An Acquired Taste

by Mason, Jude

  Chapter Four

  With permits in hand, the construction could go at full tilt. Each morning, Cynthia got up and, after a quick breakfast and coffee, went to the office. Twice, she saw Caleb arrive and begin his days work. Once he relented and had a cup of coffee with her.

  He wore cut-offs everyday and later, when she got home, she watched and grew to love seeing his long, muscular legs straining under him as he carried two-by-sixes or sheets of plywood. The play of muscles along his back when he hammered in nails, or pushed lumber around, had her breathing heavy.

  The forms went in for the foundation, then the cement was poured. He sweated, but kept right on working, shoveling, smoothing it out with a rake at first then the proper leveling tools. As the sun rose high overhead and the heat increased, he'd stop for a moment and peel off his tank. That's when Cynthia lost paperwork she'd brought home rippling muscles in his stomach, and the beautifully tanned chest flex when he moved, was more than enough to get her juices flowing.

  On Thursday morning, she knew he'd planned to take off the forms, but the cement hadn't dried enough. His weekly schedule fell behind.

  He did manage to get some work done, but by the end of the day, she could see he was frustrated. The weather was warm and humid, and should have been perfect for drying cement, but the cement mix had been too wet and would take one more day to cure enough to remove the forms. Just before quitting time, she saw him looking helplessly down at the slowly drying foundation.

  "Hey, Caleb," she shouted from the kitchen window. He looked up and she continued,"Would you like a beer?"

  At first, she thought he was going to refuse, but then he yelled back, "Yeah, I'd love one." He slid his hammer into the loop on his carpenter's belt, and stuck his gloves in his back pocket. Ambling over to where

  any hope of concentrating on the from the office. Just watching the she'd moved the patio furniture under the trees, he stood waiting for her to come out.

  She grabbed her sunglasses and two ice-cold bottles out of the fridge. Opening them, she pushed open the door with her shoulder. One she held out to him, the other she sipped. "How's it coming along?"

  "Okay, but I'd planned to take the forms off today. That's not going to happen. Cement's still too wet. If I take them off now, it's liable to crack, maybe even collapse."

  "According to your schedule, you're supposed to have them off today so you can do the moisture barrier and backfill tomorrow." "Yeah, I know." He looked at his bottle. "Come on, let's sit down. Might as well be out of the sun while we

  talk." She took her usual seat and he sat across from her. He shuffled his boot-clad feet, and settled back, trying to look at ease. It didn't work, she noticed him fidgeting. He picked at the label on the bottle, and she stared at the threads that had come loose at the hem of his cut-offs.

  "You're worried about keeping to your schedule, aren't you?" She crossed her legs, letting him get a good look at how long and lean they were below the cotton shorts she had on. The halter-top left her midsection bare and she knew he'd already checked out her breasts when she'd walked out with the beer. Dark glasses made watching him a breeze, and she caught more honest physical responses as well.

  He lowered his head, and she barely caught his reply, "Yeah, but I'll hopefully make it up."

  "Drink your beer," she instructed, and he raised the bottle to his lips. He took a healthy drink before lowering it, while she took a small sip. "I guess the weather hasn't cooperated with you, huh?"

  "It's not the weather, it's the mix. It happens, but I never even thought about that when I made up the schedule, or ordered the cement." He sounded a little distant, as if he was thinking of something else.

  "Have you given any thought to what kind of punishment I might have in mind?"

  His mouth dropped open, and she realized that's what he'd been thinking of. She took a quick sip of beer to keep from laughing. "Uh, well, yeah," he stammered. He blushed furiously. "But, uh…" She couldn't stop from chuckling then. "Are you worried that I might do something you're uncomfortable with?" "Yes…I'm not sure," he said. He lowered his free hand, trying to

  hide the erection that threatened to burst through his cut-offs. "But, the thought excites you." "Yes—no. Maybe—I don't know," he whispered. "Drink your beer," she said and watched his hand tremble when he raised his bottle. He spilled a little, cringed when the cold liquid hit his chest and trickled down over his belly. He didn't stop until he'd emptied the bottle. Licking his lips, he leaned down and put the bottle on the ground.

