A House Sitter's Adventure
There were no two ways about it, Julia thought, as she managed to park her bright yellow and sporty little car in front of the house that she was to mind for a week or so. What the agency had told her about Gerry Madeley's place was soon to be seen in every room that she peered into and as curiosity got the better of her. Any feminine touches, or ideas, would be found to be absent in the uber-modern décor that went so well in a mid-terrace property that was set in a desirable part of West London and with Kew Gardens only a short walk away. The River Thames was also close by.
The work was only too easy and she had fallen into doing it when she had decided to pursue life a little differently from the usual nine-to-five job that might pay the bills but became too much of a routine. This way she was open to surprises and the agency she was signed up with, and to which she paid a membership fee, had found her a fine house in a ragingly desirable location but where you, as an owner, never could take everything for granted. The house had to give the appearance of being lived in, even if the owner was away. They did not want to return and find that there had been a break-in, and the place ransacked for valuables before it was trashed.
For once, she was to look after the place of a single man and there were no pets to take care of, to groom and take for walks. She was willing to take on such duties, also, but preferred to keep things simple and this assignment certainly looked to be such a case.
With her things unloaded from the car and some favored foods put in the cavernous fridge of the kitchen -- it was all a part of an open-plan living and seating area with views out onto the garden -- she chose to take a tour of the place.
Her long-toed bare feet moved soundlessly over the coolness of the tiled floor, or they felt the softness of the scattered rugs before she saw a folded notecard perched on the island unit that separated the kitchen area from the rest of the room. Pictures and paintings adorned the glaringly white walls and she had spotted a group of four photos that were of the man of the house.
"I'll get to you in a moment," she murmured as the card was swept up in her slender-fingered hand and was read.
Hi Julia! I hope that you'll find the place as you hoped it would be. Please make yourself at home during your stay and I should be back on Friday at noon. I am expecting friends for the weekend so I hope we can agree that the place is left as you found it before then. Gerry Madeley
"It won't be a problem, Gerry," she murmured, tapping the card against her lips as she chose to step over to the framed photos of the man and looked at each one, closely, in turn. Self-obsessed, or vain, the man might be, but he was also rugged and well made, each picture showing a toned body that began with one of Gerry at ten, then twenty, then the last one at forty. Against each was also the written location where the photo had been taken. "You'd do for me, no mistake."
The last photo was of Gerry striding out of the surf in some tropical paradise, the sky an azure blue and the sea calm; his tanned body glistening and the water's surface scarcely covering the swell in his clinging beach shorts as he approaches the camera,
She'd sure like to have some of what the guy had brought to the taker of the picture, a woman she hoped. She thought of that as the stairs brought her to the first-floor landing that a glass dome, set in the ceiling high above her, lit with the brilliance of the afternoon sun outside.
Overcome by curiosity, she is amazed at the size of the master bedroom, by the luxurious fitting out of the en-suite shower room, both of them too much! She can't find the words to describe what she feels on seeing how the shower room has been equipped, with a glass screened shower area and mosaic tiled walls, large slabs for a floor; all of it set apart from a large bath that is set on a low plinth, the sides painted a royal blue to match closely the tiles of the shower area. She feels a rush of contentment. It's a spa and whirlpool bath where she can indulge herself.
She shakes her head in dismay as another door opens to reveal a dressing room with all of his suits and clothes neatly arranged in dustcovers, one wall lined with ash-fronted doors and drawer fronts. Gerry seems to have clothes for every occasion and a good-looking man, as she has seen from the photographs so carefully framed, lives well and goes out.
"You're quite out of my league," she murmurs as she catches her reflection in a full-height wall mirror. Her tousled blonde hair was in a pixie cut that gave a younger appearance to her lined, oval, face and straight lips, the soft pink lipstick barely noticeable, despite her tan. She looked after herself and dressed well in a somewhat rebellious style for a woman of her age, but she had long ago taken control and chosen a path in life that took in the work, or assignments, that she was now pursuing -- minding someone else's house.
What she pursued as a distraction from these ordered ways of it was kept for her 'down-time' when no work came in or it took time to secure it. That uncertainty made her live a downscaled life, to not live to any excess. All the more reason, then, to enjoy where she was and to think of the man who owned the place she was to look after while he was away.
She fusses over her hair for a moment, smiles at her reflection, and knows she should do more of that. It changes her features, lessens the severity of her face, and along with the rebellious cut of her hair, the chunky earrings, and a gold woven chain necklace that is tight on her slender neck would hold a man's look upon her a whole lot longer.
There's no such guy in her life at the moment.
