My Wife and the Thrill of Exposing Herself to the Workers

I’m going to tell how Lorena and I like to play with other people’s gaze, and how that game makes us accomplices instead of driving us apart. The spark doesn’t stay alive on its own; you have to feed it, and sometimes it helps if someone else fans it without touching it.

The house needed repairs. Paint in the living room and dining room, an expansion of the bedroom closets, and new tile in the bathrooms. We took advantage of the summer vacation so the kids would stay with their grandparents — we all live close by — and I asked for two weeks off at work. The renovation was set to start on Monday.

Sunday night we arrived home without the children. We celebrated in bed, slowly, as if we were twenty again. Neither of us imagined what would come after.

On Monday we woke up early. While we were drinking coffee, I got the idea to say something I’d been thinking about for a while.

—Feel like teasing them a little while they’re here?

Lorena laughed and almost ran to the bedroom to find something to wear. She came out in very short black shorts, with lace along the seams, and a little sleeveless blouse with a matching neckline. Underneath, a pair of leopard-print briefs and a bra from the same set. She put her hair in a ponytail, dabbed on some perfume, and turned around in front of me.

—Like this?

—Like that, I’d eat you up first —I told her, grabbing her ass as we went back to the kitchen.

The doorbell rang. Lorena went to open it. There were three of them: the foreman, a man in his forties, and two young guys, no more than twenty-two each. All three lit up when she greeted them. The foreman took half a second too long to say hello. That half second was all we needed to know the plan was going to work.

They started with the living room and dining room. With the furniture piled up, there was less room to walk and everyone had to brush against everyone else as they passed. Lorena gave instructions back and forth, deliberately crossed behind them, bent over without bending her knees to pick anything up off the floor. Every time she did, her neckline opened and her shorts rode up. The guys never missed a chance to look, even if they pretended not to. I was looking too, and I could feel myself getting hard inside my pants as well. Three hidden erections in one room. Lorena knew it, and that turned her on even more.

When the workday ended and they closed the door behind them, we didn’t even make it to the bedroom. I shoved her against the hallway wall, pulled down her shorts, and let her take care of the rest.

***

On Tuesday she chose a black Lycra workout set, with sheer panels on the legs and a top that clung to her body. Underneath, a three-string thong, almost more a symbol than a garment. The Lycra outlined everything when she bent over. This time she decided to pass in front, not just from behind. If the space was narrow, she took advantage of it to brush against them: first her breasts against the back of whoever was in front, then her ass against the crotch of whoever came up behind.

The foreman was the cleverest. When no one was looking, he pressed himself a little more against her, held on a little longer than he should have. Lorena told me about it at the first break. To give her room, I took the two young guys to the back patio, under the excuse of organizing the garden tools. We took long enough.

When I came back, I found Lorena in the kitchen pouring water, with that half smile she gets when something has just raised her pulse. I waited for them to leave before asking.

—He almost tripped right onto me —she said—. I grabbed him to steady him and he took advantage. He kissed one of my breasts over the blouse.

—And you?

—I told him to stay still, that it had just been an accident. And I went to the bathroom.

—To do what?

—To get the heat out of me on my own, what do you think?

That night, before I even made it to bed, she had already given me a blow job standing up in the hallway. After that, I fucked her from behind against the edge of the mattress, without taking off her thong, just pushing it aside. It took nothing to get in. The saliva and the whole day of holding back did the rest.

***

The next few days the voltage dropped. Lorena kept her distance, the foreman looked embarrassed about the incident, and the young guys kept looking, but without Monday’s hunger. We spent the weekend with family, both sides, behaving like a normal couple. No one would have suspected what was happening during the week.

The following Monday it was our bedroom closet’s turn. Lorena’s clothes filled almost the entire wardrobe; everything had to be taken out and temporarily moved to the boys’ room. The workers carried dresses hanging from their arms, folded pants, blouses held in both hands. And then came the moment she and I had sensed: the drawers.

They moved my boxer briefs and T-shirts without blinking. When it was the foreman’s turn to carry Lorena’s, I saw how the weight of the box felt different to him. Lorena went out for a while to buy some material that “was needed.” She left them alone on purpose.

When she came back, she found the contents jumbled. One of the briefs, the one with a small print, had been folded badly, different from the rest. That night she showed it to me.

—Wash it —I told her—. And wear it tomorrow.

She smiled. She knew exactly what I was thinking.

***

I suggested a pair of low-rise jeans that would accentuate her ass, with the odd brief underneath and the waistband peeking out a finger’s width. During the day, whenever a worker was close, Lorena looked for an excuse to bend down to his level. She did it with all three, in turn, watching their reactions.

The foreman looked without missing a beat. The taller young man looked and kept working. The other young man, Damián, skinny, with a telenovela actor’s face, turned red. Then he tried to hide it with a laugh and looked at my wife’s ass two more times than he needed to. Confirmed.

When I got home from work, Lorena burst out laughing as she told me. I laughed with her. I didn’t tell her yet what I was starting to think about.

