Sarah slowly reached below the desk, unlaced her sneakers and pulled them off her feet. Next came her socks, one by one, which she tucked into her shoes. With both feet bare, she lowered them on to the thick, plush carpet. Slowly, she brushed the bottom's of her feet back and forth. The rich, plush pile felt wonderful.
Sarah gazed back at the computer on the desk and, once again, set to work. But it wasn't long before her mind began to wonder. This was just the fourth time she had been to Kathryn's apartment, but the first time she had been left alone. The urge to explore was growing stronger.
It was one week ago when Sarah, in between jobs, saw an ad for a French translator, part-time work. When she called, a woman with a English accent answered and said she needed someone who could translate some business correspondence. "I'd do it myself, but I just don't have the time," she added.
The next day, Sarah rode into Manhattan on the subway from her home in Queens. She glanced at the address again and realized that it was located on the city's Gold Coast, near Park Avenue. Sure enough, the building was one of those elegant, prewar apartment towers, with an exterior of mixed stone and brick, a beautiful lobby trimmed with polished brass and glowing wood, and a uniformed doorman who signed her in.
When Kathryn opened the door to her apartment and introduced herself, Sarah was surprised to see her employer wasn't English at all, but in fact Middle Eastern. She was Sarah's height and seemed close to her age, but the similarities ended there. Kathryn had long, thick brown hair down to her shoulders. Her eyes were shaped like almonds and colored an exotic green. Her nose and cheeks were perfectly proportioned, while her mouth was wide and broke easily into a smile that revealed pretty, white teeth. The lips were sensual and gleamed with lustrous red lipstick.
She was wearing a beautifully embroidered, white peasant shirt and a simple, black hem skirt that stopped just above her knees. The rest of her legs were shapely, with thin ankles and small feet. She wore no shoes. Through the gauzy, translucent shirt, Sarah could make out the swell of her breasts and the dark aureoles of her nipples.
Sarah's heart began to flutter as she gazed for just a slight moment at this most extraordinary-looking woman. Afraid she was staring, she quickly looked around and realized she was in one of those fabulous New York apartments that show up on the pages of interior design magazines from time to time. The place was breathtaking: high ceilings, a beautiful wood floor that gleamed between the expensive Persian carpets that lay scattered about and furniture and artwork that spoke of money, lots of money.
Kathryn led Sarah to her study, explaining why she needed her services and what she wanted Sarah to do. The work looked easy. Straightforward French to English translations of business letters and documents, something Sarah was quite good at. The study was nothing like what Sarah had ever seen. The furniture seemed to be made out of beautiful walnut or mahogany -- she wasn't quite sure which -- but not done in that traditional, club-style men prefer. There was a lightness and elegance to their shape and features. Bookshelves rose to the ceiling in richly carved wood and were filled with books covering a wide range of subjects.
Sarah sat down at the desk and Kathryn handed her the first documents that needed translating. As she leaned over to explain what she wanted done, her breast, it's soft shape pressing against the gauze of the peasant shirt, brushed, then bumped against Sarah's arm. At the same time, Kathryn's long hair grazed Sarah's cheek. All of these little contacts set Sarah's heart beating at a fast clip. But best of all was Kathryn's scent. She had the most exotic, warm smell that seemed to seep out when she bent over to speak. Shy, yet enthralled by this woman, Sarah could only manage to nod in agreement to Kathryn's remarks, as the documents she clutched in her hands shook slightly.
She hardly spoke that first day, feeling as if she was in the presence of some female goddess. Kathryn was everything Sarah wished she could be, but wasn't. Her Middle Eastern background made her mysterious. Yet, at the same time, she was beautiful, witty, urbane, sophisticated and very rich. Where did the money come from, wondered Sarah. From the little scraps of information she gleaned during the translations, it appeared that Kathryn was involved in some kind of international marketing business, but it seemed somehow small, even petty. Not the kind of business that could support a huge apartment on Park Avenue. No, it must be family money, perhaps from oil, Sarah guessed.
The next day, Sarah opened up a little bit more and Kathryn chatted amiably before work got underway. She found out that Kathryn was originally from Lebanon. Her family wasn't in oil, but in real estate. She had gone to school in England and Switzerland and spoke several languages. Her father had recently died and now her brothers ran the family business. Kathryn never said, but Sarah guessed she must have inherited a sizable chunk of the estate.
