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It all had started innocently enough. A quiet Sunday. An empty house. Jessica's husband was away on a laboriously long out-of-state business trip and she had decided to get some gardening done to stay busy. No schedule, but they always joked that Sunday was their fuck-day. Never planned of course, just coincidental. She always thought it had something to do with the whimsical unplanned laziness of Sundays that seemed to lead to a hot fuck session. If he were home, she'd be on all fours by now, but alas, already it was over a month without sex. For someone used to getting it 3 times a week, the lack of cock was a bit frustrating to say the least.

When Jessica walked into the house, she was covered in dirt and so sweaty that her collarbone and the deep valley between her breasts visible above her low-cut tank top were glistening. The apples of her cheeks and bridge of her nose had turned a pale pink from the sun, but still unable to cover the freckles scattered across her cheeks. She craved a shower. She pulled her tank top over her head and tossed it into the hamper. Her nipples had hardened from the air conditioning. No bra when she was in her own house-that was a rule Tom made up when they were dating and she had come to enjoy it despite her C-almost-D cups. There was something so wantonly erotic about feeling her own hard nipples brush against the loose fabric of a shirt or be so brazenly exposed in something tight. (A dinner party Tom and Jessica had hosted last year put that rule to the test, when she not only remained unharnessed but wore a sheer mesh blouse that displayed her dark ...

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