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Product Description
Joe is married to a beautiful woman, but when she has a gym installed in their basement that he's not allowed to enter, he begins to wonder what Margie might be hiding. One day Joe finds Margie's key and gets a peep show he never expected.
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Excerpt
Margie retrieved her sports bra where she’d hung it on the doorknob. “Be back in an hour or so,” she called and shut the basement door behind her.
About ten minutes later, the door swung open again, startling me. “What’s wrong, babe?” I asked.
She laughed. “I forgot my water bottle.” She laid the key to the mini gym on the isle counter, yanked open the fridge, and grabbed a bottle of Evian. With a seductive smile on her luscious mouth, she disappeared into the basement again.
However, the key still lay on the countertop.
No way.
I looked again. Yes, it was really there.
I waited. If I took the key and headed downstairs I knew I’d bump into Margie on her way back up to retrieve it.
I had lost interest in the article, so I picked up the daily paper and read through the comics. Five minutes passed, then ten. Maybe Margie hadn’t realized she’d even left it on the counter. She did have several errands to do today, so she was probably preoccupied.
Did I dare...?
Hell, why not? What was she going to do? Yell at me? Forbid me from entering her secret gym?
Anticipation raced through me. I tossed the paper on the floor and marched into the kitchen where I snatched up the key. Opening the basement door, I slowly crept down the stairs, avoiding the squeaky ones just in case Margie could detect such sounds from the confines of her gym.
In bare feet, I padded across the carpeted floor and stopped halfway to Margie’s secret room. The door was ajar about an inch. I glanced at the key in my hand, then pocketed it for safe keeping. It wasn’t like my wife to be so careless, especially where her workout room was concerned.
Quietly, I approached the door and listened. Soft music wafted through the crack: it sounded like Pitbull’s Go Girl, one of Margie’s favorites. She passed through my line of vision and paused. Her sports bra lay on the floor by the free weights. Tugging the thong she wore down along her long, coltish legs, she pulled one foot free and used the other to kick the panties over to join the titty holder. Perplexed, I wondered why she even bothered to take a sports bra down there with her if she wasn’t going to wear one. Margie then picked up something I couldn’t quite see. At first, it looked like a medicine ball, but when she turned around with it, my mouth fell open.
About ten minutes later, the door swung open again, startling me. “What’s wrong, babe?” I asked.
She laughed. “I forgot my water bottle.” She laid the key to the mini gym on the isle counter, yanked open the fridge, and grabbed a bottle of Evian. With a seductive smile on her luscious mouth, she disappeared into the basement again.
However, the key still lay on the countertop.
No way.
I looked again. Yes, it was really there.
I waited. If I took the key and headed downstairs I knew I’d bump into Margie on her way back up to retrieve it.
I had lost interest in the article, so I picked up the daily paper and read through the comics. Five minutes passed, then ten. Maybe Margie hadn’t realized she’d even left it on the counter. She did have several errands to do today, so she was probably preoccupied.
Did I dare...?
Hell, why not? What was she going to do? Yell at me? Forbid me from entering her secret gym?
Anticipation raced through me. I tossed the paper on the floor and marched into the kitchen where I snatched up the key. Opening the basement door, I slowly crept down the stairs, avoiding the squeaky ones just in case Margie could detect such sounds from the confines of her gym.
In bare feet, I padded across the carpeted floor and stopped halfway to Margie’s secret room. The door was ajar about an inch. I glanced at the key in my hand, then pocketed it for safe keeping. It wasn’t like my wife to be so careless, especially where her workout room was concerned.
Quietly, I approached the door and listened. Soft music wafted through the crack: it sounded like Pitbull’s Go Girl, one of Margie’s favorites. She passed through my line of vision and paused. Her sports bra lay on the floor by the free weights. Tugging the thong she wore down along her long, coltish legs, she pulled one foot free and used the other to kick the panties over to join the titty holder. Perplexed, I wondered why she even bothered to take a sports bra down there with her if she wasn’t going to wear one. Margie then picked up something I couldn’t quite see. At first, it looked like a medicine ball, but when she turned around with it, my mouth fell open.
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