Sundress Maintenance Call

The AC had been acting up for three days straight, and by Thursday morning, the apartment felt like a sauna with the windows cracked. I was wiping sweat off my neck with a dish towel when you called from work, Ryan, telling me maintenance was finally coming by.

"Just keep an eye on them while they work," you said, that familiar casual tone in your voice. "Shouldn't take more than an hour."

I told you I'd handle it and hung up, glancing at myself in the hallway mirror. The sundress I'd thrown on was thin cotton, pale yellow, sticking to my skin in all the wrong places. I hadn't bothered with a bra because honestly, who the hell wears a bra in their own apartment when it's ninety-two degrees inside? The kids were at school, you were at work, and I'd been planning to just lay in front of the fan with a book and pretend I wasn't melting.

The knock came at ten sharp. I opened the door to find Marcus and Dwayne standing there with toolboxes, both of them in their maintenance polos, smiling the way they always did. Polite. Respectful. We'd met them a few times since moving from Maine to Michigan, and I'd told you more than once how nice they were. You'd agreed.

"Mrs. Kristy," Marcus said, nodding. "Heard your AC's giving you trouble."

"It's giving me a heat stroke," I said, stepping aside. "Come on in."

They walked past me and I caught the way Marcus's eyes drifted down for half a second. The sundress. The sweat. I didn't think much of it. They went straight to the thermostat, then to the utility closet where the unit was housed, and I sat on the couch with my book, legs tucked under me, trying to focus on anything other than how miserable I was.

You and I had talked about this before, Ryan. About them. About the whole idea of black guys and what it would be like. You'd been drunk that night, loose-lipped and honest in a way you never were sober, and you'd told me about the fantasy. The one where I got fucked by one of them. Where you watched. I'd laughed it off and told you that was never going to happen, and you'd shrugged and said you knew, said it was just something that got you off thinking about.

What I didn't know then was that you'd told them the same thing.

Marcus called me over about twenty minutes in. "Mrs. Kristy, can you come here? Want to show you how to change this filter so you don't have to call us every time."

I walked over to the utility closet. He was on the floor, reaching up into the unit, and I stood in the doorway, looking up at what he was pointing at. I didn't realize until later that from where he was sitting, he could see straight up my dress. My white cotton panties, damp from the sweat, right there at his eye level. I was staring at the filter housing, completely oblivious, while he was staring at something else entirely.

"See, you just pop this clip here," he said, his voice steady, "and slide it out. Easy."

Dwayne appeared behind me. I turned to look at him and he was closer than I expected, his hand resting on the doorframe. I laughed nervously and said, "Okay, I think I've got it," and went back to the couch.

But something had shifted. The air in the apartment felt different, and it wasn't just the heat.

I was reading, or trying to, when Dwayne sat down on the other end of the couch. I glanced at him. "You guys need anything? Water?"

"Nah, we're good," he said. His thigh was close to mine. Not touching, but close. Marcus came out of the hallway and sat on the arm of the chair across from us, and they exchanged a look I didn't quite read.

"Your husband's a real friendly guy," Marcus said.

"He is," I agreed. "We like it here. Different from Maine, but good."

"Maine," Dwayne repeated, smiling. "Not a lot of brothers up there, huh?"

I laughed. "No, not really. It was kind of a culture shock at first, honestly."

Marcus leaned forward. "But you adjusted fine."

Something about the way he said it made my stomach tighten. I closed my book and set it on my lap. "I think I should check on the laundry," I said, starting to stand up.

Dwayne's hand landed on my knee. Not hard. Not aggressive. Just there.

"Relax," he said. "AC's not done yet. Got a few more things to check."

I looked at his hand on my knee, then at him. His eyes were dark and direct, and I understood in that single moment that this wasn't about the AC anymore.

"Dwayne, I think you should—"

"Your husband told us something interesting, Mrs. Kristy," Marcus said from across the room, his voice calm and measured. "Told us he's always wanted to see something happen. Something with you."

My heart started pounding. "What are you talking about?"

"He told us you've got a big black dildo in your nightstand," Dwayne said, his hand sliding up an inch. "Said he found it and figured you think about it too."

I felt my face go hot, and it wasn't the temperature. "That's— you went through our bedroom?"

"We've been in your apartment a few times when nobody was home," Marcus said, standing up now. "Nice place. Nice smell. Your panties smell good, by the way."

I stood up fast, the book falling to the floor. "Both of you need to leave. Right now."

Dwayne stood up behind me. I could feel his body close to my back, the heat radiating off him, and when I turned to move toward the door, his arm came around my waist.

"Your husband set this up," he said quietly against my ear. "He's watching right now. Hidden cameras. He wants this."

I froze. "You're lying."

"Check your phone," Marcus said. "He texted you."