***

Friday was my birthday. Lorena planned the night from the morning on: she booked a restaurant we never went to, chose a fitted black sleeveless dress with a V-neck that ended five fingers below her ass. Black stockings, high heels, her hair up.

She came out of the bathroom just as the workers were about to leave. All three froze. Damián’s mouth fell open and stayed that way for a long while. Lorena turned around so they could see her completely and asked:

—How do I look?

—A lucky husband, ma’am —said the foreman.

I came to pick her up ten minutes later. In the restaurant I could barely focus on dinner. The waiter kept looking at her cleavage, I was stroking her legs under the tablecloth, and the conversation blurred away between the wine and the urgency. We spent a while in a bar, danced pressed close together, and went back home wanting to lose no more time.

After the first orgasm, lying against my chest, she finally spoke about what had been circling her head all week.

—I haven’t been able to get Damián out of my mind —she said—. The boy with the underwear.

We talked slowly. I asked her what she really wanted, and she told me without embellishment: she wanted to be with him, she wanted me to know, and if possible she wanted the three of us together. We had never done anything like that with a stranger, but the idea didn’t bother me. It turned me on. We laid out the plan right there, without rushing.

***

On the last day of the renovation we had a plot of land to measure in another part of the city. I asked the foreman and the other young man to come with me, under the excuse that I needed to take levels and get a technical opinion. I told Damián to stay behind and pick up the tools and the trash. The three of us left in my truck, unhurried.

I took as long as I needed to. When we came back, the three of them finished collecting the trash, we said goodbye, thanked each other, and left things open for the next job. Damián walked out of the house alongside his coworkers. Lorena closed the door.

—Sit down —she told me—. I’ll make coffee.

She told it to me slowly, with a detail only she knows how to give these things. That when we left, she stayed behind helping him clean up. That when they were done she gave him a soft drink. That she sat across from him and told him the remodel had turned out beautiful, but there was something that had her intrigued. That she took the printed brief out of the bag and showed it to him.

—Can you tell me what you did with this?

Damián lowered his head, went red, and said nothing. Lorena pressed him calmly, without anger, until the boy confessed. He had run the garment over his penis, gotten the inside stained with precum, and hadn’t managed to finish because the foreman had called him.

—That’s normal —she told him—. I’ve found my husband doing the same thing with mine. Wait a minute.

She ran to the bedroom. She got naked, put on that brief, a matching bra, and nothing else. She came back barefoot, stood behind him, and whispered in his ear:

—Do they look good on me?

Damián turned around and nearly drooled. Lorena took two slow turns, grabbed his hand, and put it on her ass. He touched her like he was afraid of breaking her.

—And what did you do after that? —she asked him.

—I smelled it.

Lorena climbed up onto the kitchen table, spread her legs, and told him to do it again. Damián brought his nose closer. At the first contact, she came. She asked him what else he’d done. He said he’d run his tongue over it. She told him to do it. Damián, now more confident, spent twenty minutes going down on her. Lorena came three more times before he climbed up her body, licked her breasts, and, with the other hand, started unbuttoning his pants.

—When I saw what he was about to do, I grabbed his cock and stopped him —she told me—. I asked him what he’d done after running his tongue over it. He said he’d rubbed it over the underwear, over the pussy. I told him: “Do it.”

He rubbed his cock over the brief, then under it, from her ass to her clit, lubricating it. Lorena let him just slide the tip in again and again, never allowing him to enter fully, playing with the tension. When she guessed we were about to come back, she adjusted herself and let him land one single hard thrust. He went all the way in. And just as he went in, she pushed him back out.

She got down from the table, took off the brief, knelt, and put his cock in her mouth. Four times. When she had him soaked, she stood up and handed him the garment.

—If you want to go to the bathroom and finish on top of it, go ahead. But if you want to fuck me for real, it’s going to be my way.

—What’s your way?

—Beside my husband. Both of us.

Damián’s eyes went wide. He asked if I knew. She explained that it wasn’t common, but that we had already done it, and that if he was up for it, we would call him. Not a word to his coworkers: it would cost him his job and us our peace. The boy swore he’d keep quiet and went into the bathroom with the brief in his hand.

Lorena went to get dressed. When he came out, they finished their soft drinks in the kitchen, pretending to have a calm conversation. She asked him for the garment. He handed it over, soaked and still warm. Lorena gathered it with her fingers, lifted one leg and then the other in front of him, and put it back on.

—This is a pact between you and me —she told him.

***

I didn’t know what to say for a while. My mouth was half open and my pants were tight. She looked at me and asked what I was thinking. I told her I couldn’t speak. I lifted her out of the chair, sat her on the very table where everything had just happened, and kissed her from the knee to the groin. I pulled aside the printed brief, ran my tongue over her five times, and smelled the mixture left inside.

When she was about to come, I started rubbing my cock against her slowly, repeating what Damián had done, until I shoved it in all at once. She wrapped her legs around me and dug her nails into my back. I tore her blouse open to get to her breasts. We came at the same time, with the kitchen a mess and the coffee going cold in the cups.

We’re still waiting to call Damián whenever we feel like it. For now, the pact is in force, and the house is like new.