The Peril of Sausages and Stripping

This story started out a silly back and forth idea, because me & the Mrs. were stuck into some serious decorating. It suddenly seemed to be a nice idea to use it to create a piece for the 2025 Nude Day competition. I wasn't sure what genre to post this under. Hints of Loving Wives, Humour and Satire along with Exhibitionist & Voyeur sprang to mind, in the end, it's my first entry in the Exhibitionist & Voyeur genre.

Thanks to 29wordsforsnow for herding me along the path to completing this tale. As always, there's always that last minute addition that pops into my head prior to submission. Any cockups in here, will be down to my fiddling!

The Perils of Sausages and Stripping

The phone call from my wife Robyn came out of the blue as I stood at work beavering away sorting the fine display of imported sausages on my indoor market stall. For some reason, they seemed to have caught on, particularly with some of the more elderly female population.

"Hi baby, how you doin'?"

There was some hesitancy in her voice as she spoke before getting straight to the meat of the matter.

"Honey, do you mind if I start stripping without you being present, I'm getting desperate. I've been asking you for days and you just pretend you didn't hear me, before hiding behind the newspaper in the morning or turning the TV up at night."

I let out an indignant sigh as I dangled the large sausage in Mrs. Willoughby's face that she had pointed out to me moments ago on reaching my stall. It was the largest one I had, and it seemed to have a mind of its own, as it flopped to one side. It was a big bugger, pinky red with a smooth skin. You gotta hand it to those pesky Germans, they know how to make a good, solid dependable sausage judging by the look on Mrs. Willoughby's face.

She must really be into them as I watched something that I could now, not unwatch, as her mouth opened slowly, and she started to lean over the counter towards the errand sausage in my hand that struggled to point one way or the other as it flopped lazily from side to side. By the look on her face I was convinced she was going to slip the end into her mouth then take a bite from it. I pulled my sausage back. Until she paid for it, it was still technically part of my stock of fine delicatessens imported from the continent.

Occasionally, Mr. Willoughby was with her and he looked like life itself had been sucked out of him, leaving him stick-thin with those hollowed out eyes. If her appetite for my wares gave away any indication how much of a greedy girl she probably was, it wasn't surprising he looked like he did. Looking at me, she nodded, indicating this was the one she wanted, my mind sprung back to my own issues.

"Please, Robyn, I told you when you first asked, I didn't want you doing it, at least not yet. Let's see how our finances work out first. OK?"

"Don't be such a miserable shitbag, Steve! It was your sister that put the idea in my head! You know full well we are going to be OK for money, I start my new job in three weeks, with the redundancy pay I received from my old job, we'll end up at the end of year financially better off."

She had to believe I really didn't want this to happen and clearly voiced my dissent.

"Agh, c'mon babe, please let's not do this again. First off you'll go stripping on your own, then, before I know it, there'll be strange men trooping in and out of the house. You know how I feel about that, you're so bloody damned hot and one of the bell-ends will try it on with you being at home on your own!"

"Huh! That's exactly what your sister said you'd say to stop me stripping! Steve, I'm doing it, and you can't stop me."

It actually felt like the phone not only transmitted her words but also her bloody mindedness. I bet she's downloaded some fancy girly app for that!

"You're pushing your luck here, Robyn, please, don't do it, I'll... I'll... "

"You'll do what Steve? Book me in with strippers anonymous?"

She started giggling down the phone. I exhaled, Why was I even still arguing with her? It was already too late, I was well aware the horse had bolted so to speak.

"You've started stripping already, haven't you? My sister, she goaded you on. Just because she said stripping's a piece of piss, it doesn't mean you can just steam in!"

More giggling from the other end. Going for the kill, it was now the time to lay on that thick and dirty sexy tone that was kryptonite for my poor brain.

"Can I have my sausage please?"

Crap, I'd forgotten about Mrs. Willoughby. I waved the card machine in front of her, and took payment. Her purchase was in the bag in front of me. I quickly relayed my current predicament to Robyn.

"Hang on there for a mo, Mrs. Willoughby is waiting for me to give her her sausage."

Once she took it, she smiled, thanked me, then walked away with a spring in her step, well, as springy as you'd expect from a seventy-nine year old woman.

"Robyn, I'm back. Where were we?"

"I don't know, my dear husband. Are you trying to lure in customers by offering them a taste of your very own special sausage? Tut-tut dear husband, that tasty treat is all my mine, and don't you go forgetting that. You import enough, surely you can advertise a little more, a bigger ad in the gazette maybe? I dunno, something like - Sausages of every size and flavour along with a range of other fine delicatessens specially for you, come down and view my fine sausage, I dare you."

Ah, I could see she was trying to push me off the road we were travelling. Her double entendre was supposed to throw me.

"Don't do it, Robyn, let's get back to the meat of the matter. I've begged you, don't do it, and now you've gone behind my back. I. Don't. Want. You. Stripping. Alone. I want to be part of the experience too. I can't be any clearer than that, can I?"

"Ooh! Don't make me shiver like this. Taking that tone is getting me hot and bothered, when all I want to do is get steamy and strip. Don't forget, we tried it together, in the living room a few months back. You said it didn't work, we needed to learn more, have more space, and the next time, we'd get to do it properly. It's embarrassing that your mum noticed the stains on the living room carpet, she gives me, that look every time she sees me."

I shook my head on the other end of the line as I sighed.

"Don't you shake your head at me!"

'Damn!' was the thought that filled my mind. 'It must be that top secret bloody app she has, the one that lets women see all, know all!' I pressed on.

"Pleeease, I told you at the time... you were not cut out for stripping... you went at it completely the wrong way, ending up with that goo you made congealed in the carpet. When the professional carpet cleaner came, he smirked, suggesting we get a professional stripper in next time. He also said, "If that was too expensive, get some sort of wrap to protect the surfaces."

She was looking for a chink, and she found one.

"Hah! Let's not go there again! I caught you fair and square that day. Don't give me any of that 'I saw it on Youtube' crap. Do you get off on seeing women wrapped in body-sized cling film like that?"

"I... I told you! The bloody idiot that posted it put the wrong link in there! How was I to know his fetish around decorator's wrap went beyond... decorating. To be honest, it's bizarre. On that BDSM website, it's twenty-nine pounds a roll. On the DIY website, the same stuff is twelve pounds a roll. Talk about being ripped off!"

She tittered down the phone.

"Actually. It's funny you say that. John, turns out that's the name of the nice man down the DIY store, said exactly the same thing yesterday about the difference in cost when I went in to ask about the clingy film stuff for protecting flooring, bedding and wot not."

In my mind, a two watt light bulb suddenly lit up.

"Hold up there! Did you say John? Bloody hell, the Youtube poster was called DIY_JohnBoy! Fuck, he's the pervert that cocked up the posting!"

She giggled, somewhat more breathily down the line.

"Ooh! So we now know a real proper pervert! I often wondered what sort of people were into the serious proper kinky shit. I'll ask him if there's some sort of local club or something."

I can't say I was enamoured with this line of conversation, and her breathing became more than a little raspy. Nope, let's nip this in the bud right now.

"You need to stay away from the DIY store, Robyn, it's a rabbit hole we really don't want to be going down."

More giggling.

"Steve, what's that saying you like to use; 'A mind is like a parachute. It doesn't work if it is not open'. It's that quote by that Frank Zippo bloke you like."

"For Pete's sake, Robyn! It's Frank Zappa, it's nothing to do with a bloody lighter!"

And yet more sexy, devilish giggling.

"Oops! Sorry, all this wicked naughty talk is making me feel a little hot, like something's been lit inside me. Anyway, let's get the conversation back on track. I'm already dressed for it, and I think I learnt from my mistakes when we tried it together. Anyway, I'm getting some free professional advice. John is going to deliver me some PVC rolls today, give me a practical demonstration, then some pointers to improve my technique. He assured me he's helped dozens of married women before where their husbands don't know about all the tricks of the trade to get the job done to a professional standard."

