Felicias Boy Toy

In keeping with the historic theme of the guest house, the bathroom had no shower. Only a huge claw-foot bathtub. I hadn't had a bath since I was maybe four years old, but I was going to have to take one now.

I figured out the drain, hoped that filling the tub halfway was about right, and fiddled with the spigots until the temperature seemed sort of warm, but not too hot. I climbed in and was relieved to see that the water didn't spill out over the top.

I soaped myself as best I could while sitting down. Suddenly I saw a woman standing at the foot of the tub. She was gorgeous, with long, wavy brown hair, an angelic face, and a taut body. Her breasts strained against her white blouse. Her legs, barely covered by the shortest of shorts, were slim and shapely. She was barefoot. She was looking right at me.

I didn't know what to say or do. "I'm taking a bath," I said stupidly, more sharply than I should have, but I was embarrassed.

"So I can see," she said, with a big grin. "I didn't know men take baths."

"That's all there is here," I said. I couldn't believe I was having a conversation with this incredibly sexy female about baths while I was in the bath.

"Oh, right, I just remembered. Mom didn't think showers went with her decorating."

"Ummm... do you mind?" I asked, realizing that the woman was making no attempt to move from the foot of the tub.

"No not at all. Do you? Do you want me to leave?"

I thought about that. What was surely the most desirable woman I'd seen in a long time was asking me if I wanted her to leave. Of course, I didn't. I said nothing.

"I'm sorry, I didn't even introduce myself. I'm Felicia." She stepped to the side of the tub and extended her hand. But, instead of looking at my face, she was looking into the tub.

I took her hand. "I'm Steve Cambridge, but I go by Skiddy. I take it you live here?"

Fortunately, she had moved back to the foot of the tub.

"Sometimes, when I'm not in the city. Felicia Elmhart. Back in Georgia for the summer. I'm halfway through Princeton, studying anthropology."

Now I'd been bathing, or at least in the water, in front of this woman for at least five minutes, and it was getting even more embarrassing. I looked down and was happy to see that the soap had made the water nearly opaque.

There was no slowing down Felicia. "I like men," she said, matter-of-factly. "Never saw one in a bathtub, though." She sat on the edge of the tub and put her legs in the water, rubbing her left foot along my right leg.

She leaned forward and took the washcloth from my hand and wrapped it around her other foot. "You probably don't even know how to take a bath. I'll help."

I didn't say anything. Couldn't. She soaped up the washcloth and then began washing my chest with her foot. "Your chest is really dirty," she said. "Dad said you were the mechanic half of the team."

I managed to say two words: "Right, mechanic." I realized that my cock was rock hard, and that now the water was getting less opaque as the soap collected at the edges of the tub.

"Put your legs up," she ordered. I hesitated, then complied, extending them along the sides of the tub. The change in balance forced my upper body deeper into the water, and my hard cock that much closer to her.

"Nice legs, along with that rippled chest. You work out?"

"No, just lift transmissions and engine blocks."

She began soaping up one leg, and then the other, working her slender fingers into my skin. She went all the way up my thighs to my pelvis, stopping just short of my balls and my hard-on.

She gave me another one of those big smiles. "You know, I do have to apologize once more. I forgot to ask you if you really wanted my help."

It was a little late. "Yeah, go ahead," I said, realizing that I'd just extended more of an invitation than I wanted.

"Men do need help. They don't clean everywhere that they need to." She took the washcloth off, soaped up her toes, and put her foot on my penis. I gasped.

"Did I hurt you?" she asked, squeezing my shaft between her toes.

Since we were well into it, I just went along. "No, Felicia, I like what you're doing. A lot." I decided to stick to the script. "I'm dirty, don't know how to clean myself, and I need your help."

Now both feet were under me and she was flicking my balls with all ten of her toes. She moved her left foot back onto my cock and put her right one even further under me, massaging my ass. That went on for a few minutes.

"Turn over, on all fours," she commanded. So I did. She soaped up both hands, and started working one of her fingers up my ass while she grabbed my cock with her other. It was now completely out of the water, hard as a rock, and her hand was locked over it. She was squeezing it so tightly that it hurt.

"Ouch, that hurts, Felicia."

She slapped my balls with her other hand, which hurt even more. I yelped.

"Tough shit," she said. "Next time don't get so dirty." I couldn't see her face, but I knew it had that big grin on it.

