My day was far too hectic to bother with pesky trifles such as panties or a bra. Of course, the sweltering heat necessitated light and airy clothing. A light, cotton, sleeveless top and a wispy, summery, knee-length skirt were my clothes of choice. Singing along to the radio, I sped to a nearby town, avoiding the city. There was a store there that catered to party supplies. I needed to decorate the yard, and it was imperative that I had all the proper props in place.

I required brightly-colored paper lanterns, some of those tiki torches, an outdoor floral arrangement that reflected the quiet solitude and artistry of our landscaping, a tablecloth, and one of those galvanized wash tubs to hold the drinks and ice was an absolute must. That meant stopping at the party outlet, a trip to the hardware store, and then a trip to the liquor store. I was in a slight hurry since the landscapers were due around noon. I’d rather be caught dead, wearing pants, than shame my husband by not having our backyard barbecue be the envy of the neighborhood.

I lucked out, discovering some ignored, battery-operated strings of lanterns at the first store. I also discovered that my skirt was short enough to flash those who were attentive enough to look. By spreading my legs just a bit and deeply bending, about half of my behind was exposed to the world.

That discovery really cut into my schedule as I discovered the joys of casual flashing. Unlike my last foray to the mall, where the first time was purely accidental, and the ensuing flashes were because my husband was getting all hot and bothered by it, I just casually exhibited myself. Casually flashing means that you realize that you’re showing your dripping pussy when you bend or squat, but you don’t care.

At the party outlet, I did just that. I was squatting in the aisle to look at a floor display when a handsome man turned into the aisle, facing me. I could have stopped bending at my knees and spreading my thighs, but that would have resulted in me clumsily trying to maintain my balance. I knew that he’d be able to see straight up my skirt and catch a glimpse of the promised land, but I didn’t care. He was most appreciative.

While I ignored his heat-vision-equipped eyes boring into my saturated cunt, the thrilling chill that ran through my body nearly made me lose my balance, anyway. Externally, I paid him no heed, as if I were oblivious that my wet snatch was being ogled. Inside, my entire body erupted in volcanic heat. It turned me on so much that I compounded my casual exhibitionism at the liquor store.

Rather than flash my ass or pussy again, I took full advantage of the fact that I was braless and wearing a light, thin top. As soon as I opened the cooler door and felt that blast of chilling, arctic air, my nipples swelled and hardened, sticking out, prominently. They grew so taut and firm that my areolas puffed up. Suddenly, all three of the store clerks were very attentive and gave me excellent customer service.

“Let me grab that for you, ma’am.”

“Would you like me to carry all of this out to your car for you?”

Because I got into the naughty groove of flashing my charms, I was running almost forty-five minutes behind schedule. I drove home like I was vying for the pole position at Le Mans, weaving in and out of traffic as if I’d just invented car slalom. I arrived in the nick of time and had just enough time to hurriedly run into the house, then back to my car, multiple times, and worked up a sweat that plastered my clothes to my skin in my mad rush to get all the food and sundries inside. On the final trip to my car, the landscapers arrived.

They drove up in a double-cab pickup truck, the bed filled with tools and mulch. Three young men, college-age by the looks of them, piled out of the truck, joking and laughing among themselves. Normally, I don’t take note of how attractive or desirable other men are, but my libido had skyrocketed over the past few weeks and was flying in the stratosphere from my recent, casual flashing. Each of them was sexy and arousing in their own way.

One was lean, with wiry muscles and dark skin that hinted at a Hispanic descent, and the veins in his arms could readily be seen. Oddly, he had mossy-green eyes that were easy to stare into. He had an aura of quiet, masculine strength about him that further moistened my already-slick pussy. When he caught my gaze and smiled, my cunt tingled with needy delight.

The second one looked like a stereotypical, beefcake surfer boy. His unruly, blond hair and sun-kissed skin gave his entire, muscular body a look of youthful vitality that contrasted the sweetness of his boyish, innocent face. The third man had dark brown hair, intentionally scraggly, and tribal tattoos covered his arms. He had a look of sexual danger about him that was magnetically attractive on a primal level.

All three of them wore white t-shirts depicting the logo of the company, Top Cuts, and they’d ripped the sleeves off. Beige cargo shorts covered their lower portions. A proper wife doesn’t stare and drool; that’s not polite. I was quite rude.