The line was silent for several seconds as I tried to digest the statement. The cogs were whirring quickly in my head, but I needed to stay calm, especially over the phone. I took a deep breath.

"Steve... are you still ther..."

"Yes! I'm still here! So let's get this straight. One. You're stripping, when I explicitly asked you not to do it on your own. Two. You seem to have found the local town pervert, and rather than distance yourself, you've become a little pally. Three. There is absolutely no way you're letting that pervert in the house without me being there and you, I repeat, you will not under any circumstance remove one single piece in front of him in our be..."

Ding-dong!

"Oh, sorry, Steve, that'll be John ringing the doorbell. I need to dash, I love you, I promise I'll not let you down, I'll become the town's best stripper with some professional encouragement."

And with that, she was gone. Shit and double shit! This isn't what was supposed to happen! I watched those bloody Youtube clips enough times to make her take notice, it was supposed to be the final piece to get her off her backside and stuck in. My sister said she could get her stripping with some reverse psychology mumbo-jumbo based on an article in Cosmo magazine, nobody said some creepy perv was going to come and spend the time watching her do so! I was bloody fuming, I thought about packing away all my wares and going home but I didn't want to be seen as someone running a flaky business, especially being new. And I'm glad I didn't as two new women came to the stall. Apparently Mrs. Willoughby had assured them I was packing some good sausage and was worth checking out. Somewhat oddly, they were looking for two different types of sausage. One was after the longest I had in stock, and the other lady wanted the fattest one available. I pointed out that Mrs. Willoughby had recently passed by and had taken the longest and incidentally fattest sausage, which made them cuss under their breath before taking off, muttering about having to take second best as they scuttled away with their purchases.

۞۞۞۞

The remainder of the day saw a steady stream of customers which didn't leave me much time to stew on the earlier spat with Robyn. Once I wrapped up for the day though, my journey home was filled with frustration, anger and fear as to how using this fancy psychology shit that my sister was banging on about to get Robyn doing something useful whilst between jobs by getting her to get the decorating underway may have backfired on me. The last part, was shifting some of the stuff out of the bedroom to help us have a deep clean, that was supposed to be the final piece that made her subconsciously want to start with the decorating.

Arriving home, I was somewhat alarmed to see a delivery van with John's DIY Emporium plastered down the sides of the van. Even more worrying was the picture of him holding a wrench with the tagline, I've the biggest and best tool for any job. It made me shudder. The leer on his face in that photo didn't speak of DIY in the slightest.

I parked up the road, walked back and gingerly opened the front door. My heart was thumping in my chest as muffled sounds and words filtered down from upstairs.

"That's it darlin'. Nice steady strokes with your hand, up and down, be firm, but not too firm... that's it stretch... yeah like that. Now be careful, don't want that hot sticky stuff getting in your hair, do we?"

Barely audible, I could hear faint giggling, that excited fun giggle that I thought was for my ears during our bedroom time. I went to open the door, no wait! What does it say about catching cheaters in all those on-line stories? Yeah, video it, fodder for the divorce settlement. Phone set to video, ready... steady... action!

My mouth hung open wide. Wearing ridiculously high stripper shoes, you know, the ones with the clear plastic heels, hold-ups, a dinky black bra and knicker set... and heavy duty working gloves, she stood stretched out against the wall, her arse sticking out in what looked like mere inches from DIY John's face that went from a lusty grin to a shocked face in a microsecond as I appeared as if from out of nowhere. Despite being startled, he was quick to react, as he jumped from the bed, where he had been mere inches from Robyn.

"Oh shit! Is that the time? I best be off, I need to do a few more deliveries."

And like a grease pig, he somehow slipped past me, down the stairs and out of the front door. I looked at Robyn, who stood frozen like a deer caught in headlamps. I noticed she was sweaty, some blotchy redness here and there over her body and her hair was very dishevelled. I shook my head in disbelief. She spoke somewhat nonchalantly before turning her head back to concentrate on the job in hand.

"Let me just finish scraping off this last bit of wallpaper, then this wall is complete. John has been so helpful, he stood behind me, showed me how much pressure to apply, how fast the up and down strokes need to be as I've stood here stripping. I must admit, I must have been really bad as he had to come and stand behind me several times, but I'm sure I've got the hang of it. And look! PVC wrap over every surface, just be careful as the wallpaper paste ended up splashing everywhere. I don't know how on earth it happened but somehow, a big line sprayed up my back when John was behind me giving pointers, and yet, amazingly, not a splash on him!"

I looked at her back, or should I say those scant little knickers. It really didn't look like that was wallpaper paste that had squirted up her back and her knickers. I shook my head slowly, why oh why is she so gullible!

"Robyn, pray do tell, why are you dressed like... a stripper, stripper?"

I watched as the last sliver of steamed wallpaper fell to the floor. She turned, bent down to switch the steamer off, then put down the tools. She looked at me as if I was the stupid one. It wasn't going to take much to win this little battle.

Point one. Do you know what a stepladder is Robyn? It's that thing I pull up from the cellar when I need to change the lightbulbs. It can be used for other things too, like reaching parts of the wall that are normally out of reach."

She folded her arms across her chest as she rolled her eyes.

"Oh, I thought it was pretty obvious. Answer one, Einstein. There isn't enough room for the stepladder, and I didn't need much extra height to reach the top of the wall. Builders use stilts, but take some practice to get used to them. John had a brilliant idea, he said make a couple of cups of tea and he'd be back in a jiffy. I don't know where he got the shoes from, said they belonged to a friend, and I could keep them. They gave me the extra height I needed."

Shit! I did remember some Youtube clips where builders were using stilts to work on tall ceilings, she'd leant over my shoulder telling me they could get a job in the circus. I would have to accept defeat for that point. I'd claw a point back now though.

So point two, what with the holdups?

This time, she shook her head slowly and sighed.

"The most important one, this. You need to wear something comfortable and suited to the task at hand. I tried on some jeans and slacks but they felt too restrictive, the name of the game is to be flexible, but have some protection. The holdups are cheap, they stop any bits of stripped paper and wallpaper glue sticking directly to my skin."

I scratched my chin... I do remember reading that comfortable clothing was a must. Damn the bloody woman, that was two points her way! There was no way she could duck the third issue.

"So why are you working in the skimpiest of your underwear?"

Back to rolling her eyes for this reply.

"Refer back to point two. Comfort. Using the steamer makes it incredibly hot in here, and with discomfort from the heat, there's a greater chance of making a mistake. John said staying cool was paramount to a successful stripping session, so I let him rummage through my underwear drawer for the most appropriate set of skimpies, and he said these would work. Steve, can we stop with the stupid questions, you're making yourself look... stupid due to your lack of DIY knowledge."

I pondered her statement. OK, I could see it somehow made sense, but only just. I looked at her knees expecting to see evidence she had knelt on the floor to strip the lower portions of the wall. It begged a last question, surely this would partially restore some honour.

"How did you strip the lower sections of the wall, it can't have been easy crawling around dressed like that?"

She rolled her eyes yet again, highlighting I was truly clueless when it came to the specialist techniques applied to the art of a successful DIY project.

"John said he shouldn't do it, as I'm not a true professional, but he showed me a cute trick of the trade. You see, normal Joes like you would scrabble around on the floor. Now, to do it properly, you stand with your legs straight, parted slightly, and bend from the waist, carefully running the steamer head in a smooth downward stroke followed up by gently applying the stripping blade to strip the wallpaper and paste away."

I stood for a few seconds, I had an obvious question.

"So what did John do while you were stripping?"

"Oh! He was so excited. Once he got me started, he started to move around, checking my stance from different angles. For a while he crouched down behind me, making sure I maintained the correct posture. Then he asked if he could take some photos and small clips. He wants to include them on his web channel. He asked me to pose in certain ways, for educational purposes of course."

I gave her my best unimpressed expression that I could muster, before she continued on, oblivious to my feelings.

"He had me carefully hold the steamer near my boobs, enough for them to get hot 'n steamy, but not burnt."