To my relief, she let go of me, but it was only to soap up some more. Then she really went at it, with both hands, working them up and down my shaft.

I couldn't hold out any longer, and didn't want to. I came in her hands, but she continued to hold on with one hand while she cupped my balls with the other.

"Please," I groaned. "I can't take it any longer. Let go!"

She did, and I rolled onto my back and collapsed into the water. She came around to the head of the tub, and kissed me on the lips, upside down.

"A pleasure to meet you, Skiddy," she said. "See you at dinner. Nice to know that our guest is clean." She smiled once more and left the bathroom.

I was in the bathtub in the guest house because I wanted to ask Felicia's father for money. Maybe I should back up and start the story from the beginning, which was when I was at work at West Hills Auto Service.

My head and half my body were inside the hood of a Toyota trying to get a warped timing chain cover back on, but I recognized Eddie's voice. "You got a minute, Skiddy?" I got the first bolt in and then straightened up.

"Yeah, I do now. What's up?"

"It's a yes. I'm in." I'd asked him to team up with me on a car, him driving, me doing the mechanics. We both worked at West Hills, but racing was what we really wanted to do.

"Eddie, that's great!" We shook hands, feeling a little foolish at the formality, but it seemed like a special occasion. "Now all we need is the money."

"And I got a lead on that, which is why I'm willing to go in."

"You know how to get the money?"

"Maybe. I met this rich dude named Elmhat or Elmhurst or Elm-something at my brother's wedding, and he's crazy about fast cars. He wants to meet you. I told him you were the business guy."

We'd been talking about getting our own car for months. Could it really happen? "Tell me where and when, and for god's sake let's get his name right."

Eddie pulled a torn napkin from his pocket and tried to read the scribbles on it. "Elmhart. xxx-xxx-xxxx. Or xy."

Typical sloppy Eddie. Good thing his driving was more precise than his note taking.

"Don't worry about it. Give it to me, and I'll try them both."

I got Robert Elmhart on my second try. "My name is Steve Cambridge, and I got your number from Edward Pulkowsky, who met you on Sunday. We're the racing team." That was overstating things, but I wanted it to sound like we were already set up.

Elmhart wasn't interested in chatting on the phone, or about my availability. "Be at the Buckhead Club at 4 today. Wear something presentable. Ask for me when you get to the desk." Then he hung up.

I'd never been to the Buckhead Club, or even inside a building that would have something like a Buckhead Club in it. I'd cleaned most of the grease from under my fingernails, and fortunately the jacket I hadn't worn for at least five years still fit. A blue shirt with most of its buttons intact and a tie that belonged to my father would have to do. I had one pair of khakis that weren't ripped. I hoped the running shoes wouldn't matter, not that I had any other choices.

The man at the desk looked at me in horror, but as I wasn't technically breaking any dress rules, he walked me over to a man reading a magazine I never heard of called Barrons. He looked exactly like the sort of wealthy person who was used to demanding that people who wanted to talk to him show up at the place and time of his choosing.

It turned out that although Elmhart was curt, he was a nice enough guy. Gentlemanly, I guess you'd call it, especially at the Buckhead Club. I told him we needed $150,000 to race a car, and he could own 75%.

"Bullshit," he said. "You need twice that, and you're afraid to say so."

I decided he probably would prefer the honest approach. "Yeah, OK, I'm found out." I smiled, and he smiled back.

"Get your business plan together, whatever work you've done to find the car, and anything else you imagine an investor might want to see, and give me your pitch. This is just a hobby for me, so you'll have to do it on a weekend."

"Sure," I said. "When?"

"At my beach house on St. Simons Island. Drive down on Friday, you can do the deed Saturday morning, and stay through Sunday brunch. I need to get to know anybody who's going to spend 300K of my money. I'll have the office call you with directions. And, please, do everyone a favor and get some decent clothes. Swimsuit, too. You play tennis?"

"No, sorry."

"Doesn't matter." He got up, shook my hand, and walked over to the bar. I assumed I wasn't supposed to follow and left the way I came in.

Friday came not soon enough. I somehow found the private road I was looking for, but it was a quarter of a mile before the house came into view. Or, more like houses. There was one big one, a smaller one, and a few other buildings that might have been garages or stables. I stopped the car on a circular drive in front of the main house. My car didn't belong there any more than I did. It was a 1997 Malibu, chrome-less, all black, with a little rust I didn't have time to sand out, but it could do zero-to-sixty in about four seconds, which was the part I cared about. I grabbed my duffle bag from the trunk and walked to the door, which opened before I could even look for the bell.