I pulled my phone from the pocket of my sundress with shaking hands. There was a text from you, Ryan. From fifteen minutes ago. It said: *Go with it. I love you. This is what I've wanted.*

I stared at the screen. The apartment was silent except for the hum of the broken AC and my own breathing.

"Ryan wouldn't—" I started, but the text was right there. Black and white. From your number.

Dwayne's hands were on my hips now, his fingers pressing into the thin fabric of the sundress. I could feel how hard he was against my lower back, and my mind was racing but my body was doing something else entirely. The dildo in my nightstand. The late-night conversations with you about things that would never happen. The way I'd looked at Marcus one time, just a little too long, and then told myself I hadn't.

"I can't do this," I whispered.

Marcus stepped in front of me. He was tall, broad, and he reached down and pulled the sundress over my head in one smooth motion. I stood there in my underwear, shaking, my small tits exposed, nipples hard from the sweat and the fear and something I didn't want to name.

"Fuck," Dwayne said behind me. "Look at her."

Marcus's hand came up and cupped my breast, his dark hand against my pale skin, and I gasped. Not a no. Not a yes. Just a sound that came from somewhere I couldn't control.

"Your husband wants to see this," Marcus said, his thumb rolling over my nipple. "So we're gonna give him a show."

Dwayne unhooked my bra and slid my panties down. I stepped out of them, standing naked between two men I barely knew, in my own living room, while you watched from wherever you were. I thought about texting back. I thought about screaming. I thought about the dildo in my drawer and how many times I'd come with it inside me, imagining exactly this.

Dwayne pushed me to my knees on the carpet. I watched as both of them pulled their shirts off and unzipped their pants. Marcus was big. Not just big in the way you joke about with your girlfriends—big in a way that made my mouth go dry and my pussy clench involuntarily. Dwayne was thicker, shorter, but still bigger than anything I'd had in real life.

"Open your mouth," Marcus said.

I did. I opened my mouth and he slid his cock past my lips, and the taste of him was salty and warm and real. My hand came up to grip the base and I heard Dwayne behind me, felt his hands on my ass, spreading me open. I tried to focus on what was in front of me, tried to suck Marcus the way I'd sucked you a thousand times, but Dwayne's mouth was on my pussy suddenly, his tongue pushing inside me, and I moaned around Marcus's cock.

"Damn, she's wet already," Dwayne said, pulling back. "Her husband wasn't lying."

I wanted to say I wasn't wet because of this. I wanted to say it was the heat, the sweat, anything else. But my body was a traitor, and Marcus's cock was hitting the back of my throat, and Dwayne was licking me from clit to ass, and I was making sounds I hadn't made in years.

Marcus fucked my mouth slowly, deliberately, one hand in my hair. "You like that, don't you, Mrs. Kristy?"

I couldn't answer. My mouth was full. I just looked up at him with tears forming in the corners of my eyes and he smiled.

Dwayne stood up and I felt the head of his cock press against my pussy. No condom. No warning. He pushed inside me in one long stroke and I pulled off Marcus's cock and cried out. Not from pain. From the fullness. From the reality of it.

"Oh fuck," I gasped.

Dwayne started fucking me with long, steady strokes, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to leave marks. Marcus turned my head back toward him and pushed his cock back in my mouth, and I was being fucked from both ends, on my knees in my living room, and I came. Just like that. The orgasm hit me like a wall falling over, and I screamed around Marcus's dick while Dwayne drove into me harder.

"She's cumming already," Dwayne laughed. "Tight little white pussy gripping the shit out of me."

They switched. Marcus laid me on my back on the couch and spread my legs. He looked down at me, his cock standing straight out, slick with my spit, and he positioned himself at my entrance.

"You want this?" he asked.

I closed my eyes. "Yes."

He pushed inside me and I arched off the couch. He was deeper than Dwayne, hitting something inside me that made my vision blur. He started fucking me hard, the couch creaking under us, and Dwayne straddled my chest, sliding his cock between my tits, pushing them together.

"Suck the head," he said, and I tilted my chin down and took him in my mouth every time he thrust forward.

I came again. And then again. Marcus pulled out and flipped me over, bending me over the arm of the couch, and entered me from behind. His hand came down on my ass, hard, and I yelped.

"That's for making us wait so long," he said, and spanked me again.

Dwayne moved around to the front and I took him in my mouth while Marcus fucked me from behind, and the rhythm of it, the two of them using me in tandem, was overwhelming. I was drooling, sweating, moaning, and somewhere in the back of my mind I thought about you, Ryan, watching on your phone at work, and I felt something twist in my chest. Betrayal and arousal and confusion all tangled together.

Marcus pulled out and pressed his thumb against my asshole. I tensed immediately.

"No," I said, pulling off Dwayne. "I've never—"

"Your husband said you use that dildo back there sometimes," Marcus said. "Small one in the drawer."