  "Thanks," he said. He sat back, one hand still crossed over his crotch, the other going to his chest to wipe off the beer.

  "You're welcome," she said, and took a sip of her own beer. "Do you honestly think you'll be able to keep to your schedule this week?"

  "No," He squirmed, and she smiled. "If the cement had dried, I'd have been fine, but now…well, I can only do so much in a day."

  "True." She didn't give an inch. Checking her watch, she said, "It's quitting time. I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

  Dismissed, he got to his feet and, with a worried look, went to get his shirt. He was gone before she had time to finish her beer, but not before she felt a rush of excitement between her thighs. She rubbed her legs together and shivered. She wished he'd come back and find her, but was just as glad he didn't. Tomorrow would be soon enough. The anticipation was going to drive her crazy, though.

  Lying back in the shade, she contemplated the coming day and what Caleb must be thinking. When she'd finished her beer, she got up and walked around the foundation. As far as she could tell, he'd done a good job. She smiled and wondered if that was going to be the way of it for the next couple of weeks—work, then watching Caleb struggle to keep to his schedule, while she hoped he couldn't. * * * * Friday morning came and even Sammy seemed to sense that something was about to happen. He walked around with a bedazzled expression. Cynthia was short with him, sending him off on errands that kept him busy until after she'd left, but her frustration had gotten the better of her. Finally, she was sure to Sammy's great relief, it was time for her to leave.

  "Have a great weekend, Sammy," she said as she slid one more folder into her bag. Zipping it up, she stepped around her desk and when she stood directly in front of him, she leaned down, "I've been a bitch today, and I'm sorry. I'll be better next week, I promise." She kissed him on the forehead.

  "Cynthia!" he squealed, then laughed. "Get out of here. I'll see you next week." Laughing, she left the building. On the drive home, she had time to relax. The tensions of the morning faded a little more with each passing mile. Excitement built, a new and different kind of tension began in the pit of her stomach and grew slowly.By the time she pulled into her driveway and parked behind Caleb's truck, the crotch of her panties was sopping. Her pussy itched.

  She sat for a few minutes, thinking of Tom, wishing he was alive. Her thoughts shifted, naturally, easily, to Caleb. Tom would have liked him; she was sure. Both of them loved to work with their hands. Plus, they both made her so hot she had trouble concentrating. He would have loved that. She smiled, and pushed open the car door.

  The thudding sound of hammering came from the backyard, but instead of going directly there, she went inside through the front door. The house was cool and slightly dark after the sun's blasting heat. She'd left the curtains closed and that helped.

  She dropped her bag in the closet and closed the door. Slipping out of her heels, she went to her bedroom to change into something more comfortable—something sexy. Instead of shorts, she decided on a slinky little cotton halter dress that barely covered her butt when she walked. She looked in her top drawer, to bra or not to bra, and decided not. Sifting through the rows of panties, she pulled out a lacy, white thong and smiled wickedly as she pulled it up her legs. The soft, cotton backstrap nestled comfortably between her buttocks, the front barely concealed her sparsely furred bush. With the flower-print dress snuggly tied behind her neck, she was ready to pounce.

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nbsp; Barefoot, she went into the kitchen, made herself a bite of lunch, and got a pop out of the fridge. Tuna salad sandwich and soda in hand, she meandered out her front door and around to the back. It was easier than picking her way over the debris, also easier to watch Caleb unobserved.

  He was so worth watching. When she came around the side of the house his back was to her. He'd already taken off his shirt and sweat made his skin gleam as if he was on fire. He'd finished breaking the forms free of the cement and was hauling the pre-built plywood out of the trench he'd dug around the foundation. Muscles played along his back and thighs as he strained.

  She carefully made her way to her lawn chair under the trees and sat down. With her soda on the table beside her, she ate and watched Caleb. He'd released most of the forms by the time she'd finished her sandwich and had a pile of them stacked, ready to be returned to the warehouse. A breeze picked up while she drank her soda.Her skirt lifted, fluttered for a moment then landed softly against her thigh.