It was then that I realized two things. Firstly, I was not only inappropriately attired to receive three young, handsome men into my home, especially since my perspiring state had caused my thin top to edge toward translucency. Second, it seems that strong, sexy men have a thing for housewives’ nipples. It was too late to cover my chest in a vain attempt at modesty, so I ignored the outlines of hard nubs showing through my shirt, as well as their pussy-wetting, lusty stares.

“Miss,” He-Man-looking surfer dude said. “I’m Andy from Top Cuts. We’re here for your rush job.”

“Missus,” I corrected with a pleasant smile. "Yes. We’re entertaining guests out back, tonight, and the yard is a complete disaster. Follow me, and I’ll show you what I need.”

I set off toward the backyard, opening the gate. I showed them the area. As I turned, I thought I saw the inked-up one checking out my ass. I blushed a little, the hot, tingling sensation in my nether regions spreading throughout my entire body.

“If this is a disaster, I’d like to see this when you think it’s perfect. Who does your regular work?”

“Bobby across the street mows for me, but I did all the flower beds and such. But, it’s all wrong. I can’t entertain with it like this!” I pointed at the landscaping beside the garage. “The flower beds need two inches of mulch, not one-and-a-half. The stepping stones leading to the hot tub need to be edged, and there are at least half a dozen weed sprouts between the gladiolas.”

“That won’t take long,” the Hispanic one said. “Anything else that needs to be done?”

Having monitored more than a few of Allison’s shows as well as those of other cam girls—strictly for marketing research purposes—my first thought was to say, “Yes, me. I need you to do me right now.” However, I kept my mouth shut, but my mind had already begun spinning into fantasy land. I pulled out the to-do list and handed it to Andy, hoping that my lecherous glance at his impressive bulge wasn’t obvious.

“The sundial is fourteen inches too far to the west? Ma’am, I bow to your attention to detail.” He waved his coworkers over. “Look at this! The patio table must face directly east-to-west, longways, so the guests don’t have the setting sun in their eyes.”

“Call me Mary Anne. You boys get started, and I’ll make you some refreshments. Do you prefer hand-squeezed lemonade or sun-steeped iced tea? Sandwiches?”

Speechless, they looked at me, their mouths agape. “Both, then,” I smiled, turning on my heel and deliberately exaggerating the sway of my hips with each step. I could feel the thin material of my skirt swishing back and forth as I walked. Satisfyingly, the burning sensation of half a dozen eyes focused on my ass blazed hotter than the midday heat.

The kitchen window overlooked the backyard, so I had an excellent vantage point while I did my hostess duties and made sure the workers had refreshments. Not only is treating others well and respectfully a lost but still necessary practice in society, but it also tends to make those working on your behalf much more eager to not only do a good job but to go above and beyond.

Two pitchers, one filled with brown sweetness and the other a glistening sun-like yellow, and plenty of plastic tumbler cups populated my every day serving tray. I expertly balanced it against my chest, feeling the coldness of the beverages pressing against my breasts, and carried it all outside. I knew it would repeat my actions in the liquor store. This time, it was not casual; it was intentional.

“You all look so hot,” I blurted out, maybe putting too much stress on the last word. “Have some cool drinks, so you don’t get dehydrated.” I gently set the tray on the patio table, a long, ornate one of delicately curled metal with a glass top. Of course, the condensation from the cold pitchers saturated my top even further, taking it past translucent and into transparency.

Smiling coyly, I basked in their horny attention, thinking that Ginger would love to see their reactions. “I’ll go make some sandwiches for you nice, young men.” As I strutted away, I could hear their hushed banter. That hot, tingling sensation coursing through my body and centered on my clit grew into a full-body massage of sexy vibrations. Every inch of my flesh was humming like a horny tuning fork.

I began preparing some cold-cut sandwiches, stacking fresh meats into triple-decker "Dagwoods," then quartering them, holding the towering portions together with large toothpicks with little, plastic flags on the ends. I took my time, watching the landscapers go about their business. They bent, flexed, stretched, and toiled away so enticingly that my torrid mind envisioned me going out there, totally naked, and ordering all of them to plug my aching holes with their hard cocks.

The opened jars of condiments sat forgotten as I watched the trio of studs clean up and manicure my backyard. Blondie’s impressive biceps bulged as he moved the sundial, his spankable ass sticking up as he knelt on all fours, measuring the distance. My dreamy-eyed conquistador set about laying the required mulch as my pussy-drenching bad-boy carted it in. While I watched them, my hand traveled under my skirt, parting the wet, velvety folds of my tingling cunt.