He knew because they'd gone through everything. Every drawer, every toy, every secret. I felt exposed in a way that had nothing to do with being naked.

"Please," I said, and I wasn't sure if I was asking him to stop or keep going.

He spit on his hand and rubbed it on my asshole, then pressed his cock against it. The pressure was intense, almost too much, and I gripped the couch cushion and buried my face in it. He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, and I felt myself stretching around him, the burn radiating through my whole body.

"Fuck, she's tight," Marcus groaned.

Dwayne slid underneath me and entered my pussy while Marcus worked himself deeper into my ass, and I was full. Completely full. Two cocks inside me, moving in alternating rhythm, and I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but take it.

"Oh my god," I moaned into the cushion. "Oh my fucking god."

Dwayne fucked up into me while Marcus fucked down, and they found a rhythm that made my whole body shake. I came so hard I saw stars, my pussy clenching around Dwayne, my ass squeezing Marcus, and both of them groaned at the same time.

"She's milking the fuck out of me," Dwayne said.

Marcus grabbed my hair and pulled my head back. "You like getting fucked by two black men, Mrs. Kristy? You like having your married pussy and ass filled?"

I couldn't lie. Not to them, not to myself, not to the cameras I knew were watching. "Yes," I said. "Yes, I love it."

Marcus came first. I felt him swell inside my ass and then the hot rush of his cum flooding me, pulse after pulse, and he stayed buried deep while he emptied himself. Dwayne followed seconds later, grabbing my hips and slamming up into me, his cum shooting inside my pussy, warm and thick.

They pulled out and I collapsed onto the couch, cum leaking from both holes, my body trembling. But they weren't done.

Dwayne moved to my face and pushed his softening cock into my mouth. "Clean it off," he said. I licked him clean, tasting myself and him mixed together, and he hardened again in my mouth.

Marcus disappeared down the hall and came back with something from the bedroom. My dildo. The black one. He held it up and smiled.

"Let's see how you use this when nobody's home."

He pushed it into my pussy while Dwayne fucked my mouth, and I came again, my body convulsing, overstimulated and raw. Then Marcus took the dildo out and replaced it with his cock again, hard once more, and he fucked me on my back while Dwayne knelt over my face and came in my mouth. I swallowed it. Every drop. Because by then I wasn't thinking anymore. I was just a body being used, and the part of me that had fantasized about this for years had taken over completely.

Marcus came inside me again, filling my pussy, and when he pulled out, the cum ran down my thighs in thick streams.

I blacked out. Just like that. One moment I was aware of the ceiling fan spinning above me, and the next, everything went dark.

When I woke up, the apartment was quiet. The AC was running—cold air blowing from the vents, thank god—and the light through the windows was the amber shade of late afternoon. I was in our bed, not on the couch, and I was naked under the sheets. I pulled the sheet back and saw the state of myself. Cum dried on my thighs, my stomach, my chest. More leaking from between my legs, pooling on the sheets. My ass ached. My pussy was swollen and sore.

I sat up and looked at the clock. 2:47 PM. Kids got home at 3:30. You'd be home at five.

I stripped the bed in a panic, shoving the sheets into the washing machine, and jumped in the shower. The hot water stung everywhere. I washed my hair twice, scrubbed my body until it was pink, and stood under the spray trying to piece together what had happened.

When I got out and went back to the bedroom to get dressed, I noticed two things. First, my panties—the white cotton ones I'd been wearing—were gone. Second, there was a folded note on the nightstand.

I picked it up with trembling fingers.

*Anytime you need work done, we'll be there to service you. — M & D*

My stomach dropped. My hands were shaking. I felt scared, violated, confused, angry at you for setting this up without asking me, angry at myself for the way my body had responded. And then, standing there naked with the note in my hand, I felt it. The warmth between my legs. The wetness starting again. My body remembering what my mind was trying to reject.

I put the note in the drawer and got dressed before the kids got home.

You came home at five like nothing had happened. Kissed my cheek, asked about my day, played with the kids in the living room. I watched you from the kitchen, wondering if you'd say something, wondering if you knew what they'd done to me, wondering if you'd gotten what you wanted.

You never brought it up. Not that night. Not the next day. Not ever.

And I never told you that somewhere in the middle of everything, while Marcus was inside me and Dwayne was in my mouth, I stopped thinking about the cameras and started thinking about the next time they might come fix something.

I also never checked your phone. But if I had, I would have found a folder labeled "Maintenance" with forty-seven photos and six videos, all time-stamped from that afternoon. You'd gotten exactly what you asked for, Ryan. Every angle, every moment, every orgasm I couldn't hide.

And I'd gotten exactly what I'd spent years pretending I didn't want.

Neither of us said a word about it. Not once. But when the AC started making a noise again two weeks later, I was the one who called maintenance. And this time, I made sure I was wearing a sundress.