"Mr. Cambridge, may I assume?" The middle-aged man at the door was dressed in a dark blazer with gray slacks.

"Yeah, Steve Cambridge. That's me." I tried to sound like I spent all my weekends at places like this.

"You may park over there, next to the tennis courts," he said, pointing to the far end of a drive that ran along the buildings I'd seen before. "Leave your bag with me, and then I'll show you to your room."

My room turned out to be in the smaller house, apparently a guest house, as there was a large common room on the main floor, and a couple of bedroom suites on the second.

My room looked like something out of one of those magazines. Early American, or Georgian Colonial, or whatever these rich people wanted to call it.

"I'm sure you'll want to freshen up," said Dark Blazer. There are towels on the rack. Dinner will be at seven in the main house. Fridays are always informal."

"How informal?" I asked, knowing that I was way out of my element.

"A jacket and slacks will be fine. No need for a necktie on Fridays. Please use the house phone on the dresser if you require anything. It's a pleasure having you with us, Mr. Cambridge. My name is Baker."

"Thank you," I said, and turned back to the room to get cleaned up for dinner. That's why I was taking a bath when Felicia so dramatically introduced herself. You already know what happened then. Very informal.

To continue from there: After Felicia left me in the tub, I settled back, rested my head against its rounded edge, and closed my eyes.

When I awoke, it was almost 6:30. I'm not sure how long I slept, because I don't know how long Felicia was in the tub with me. Now the water was cold and an unclean mixture of dirt, soap, cum, and whatever came off Felicia's willowy legs. I pulled the drain, stood up, and tried to rinse myself clean with the washcloth wet with fresh water. Then I dressed in new slacks and a shirt I'd bought for the weekend, and the same jacket I'd worn to the Club, only newly pressed.

I walked over to the main house and rang the bell. Baker opened it. "Good evening, Mr. Cambridge. No need to ring, as you're Mr. Elmhart's guest. Free to move about the grounds, as they say." He smiled, pleased with his little joke. "I'll show you to the library." I followed him down a long hall to a high-ceilinged room lined with books, shelves at least ten feet high. Elmhart and Felicia were sitting on a leather sofa. Elmhart was dressed as he'd been at the Club. Felicia looked stunning in a pink dress that exposed her shoulders, the tops of her breasts, and those fabulous legs.

They both stood up when I entered. "I'd like to introduce my daughter, Felicia. Felicia, this is Mr. Cambridge."

I played it safe, and pretended that our earlier meeting in the tub hadn't happened. "My parents named me Steve, but everyone calls me Skiddy. Even though I'm not the driver." They both laughed. We were off to a good start. Not as good as the tub, but nothing could be as good as the tub.

"Pleased to meet you, Skiddy," said Felicia. "I hope you had enough time to shower. Daddy just flew in."

"Actually, there's no shower," I said, going along with Felicia's ridiculous game. "I had to figure out how the bathtub worked."

"Oh, I forgot," said Felicia, with a sly smile. "Mom just wanted tubs in the guest house."

Elmhart, ignoring our exchange, spoke up. "Skiddy, glad you could make it. It will just be the three of us for dinner. Perhaps you didn't know, but Helen, my wife, passed away three years ago this August."

"I didn't know," I said. "Sorry for your loss."

"Thanks," said Elmhart. "What are you drinking? I'm having Macallan, and I think Felicia has some white wine."

I had no idea what Macallan was, but I guessed it was bourbon, judging by its color. I faked knowing what I was talking about, not for the first or last time with these people. "Yes, Macallan will be fine. Thanks." The bottle told me I'd made a mistake. Macallan was scotch.

I don't remember what we talked about that evening, although I'm sure racing and cars never came up. I tried not to be caught staring at Felicia, and she managed to avoid my eyes. There was no reason why she should be interested in a mechanic, and she convincingly pretended not to be. Or maybe she really was not interested. Impossible to tell. Was the bathtub to be a one-time occurrence?

"I'm sure you're tired, and I have some calls to return," said Elmhart when we finished dinner about 9:30. Meet here for breakfast at eight tomorrow, and then you have a presentation for me, I trust?"

