As she did most summer Saturday afternoons, Patti first watered the plants and flowers in the back and then meandered to the side of the house. As she turned the corner, she inhaled sharply, then stopped in her tracks. Stretched out on a chaise-lounge, totally naked with his white ass exposed to the world, was Billy Deeds, who, single, had moved into his deceased parents' home just three months earlier.
It all came clear now: the numerous mornings when she'd pulled out of the driveway, hurrying to work, and there he stood, watering can or hose in hand, a big smile on his face, and clearly no underwear beneath the skimpiest of white shorts pulled up high enough as to allow a provocative crescent of ass-flesh to catch the attention of her eye, or, if he were so angled, to reveal the shape of his hard-on, its jello-like jiggle apparent with each step he took. Then there were--it was surely no coincidence, she now realized--the times she went into the den at night, flipped on a light, only to find, a few seconds later, that a corresponding light came on just across from her, and there stood Billy, "drying himself off" with a bath towel. This was the last straw.
Patti walked the several steps separating her yard from Billy's, then called his name sharply, causing him to start and jerk his head up to her direction.
"What is this, huh? What the fuck do you call this?"
He said nothing, giving her a startled look.
"You think you can just lay out here like this? You can't do this. I'm going inside to call the police."
"No! Wait! Please--please don't do that."
She had started to turn away from him and now swiveled back. Suppressing a smile, she slowly gave out, "Why not? I mean, why shouldn't I? You think I haven't noticed that every morning as I leave for work you just happen to be out in front of the house watering your plants, wearing shorts that barely cover your dick and ass?" She leaned down and moved her face in close to his, "You're a goddamned pervert, aren't you?"
"No. Really--I'm sorry."
"Sorry? Sorry's not good enough. I think we all have to be protected from people like you. I'm going in to call the police."
Again he begged her to spare him that indignity.
"All right," she said. "I'll tell you what. I get home from work at five fifteen. My husband works late. I want to see you at my back door when I get here." She dropped a hand onto the middle of his back and let it slowly slide down the sun-warmed flesh until reaching the pleasing roundness of his ass on which she let her palm rest with the assurance of ownership.
"You'll follow me inside," she continued, "And you'll do everything I say or else I'll report you to the police and this little white ass'll really be fried. Got it?"
"Yes."
Her lips now close enough to his face that she could kiss him, she he broke into her most seductive smile and cooed as if talking to a child: "Little Billy looks scared. Poor Billy. He should be when he finds out what's waiting for him." Resuming her regular voice, she said, "See you at five fifteen."
"Follow me", she ordered, unlocking the back door and heading to the kitchen table. She dropped her purse onto it and collapsed onto the hard wood chair, sighing, "Oh, what a day." He stood before her uncertainly.
"There's wine in the fridge and a glass in that cabinet," she said, waving her arm to her left. "Pour me some and bring it to me."
Billy went to the refrigerator, got the wine, retrieved the goblet from the hutch, and, at the table, poured out a glass. He stood in front of her as she drank and then gave out a contented sigh, half whispering, "That's so much better." She took another deep gulp of the gold-tinged liquid, and, setting down the glass, shifted into a more relaxed posture in the stiff-backed chair.
"You may take my shoes off now," she said with eyes half-lidded.
Billy knelt and untied the black, casual shoes.
"Well, the socks, too, idiot! I mean, c'mon--do I have to spell out everything for you?"
Slowly he began to remove a sock. Suddenly he felt a sharp slap to the side of his head: "Hey! I asked you a question. Don't you ignore me when I ask you a question." "O.K.," he whispered.
"'O.K.'? O.K. what?"
He looked at her blankly.
"God, you're stupid on top of everything else. Whenever you speak to me, make sure you address me as 'mistress'. Got that?"
"Yes, mistress," he said, meekly.
"Good. Now you may remove my other sock."
"Yes, mistress."
"Kiss my feet," she ordered.
He bent his head down until his lips met her toes, and dutifully and carefully kissed each one and then, hearing nothing from her, continued to kiss over and over again, thinking that soon this madness would be over.
"Now lick them," she said.
He looked up at her. She opened her eyes and raged, "What are you, deaf, too?"
"No," he said in a tremulous voice.
"No, what?" she roared, smacking him across the cheek.
"No, mistress. Sorry. I'm sorry. I forgot."
"I don't think you'll forget again." She pushed his head down towards her feet.
After a few minutes she said, "You lick very well, but now I think I need you to come behind me and rub my neck and shoulders. It's been such a stressful day."
Billy got up and stood behind her and began to gently and carefully massage her neck and the top of her shoulders. She let out a soft moan of appreciation. He felt her soft flesh beneath the pink blouse and dark, navy blazer, and the bare skin of her thin neck was warm. The thought of how she would look naked began to fill his mind and with it, the idea that, eventually, he would get her into bed.
She lifted her empty goblet and said, "I need another glass of wine." Billy reached over and grabbed the bottle and poured out another glass for her, then resumed rubbing her shoulders and neck.
"That's enough," she suddenly ordered. "Now stand over there," she gestured to a spot a few feet in front of her. "Now look, we only have about an hour and half til my husband comes home, so we have to get going. Take off your shirt."
She watched as he pulled off his yellow athletic shirt and dropped it to the floor. He had a good build, with well-developed muscles and a nice summer tan. She let her gaze languidly cover every inch of his belly, hairless chest, arms, shoulders, and throat before finally meeting his eyes.
"Well," she said, "Why don't you flex and pose for me, like the good little boy you are?"
With awkward self-consciousness he bagan doing as instructed. After watching him a moment, Patti stretched her legs and, almost like an after thought, said, "Now let me see it from behind. I like a well-muscled back." She let him stand there as she took a few sips of wine. "Good." She stared into his eyes a long while before going on. "Now it's time to drop your shorts."
He brought his hands to his waist and, finding the elastic, pushed the shorts until they slid down his legs and he stood in his white briefs.
"Well?" she clucked. "I'm waiting," she sang, smiling with the delighted anticipation of someone reaching the moment of an eagerly-awaited show.
Averting his eyes from her face, he fingered the elastic band of his underpants then let them slip down, feeling an unfamiliar, sudden coolness where he was exposed.
Patti burst out with a laugh that seemed to bounce off the walls and ceiling. Billy felt himself blush; while it was true that he'd had an exhibitionist urge, he now felt a sudden humiliation so powerful as to bring tears to his eyes. He looked at her face, and, as he made eye contact, she laughed still harder; her cheeks flushed with color, and he saw her sky-blue eyes glistening with delighted mockery.