That had me piping hot.

"Why on earth did he get you to do that!"

"You see, that's the difference between you both. He's a true professional, he said it's an ideal opportunity to show how dangerous the steam can be. Did you know there are over a thousand cases a year of people being burnt handling a steamer incorrectly?"

I was certainly getting hot under the collar, but not for the usual reasons.

"Huh! Getting you to hover the steamer over your boobs wasn't exactly safe, was it?"

She smiled at me, like my mum would smile at me when she was explaining how to identify a left shoe from a right shoe when I was three years old.

"Oh, but it was. He put his hands on my chest to be sure that all my skin that was getting steamy wasn't at risk from possible scalding as I pulled the steamer closer. It took a fair few minutes before we got the distance right."

"Oh my God, Robyn! You let a stranger touch you up!"

She looked startled to realise she'd been hoodwinked, but came back super quick, I assume out of embarrassment.

"No, no, not at all. He was very professional about it, just like a doctor. He didn't make any rude comments, although he did cough and had to swallow hard a couple of times, blamed the steam. Anyway, he's not really a stranger now, is he? He's been here all day, I spent ages in the store chatting to him yesterday so I've gotten quite familiar being around him to be honest."

I stood open-mouthed. I couldn't believe how she was so unperturbed by all of this.

"Honey, you'll catch flies. If you can tidy up all the mess, lift the wrap and I'll go sort the dinner after a shower."

With that, she waltzed off, as I watched her delectable arse wiggle past me, leaving me questioning if my plan had some serious holes in it. Still John was gone now, so good riddance. Tomorrow, I'll see if I can find a way to get her painting, and, with some luck, staring at the bare walls for a few weeks, will persuade her to have a go at hanging the wallpaper before she starts her new job. I smiled to myself. With a bit of luck, John had been no more than a minor fly in the ointment, as long as it wasn't me having to get stuck into the decorating!

We sat having dinner and she asked the inevitable.

"Are we going to start painting the woodwork over the next couple of days? John did ask what we were doing, said you need to prep the surfaces, something about rubbing one out... or was it rubbing it down? I can't remember."

I was worried about the influence that John seemed to have over my wife, so I made the suggestion we visited the big national DIY store a few miles away over the weekend as they'll have a massive range, and probably be cheaper to boot. I got the look that said she knew I was ducking and diving. Let the battle begin!

۞۞۞۞

What the hell! After a real busy day I came home from work to find John's van back outside. Adopting the same stance as yesterday, I crept into the house, and listened to the conversation.

"Oh, John, it's too big, I'm sorry, I just can't handle it. Steve's one is a lot smaller than this, and I only need one hand to grip it."

Fuck that! I wasn't bothered about filming this time, I bound up the stairs, quick as a flash. If he's porking her, I'll be punching his lights out!

Again, they looked shocked to see me, the door crashing open probably didn't help. In her hand, was a bloody great big orbital sander that she was struggling to hold. OK, now that made sense, on the floor was my little palm sander. Then I realised what she was wearing. As I gathered my thoughts, air whistled past my back, as yet again, John took to a hasty retreat with a quick "see ya" as a parting comment. Now it was my turn.

"Two questions. What exactly are you doing, and what are you wearing?"

She let out what I'd only describe as a disenchanted sigh.

"Look, you need to really brush up on your DIY knowledge. John called by this morning, we mixed up some filler as he said there were a couple cracks and openings that needed filling in the bedroom. After he showed me how to mix it, he stood behind me again as we filled the cracks together, showing me exactly how much to apply and to what depth. Apparently, the trick is to not overfill the crack so it runs out everywhere, you just need enough to end up with it drying proud. There's definitely an art to it. Once it dried, he looked at your sander and said it's not man enough, his tool is bigger and better than yours, but it's too big for me to handle, although I did have a good go with it. I'm quite disappointed really. Maybe you'd like to try his tool?"

I shuddered, the thoughts going through my mind were nothing to do with his orbital sander.

"OK, I get that, but your clothing... that's erm..."

"Oh, it's a new label that's being trialled for women. Apparently, most women feel that the traditional dust suits are way too manly, so they are looking at some customer feedback for these."

She gave me a twirl. It was the same white material used in a typical dust suit, but looked to be about half the thickness and near transparent. In the front, it only zipped up so far, letting a good acre of cleavage hang out. And the hood, it had two little devil horns sitting on top. Where it was so thin, she may as well be naked, in fact, she was naked underneath this skin fitting garment. It showed and highlighted every contour of her body. Her nipples looked as if they would bust through the material at any moment, and Google 3d landscape would be proud of all the dips, peaks and troughs in her nether region that were highlighted so well.

"Well aren't you proud of my efforts today? Almost all the walls and woodwork are rubbed down, there's a tiny bit there, I'll show you, I can cope with John's massive tool."

With that, she picked up his sander and powered it up. It was just... obscene. Her mammaries vibrated and oscillated at a speed that you could not tear your eyes away from, it was that hypnotic. I managed to look down lower which was actually worse as the folds in the vee between her legs seemed to want to chew on the flimsy material where they were vibrating in unison with up top. I'm glad she hadn't fired that up when John was here. When she stopped she broke that illusion.

"I did manage three ten minute stints earlier with his tool. Mind you, when I did the lower sections, again, he said to bend from the waist, except he held me around the waist tightly to keep me balanced." She giggled. "Actually, I felt the vibrations of the tool affect him, he was vibrating too, but a lot slower, in fact, they were more like big pulses that built up then seemed to grow weaker and weaker. We had to stop, as he said he urgently needed the bathroom."

Ahhh! She's so bloody naive! I can't say anything, she just wouldn't believe me. I needed to cut him out of all this. The first step in doing this was easy.

"It seems you've finished with all the sanding. I'll put the sander in the car and drop it off on the way through. I'll thank him personally for all his help, we can't really be wasting money on this stuff."

"OK, if you feel the need to drop it back. Other than the cost of the wrap, he isn't charging for anything! He took some more videos and pictures today, all for his safety videos. He said the main emphasis is that you need to have confidence to handle the big tools, and always seek guidance from professionals like him."

Now I rolled my eyes, of course, I made sure she wasn't looking at me. Yeah, I very much doubted those pictures and videos would make it into any DIY website, unless you count the sad sacks that need to use the net to knock one out too. Oh shit! I need to have words with him, threaten him about what he plans to do with them.

۞۞۞۞

I'd missed him in the morning, although the DIY place opened at eight, he trundled off around seven-thirty to start his deliveries, so I left the sander with his assistant, with a message that I'd like to catch sight of the pictures and videos he'd taken and which website were they going to be posted to. I made a mention that Robyn needs to sign a release form before anything gets used, I didn't have a clue if it was true, but it may make him think twice. The other benefit was that I hoped he would see I was somewhat miffed, and back off. On that note, I hit the road to work to get ready to sell sausage!

Arriving home that night, I wasn't expecting to see John's van parked outside my house. It wasn't, it was parked down the road. What was there, was another, bigger van proclaiming to be the carriage of choice for the Biggs Brothers, Bill, and Ben, Painters and Decorators. It looked like both vans used the same sign writers, as two somewhat burly bald chaps stared out from the side of the van, the tag line 'Ready to rock your world with a splash or two of colour'. Oh no! I worked out her redundancy pay would cover the materials for the decorating, then a cheeky week's break in Spain. There was no way I was going to let her waste it on a couple of muscle bound painters!

I rushed in, hoping to stop short any negotiations that may be taking place to the smell of paint drying. Drat, and double drat! Unlike the previous two days, there was only the sound of silence. Creeping up the stairs, I slowly opened the door to find Bill and Ben Biggs, paint brushes in hand applying a coat of paint to the woodwork on one side of the room.

Shit, they were proper big, Then I noticed. There was not one single item of furniture, clothing or probably dust, that would normally be in the room there.

"Excuse me lads, where's Robyn?"