♥
Settled into the room that Gerry assigned to her for the stay, she skips downstairs and pours out a generous measure of Rosé wine. It goes well with the easy-to-prepare light supper that she decides to eat early. She can spoil herself in a place like this and, so, after another glass of wine is poured she decides to take it upstairs and run that wonderfully inviting bath.
"Spoil yourself, girl," she says certainly as her clothes are stripped off and she glances at her naked body for an instant. A week out in the blaze of a Spanish resort's sun has given her broad-hipped, saggy-breasted, body a nice overall tan with no bikini marks to be seen on her skin, and her hair is still strikingly blonde thanks to that sun. She'd had some 'no strings' fun, while out there, and made up for months of denial. It's been a couple since she was there.
The house sound system streams some music she likes and she sways to the beat, watching herself in the mirror. She looks more than okay, her bum cheeks still taut, a neat tummy and shaven pussy stroked admiringly for a moment. Yeah, looked at like this, she was still so sexy, just as the guys at that beach party had told her and a couple had followed through on.
Like the words of the sung she listened to, as she stepped into the bath, even girls as old as her like to have fun.
She settles slowly into the water, somewhat hotter than she wants, and it relaxes her as she lies back and rests her head on the rounded rim of the bath. Her wine glass is in easy reach. What self-indulgent pleasure she soon feels coursing through her body! There's relaxing warmth, a drink, and she can breathe in the soft aroma of the bath oil that she had found on the high window shelf above her head before she stepped in.
All that's missing is a bathing companion, but she can imagine him as the image of Gerry floats hazily before her fluttering eyelids as she relaxes, and strokes her skin out of reflex, splashes water over the curves of her half-submerged breasts before her hands trail down over them, over her belly and to then linger and gently pull on her navel piercing before one finger slips past her pussy's lips and press on her clit.
She's into it now and forgets about her drink. One hand works her stiffening nipples as the other teases and caresses her clit, dipping into her warmth as she forgets that she's in a whirlpool bath but she has yet to turn it on and surrender to that pleasure.
Her wine is gulped down.
"Go for it, you're on your own so spoil yourself," she mutters.
She reaches for the control panel and marvels at the choices and how she can set the force of the water jets. She starts slow and settles back, feeling two outlets spurting water over her breasts and arousing little tingles in her nipples that the jets of water, and her fingers, arouse to an aching hardness. She groans as her pussy's lips receive caresses from another spout of water, her response being to lift her hips off the bottom of the bath and submit to the probing spurt of water that soon tease her clit, her body performing a ragged dance over this intrusion that is only to be stopped by switching off the pump.
"No way," she gasps in pleasure, "will I do that."
The jets of burbling water, and her fingers, spoil her body. She mimics the act and finger fucks her slit as the water jets are met. She loves these ways of spoiling herself and she wonders how it would feel to have the water jets turned up a notch or two.
"Oh yes, that sure feels a lot better."
She's ready for the onslaught, now, and she feels hornier than ever, the sensations of the water jetting against her pussy and onto her clit provoking her to twist and jerk, to turn on her side and put one leg on the side of the bath and to have one jet find her. No guy's got the energy to go at her like this without any reprieve or chances to catch her breath.
Her groans deepen and shorten, her hips rock and circle, and she also rises and falls. How wonderful and new the sensations the water jet brings to her are. She opens her legs further so that the jet has all of her pussy to caress. It becomes like a ballet performed by that jet of water and her agile fingers.
She knows that her movements are becoming jerkier and quicker; her feelings of pleasure are more intense for the novelty of what is being pursued. She takes snatches of her breath and lets the water, and her fingers, work their magic. She knows now what to do.
The rapid movements of her hips on that jet of water bring her close to an orgasm. She has nothing to hold onto and to stop the power of that water machine and to reduce the flow is not what she's at; she's enjoying this departure from all known ways too much. Her orgasm has to be delayed and to prolong this deviant water torture, is to make it more intense.
Her clit's become so darned sensitive, but she presses fingers to it and groans out of deviant pleasure as she 'rides' the pressure of that water jet and as the anticipation of surrender heightens. She really can't hold out for much longer but she turns the control a notch higher, still, her hand trembling in time with the juddering of her body, the buck of her hips, and she feels the cramps of her orgasm rise and overwhelm any remaining control.
"You should see what your bath does for me...has done for me, Gerry!" she cries out, her body wracked by an orgasm that grips her in cramping waves and that the water jet prolongs. She reaches out to turn off that pump and she relaxes, lets her body slide down under the turmoil of the water's surface, her hands sliding caresses over her breasts and belly, then down over her shaven mound as the last of her shivers of pleasure slowly ease away. "That was so good!"
She repeats it as her face breaks the surface of the water and squeals in surprise on seeing him standing in the doorway, the object of her bathtub fantasies made ragingly real.
