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Feedback is not only welcomed, but answered when address is supplied. I listen, and try to improve based on the enjoyment and comments of readers. I hope you have as much fun reading Carpenter as I did fantasizing its occurrence.
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Adam Woods touched the test piece of rock maple with his wax stick and examined the filled nail hole to ensure that the color was the best match possible. It wasnât. He put another nail in the hole and filled it with a pass of a different wax, then examined it. The process continued until he was sure the average viewer wouldnât find the imperfectoin even when looking for it. He had a test for that too.
Gloria Miller, born Gloria Palazzo, soon to be matriarch of the clan she would bear at One Welsh Lane, a four thousand square foot Victorian, seaside mansion, watched the process from the doorway to her kitchen. Sheâd watched nearly every minute of every day for the last week and a half as this hunk of a carpenter built, assembled and installed their new kitchen cabinets. While her husband Harold worked each day on Wall Street, some hundred miles to the west of their new summer home in the Hamptons, Gloria longed for things to do and people to see. This kitchen project had afforded her time and opportunity to see something that made her kitchen better than anyone had a right to expect, while it intensified her loneliness and desire.
As she watched the carpenter work, her hand drifted down to her jeans, and inside the waist. She pushed her fingers down, over the narrow patch of trimmed, pubic hair, and around the corned.
Sheâd married six months before in a classic, ring-around-the-elite wedding of wealth to beauty. Gloria was as close to a pauper as one could imagine, her family ravaged by disease and bad luck. Harold was rich with doting parents and a penthouse apartment in New York City. His Daddy controlled a major independent investment firm and Harold would take over sometime in the next decade. Until then, his life was one of opportunity beyond most menâs dreams. He just didnât know what to do with it. Harold was weak, obviously overconfident when not challenged, and a wimp when he was.
She leaned a bit further around the jam and tried to smell her visitor. On more than one occasion over the course of the project, she had happened by him and smelled the musky scent of a real man doing real work, the kind of smell sheâd grown up around and missed. Even from this distance, his particular aroma wafted through her nostrils, prompting two fingers to pinch her stiff little clit. She shivered with the pleasure.
How her husband had managed to fall for poor girl Gloria instead of one of the many debutantes offered up for his choosing, was pure chance. It was at a âcoming outâ ball in Greenwich, CT, two years before. Gloria was catering, dressed to the âninesâ as a kind of hostess for her employer, while the socially clumsy Harold thought she was fodder for the bulls. He insisted on dancing with her, and the moment he held her in his arms, perhaps the prettiest girl at the ball, he knew he wanted her in every way possible. And Harold usually got what he wanted.
His parents she knew, would do what they could to stop the marriage, but Harold gave her hope when he fought their disdain, supposedly for her. Gloria still figured it wouldnât last, but that might be the good part. She did not want to be a pauper for life. She taught him about sex, a struggle but with its occasional rewarding moments. She taught him to curse and throw a fit, though he never did these things in public. She gave him energy and passion, and he managed to accept little of either.
She went along and signed the pre-nup only after it was sufficiently fattened in both initial and continuing settlement terms for each child she bore the man. She thus looked upon her servitude to Haroldâs family as a temporary âjobâ she would vacate when she pleased, never to be a poor lonely wench again. A million upon divorce and a million bucks a pop, the lawyer speak in the agreement amounted to. And now she stood in the kitchen doorway, four months pregnant with her first and second millions assured, and her fingers working into her snatch. Life was getting better. She watched quietly as the muscular carpenter applied final touches to his work like a woman might add makeup to her eyes.
Gloria, pregnant or not, could not let this guy get out of her head, even at the end of each day. He was the next best thing to Adonis. Had Harold looked and carried himself like him, she might stay on forever. If he was half as good in bed as her fantasies of this hunk in his carpenterâs apron, she would kiss his feet every day too.
And now, a pivotal moment in time had arrived. The carpenter was nearly done. She was only seconds from a self-inflicted orgasm in the hall. He was about to leave forever. She was about to let herself go in front of a strange man in her home. When he bent down to fetch something else from his tool box, she involuntarily swooned at the sight of his tight ass, and the unmistakable throws of orgasm overtook her.
âMrs. Miller!â I didnât see you there,â He lied, looking up from his tool chest. He couldnât rise yet for his cock was at full attention in his jeans. Was she cuming?!
âHuh? Oh, yes.â She straightened, pulling her hand from her pants and standing off from the door jam sheâd been leaning against.
âWould you come over here for a second?â He motioned for her to approach the cabinet where he had just stood. Her smell was unmistakable! This hot, pregnant gorgeous bitch had just cum in her hand watching him! âCan you tell me how many nail or holes there are on this piece right here?â He touched the piece of trim.
She looked, grateful for the distraction and counted three holes. âThree.â
âNope. Now take a really close look.â He smiled, sucking in another wave of her scent.
She looked, somewhat distracted by the manâs chiseled jaw so close to her head. âThree.â
His smile broadened. âNo. Take a look right here.â His arm crossed over her left shoulder and planted a finger near the end of the trim.
Gloria was totally distracted now. His arm was touching her shoulder. She could actually feel the heat from his skin, smell its musk. She looked closer, then back at his face, and then shook her long black hair back and stared intently where he pointed. âI see where you are pointing, but there is no hole there.â There is somewhere else though, she thought, and wonât he please do something about it!