Without so much as glancing my way, all I heard was "next door." Walking into the hallway, just as I reached the spare bedroom door, I heard Robyn titter.

"I can't wear this out! I'll get arrested."

Then I heard him - bloody John.

"'Course you can, blimey, it looks like it was made just to fit you. Honestly, it'll go down a storm, think how much money you'll make. Your body really rocks in it, so flaunt it and make a little cash along the way."

I shook my head, I could see something like this coming a bloody mile away, he wants to pimp her out on a street corner most likely! Opening the door, I tried to step in, swiftly. Turned into an epic fail. The spare room now contained almost everything that hadn't been initially moved from our bedroom, including the bed that stood propped on its side. Strewn across the spare bed was a pile of lingerie and hot dresses that I'd never seen before, and John sitting holding a peep hole bra set in one hand. Standing in the small space left in the room, and only a couple of feet from John, was my wife in a shocking nuclear green stretchy mini dress that looked like it had been painted on. It was almost see-through and... it wasn't something you could wear underwear with as Robyn was clearly demonstrating right now.

"Erm, would you mind stepping out into the hallway with me, I'd like a word please, Robyn."

She looked somewhat surprised.

"Oh, well, I don't think John has a problem sitting there whilst you talk to me".

I tried to give him my best death stare.

"Actually Robyn, he may not but I do. So please step outside."

We stepped into the hallway before I started, practically hissing through my teeth.

"What the hell's going on here! Why are you dressed up like you belong on a street corner at night? And where's your underwear? I caught part of your conversation and I don't like it one bit whatsoever. It sounds like John's trying to lure you into a life of vice! And what's with the two boneheads next door? Crikey, we'll have no money left at this rate, we can do the decorating ourselves, we don't need them here!"

"Who you calling boneheads?"

Two seconds before that, I thought a storm cloud had covered the sun. No, it was two very large muscled gentlemen that had blotted out the sun coming in through the landing window, and they were standing directly behind me. I turned, I wasn't going to lose face. After all an Englishman's home is his cast... fucking hell! Up this close they're as big as a pair of bleedin' castles!

"Oh sorry, no I think you misheard me. I was telling my wife I'm not sure our budget stretches far enough to be able to pay you two fine gentlemen for this work you're doing."

Somewhat oddly, they both started playing with their ears, which gave me cause to stare. Of course, they clocked me looking.

"Hearing aids, both of us. Ultra sensitive, will pick up a mouse fart. Got 'em because of Basra. IED trashed our ears when it went off, tried to send us to kingdom come. We were in the Army together. We're the brothers Biggs. Big hearts, big minds and big..."

They left it there, the knowing smirk said everything I really didn't want to know.

All of a sudden, one, by the name of Bill as I later found out, thrust a paint brush right under my nose.

"What's this?"

He stared into my eyes like a madman. It seemed pretty obvious to me what it was.

"Err, a paintbrush?"

There was tutting and the rolling of eyes. When I turned, John and Robyn were doing the same.

Now Ben chimed in.

"Bloody amateur, tell him Bill."

"This fine tool is a Zibra Corner Brush, imported from the good 'ole US of A, designed for a specific mission, it allows for a true professional's work to shine, a testament to a job well done. Now, can your cheap shit big store DIY paint brush compete? The answer's no. If we walk away, the job'll go to shit, trust me."

It was John that piped up next.

"It's only costing you materials, and they're at cost price. The boys and me are giving our time for free."

Inside my head, the klaxon was sounding, and the red DEFCON 5 light was flashing like mad. Nothing is free in life, well except the little plate of sample cut up sausage pieces I do on Saturday mornings at the stall.

"Woah! Hold up. John, you're telling me, this is free labour, and yet I distinctly heard you talking about my wife going out dressed like a slut to earn money! Cut the bullshit and tell me straight what's going on."

Robyn kissed me on a cheek, then started laughing, then the others all joined in, seemingly at my expense. Eventually, it died down as I stood there, tapping a foot with my arms folded. Bill filled me in on the piece I hadn't been party to.

"We've made a deal with your Mrs. We are having a charity day for skin cancer down the working man's club. We are desperately needing some female volunteers to make the day a success."

I squinted my eyes, this all sounded rather... fishy.

"What will she be doing?"

Robyn jumped straight in with the reply.

"A bit of waitressing, a little bit of dancing, some cheeky flirting, maybe."

As I sucked in air to voice my concerns, John now piped up.

"That's what the pile of clothes are about. A friend donated them, she runs a clothing website, good bit of promotion to be snatched over the event."

I noticed he was still holding the underwear set. I held out my hand, beckoning him to hand it to me. He paused, before reluctantly passing it to me. In one hand, I held up the wet-look peek-a-boo bra, with the large cut outs in the centre of each cup. in the other hand, I held up the matching crotchless bottoms.

I looked at Robyn as I replied.

"You mentioned the word 'snatched'. I guess you want my Mrs. to have her snatch out on display for all and sundry to see wearing this little number. And as for the dress she's wearing, it barely reaches the bottom of her arse cheeks. Not a happy husband here."

There were rumblings of discontent all round, and a wife now stood with a sad pout. Ben shrugged his shoulders, looked at his brother, who nodded, then casually answered me.

"No problems, mate, everyone thought you'd been on board. She can skip helping at the club, and we either charge you for what we've done so far or let us finish and then pay up for the whole job."

I just knew I was about to be laid over a barrel, figuratively speaking, for a good shafting.

"Go on, hit me with the cost."

"Fifteen hundred if we stop tonight, five grand to finish the job..."

He left a little pause, clearly watching the shocked expression on my face.

"... of course, the other alternative is to let us finish the job to the terms agreed with your Mrs."

It was a Bill and Ben double act and yep, I was screwed. I looked at Robyn. This was her mess.

"Are you sure about this?"

She smiled at me and nodded enthusiastically.

"Looks like there's a deal then."

The three of them patted me on the back, as they trooped past me to go downstairs to disappear for the day. Robyn threw her arms around my neck, those sexy lips locked onto mine like a limpet, and her tongue did its best impression of an eel as it snaked into my mouth.

"Thanks for this babe, John mentioned it yesterday afternoon, he said I had all the makings to blow the whole club away!"

I made a hmft noise as she walked away from me to make dinner.

I got a last quip in.

"As long as you plan to blow them away with your presence, not blow them while you're away!"

She started laughing as she went downstairs. I lent over the banister, admiring those puppies jiggling in the dress she was still wearing. It then dawned on me... had she stripped naked in front of John earlier? Looking in the spare bedroom, her bra sat on the bedside drawer. I hadn't a clue where her knickers were.

۞۞۞۞

Damnation! I was deep in thought at work the next morning, thinking about what Robyn had got herself mixed up in.

" Excuse me!"

It was Mrs. Willoughby, this time with a friend. I smiled, then fanned an arm across the counter with a smile indicating my array of juicy sausages and cooked meats.

"Are they the largest sausages you've got?"

I looked at them slightly puzzled.

"That's my entire stock, aren't you bothered more about the taste than the size?"

They looked at each other and sniggered before Mrs. Willoughby's friend replied.

"You can call me Babs. No, they all taste the same to me. We just need something to fill us up."

I scratched my chin thinking if there was a solution, then clicked my fingers as an idea popped into my head.

"You could always pick up a pair of baps from the bakers, then lay the sausage inside."

They looked at each other, with a silly grin. Mrs. Willoughby leant over, almost whispering.

"You need a certain special kind of sausage for that."

Now that surprised me, I thought I knew about every kind of sausage. Just goes to show, every day is a school day.

"If you can give me some details, I can try and find a supplier and get some in for you."

Now they struggled to control the glee that spread across their faces. It was Babs' turn to lean in close.

"You've got one in stock, let's just say it's under the counter."

They were openly laughing when I looked to see if there was anything I'd missed that was still under the counter. I shook my head, then proceeded to bag them the two largest sausages on display. After they paid, I shook my head sadly. Clearly, they were both going senile.