  "Cynthia!" Caleb had spotted her, finally. He stood gaping at her, then a smile lit up his face. "I didn't hear you. How long have you been watching me?"

  "Not long," she replied, then added, "You're well worth watching, though. I'm enjoying the show." Just then, a gust of wind slid up her legs and lifted her skirt. She reached out with her free hand, about to push her skirt down, but a look at his face changed her mind. His mouth dropped open and his eyes widened.

  She let the wind have its freedom for a moment longer, before very slowly, sliding her hand down over her thigh and returning her skirt to its proper place. "I see you enjoy watching as well. Am I right?"

  He raised his gaze to hers, and stammered, "I'm sorry. I apologize. I'll get back to work." He turned and reached down for the next form. "You didn't answer my question." He looked back at her, his face coloring, "Question?" "Yes, I asked if you liked watching." He gulped and cleared his throat before answering, "Yes, I mean, no." He looked up at her. "Damn, you know how to get a guy going, don't you?" She laughed, but didn't answer. "Have you eaten?" "Yeah, I had a quick bite earlier. I want to get this done on time." "I see. Mind if I watch?" The double meaning wasn't lost on him. He smiled, and replied, "No, I don't mind at all." He returned to work, and she watched him sweat and strain, lifting the heavy framework out of the trench and carrying them all to his truck. He was gone for about an hour, returning them to the company's warehouse. When he came back, he'd brought a roll of waterproof membrane with him and began cutting and stretching it around the footings.

  Cynthia watched for a while, but had work to do before dinner, so she went into the house. She set up her laptop on the dining room table and forced herself to get to work. Occasionally, she glanced out at him working, and smiled, lost in thought for a few moments. Then she'd blink, and return to the numbers and order forms.

  The next time she looked up it was to the sound of someone knocking at the front door. She glanced at the clock over the stove and was surprised to see it was time for Caleb to quit. A quick look at the foundation outside told her he'd been unable to keep to his schedule. She fought the desire to smile, but inside she was beaming.

  She opened the door to find him standing there with a sheepish grin on his face and his tank top being strangled between his hands. "Let's go have a look at what you've completed," she said in a matter-of-fact voice. His quick, quiet nod made her smile. She slipped into a pair of sandals, and walked past him. She felt his eyes on her back as he followed her around the house.

  "I didn't quite get it done, but I was close," he said when they got to the far side of the foundation.

  She saw that he had managed to get two sides done completely but there on the third side, the trench was only filled in about halfway. Walking all the way around, she was impressed with what he had managed to do, but was even happier that he'd failed.

  "Yes, you were close," she said when she stood in front of him again. Heat radiated towards her and she wanted nothing more than to take another step and feel his arms slide around her. That wasn't going to happen, not yet. Folding her arms across her chest, she made sure he noticed her cleavage before she added, "I'd like you here at nine in the morning for your punishment."

  "You're serious about this punishment, aren't you?" he asked. She noticed his hands had dropped to his crotch, where he held his shirt stretched between them.

  "Yes, I'm very serious." She looked him straight in the eyes. "That's why it's in your contract."

  "Is there any way I can get you to tell me what you have planned? I mean, well, it's just not the normal thing, is it?"

  "I think we've pretty much covered all this before. No, it's not common. I told you why I had this clause in the contract and you agree to it. And, no, I'm not prepared to discuss what punishment I plan on using."

  He lowered his head and his shoulders slumped a little. He stood there for a few moments and she let him think about it. When he didn't say anything, she added, "Look, it's in your contract, you questioned it before signing it, but you did sign it. You're an adult, in full possession of your faculties, and it's a legally binding contract. If you renege on this, I could take you to court, and you know I'd win. Your choice."

  He was quiet for a minute, but then he said, "I'll be here." His voice sounded harsh, rough. "You'll want to wear loose slacks or jogging pants, and a T-shirt." "Okay." He shifted from one foot to the other. "Well, I'd better go

  then." He didn't move to leave. "Yes, you'd best go. I'll see you in the morning." He turned and almost fled the yard. She heard his truck door open then slam shut, and the motor roar to life. He revved it a couple of times before pulling out.

