Author's preamble:
This is a fictional story containing graphic descriptions of a sexual relationship between two consenting mature women. Any resemblance between my characters and people in real life is purely coincidental.
If material of this nature is illegal where you are viewing it, please surf away now.
If this kind of story is in any way offensive to you, may I respectfully suggest you hit the back button on your browser and select a different category. I have no wish to offend my readers.
Note: I try to write a story so the build-up is slow but gets hotter for those who are patient;)
To those who have chosen to stay and read this story, I hope you enjoy it...
~oOo~
If I buy a raffle ticket, my number always seems to be one higher or one lower than the winner. If I back a horse it plods around the course, nibbling at the grass on the way. When I went on a blind date as a teenager, I finished up with a spotty, bumbling nerd. If I book a plane ticket, you could guarantee my flight would be cancelled. Get the picture? Lady Luck just does not smile upon me. Little did I know, however, that one day she must have been off duty and a deputy took over, not knowing the routine, and I got a slice of luck which I could scarcely believe.
Let me backtrack a little. I lived and worked in London, temping secretarial work with an agency. It paid enough to keep the wolf from the door. I had a small but reasonably comfortable bed-sitter near the tube station. Then one day my landlord came on strong and demanded extra rent: payment to be given on my knees sucking his dick. Had he been presentable, I might just have considered it but he was a scruffy slob with green-suede teeth, unkempt, unwashed, unshaven and with a beer belly so big, I doubt if he had seen the pathetic little willy he fished out of his flies for years. When I just laughed and turned my back, he gave me 24 hours to get the fuck out of my room.
Have you ever tried to rent a room in London? Even a broom closet costs the earth! I got myself on the books of several letting agents but everything seemed way beyond my purse. A friend put me up for a few days but she made it plain that sleeping on her couch was a very temporary arrangement so I was, in effect, homeless.
After much cogitation I decided to leave the London rat-race behind and I had heard that, in the north of England, accommodation was very much cheaper and easier to find so, on Monday I loaded all my worldly goods into two large cases and struggled onto the Newcastle train, arriving there after twelve hours. Yes, the train broke down out in the middle of nowhere. Naturally the buffet car ran out of stock and the heating was off so I arrived at Newcastle Central station, cold, hungry, thirsty and exhausted.
I had had the forethought to use the internet to pre-book at a B&B for a couple of nights so I climbed into a taxi and got myself settled into the tiny garret after lugging my cases up four flights of stairs. I didn't even open my suitcases, just stripped to my underwear and pulled the duvet over me.
The next morning dawned bright and cheerful so, in a much more positive state of mind, I had some breakfast and set off to start my life in the new city. First consideration was accommodation. I was very pleasantly surprised at the availability of flats at a price within the reach of a mere mortal like myself. I arranged appointments to view a couple of addresses then found my way to register with three employment agencies looking for secretarial work. I had not realised how unfriendly was the capital city until I experienced the open kindliness of the Geordies, once my ears became attuned to the sing-song accent I heard.
I kept my appointments to view the flats, but, for one reason or another, they weren't really suitable. Nothing wrong, just they were not 'me', if you know what I mean, so I determined to go back and get some more from the letting agent. That evening I had a fairly decent meal in a pub, washed down with a couple of glasses of the house wine before making my way 'home' in a much better frame of mind than last night.
At breakfast the next morning, my mobile buzzed. "Ms Barrett? Jenny here from Jobsforyou. Something has just come in which may suit you and it's rather urgent. Could you please pop round and we can talk about it?"
Of course I could, I told her, and said I'd be there within the hour. And this must have been the day Lady Luck turned the job over to her deputy.
Jenny was the girl to whom I had presented my CV and I had given her a brief run-down of my situation. She welcomed me with a lovely smile and had me sit by her desk. She fished a folder out from her drawer and opened it. "Well, Ms Barrett, Perhaps this appointment may suit you, as you've just arrived in the area. It's a live-in post."
At this point I must have looked somewhat dubious so Jenny quickly pushed on: "You would be working as a secretary/PA for J. D. Barnes. Yes, the novelist," she confirmed, at my look of intrigue. "Basically she wants somebody there all the time to take her words down when she gets 'inspiration', even if that is in the middle of the night. She confided in me that she often does her best work at that time. The downside is that she would like you also to undertake light household duties. She needs somebody to start immediately and I understand you would be available? The starting salary would be £30,000 p/a, paid monthly. Food and accommodation all found. The rest she will tell you if you're interested. Have a think about it; I'll get us a cup of coffee."
My immediate thought was that I wouldn't need to find a flat if I was offered the position and took it. The money was more than good, it was fantastic, especially if I didn't have to find rent and food. J. D. Barnes always had a couple of books on the best-sellers list and I did like her style of writing: one never knew quite what to expect from her novels. Lately her output had bordered on the erotic fiction genre. I was certainly interested in the post. My main worry was those 'light household duties': I did not want to be a convenient skivvy, however well paid, but I determined to ask my potential new employer exactly what would be expected of me.
I was deep in thought when Jenny placed a cup of coffee in front of me and touched my arm to let me know it was there. I smiled my thanks at her so she proceeded to give me the rest of the meagre details she had available. I ran it all through my mind and made my decision. "Yes, I think I'd like to see her. Could you arrange an interview, please?"
Jenny picked up her phone, checked the number and tapped it out. "Ms Barnes? Jenny here, from Jobsforyou.Yes, I have a young lady, a Ms Sandy Barratt, who may be interested in the post. Thank you Ms Barnes, we do try to match our clients quickly. You're very welcome." She listened on the phone for a minute then covered the mouthpiece and asked if I could go there right away. I told her yes and she confirmed to Ms Barnes that I would be with her as soon as possible. Jenny consulted her watch and said I would be at South Gosforth Metro station by about 11:00.
"OK," she said to me after putting the phone down. "Go out of the office, turn left then right at the traffic lights. Ahead, you will see the metro station. Get the train to South Gosforth - it's only twenty minutes and there's a train every few minutes. You will be met at the station when you get there." She gave me a lovely smile, stood and shook my hand. "Good luck, Ms Barrett. I think the post may be ideal for you."