When I got home that night, unsurprisingly, there were two vans sitting outside. Surprisingly, a chrome pole sat dead bang in the middle of the bedroom they were decorating along with a single dining room chair. The only other things in the room were a couple of pots of paint, some decorating tools, and a small stepladder. As I opened my mouth to speak, Bill beat me to it with the most bizarre answer you could think of.

"Work at Height Regulations 2005 mandates that anyone working at height should be fitted with a harness to arrest a fall."

I looked at the pole, the ladder and the size of them. There was no-way in the entire universe that in any way, that pole and a harness could stop them falling the foot or so to the ground from the ladder.

I kept trying to form words, and kept stopping. To them, it must have looked like some weird mime as my face muscles and expressions were constantly changing. Just as the first word started to form, Ben spoke.

"Don't blame us gov'nr, the templated risk assessment from the Health and Safety Directorate, said we need to install it."

I then picked up on a hole in their story.

"So where's the harness?"

Ben crossed those meaty arms across his chest.

"We keep telling you, you're an amateur. There's more to decorating than your simple mind can cope with. We've finished up the ladder for the time being, the harness is back in the van. If it gets contaminated with paint, it's no longer fit for purpose."

What about the chair then?

"Health and Safety at Work Act 1974. An adequate place to rest must be provided. We take turns resting."

It seemed we live in a bureaucratic hell. Still if my dealing with the Tax Office, in the form of Mr. Campbell that was sorting my personal tax status was anything to go by, I'm not surprised by all the nonsense that was going on in my bedroom right now. They both stood there, arms folded across their chest with a smirk apiece. Feeling that I'd lost another battle, I slunk off in search of Robyn, and no doubt that letch John. Sure enough, there was the sound of giggling coming from the spare bedroom.

As was becoming the norm, Robyn was yet again scantily dressed. It was getting to a point that it no longer shocked me. Today, she was bent over in high heels and holdups, touching her toes. The little patterned plaid skirt would break the trade descriptions act. It was a belt, more than a skirt. Her hair was platted into two bunches and she wore a wafer-thin white blouse tied under her boobs, with no bra of course. She was facing away from John, who was sitting almost drooling on the bed. As before, he saw me, then said he had to make a delivery as he slid by me and down the stairs. I could only shake my head.

"Robyn, what has gotten into you? Not only are your arse cheeks sat out on display but your undercarriage is fully on view. Where-o-where is your underwear!"

"Oops! I meant to slide the white cotton ones on, John said I need a different style for each outfit, the knickers are... oh, they were on the bed next to him a few minutes ago."

"But why are they off in the first place? I'm really not happy about this, every time I come home, you're showing more and more flesh off to that bloody letch. Christ, he was drooling like a hungry wolf when I opened the door. At least on the day, I'll be there to keep things in check."

I started to look around for her underwear as I was speaking. Of course, she was quick to fire back.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Steve, what I'm doing is for a good cause. John's helping pick the most appropriate outfits to wear for the day, and sometimes, I'll need to change pretty quickly. He said he makes amateur films in his spare time, so he's had plenty of experience in organising wardrobe changes."

And again, we were at DEFCON 5 in my mind as I pried a little more at this new revelation about John.

"First of Robyn, how can I get any knickers in a twist when there's not one single pair to be found! And these outfits, you said appropriate. For what? I can't see how they are appropriate for, what did you say the other day?

Making a pair of air quotes with my hands, I delivered what I hoped was the killer blow.

"Oh yeah, A bit of waitressing, a little bit of dancing, some cheeky flirting. "

Those clothes are completely inappropriate for any of that, at best, they are something that should be worn in the bedroom, in fact, I'll be more specific. Our bedroom, as is yours and mine, not every other bloody Tom, Dick, or Harry, and you can include the name John too!"

I paused for a moment and processed my thoughts, maybe the clothes are for something else, the last comment she made prompted a further question.

"These amateur films, what kind of films are they?"

She smiled.

"I think they are nature films."

That surprised me.

"What kind of nature films?"

"He said they were about wives and cuckoos, he prefers to film amateurs."

I had a vision of her standing there, with a cuckoo on her shoulder like a pirate with a parrot. I shook my head, puzzled by the things that people seemed to gain enjoyment from. She then slipped around me, her chesticles brushing heavily against my body as she bobbed past me and started to descend the stairs, shouted back up to me.

"By the way, you won't be there, all the tickets have sold out, sorry."

This was the same time that Bill and Ben had decided to leave for the day. As I lent over the banister, thinking of what to say having been broadsided by her statement, they looked back up at me as they descended the stairs behind my wife tottering on those too tall heels with a knowing smile plastered over their faces.

۞۞۞۞

That night in bed, she apologised, and said she would try and get me a ticket. She messaged John, his quick reply made it clear he was adamant there was now a waiting list and, if someone dropped out, it wouldn't be fair if I jumped the queue. Boy, was I angry, so what did she do to soothe it all over? It felt like a wild animal had been let loose beside me. Wrapping her mouth around my personal sausage, it didn't take long before it erupted with my very own rich creamy sauce, which she eagerly gulped down. Then, she had me feast on her pink taco, which was slathered in her own tangy sauce before I even got started. Peeling her off the ceiling after she'd cum for the third time, she pulled me down on top of her and told me in no uncertain terms to pound the fuckin' shit out of her. After that, she went to the rodeo, riding me as if I was her own personal bucking bronco until I had to wave the white flag and meekly surrender.

I'm not stupid, I know it's a direct result of spending half the day dressing up in a collection of sexy clothes. I just had to keep my fingers crossed she would stick to her home-grown sausage and not plan to play toad-in-the-hole with anyone else other than me. And that was the cycle for the next week and a half. Sometimes John would be there, sometimes not. She was continually in skimpy gear, and fair play to Bill and Ben, they never seemed to bat an eyelid. There was something that struck me as odd though. For professional painters and decorators, they worked incredibly slowly, like snail pace slow. Still, it wasn't costing me any money. And then there was the smell in the bedroom. It smelt of sweat and something else and yet they didn't seem to move fast enough to break into even a minor sweat. Maybe they were just exhausted by the time I got home. More often than not, Robyn was freshly showered, she said all the running around behind them plus they were giving her some useful tips, had her hot and ready for a shower. Like I said, odd. I couldn't complain about the nightly sex marathons though, I could barely keep up, by the end of week I thought I was starting to look a little like Mrs. Willoughby's husband.

۞۞۞۞

Half way through the next week, Mrs. Willoughby, Babs and another woman, Mrs. Crompton-Tailor, turned up at the stall. She was something different to the other two ladies. A little younger, maybe in her mid-fifties, and dressed like she was the lady of the manor. When she opened her mouth, she sounded like it too. Mrs. Willoughby spoke, sounding like she was justifying Mrs. Crompton-Tailor's presence.

"See I told you, these are the best sausages in town. Thick and meaty, they don't fall apart like the cheap supermarket ones."

Mrs. Crompton-Tailor stood in her twinset and pearls, she certainly wasn't unattractive and must have been a grade A babe back in the day. When she spoke, it was a voice of authority and power. Conditioned by the voice of the posh headmistress back in my school days, I automatically complied with her instruction.

"Step around this side of the counter, and be quick about it... That's a good boy, now stand up straight, arms down by your side."

In an automaton-like state, I did exactly as she asked. Her eyes never shifted from mine as she walked directly towards me, when her right hand suddenly went straight for my prize sausage, cupping it tightly through my trousers. Shocked to the core and held by her eyes, I stood there frozen as if hypnotised. That wasn't quite true, a part of my anatomy not used to being up close and personal with any woman other than my wife was rapidly expanding in my pants. Without shifting her gaze, her hand gently rubbed away for a while, as I quickly filled my pants. A smile appeared on her face, as she gave my manhood a squeeze, before stepping away.

"Well done, ladies, you should be commended on your find. Now, I must be off, I'll leave you to arrange the formalities."

