I left school without qualifications and little prospect of any kind of meaningful or rewarding career. There were few opportunities in my hometown and I enlisted in the forces as a means of escape. I had around twelve months before I was able to actually enter and in order to pay my way at home, I started working with my father, a carpenter and all round odd job kind of guy.
I'd just turned eighteen, it was August and I had two months before I was due to leave. My dad had got a job fitting new windows to a large Victorian house closer to London. It was a bit of a trek every day but it was a big job and the money was good so it made the early morning and long days worth it. We'd be there for at least a couple of weeks and after ten months of working with him I more or less knew what I was doing; I had certain jobs that I'd take care of and my dad did the more skilled and delicate stuff.
The house was lovely, very grand, not too big but with lovely features. There were six or seven bedrooms, a huge ground floor dining room with seating for twenty people and a music room full of instruments and a grand piano.
I'd been bought up to be polite and respectful and so I was with the owner, an incredibly beautiful and elegant Indian woman who seemed to spend the day in the home gym or out shopping. I was amazed that her dressing room was bigger than my parents bedroom and stuffed full of clothes that looked unworn. Her husband was a surgeon and she clearly didn't need to work but the money and rich lifestyle did not make for a happy life, or so it seemed. She was incredibly rude, never looked me in the eye and rarely spoke to us. She would leave curt notes for us when she left, it seemed she couldn't bring herself to speak to us unless she had to and so messages like, 'Don't walk through the house, go around the side' were delivered to our van before she left for the day. When she did speak she would do so in a derogatory and critical way as if we couldn't possibly understand the value and history of the objects in her home, after all, we lived in a pit of filth and squalor. My father and I laughed about it but I could tell he was pretty pissed off, there was just no need for such rudeness.
This continued for the whole time we were there and on the second from last day we were finishing off and making good. The plan was that I would return on my own for the last day and complete the tidying up, something I often did if we needed to start another job. I was outside at the top of a ladder at the first floor bathroom window when 'madame', as we'd come to call her, walked in. The window was ajar and she looked over to me an snorted something and walked out. I carried on and a few moments later she walked back in, stepped to the sink and through the frosted window I could see her inspecting her beautiful face. She stood upright and began to fiddle with the buttons on her top. I couldn't quite see what she was doing but then she shrugged it from her shoulders so the hem was still tucked into her waistband and I could make out her lovely brown skin and a black bra. She knew I was there but she said nothing and made no attempt to hide. She unclipped the bra, removed it completely and stepped back so that I had a completely clear view of her through the open window. She kept looking at herself in the mirror, twisting slightly to get a view from the side and allowing me to see both of her gorgeous breasts.
She had dark, hard nipples sitting on top of two incredibly perfect breasts. I stared with my mouth wide and she lifted one hand and stroked the top of her breast and down to her nipple stopping for a second as her skin became goose bumped from the cool outside air and the warmth of her fingers. She pulled her blouse back up, fastened the buttons and walked out with her bra in one hand.
"Have you finished up there?" my dad snapped me from my trance.
I had a hard on pushing at my jeans, there was no way I could climb down.
"Almost."
I spent the rest of the day in a bit of a daze. Madame went out and we left before she returned.
The next morning I drove there early, hoping she would be out, I just found the whole incident a little puzzling and although I'd spent the night wanking myself into a frenzy, part of me disliked her enormously and I was also scared of any repercussions. I had fantasised about fucking her but what if we were caught, what if she used it against my dad in some way, she was so vile she might even claim I'd attacked her.
I busied myself outside for the morning, hoping she'd leave but the music from inside told me she was in the gym and just after lunch I had no choice, I had to go in to finish off. The house was quiet, I'd seen no one but I could still hear the familiar sound of her music from the gym. I was in another bathroom upstairs when she walked in behind me. She was in a T-shirt and jogging bottoms and was panting a little and sweaty. Her silky, black hair was tied up and the tee had a patch of sweat between her breasts, which appeared to be free of any support, the same, glorious nipples I'd seen the previous day pointing hard against the fabric.
"Sorry," I said, "I'll work on something else and come back."
"No, it's okay," she looked at me for the first time, "stay, you need to finish." It was the most congenial she'd been since we'd arrived, the first time she'd managed to say something without putting me down
I turned back to the window and carried on painting. I could hear her behind me but didn't know what she was doing.
"Turn around." she said suddenly in a firm tone.
I twisted about and she was stood facing me with her back to the toilet. She'd kicked her shoes and socks off and I could see her brown skin got lighter towards the soles of her feet and her red, perfectly painted nails.
"I work hard for this figure,." she said, smiling thinly at me. "Did you like watching me yesterday?"