  Cynthia hugged herself and wondered if she was really ready to go through with her plan. She shivered. Visions of Caleb, his body stretching and sweating, reassured her that she was.The wetness between her thighs reaffirmed it, and the wild beating of her heart told her that she was more than ready. She needed to break out of her self-imposed period of mourning.

  Chapter Five

  Coffee in hand, she went to answer the door. It was nine, and she'd heard his truck pull in just a moment earlier. She opened the door wide, offering him a good look at her in her leathers. She'd chosen a simple black corset over the shortest skirt she had. The stilettos added half a foot to her height, and laced up to her knee.

  He stood there in his loose, black jogging pants and a dark green T shirt that hung from his shoulders. He blinked and looked from her eyes to the soft swell of her breasts, then back again. "Good morning, Caleb," she said easily. "I see you like my outfit." He looked at her and blinked. When he replied his voice was barely

  more than a squeak. "Yes, I like your outfit very much." "Come in," she stepped aside and let him enter. This time she stroked him, from his shoulder down his back to where the outward slope of his bottom began. He shuddered under her hand, but didn't say anything. He bent to remove his sandals and her hand strayed to his behind. He gasped, but didn't try to pull away. Shoes set to the side; he straightened up, his hands easing towards his crotch. "Hands at your sides," she said sharply. He let his hands fall to his sides. The front of his pants tented. "Today, you'll call me, Lady Cyn. The room we're about to visit was specially designed and built by my late husband, under my direction. If at any time you want to quit, say so and I'll stop immediately. However, if you do decide to stop me, be aware that it won't stop the punishment entirely. You didn't live up to your end of the bargain; you'll only delay your punishment." She walked around him, inspecting him, getting the feel of his nervousness and the excitement she smelled on him. "Do you understand?" "Yes, ma'am," he said instantly. She was behind him, and immediately slapped his bottom. "What were you to call me?" He yelped and took a staggering step forward. He swung his head

  around, gaped at her, then replied, "Yes, Lady Cyn." "Better." She continued her inspection and finally stood in front of

  him again. She looked him in the eyes, and said, "Strip." It took a moment for the word to register. S
he watched him and knew exactly when it did. His shirt came off an instant later and he was about to toss it on his shoes when she stopped him with a single, "Tut." He looked at her, and she said, "Fold it and place it on the chair." She nodded at the chair to his right.

  He silently folded the shirt and laid it across the back. The jogging pants were next. He slipped his fingers into the waistband, and after taking a deep breath, eased them down, both the joggers and underpants. His erection caught, held the front from moving down, but only for a moment. He pushed. His prick bent, then sprang upward. Stepping free of them, he folded his pants first, followed by his pale blue jockeys and laid them both on top of his shirt.

  He was hers and was just beginning to realize it. When he stood straight again, his hands first went to cover himself then eased to his sides.

  Cyn's heart pounded against her ribs. She slid a finger over his chest, tweaked a nipple until it puckered hard and eager for her touch. She walked around him, touched him, and stroked his arm and shoulders. Dropping her hand, she explored the curve of his lower back and the way his ass tightened when she strayed a little lower. He tensed when she slid her hand down the crease of his bottom, and trembled when she ran a fingernail up the back of his thigh from the back of his knee to just below his ass. But, he didn't pull away, or object. Standing in front of him again, she watched his eyes and slid her hand across his chest. She caressed the well-muscled pecs and pinched each nipple until he gasped. Still, he didn't move or resist. The washboard muscles of his belly rippled when she slid her hand down, moving ever closer to his cock. She toyed with his belly button for a moment, and loved the way he squirmed. His erection bobbed upwards, as if reaching for her hand. She ignored it, and instead slid her fingers through the sparse nest of hair at its base.

  "Spread your feet, about shoulder width," she said. Her voice had deepened, her hands trembled. If he noticed, he knew better than to say anything. When she reached down and cupped his balls, he groaned. "Don't move," she whispered. "Yes, Lady Cyn," he croaked. They were warm and hung well below his body. She tightened her grip slightly and pulled down. She watched his face, gauging when the pressure became pain. When he squinted, she relented and eased off, finally releasing the nearly hairless sack.