And then she was gone, leaving an animated Mrs. Willoughby to fill me in on the proposal.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but your wife is called Robyn and she is taking part in a charity event on the fourteenth of July in the working man's club?"

That surprised me that they knew about it.

"That's right, how did the pair of you know that?"

Babs gave me a disarming smile along with the answer.

"There is a large and a smaller hall at the working man's club. The ladies of the Templeton Age Reformist Troupe Society, or TARTS for short, are holding a charity event in the smaller hall in unison with the men for the skin cancer charity too. We are looking for volunteers, and we are short of men with certain attributes. We told Gloria, sorry, Mrs. Crompton-Tailor, about your fine sausages, we suggested she come down herself to check your stall out. She wants you to bring along a selection of your finest sausages which you can sell, and make a donation from the profits at the end. We have sold over a hundred tickets so far, and they are still selling. But we've had a few people bail out that were supposed to be supporting us. Please, help us make it a success, we don't want to look like a failure compared to the men's event, and the fact your wife's appearing means their tickets sold out quickly."

How odd. It prompted me to respond.

"Really? Just because Robyn's doing some waitressing and, by all accounts, a little dance routine or something. Well, some things are stranger than fiction. OK, count me in, I'd be the villain of the piece if I didn't support a charity event. Other than some stock, is there anything else... like a dress code for the event? And lastly, please can you keep a lid on my attendance, I want it to be a surprise."

There was a silent pause, as they looked at each other. If I had to describe their look, a sly smirk would be apt.

"No, we'll organise an outfit in keeping with the event, you just turn up at three o'clock and it'll be fine."

When they left, I spent the rest of the day with a smug grin plastered across my face. Seems, I will be there to see what's going on, after all.

۞۞۞۞

The work at home progressed slowly, the one time I challenged their speed, they rebuffed me telling me that you can't rush perfection. It was just a bit of wallpapering and painting to me. I knew John had been there, but he was never around when I was home after the message exchange confirming I couldn't go to the event. Oh, how I was looking forward to seeing the smug bastard's face when I moved from one hall to the other!

I ordered some extra sausages in advance for the big day, even found a supplier that had some extra long, with a little more girth, they were French and Polish sausages. Since the TARTS ladies had paid me that visit, there was a definite uptick in my trade amongst some of the slightly older women of the town. For whatever reason, there was a market for the fuller sausage, and it seemed I may have cornered the market.

As we got nearer to the big day, I came home to find Robyn, John, Bill and Ben sitting on the deck out the back, or more appropriately, they were sitting as she tottered into the kitchen on killer high heels with a tray and some empty glasses. She looked somewhat sweaty, with tousled hair, putting two and two together, I looked at the three of them lounging around outside, praying that they weren't looking hot and sweaty too. Praise to the lord, they weren't, which quelled the initial thought that something that shouldn't be going, had been going on. Her clothing, or lack of, was somewhat perturbing though. Initially I thought she was topless, it transpired she had a couple of pasties with little dangling hearts covering her nipples. As for knickers, what could have passed as a postage stamp had the dubious merit of covering her lady bits from the front, and a bit of black string looked like it was being chewed by her arse cheeks held up the rear.

Seeing me, they got up deciding to leave. I couldn't fail to notice the tented trousers, not surprising really, if this is how she'd dressed for the day. When she returned with a drink for the two of us, she put a finger to my lips, she knew me too well.

"I'm just getting comfortable with my attire for the big day. I did ask John again if they could squeeze you in, there isn't room at all, as there is an event for the ladies in the smaller hall. One more person, and the fire department will shut them down for being in breach of the fire regs. I promise, I'll make it up to you."

With that, she stood in front of me, letting me reach around to play with the nipple tassels, as she ground her arse against me in a slow deliberate motion. I responded exactly as any red blooded male should... oh wait... the tented trousers from earlier! At least it was nearly over, and our household could return to normality.

When I went upstairs the doorway to our bedroom was plastered in 'Do not enter' tape. Apparently, it was almost ready and she wanted it to be a special reveal. I was becoming nonplussed to all the shenanigans that seemed to be going on. Later that evening, the next shock was a little more extreme. The sex tap, which had been free flowing over the past week or so, was suddenly turned off. When my hand reached across to caress her body to set the wheels in motion, she gently moved my hand from her body.

"I want to conserve my energy for the big day. John said if we refrain from getting physical, it'll make for a better performance on my part."

I smiled but was fuming inside. Now John was dictating the flux and flow of our sex life. He was in for a nasty shock, as I'm sure he was trying to keep me out of the charity event. If Robyn took things too far, I'd put my foot down with a firm hand, making sure to put the blame for bringing things to a premature end onto his shoulders. With the thought of a baying crowd turning on him I drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

On the morning of the 14th, I asked when I'd have access to the bedroom, since part of the monthly mortgage payments included the bedroom which I felt justified me having access to it. Walking up to me, she gave me a sweet little kiss on the lips.

"You've been so good and supportive, I promise you, we'll break the seal tonight and you'll have exclusive access."

"What do you mean, 'exclusive access?' It's our bloody bedroom." She giggled, which turned into a sexy growl.

"Just wait until tonight!"

After a quick breakfast she took a taxi to go and have her hair and nails done... I popped down to my market store and retrieved the stock I wanted to take along with some flyers I'd had printed up. I could see this being good for my business. Because I was supposed to be at work as far as Robyn was concerned, I dropped her a message just after lunch wishing her luck, which prompted a ILU XXXX response. I arrived at the working man's club, unloaded my wares by the rear entrance then parked my van behind a bloody great big camper in the far end of the car park, so it wasn't easily visible. I was met by Mrs. Crompton-Tailor who was in charge, with a gaggle of other ladies there to do her bidding.

"Ah, Hello Stephen, I must thank you in advance for making an effort to attend. Mrs. Willoughby will be your liaison officer, we have set you aside that area over there if you want to set up your stall. Once you have done that, we will be having a meeting at sixteen hundred hours to run through the program, then it will be time for you to don the outfit that has been selected for you."

Then she was gone.

Mrs. Willoughby had the foresight to speak to the landlord and borrow a sack barrow and, in no time at all, my stall was set up. The glass cases that I'd brought connected to a small portable chiller to stop the stock from going off rounded off my display nicely, the adjustable LED lighting in each case gave each display case "'the look'." As I finished placing my sausages out, pride of place went to an oversize French Andouille variant which sat in the centre display, looking like the king ruling over his kingdom. I was parched, and Mrs. Willoughby gave me a large glass of homemade lemonade, a little bitter, but refreshing nonetheless. At that point Mrs. Crompton-Tailor walked over.

"That's it, knock that drink back, you've been beavering away, you certainly deserve it! Now, I must say, you have excelled yourself. Two things; are those cases lockable, especially the main one. Some of the ladies may get a little over eager to get their hands on your wares. And secondly... that monster sausage, would you donate it as a raffle prize? I must say, it's a rare specimen!"

Of course I agreed to it, and I watched as Mrs. Willoughby's happy face dropped at the news.

I tried to cheer her up.

"If you don't win it, I promise, as my best customer, I'll try and order one that is at least an equal of that monster!"

That did the trick. When she wandered off I had ten minutes to kill before the meeting. There were some more stalls spread around the hall. I saw some fruit and veg on one, I think fish on another. There was a stall selling candles of a wide variety of lengths and circumferences. Walking over to look at the stalls, it became odder. The sea food, apparently, were imports, Joe, the specialist fishmonger, had been asked to bring along two particular types along with some lobster tails. Walking closer, it looked like there was something that should be dangling between a horse's rear legs.

"Called Geoduck. Believe it not, they're clams, and yes, your face says it all, they do look like a horse cock." As I stood mesmerized, he pointed at some other equally dubious looking fish.

"Penis Fish, and you can see where they got their name from. As crazy as it sounds, this is what the ole' biddies wanted me to bring along. Look at the fruit and veg stall, notice how all of his stock is shaped a certain way too? Bananas, cucumbers, aubergines, squashes, courgettes and the odd marrow. Everything we've got is... phallic."

