not going to give in that easily.

"Yeah, that's perfect, darlin'", I say. "Look, you'd best bring it out to the garden; you don't want me traipsing mud all over your nice clean kitchen."

"No! No, please, stay and eat with me. Please, I want you to eat with me."

I look her in the eye and I see that twinkle. She's been flirting like crazy and I've been ignoring her. Now she's pleading with me. OK, darlin', I give in but if you want to play with Rhonda then you play by Rhonda's rules.

"Stay and eat with you, is that all you want? Let's see, shall we?" I tell her as I stride forward and, before she has time to react, I've tugged at the knot in her towel, it's come undone and the whole caboodle falls to the floor, puddling around her ankles.

"Rhonda!" she calls out.

"Shut it! You've been flashing your fanny at me all morning; that's what you wanted, now that's what you've got. Now, why don't you try offering me lunch again?" I stand back and give her a long hard look. Wow, just wow!

She's shaking like a leaf but she doesn't run away and, what's more, she doesn't try to cover herself up either. She just stands there, pork pie in one hand, tomatoes in the other.

"Please, Rhonda, would you like some pork pie and sliced tomato?" she asks in her little girl voice.

"Thanks, darlin', that'll do nicely,"

I go over to the kitchen table and watch as, still without a stitch on, she finds a plate, cuts up the pie and the tomatoes, finds some Branston and lays it all out, nice as you please. Then she cuts a couple of slices of that fancy bread and butters it up a treat before bringing the whole lot over and setting it out on the table in front of me. I might have been drooling a bit and, believe me, much as I like a pork pie, it wasn't the food that was making me drool.

She's bends down to pick up the towel but I'm not ready for that yet. I'm enjoying this far too much. I tell her to leave it be and go and fetch me a beer from the fridge. She's still a little uncertain but she's still not running away. There's one easy way to be sure, one way to find out if what I think is true. Once she's poured out my beer I tell her to come and stand beside me and I turn my chair side on to the table so I'm now sat facing her.

While, with my left hand, I'm eating the pork pie, I reach out with my right and stroke the neat little landing strip she's shaved down to. She squeaks a bit and jumps back but I put that down to surprise and, when I tell her to get back in position, she does so with out a word.

This time I'm not stroking the landing strip, I'm right inside the airport, and it's no surprise that she's ready, willing and able. She even shifts forward a bit and moves her legs apart to make it easier.

"You like that, do you?" I ask her. She just blushes so sweetly. "Well, do you? Do you like me playing with your cunt?"

"I... I..." she stammers. "Oh my god!" she gasps as I shove my fingers further in.

"I'll take that as a 'yes' then. Come closer." I hook my fingers inside her and pull. She shuffles closer. "Randy little cow, aren't you? Gagging for it. What's up, doesn't that hubby of yours give you the attention you need, or maybe it's me that gets you going."

I don't know why I had to mention her husband. I guess I wanted to make sure of what this was all about. Was she loving me or hating him? Makes a difference.

"Please, Rhonda..." she says after a while.

"Please what?" I ask as my fingers do the talking. "Please stop or please make me come?"

"I don't know." She's nearly in tears by now. "I really don't know."

And, to tell the truth, I didn't know either. What the fuck am I doing here? She's a married woman, for fuck's sake. Much as it's fun giving her a diddle while I'm eating my lunch it's not the right thing to do. I shouldn't have started in the first place but, seeing as how I have, now it's time for a smart exit.

"Well if you don't know then you'd better leave it up to me," I say firmly. I pull my fingers out of her and hold them up. "Lick," I order and, blow me if that's what she does. In fact, in the end, it's me who pulls my fingers back, not her that stops licking.

"Well, I can't be sitting around all day, those foundations won't dig themselves. Thanks for lunch, darlin'." And, with that, I push back her chair, stand up and head for the back door.

"But... but..."

I look at her and nearly melt. I'm being a right bitch towards her and I know it. But the more I say 'no' the more she seems to want it; the more I'm the big bad Rhonda the more she seems to like it. It would be so easy just to.... No, I've got to stop now or we're both in trouble, big, big, trouble. I've got to be firm, I've got to put an end to it, for both our sakes. "But what?" I all but snarl. "Have I left you all hot and bothered Well, tough tittie. You've been blowing hot and cold with me since I got here and now you know what it's like to be on the receiving end. See ya."

Her face drops and I hate myself for hurting her but you know what they say, cruel to be kind and all that.

The rest of the day she keeps out of my way. Me, I set to with the pickaxe. There was this tough root that had been bothering me all morning but I hack the fuckin' shit out of it and have the foundations dug in no time. Not that that it makes me feel any the better.

The next day is another scorcher. She's up a bit earlier and she brings me out my tea but I'm playing it cool. Yesterday, it never happened, got me? I think she does. She's very pleasant and all but there's a distance there as well.