"I do. Thank you for a fine evening."

"I'll bid you good-night," said Elmhart, as he disappeared into another part of the house, leaving me alone with Felicia.

But she said nothing, just gave me a little smile, and went off in the other direction from her father. I spent a few minutes more in the library, just next to the dining room, but none of the books there looked interesting. I went back to the guest house, exhausted, and went to bed, my mind thinking about the bathtub and Felicia's legs.

Next morning I arrived at breakfast at eight, but I was the only one there. Elmhart showed up a half-hour later holding a mug of coffee, said good morning, and ignored me while he read the news on his tablet. Felicia seemed not to be around.

At nine Elmhart stood up, turned to me, and said, "Shall we proceed to my office? Do you need a projector? Any PowerPoints?"

Again, I couldn't follow the vocabulary. "No," I said. "I just have some papers."

Elmhart had hardly mentioned the real reason I was there since our meeting at the Club, but now he was focused on nothing else. For over an hour he peppered me with questions. "How good is Eddie? Where are you going to race? What kind of prize money? Is there such a thing as insurance? Who else is on the payroll? What do tires cost? What kind of fuel do these cars use? Who else is in the crew? Where's your garage? What's my liability if Eddie crashes?"

I answered maybe half the questions, made up answers for most of the rest, and admitted I didn't know some of the answers, which made Elmhart very unhappy, judging by his foul expression.

Finally, he stopped asking questions, leaned back in his chair and said nothing for several minutes. I was able to breathe again.

"All right, you guys are obviously totally new at this, but it does seem like it might be fun. I'll let you know tomorrow how crazy and stupid I want to be."

Just then Felicia entered the office from its outside door, dressed for tennis, in a short skirt and a tight knit top. Her tanned, young body barely covered. She gave her father a kiss on the cheek.

"How did my little girl do today?" asked Elmhart.

"Just a lesson, today. I might play Charlene tomorrow or Monday. How did it go with you two?"

I dared not say anything.

"Fine, excellent presentation," said Elmhart, winking at me, which I took to mean that it sucked.

"Well, I know investing carefully is important," said Felicia, seeming to refer to some prior conversation they'd had, maybe more than once. "You don't want to take a bath." Now it was her turn to wink at me. Lots of winking with this family.

My cock started to move. If Felicia didn't leave the room soon, I'd have to find a way to rearrange my anatomy down there.

"Oh, yeah, Daddy. Forgot to tell you yesterday. My car is making a horrible noise, like it's dragging metal."

"Drive one of the others if you need to," said Elmhart. "You can take yours into town on Monday, or Baker will see to it."

"I don't think it's even drivable," said Felicia.

My cue to say something useful. "You want me to check it out?"

"Wouldn't be fair to ask you to sing for your supper," said Elmhart. I think I understood what he was saying, although it was a continual struggle.

"No problem," I said. "Except I don't have work clothes."

"Baker will find you some of my old tennis clothes," said Elmhart. "Don't worry about them. Just toss them in the trash when you're done."

"OK, I'll take a look right away. Where's the car?"

"In the garage," said Felicia. I'll meet you there in fifteen minutes. Baker will show you the way.

Baker entered the room magically, without being called. Or maybe Elmhart did it with some sort of silent signal.

"I'll bring the clothing to your room, Mr. Cambridge. Should only take a few minutes."

After I changed, Baker led me to the garage. I was way over-dressed for work. What Elmhart considered to be old clothes looked like new to me. From the logos, I assumed they were expensive.

Felicia was waiting for me, still in her skimpy tennis dress.

"What do you have here in the way of tools?" I asked.

"Beats me," said Felicia. I turned to Baker, but he had already left, silently.

"Well, let's see," I said. The garage had spaces for nine cars, with four spaces filled, including the Mercedes SL550 that Felicia was standing next to. Along the walls were various cabinets, constructed about as well as those in the library. I opened a few and found a set of wrenches still in their original packaging, some barely-used screwdrivers, and an LED flashlight. I was thinking about how to jack up the Mercedes when I spotted a mechanic's creeper leaning against the wall. Much cleaner and nicer than mine, with a padded headrest. I made a note to upgrade mine once I had some of Elmhart's money.

"Time to go exploring," I said to Felicia. I got onto the creeper, put the screwdrivers and wrenches next to me where I could find them, kicked my foot against the tire, and scooted under the car.