Oh my giddy aunt! He was right, why didn't I notice that before. The look on their faces when they browsed my stock, the way Mrs. Willoughby looked lovingly at her purchases. I shuddered, realising that maybe they weren't actually eating them, well they were, but not in a way that would be considered acceptable to the public at large.

All of a sudden, there was a loud whistle, and Mrs. Willoughby stepped up and took my arm, Babs did the same with Joe then escorted us off to a little office where Mrs. Crompton-Tailor was holding court.

"Gentlemen, I must thank you on behalf of all the TARTS that will be attending this event, I have a feeling this is going to go down as something big and large in our esteemed history. In front of you is a consent form, stating that you are here as volunteers, are not being paid in any form, you'll wear the outfits as will be provided and that you are here of your own free will. It's just standard anti-slavery waffle that the insurance companies say is now de rigueur with these types of events where people aren't being paid. If you are OK with that, please can you sign the forms and we'll sort your outfits."

I looked at the other guys, we all shrugged our shoulders, then signed the forms. As I stood up, I felt odd, my skin started to feel a little hot. As Babs bent forward to pick up the forms and I caught a glimpse of her voluminous rack, to my horror, my cock twitched somewhat violently, and started to grow. I picked up that the others seemed to be having some similar issues, especially Joe who was doing his best to rearrange his jeans. It was then I saw that Mrs. Crompton-Tailor was smiling. Not a smile that belonged on a senior citizen's face, but one of an evil dictator. One of her minions came in and handed us each a bow tie. We all looked at each other somewhat puzzled.

Mrs. Crompton-Tailor explained in great detail.

"They are your costumes. Period."

I spoke up, confident I was representing all of us.

"Now look here, we're not parading around in jus..."

"Be quiet!"

Once again, memories of the headmistress kicked in.

"If you would have bothered to read that legal agreement, you would have seen the section regarding backing out once the contract was signed. You would need to pay a penalty for our loss of revenue. At the moment, we are expecting that between all of you participating, we'll get to net over fifty thousand."

We fell about laughing. No way were these old dears going to rake in that much money. Suddenly, Mrs. Crompton-Tailor barked out an order.

"Ladies, cash out, now!"

With that, the five women there all placed five hundred pounds a piece on the table. Joe looked at the money, and then Mrs. Crompton-Tailor. All she could do was smile, and leave us in several seconds of tense silence.

"These ladies are offering this money to start the charity pot. It's for the privilege of helping you strip, and putting the bow tie on of course. You do know what's special about today, don't you?"

We had no idea as we looked at each other, shaking our heads which was her cue to continue.

"Oh, you are a bunch of silly billys. The 14th of July is National Nude Day. Currently you are all in breach of that as you have your clothes on. It was all in the document. Now, let the ladies help you, they have paid for that privilege."

Like a whippet, Mrs. Willoughby was standing in front of me, helping to peel my tee-shirt off. Next, she had me put each foot up on a chair, before removing my shoes and socks. God knows why but my personal sausage was reacting to her touch in a way it shouldn't, and hoped it didn't offend her when we got down to the nitty gritty. Running her palm over the lump in my jeans, the belt, button and zip gave up the ghost, before she wiggled them down over my hips. With her hands on my hips, and her head level with my midsection her head kept moving towards me, her tongue sliding from her mouth like a guided missile on a mission. The clear cut voice of Mrs. Crompton-Tailor cut through the air.

"Mrs. Willoughby, I warned you to behave. You'll need to step back, and I'll finish the job."

She moved to stand in front of me. Up close, I'd noticed before she was still an attractive woman. Now, seeing those blood red lips and blue eyes did make me shiver. Dipping my eyes, it appeared a couple of buttons were now undone on her blouse, the black lacy bra now visible as a sexy contrast between the white and her pink plush skin.

"Because we are about to become a little more familiar than before, you may now call me Gloria."

As she was speaking, her hand was rubbing the lump that my underwear was failing to hide. I swallowed, I was certainly sweating where I felt so hot, and I could literally feel the blood pumping around my body, and more so in one particular place. I felt a finger hook over the waistband which started to tug my smalls down. It did necessitate she stretch the elastic in the waistband, to get it over my hard and rigid sausage. Please God, do not let my Mrs. walk in here right now.

The next thing I knew, they were around my ankles. Feeling a little stupid, I kicked them away. It seemed, I needed to get with the program, there was no way out unless I wanted to go bankrupt. Gloria lent in, running her tongue up my cheek and over an ear.

"You certainly pack a worthy piece of meat, your wife should be proud of you right now."

I'd forgotten about Robyn, how the hell was I going to spy on her when I'm naked? Actually, that's incorrect as Mrs Willoughby had now fitted the bow tie. There was no way I could walk next door dressed like this?

۞۞۞۞

We did a split shift of sorts. Two of us manned our stalls as the others played naked waiters for the tables of cackling women before swapping every thirty minutes or so. It seemed there were some sort of rules, light touching was permissible, using one's mouth was a big no-no as was coupling male part A with female part B. Despite my initial misgivings, and feeling I'd been hoodwinked into this, there was actually something liberating about walking around with my junk swinging free and wild. What was that film? Yah that's right, Free Willy! SO true, so true. The other aspect was once I was hard, it didn't go down, in fact I don't think I'd ever been harder in my whole life. It certainly wasn't helped by the fact there was a fair smattering of MILFs in here, and I recognised the hungry look in some of their eyes.

By eight in the evening, all my stock had gone and every single flier had been snatched up. In fact, some had made their way back to my stall with a name and telephone number on. Maybe there was a new business opportunity for home deliveries that was worth exploring.

The raffle was a great success. It actually felt good when Mrs. Willoughby won the prize sausage. She came and gave me a kiss on the cheek, as a thanks, then said goodbye for the evening. Apparently she was really hungry, and was desperate to grips with the mammoth sausage she'd just won. My god, that woman must have hollow legs if she was going to devour the whole thing in one sitting!

After the raffle, the music started, and I lost count of how many fast dances I had for the next hour or so. I was no longer conscious of the fact I was, to all intent, naked, and did truly revel in it. Why had we never thought about going naked, especially on holiday where it was an acceptable practice? It was then that the bomb dropped on me - my wife was next door, probably doing the same thing as me, but, well, blokes being blokes, I dreaded to think what state she had got in. Just then, the first slow song started. Like a herd of stampeding cattle, a wall of women were heading towards me. Enter stage left, the dubious Gloria Crompton-Tailor who stood and placed her hands on my waist.

"I'd like to say thank you, it looks like we have raised in excess of fifty thousand. Each round of drinks you delivered came with a delivery cost, the more you played up to it, the more they gave. And you all played up nicely to the audience, so the charity will benefit from it. You look so sad now, compared to ten or so minutes ago."

She pulled me in tight, my manhood was trapped in a very snug place, the movement and friction had the potential to make this an explosive situation.

"I'm annoyed you resorted to blackmailing us, to get your way. None of us can afford the ludicrous penalty you would have imposed."

She started to laugh.

"Oh, you are so amusing, no wonder your wife loves you the way she does. If you would have read the contract, you'd have noticed it was signed by one Minnie Mouse."

She laughed and lowered her head onto my shoulders. I thought about her statement, and how it felt at odds with my current emotions.

"I'm sorry, I disagree with you, about my wife. I actually think I've lost my wife to that bloke John that runs the DIY shop."

She suddenly froze in her tracks, and started to laugh hysterically. When she managed to calm down, she was crying.

"Oh my god, even with a pair of eyes inside that pretty head of yours you cannot truly see. She's not in love with him, or anybody else, only you. But, and this is a big but that you need to be able to rein in. Your wife is a monumental exhibitionist, that is what John suspected, and he had drawn that out of her, with a little help from some friends. Come with me, but you must not, under any circumstances, interfere."

