I run a small moving business. I have three trucks and I'm not doing too badly. I'm willing to move anything, anywhere, but my main sources of income are house removals and department store deliveries. I have several department stores who have me down as their deliveryman of choice, mainly because I give them a slightly larger cut of the pie than my competitors. My philosophy was that if I take a slightly smaller slice of the pie I'd get a lot more slices that would more than make up the difference.
The department stores are my favourite customers as they collect the delivery fee up front, saving me having to chase deadbeat customers. My next main source, moving house, does quite well, with me getting word of mouth referrals from satisfied customers.
One reason I get house moving customers is because I'm quite happy to do a one-man truck, providing the customer is prepared to supply the extra muscle for loading and unloading. With people on a tight budget this is a very attractive proposition.
I was doing one of those jobs on this particular day. They were a young couple, moving into a rented house. She was around twenty, by my guess, with him being about five years older. Fran, the wife, was very attractive. Dark hair, brown eyes, very nice figure, and a friendly personality. Also willing to work in setting up her new home.
Jeff, the husband, was almost film star handsome. Athletic and outgoing, an ex-sports star, good in school teams but not good enough to make it as a pro. At least, that was my assessment. I also suspected that the main reason he wasn't good enough to make it as a pro was because he was a useless, lazy, prick.
Now as I explained earlier, to get the cheaper rate the customer had to provide the extra muscle required, and in this case that meant Jeff. He did as little as possible, moaning and carrying on the entire time. As soon as the last of the big items was moved into the house he was out of there.
"There's only a few boxes left and Fran can help you move those," he said. "She knows where she wants everything. I'm going to get out of her way and let her set things up the way she wants."
With that he shot through, heading to the nearest bar would be my guess. Fran and I got to work shifting the boxes that were still to be moved. Fortunately the truck had a hoist and I had a decent trolley, making the unloading a lot easier. I just stacked all the boxes on the hoist and lowered it. Then it was trolley time.
It didn't take long to distribute the boxes around the house. Each box was clearly marked and Fran just indicated which room each box was to go to. Mind you, Jeff should have been the one moving the boxes, not me. I should have been in my truck heading home, but I wasn't going to leave Fran trying to shift the boxes. She could do herself an injury.
Finished I collected my money, ready to depart. I always count the money before I sign a receipt. It's amazing how often people miscount what they've given you. Going back to claim you've been short-changed is a loser's game, especially if they have a receipt.
"Fran," I said politely, "you're twenty short. I haven't added any extra for Jeff shooting through before the job was done, but I do expect to be paid the full amount agreed upon."
"You must have miscounted," Fran said indignantly. "I budgeted very carefully and I counted out your money and checked it before I put it in the envelope."
"See for yourself," I said, placing the money on the table.
Fran simply spread the notes across the table and then said a rude word.
"There was a twenty in amongst those notes when I put it away earlier," she growled. "It appears to have walked."
"Excuse me," she said, speaking calmly, but I could hear the anger in her voice. "I'll just get my purse."
Hazarding a guess I'd say that Jeff borrowed the twenty for his little trip down to the bar. What an asshole.
She returned with her purse and I could tell from the look on her face and the way she was burrowing into the purse that she was going to have a hard time getting the twenty together.
"I can return another time for the money," I suggested, but she shook her head, looking indignant.
"That's not fair to you," she snapped. "You did the work and more and you deserve what we agreed on. I'll just raid the loose change jar and I should have enough in that to make up the difference."
She looked around at the various packed boxes, apparently trying to remember which one held the loose change jar.
"Tell you what, Fran. I assume that Jeff must have borrowed the money and forgotten to return it?"
The sulphurous look she gave me indicated that she thought so to.
"In that case I see no reason why you should have to go broke to pay for his error. I'll make a deal with you if you're interested."
"Depends on the deal," she said, sounding suspicious.
"It's simple enough. You strip completely and let me see what I suspect is a very nice body. It'll serve Jeff right that someone else is looking at what he probably considers his private property. You can even tell him that you had to do it to stop me reloading the truck. It'll probably get right up his nose."
"You wouldn't really reload the truck would you?" she asked, sounding appalled.
"Are you kidding? I'd be stuck here for hours if I tried to do something so asinine. I already offered to come back another time to collect."
"That wouldn't help. I probably wouldn't have it when you came back. Um, if I did get undressed, you wouldn't try anything, would you?"
"Try and get physical, you mean? No, I wouldn't do that to you. I'll stay right here by this door."
She was looking at me, nibbling on her lip, plainly considering the idea.
"Jeff would be furious if he knew," she whispered.
"Is that an argument for or against?" I asked.
She giggled, seeming to lighten up. At the same time she started undoing the waist of her jeans.
Once the waist of her jeans was loose she dragged her top loose and pulled it off. Her very generous breasts were very nicely presented in a lacy half-cup bra. She kicked her shoes off and started wriggling, her jeans slowly edging down over her hips. It was fascinating to watch how her breasts shook from side to side in rhythm with the movement of her hips as she eased her way out of the jeans.
Her jeans went by the wayside and she was standing there in panties and bra. Before she had a chance to change her mind I was speaking.
"For god's sake, Fran, tell me you don't normally wear things like that."
The thing I was talking about was the most godawful pair of granny pants that it had ever been my misfortune to see.
Blushing with embarrassment she couldn't get them off fast enough, not caring what she was revealing as long as those pants were no longer on display.
"I packed all my good stuff," she muttered. "Those were all I could find."
"Well I suggest you take steps to lose them again," I told her. "They're an insult to your femininity."
With her pants gone it was a small matter to reach behind herself to undo her bra. It slipped down her arms and she dropped it on top of her other clothes.
I found myself admiring a very fine pair of breasts. She certainly didn't need that bra for support. She also had enough there not to need padding in any manner, shape, or form.