Just then, as if he were psychic, my phone rang out. The Imperial March ringtone alerted me that it was Mike, my husband. I knew why; he’d seen how much money I had spent. I was ready to distract.

“Hiya, stud. Are you hard for me? I’m so horny that I have my fingers buried in my pussy, and I’m dripping wet.”

A good wife knows how to not only make her husband feel like Superman but also how to simultaneously stave off his complaining about all the money she's spent. Every time I used his charge card, he received an instant notification.

“Really?” my husband guffawed. “And what’s got you so riled up?”

“You know how much I love you and how horny I’ve been lately.” I didn’t lie; both statements were true. “Right now, I’m fingering myself in the kitchen, thinking about a hard cock pounding into me, fucking me as I lay on my back on the patio table.” The veracity of this statement could not be doubted. I simply neglected to tell him that his cock doing the pummeling just happened to be fourth on my list at that moment.

“I saw the charges,” Mike finally said after much hemming and hawing. “Three stores?”

“I’m so sorry. I got carried away. You see, it was too hot to wear panties, and some poor guy saw my nude pussy when I squatted down while shopping.”

His moan of arousal was delicious, and it made him forget all about complaining over the money I’d spent.

“I know how horny it makes you, so I did it some more. Your wife is a slut; I need to be punished with your hard, stiff cock later. I hope you can get as hard as my nipples are, right now.”

“Okay,” he succumbed to my wifely charms. “Just try to keep the spending down.”

“I will if you promise me that you’ll ravage me after Ben and Ginger leave. I’m so bad! Right now, I’m playing with my clit. I’m going to cum.” I began masturbating furiously, so I wasn’t untruthful.

“You’re the best wife ever, Mary Anne. See you around seven. Love you.”

“I… fucking… love you. Oooh, aaah, I’m going to cum. Bye, dear.”

I stopped myself just one or two seconds away from a mind-blowing orgasm. It was time to finish the sandwiches. I resisted the urge to not wash my hands, so the landscapers would have my sexual nectar on their sandwiches. Clean hands make clean food.

Regaining my composure, my overheated twat still clenching in need, I loaded another tray with the perfectly-presented sandwiches, and carried them out just as the boys were stopping for a moment, stretching their lust-inducing torsos.

“Who’s hungry?” Three heads turned toward me, lit up with lascivious smiles, then spied the food nestled just below my jutting nipples.

“If you treat all the help like this, I’ll come by and mow for free,” my tatted-up bad-boy commented.

“Ma’am, I mean Mary Anne,” Andy said. “We have about another hour’s worth of work left. If we eat this amazing-looking food, we’ll run into extra costs, so we’ll have to pass.” His two companions groaned and lamented.

“That simply won’t do,” I retorted. “Strong, handsome, young men like yourselves need your energy, so dig in, and let me know if you want more. Just charge me for the extra time; it’s my husband’s card, anyway!”

“Are you sure?”

“I made the food; now be good boys, and eat up, please.”

Watching the way those three attacked the snacks I’d prepared made me wish I were a tray filled with sandwiches. Their mouths devoured my food; their eyes devoured me, and I loved every second of it. My mind waged war with itself. Part of me wanted to break out the stepladder, so I could hang the lanterns, giving them a cheap thrill. Another part of me advised against such torridly slutty behavior.

Instead, I asked, “Since you men will be here longer, would you mind hanging the party lanterns for me?”

Of course, they would. After they destroyed the platter of sandwiches, they got back to work. In two hours, my yard was transformed from decent to impressive. Not only did I pay for the extra hour, but I also added a decent tip for them because they worked very hard, paying as much attention to detail as I would have.

I knew how hard they’d toiled, because I watched them from the kitchen window, my fingers busy servicing the aching need between my legs. Andy, the surfer boy, with his well-defined muscles and polite but appreciative stares, caused my first, thunderous orgasm. With two fingers up my cunt and another in my asshole, a self-shocker, my tattooed bad boy gave me a second cum as he slicked the sweat off his body with his hands. Then, right as my third passionate release was building, it was time for them to leave.