We walked through into the shared bar area and stood down at the end so we were almost out of sight. It now dawned on me as to why I had to give and collect the bar orders from one end of the bar. It stopped me from seeing into the other hall, and likely Robyn too. In the middle of the hall was a temporary stage, complete with a pole and lit professionally. There, twirling around completely starkers was my wife, legs spread wide as she rotated upside down on the pole. There were whoops and cheers as notes fluttered to the floor thrown from people's wallets. As the song ended, there was a massive cheer, Bill brought a chair on the stage, as John stepped forward and played the compere.

"Right next up another not-so-private dance, who bid and won the black frilly La Senza crotchless knickers?"

A huge cheer went up as someone in the mass of men started waving a pair of what I assume was a pair of my wife's knickers around. So that's what happened to them, John had taken them to use in some sort of dodgy auction. The next shock was to watch Mr. Willoughby take the seat on the stage.

For the next five minutes, Robyn writhed, danced and teased poor old Mr. Willoughby to within an inch of his life. His eyes practically popped from his head when she ground her naked arse into his crotch. As his hands reached around to cup her boobs, Bill and Ben appeared from the shadows to grip his wrist, and return them to his side. And yet she didn't stop, merely turned around and straddled his lap, thrusting her boobs towards his face before pulling them back so they were just beyond his reach. I never realised my wife was so sexy, she'd dance in normal nightclubs but this was like something else altogether. She reminded me of Salma Hayek's iconic table top dance scene in Dusk till Dawn. In fact, I'd go to say my wife was even sexier. I had to admit, at this very moment, I was proud of my wife's show, the way she had taken command of the audience and did so with an aura of embracing her nakedness and sheer beauty. I was snapped away from those thoughts.

"Come on, she's busy, and you have a gaggle of women that want to part with more cash to have a dance in your arms. You should know, the other women that originally volunteered chickened out over the last couple of days. You should be proud of your wife, she has kept them entertained for hours, along with the whole audience that have also kept it up from all those moves and costumes she's donned. She has been naked since seven and will see the rest of the National Naked Day out dressed in her birthday suit. I think you should look forward to doing the same too."

And so I continued into the evening until the end. Not only was I proud of myself, but immensely so of how my wife had really got into performing for a good cause. At the end of the evening, us guys helped each other pack away, remaining naked throughout as we went back and forth through the car park. An interesting fact I learnt was it is not illegal to be naked, as long as there is nothing sexual in the nature of doing so. There are some grey sounding caveats, but there you go, everyday really is a school day. With that thought, I decided to drive home, naked.

I went into the hall next door, to find that Robyn had left a short while back. I asked who she had left with, I was told she piled in a van with John, Bill and Ben and she was still naked. My heart sank, it looked like I'd been sold a lie by Mrs. bloody Gloria Crompton-Tailor.

When I arrived home, all the lights were off in the house when I parked up, with no sign of any vehicles. It was obvious, she was spending the night elsewhere. Walking in dejectedly, the thought of being naked left a bitter taste in my mouth. I was tired, and decided to crash out. As I walked into what was currently our bedroom, I stopped, and walked back onto the landing. The tape had gone that prevented me from going into our original bedroom. Being careful, I slowly opened the door, and peered into the darkness.

Suddenly, music filled the room, the song 'Freak Like Me' by Adina Howard spilled from speakers that previously never existed. A UV light flickered on, and a very naked Robyn stood straight against the pole with one leg bent at an angle with the sole of her foot resting part way up the pole. To one side was a chair, not one of our dining room ones, but one covered in black leather. She raised an arm and an index finger pointed at the chair, which I took as a command to be seated.

I was treated to the sexiest pole dance I'd ever witnessed, as her body writhed and moved with the fluid motion of a serpent mixed with an air of feline grace. Until halfway through the song, she never looked directly at me, when she finally turned and looked into my eyes, I felt my heart flutter with pure unabashed lust. Her eyes literally glowed red, some fancy contact lens no less. Leaving the pole she swayed her hips and danced her way over to me, before every part of her body was either rubbed or gently brushed against my skin.

The next song up was 'Sex with Me' by Rihanna. Putting a leg over my lap to almost straddle me, her head dipped down until her lips slowly collided with mine. Holding the position, her hands gripped my head for the most scintillating kiss I had ever received as her hips moved around in the most salacious manner. When she pulled back, her expression was of pure lust, staring straight into my eyes, her hand dipped down to grab at my painfully hard cock. Lowering herself, she rubbed the cockhead back and forth through her slickened opening several times before letting herself sink down on the fleshy rod. Once bottomed out, she whispered in my ear.

"I see the Viagra from the drink earlier is still working its magic. My new boss, Gloria, said to apologise for not being upfront about adding a couple of crushed tablets to the drinks they gave you guys. She was worried you'd all get stage fright, and that would have crushed your egos, so she thought you could all do with a helping hand, or, more specifically, some little blue pills."

That explained the odd feelings earlier. I'd never taken the stuff, but I had to admit, it felt as if my cock had been filled with steel as it was so incredibly hard, with no sign of it subsiding. She shifted and moved around on that chair with me trying a multitude of positions, at one point she hung from the pole upside down while sucking my cock. In the end, she knelt on the chair and I fucked her like I'd stolen her for the night. Resting on her back from exhaustion, she managed to whisper to me.

"Look up together, smile and wave. This is my inaugural live web show, and the main camera is right ahead of us. The tickets were sold tonight, it netted us, as in you and me, fourteen hundred pounds."

After a shower, we went to bed, both exhausted. As I lay there, I needed to ask the question.

"Do you still love me... I mean, after the fooling around with John, I assume Bill, Ben and whoever else got lucky earlier tonight too."

In the darkness, she started to snigger. I took it as a cruel way to dismiss me as a man.

"I'm sorry, this has been a test and training for both of us. I promise you here and now you are the only man that I'm ever going to get intimate with. I may dance, even suffer the odd cop-a-feel from some chancer, but it goes with the territory. John saw the natural exhibitionist in me and introduced me to Gloria. You've got her all wrong. I know about the agreement you signed, she said let that be a warning to you to always study and get council when presented with legal documents.

"I'm not taking that office job, the room next door is my studio. My stage name is Hot2Trot, I'll be spending my time at home being naked and live streaming, and I plan to enjoy every moment of being nude and showing my body off. Occasionally, I'll do a live show somewhere, there are other women like me under Gloria's umbrella company. All those clothes were her design, any that were ordered tonight will see a cut come my way too. To make this work, we had to be sure that you'd be OK with it, hence the pushing of boundaries. You got close to failing, but passed the test. And by the way, those times it looked like he's jacked over me... make believe for your benefit, to see how you'd react in a worse case scenario.

"I used Bill and Ben to practice with. They are the perfect gentlemen. They showed me a few moves if someone gets too handsy, and for live stuff, they're our guardian angels. As for John, his role was to try and get handsy with me, but don't worry. Gloria is actually his wife, but it's a secret, been married for years and they keep that bit low-key. He used to make porn films, she was a rich girl that turned bad and became an upper class escort. Let's just say that he's well under her boot now, especially the beautiful thigh high one she owns.

"Can I ask you a question? Did being naked, letting it all hang out, letting a group of women gawp at your fine body, make you feel good. I did get a sneaky peak you know, there were a few of the hot MILFs really paying attention to your every move. Oh, by the way, I put my number on one of your fliers, like I noticed a few of them doing before leaving them on your stall. I'm hoping that's the only one you plan to keep."

I nodded, admitting I'd enjoyed it.

It all made sense, but was she doing the right thing? Did I have the right to try and stop her? Who knows, she's a grown woman, so can make her own choices in life. If she enjoys it, and it doesn't harm our relationship, it could work. But I did learn one thing about myself too - I actually enjoyed being naked and in public. I also filled me with proud, a very voyeuristic pride, to watch my wife perform. That gave me an idea.

"Hey, let's have a day down the coast. There's a naked beach in Brighton, fancy strutting our stuff a little more? And if we can find a bit that's a little private, I think it's likely that the Viagra may still be working by then."

Fin

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