After a while she comes out wearing one of those tennis dresses, you know the sort, the type that shows off her knickers every time she jumps for a ball. They've got their own tennis court at the back of the garden and she goes over to the shed next to it and gets out one of those machines that shoot tennis balls. Tennis for one, how sad is that. Still, I've got a job to do and it's not my place to interfere. I try to ignore her, I really try, but I can hear the sound of the machine, the sound of the balls against her racket and, every time I look up, there she is, as lonely as fuck bashing balls around for lack of anything else to do.

And that's when I discover that I'm short one forty mill 'U' bend and I can't get any further until I get one. Not that that's it's a problem. Five minutes into town on the bike and five minutes back again and Bob's your uncle. I grab my jacket and, as I'm putting it on, there she is, still on her own, still bashing tennis balls, still lonely, and it's just so sad that I'm thinking 'why not?' If nothing else it gets her out of the house.

"Watcha, darlin'. Fuck tennis, I've got to nip into town for a forty mill 'U' bend. Fancy a spin on the bike?" I call out.

She looks up and, for the first time since she's come out of the house, she smiles. Now I'm smitten again. Oh well, you do what you do.

"Bike, motorbike, vintage Norton Commando currently leaking oil all over your nice gravel drive?" I prompt.

She drops her racket and runs over.

"Wow! Can I come, really?"

It's just a run to Wickes but, for her, it's like the best thing ever. Now I can't say 'no' even if I wanted to.

We go round to the front where the bike is parked. I always carry two helmets, one for me and one for just in case, so I unclip them both and hand her the spare. I'm astride the bike with my helmet on and the engine running when she taps me on the shoulder and motions that she's going to change her dress. No way, darlin', no way. That's not part of the deal. I just shake my head and motion her towards the back of the bike. She gives me a look but doesn't complain and, prettier than I would have expected, she gets up behind me, shuffles up against my back and puts her arms around my waist.

Now there are two types of pillion passenger, those who make riding harder and those who make it easier. I take it a bit gentle for the first few bends while I find out which one she is but it turns out she's a natural, she goes with the bike and makes it easy as pie. I push it a bit harder but, apart from hanging on a bit tighter, she's loving it. Then, when we get out on the main road, I wind the throttle open, the bike does its thing, we move up through the gears and, in no time, we're doing the ton and more. What could be better, the feel of classic British iron pulling through the bends while a pretty girl hangs on behind. Oh yes!

Even going the long way round we were pulling in to Wickes car park far too soon. We get off, take off our helmets, and I see her grin. It lights up the world, really. Look, I know that's all that romantic bollocks but you have to remember, I'd never really seen her smile before then. Not really smile, not like that. She'd always been this quiet little housewife and now she's got this wicked grin that goes from ear to ear. We park the helmets and go on in to Wickes.

It doesn't take long to find a forty mill 'U' bend but they're right down the back and, at that time of day, it's as quiet as the grave. Tracy is still all bubbly from the bike ride and that's when my wicked streak kicks back in.

"Lose the panties," I order her.

"What?"

"I said lose the panties. If you're wearing panties you're not getting back on the bike, simple as that. So, if I were you I'd go to the bogs, take your knicks off and, when you get back, give them to me."

I was half expecting some sort of protest but she gives a brief look up and down the aisle before looking me straight in the eye and that wicked grin is, if anything, wider than ever. Sweet as a nut she reaches up under her dress and pulls down her panties and steps out of them.

"Are these what you wanted," she says, waving them in my face like a flag. "Come and get them."

She skips off down he aisle, waving them over her shoulder. I race after her and grab them from her, slipping them into the pocket of my leathers. I think I still have them somewhere. Sort of trophy, know what I mean.

We make our way to the checkouts, pay for the 'U' bend and, on the way, she's flouncing around, making the skirt of the tennis dress swing from side to side. I hand over the readies and then we're off into the car park to get back on the bike.

As Tracy is putting on her helmet she's still grinning like crazy. She really is up for this, I can tell. She was a little bit uncertain when I told her she wasn't to sit on her dress but that didn't stop her.

Now I reckon that, if she's that into it, it's only fair that I give her a bit of a ride. We start out and, instead of turning left towards her house, I turn right for the centre of town. The traffic is pretty heavy so we're just pottering along the High Street and one or two people have noticed. There's an old biddie with a face like she's sucking a lemon and a couple of guys who point and give her a wolf whistle. Normally I'd object but that's what she wanted, isn't it. As we go past the shops I can see our reflection in the plate glass windows. Her dress has blown up around her waist and she's showing leg all the way up to her armpit.

