I retired to Jennifer's kitchen, arranging crockery on a large tray and awaited our 'guest'.
She was late, of course and I sat, restlessly, for almost half an hour, before the door chime rang loudly in the entrance hall. I straightened my tie, cleared my throat and went to open the door. Jennifer's mother waltzed straight inside, without invitation. Despite this rudeness, I immediately perceived her aura of subtle sexiness. She was petite, slim and though perhaps into her 60's, a very attractive lady.
She turned to me, "You must be Jennifer's little helper?"
"Err, yes, well, I, err, I do some jobs around the house" I spluttered, "Madam" and bowed (I remembered!)
"Well don't just stand there, take my coat!" She turned her back to me as she unhooked her light, semi-transparent summer 'coat'.
Clumsily, I did my best to remove the delicate garment from her bare arms and folded it carefully over my arm.
She was wearing a rather 'severe' tight, sleeveless, tailored black dress in what I took to be silk taffeta. Her nylons were 'barely black' and (I have a nose' for these things!) a pair of red-soled, black patent-leather Louboutin shoes with 4-inch heels. Her ensemble was completed with elbow-length butter-soft black-leather gloves, a pearl necklace with a matching pearl bracelet, worn over her glove. Her hair seemed to be a streaked ash blond, worn in a stylish 'chignon'.
"Make sure you put it on a hanger" she instructed, turned and strode confidently into Jennifer's drawing room, closing the door behind her.
I found the hall closet and luckily, also a suitable, padded hanger which I used to drape her coat, with extra care! I returned to the kitchen, and, somewhat shaken and certainly aroused, waited for the call.
Once again, there was a significant wait. I was on tenterhooks, but eventually I recognised the distinct tinkle of Jennifer's hand-bell. I re-boiled the kettle, filled the cafetiere and finished loading the tray. Luckily, there was a helpful table in the hall. I rested the tray there and gently knocked on the drawing room door.
Jennifer responded with a "Come in!". I stepped inside and announced refreshments. I returned with the tray and set it down on a large coffee table in front of the ladies. They barely looked at me, but continued chatting. I couldn't help but glance discretely at Mrs. Crawford. Her knee-length dress had ridden up slightly and I was able to appreciate a small expanse of her nyloned thighs.
"Will that be all, Miss" I asked. Jennifer looked up briefly and simply dismissed me with a wave of her hand. I suppressed the natural feeling of humiliation and steeling myself, returned to the kitchen. I was furious with myself for being manipulated into this 'impossible' situation. How could Jennifer be so off-hand, after almost begging for my help. I sat there fuming and sulking, when the hand-bell rang again.