As soon as the trio left, I ran out into the backyard, lay on the table, and fingered myself to another orgasm as I fantasized about all three of them using my willing body as their personal fuck toy. I came so hard that I almost flailed myself off the table. I was tempted to keep going, but I needed at least some energy for the rest of the night, and I needed to prepare the food for grilling.

Since I’d ruined my clothes, from sweating and rolling about on the patio table, I changed into a nice, alluring, but demure summer dress. Sans underwear, I occupied the remaining time until our guests arrived by making absolutely certain that everything was precisely in place. When I finished setting up, I had about forty minutes left. That allowed me to munch down an edible, chill the wine, and pick music to pipe out to the patio.

Just moments after I finished getting my makeup exactly perfect, my doorbell chimed. As I rushed out to meet my friends, I yelled out, “The door’s open.” As usual, the physical attractiveness of them both stunned me.

Allison had recolored her hair once more. It was the same hue, but so shiny and vibrant that it shimmered. Her smooth, tanned skin was accentuated by her choice of clothing, or lack thereof. A scanty, white bikini top was all that covered her torso. On anyone else, it would have looked somewhat modest but sexy. However, with her surgically-enhanced boobs, it was slightly scandalous. The way the glowing white of her top set off her skin tone and the long locks of her wavy, red hair was eye-catching and pussy-wetting. Matching white cutoffs, little fringes tickling the top of her thighs, finished her ensemble. They were cut short and tight enough that they bordered on short shorts. She looked so enticing that I stood there like a moron for a few seconds.

Ben still had the rebel leader of the rebellion vibe to him, as he always did, and I tried not to stare at his muscular legs and the impressive bulge in his shorts. His well-defined chest was wrapped in a tight T-shirt, and those curly strands of his long hair were brushing his shoulders.

“Mike is on his way,” I mentioned to disguise my dumbfounded staring. “Follow me out back.”

“Wow,” Ben mused as he followed me through the house. “Your home is always so spotless. Ginger can’t clean for shit.”

She laughed. “That’s not why you married me.”

“Oh, quit,” I interrupted. “My house is a pig sty. I haven’t dusted in days, and the sinks need sanitizing.”

When they saw the backyard, and even I had to admit that the landscapers did a fantastic job, they paused and looked it over with their mouths agape. The washtub was filled to the brim with fresh ice, and beverages poked out of the top like Christmas trees in the snow. The tablecloth was perfectly positioned, and everything was artfully laid out.

“Take a seat.” I gestured at the table, “I’ll get you some drinks and appetizers. Once my husband gets in, the men can handle the meat, and we women will sit here and make fun of you.”

The minutes ticked by, with me showing off the various features of the yard. Over the past few weeks, we’d grown to be good friends. No matter what we did, Ben had kept his hands to himself since that first night. Of course, flirtatious glances, accidentally rubbing up against one another, or other, more covert, forms of inappropriate contact was fair game. Allison and I had discussed this every so often, and she assured me that she didn’t care.

According to her, they used it to keep the spark in their marriage. Being as how Mike, my husband, got uncontrollably horny when I did or pretended to have done something naughty, this made a certain amount of twisted sense. Ben and Ginger were quite hands-on with each other. I didn’t mind. I found it to be both erotic and beautiful.

“Honey, I’m home,” I heard from the bowels of the house.

Springing up to go greet my husband, I promised that we’d be right back. As soon as I entered Mike’s field of view, I raised my dress as high as I could, exposing my bare pussy and lack of bra.

“Hello, tiger,” I purred. “I hope you’re hungry and horny. Wash up and hurry outside; our guests are waiting.”

Not waiting for him to respond, I ran over to him, one hand encircling his neck, drawing him in for a kiss. My other hand grabbed his hand and thrust it under my dress, forcing his fingers onto my dripping cunt. Mike got the idea and fingered me with lusty zeal as our lips met in an impassioned kiss. As he ran his hand over my saturated vaginal lips and played with my clit, my hand grabbed at his groin, caressing his cock to hardness, stroking it as I moaned into his mouth.

“Now go and get into something casual,” I ordered as I spun him around and sent him on his way with a playful slap on his behind.

Emulating one of Ginger’s tricks, my fingers played in my sexual wetness for a moment, and, then, I took my dripping fingers and applied some of my nectar at the nape of my neck and to my cleavage. The scent of my arousal would be the perfume that would get me some hard, throbbing cock later.

I walked back outside to see my friends locked in their own kiss. “Who wants more drinks?”

To be continued…