And then some copper spots us. He's parked up in a side street and, as we go by he starts to pull out. Bloody coppers never leave us bikers alone and I can just imagine the fuss if he pulls us over. The last thing I want to do is land Tracy in trouble and I can just imagine Jack's reaction if he got wind of this, so this really is not a good time to get stopped. But I'm on a bike, he's not. A quick flick of the wrist, and we're off. God, there's nothing like it. We scream through the gears and by the time we hit the bypass we're doing ninety. I vaguely hear his blues and twos but he can't weave through the traffic the way I can. We're piling towards the roundabout at the end of the bypass. Now I know this roundabout well and it's just the thing to test the grip on the tyres I'd just bought. Left, right and then left again, we barely dropped below seventy. I'll swear the footpegs touched as we went round. I hear Tracy's scream from behind me but it's a scream of joy, not of fear. She's loving this every bit as much as I am.

And what's not to love. With the cops after us it's best if we keep off the main roads so I jink into the lanes and we take the long way home. It's bloody perfect. You know how it gets you, beautiful day, beautiful bike and, best of all, a beautiful girl on the back. What could be better than that? I just wished it could last forever but, of course, it couldn't, and, in the end, it's time to get back to her place. We pull back into their drive, there's the scrunch of gravel as I brake, I push down the kick stand and kill the engine. She doesn't move, just sits there, hugging me tightly. In the end I had to reach down and unclasp her hands from around my waist or she'll have had us there all day.

We get off the bike and take off our helmets. She's still got that big wide smile all over her face and, as she shakes out her hair, I glance down at the seat of the bike, and you don't have to be CSI to see just how much she enjoyed the ride.

"Looks like someone had a good time," I say, pointing to a damp patch on the leather. "Go on then, clean it up."

She just keeps on grinning. She knows that I know just how turned on she was and she doesn't give a damn. "I'll go and get a cloth then," she says and she turns towards the house.

"With your tongue, darlin', with your tongue," I call after her. Look, I know, but I wasn't thinking with my head, right then. She wasn't the only one right on the edge.

She turns back and, I just nod towards the bike. Our eyes lock and, almost as if in one of them dreams, she goes round to the far side of the bike and kneels down facing it.

"Like this?" she says and she sticks out her tongue and licks, right across the damp patch. Jesus! She licks again and it's as if it's me she's licking, not the seat. She's the hottest, horniest thing I've ever seen and I'm all ready to pounce when I remember she's married. Back off, Rhonda, back off or it will all end in tears. Toughest thing I've ever done.

"Careful, darlin'. Mind the exhaust pipe, you'll burn yourself. Anyway, that's enough for now. I need to be getting on," I say as I turn away from her and head towards the garden.

"Please, Rhonda, please," she calls out as she chases after me. I should have kept on walking but I couldn't. I had to turn around and face her.

"Please, Rhonda, don't leave me like this. I need... I need..." and bugger me if she doesn't reach down, pull up the hem of her dress and start rubbing herself.

"If you want to diddle yourself that's fine by me; I've got better things to do, build a summerhouse for starters," I try being tough, I try to be strong, I try to push her away.

"Please...." And she looks so cute and so hurt. I'm the big bad bully and I guess she's got a point. I'm the one who wound her up and now I'm the one who's walkin'. How can I get out of this? How can I do the right thing and not hurt her even more? And then it comes to me.

"Tell you what, darlin', seeing as you ask so nicely, I'll let you diddle yourself whilst I watch. Now, come along." In my head it seemed like, if I didn't actually touch her, then, well, it wasn't cheating. OK, OK, so that's a load of cods but, trust me, I wasn't thinking straight at the time.

"Come on," I repeat and I lead her round to the back garden. Now I want it to be a bit special for Tracy, I owe her that much so I'm looking all around for ideas. Then I spot just the thing. It's a bit down and dirty but I just know she'll love it. Next to the half built summerhouse I'd set up a standpipe for mixing cement and, inevitably, it had leaked. That and the way the wheelbarrow had churned up the ground leaving a muddy mess, that's what gave me the idea.

"There, just there." I point at the ground. "Hang on, I'll get it ready for you." I reach for the hose, turn it on and soak the patch until it was covered in puddles. "That's better, now take off your dress and kneel down in the middle."

She's a shade uncertain but she's not stopping now. She gives me a little grin, pulls the dress up over her head, folds it over the pile of bricks and kneels down, right in the middle of it all.

"Lose the bra and move your knees apart," I tell her. "Good girl. Now scoop up some mud, rub it into yourself."

If she was hot when she was licking the bike seat then that had nothing on this. She's scooping great dollops of mud out of the puddles and smearing it across her tits. She digs in with both hands and then, smears it up over her rib cage and up under her tits so that she ends up offering them to me.

I tried to pretend that I wasn't looking, tried to pretend I was fitting the 'U' bend we had just picked up from Wickes but I wasn't doing a very good job of it. Talk about down and dirty, she's all but covered and making no secret of the fact that she's getting right off on it.