The Perfect Close

I needed a house. I hate sales people--unless, of course, I’m doing the selling.

I’d taken a new job, moved across country and was juggling my time between the demands of a new boss and the need for a place to live. The wife stayed behind to continue her job until she could join me. I don’t like the games realtors’ play. So, I wouldn’t sign their agreements without crossing out some parts and had at least three of them looking at houses for me. I made sure they all knew it. I was considering some very upscale neighborhoods and the price tags (and commissions) were out of sight.

One of the realtors was Kathleen. I estimated her at age 40, with beautifully kept dark hair. She stood about 5’4.” I estimated 125 pounds. Then there was her eyes--not just blue—china blue—steel blue—sky blue, I never could tell. They seemed to change with the situation.

On the negative side she was married. She and her husband owned the agency, which I learned had only 5 sales people. However, they probably did quite well as the agency concentrated only on the high-end houses. She drove me around town in the biggest Buick I had ever seen. She always looked so coolly business-like in her well-tailored pants suits carrying her little briefcase. Her black hair shone and her blue eyes constantly assessed me—the mark of a good sales person, always watching always thinking, trying to peer into my brain to gain her advantage. I know. I‘m in sales also. I got all kinds of ideas, but unfortunately she not only had a big car, she also had that big diamond on her finger. I told myself to calm down and concentrate on the house. After all, there are a lot of beautiful women, and one should not mix money and getting laid.

After two weeks of looking, I had it down to two houses. As luck would have it, one was Kathleen’s listing. I really liked both houses. I also convinced myself that I really did like her house because it was a good deal and not because of her. (And I think that is true) I took a Friday off, determined to make a decision. I looked at the first house in the morning, and then met Kathleen after lunch. She was good. She didn’t bug me, as she knew by now that I was as familiar as she with the house. I roamed, and she stayed in the den.

Upstairs, I made up my mind to take it. The house still had the previous owner’s furniture as they had to move quickly. I had the price I wanted so there was nothing to do but walk down stairs and sign. Kathleen and I sparred for days. She made all the classic moves to close, and I deftly parried. I admired her style. She was good, so subtle in her sales techniques, yet effective. But what the hell I thought. I might want to try one more offer. A couple of thousand more wouldn’t hurt. Besides it’s fun, and I held all the cards. I’d made sure she knew that I’d been with the other realtor that morning. Plus, I knew I wanted the house. She could not know for sure. As I came down the stairs, she was sitting on a custom-made bar stool looking through a window at the pool. She turned and looked into my eyes as always, trying to see if she had a deal--light blue they were--the gaze steady. I put on my best, perplexed look. “I don’t know,” I said shaking my head.

I could imagine the little calculator wheels turning in her head. I waited. Her move. She’d soon give me an opening, then I’d name a new “final” price. She’d excuse herself to phone to the owners with the new offer. I love the game. “Wait here,” she said her eyes narrowed as she went out to the car.

Ten minutes later she was back. She had a bottle of wine in hand. “Sorry it’s a little warm from the car, but we need to talk. Open this. It’s Friday and you’re my last appointment.” I poured into two crystal stems from the owner’s cabinet. It was an excellent Pinot Noir. “Let’s go upstairs,” she said, her eyes now a darker indeterminate shade. “ I think there are a few features you may have missed.” I admired her ass as we went up the stairs. How did she maintain that beautiful crease in the pants? Mine seemed to be so wrinkled. Then there were those small, heeled shoes peaking from the cuffs. So small, so exquisite…no no, I cautioned myself…this is business…money not sex.

Straight to the bedroom. The long golden ray of the late afternoon sun streamed through the wooden blinds casting her trim little body in sharp relief. Highlights danced in her hair. She crossed to the window, and fixing me with her now china blue eyes turned the mechanism that made them close.

“ I suppose you’ve noticed the beautiful view from here?”

I nodded. “It gets better.”

I said nothing. She moved to the closet and took out some coat hangers.

“Again, I want to point out the large walk-in closets.” “There’re nice,” I agreed. Off came her suit coat, and she put it on the hanger. “You noticed the beautiful crown molding?” She brushed some imaginary dust off the sleeve. “Excellent workmanship.”

She kicked off her shoes then slipped off her pants, folded them neatly and used a second wooden hanger. “The wallpaper could be changed. The owner wanted it to match the sheets and there is a whole collection of them that come with the house. Why don’t you pull back the spread.” She concentrated on lining up the perfect creases in her pants.

I began to sweat. I did what she asked. She was correct. The sheets contrasted nicely with the walls.

Her manicured fingers with red tipped nails slowly unbuttoned her blouse with the little fake bow. “The carpet is new. It’s Iranian and custom made for this room. They may want to part with that also.”

I felt my mouth go dry. She spent some time making sure the blouse was properly on another hanger with the collar straight and neatly buttoned. “Oh, we’ve forgotten the wine. Would you be a good boy and get it for me?” She looked so exquisitely elegant in her matching black bra and panties set—her eyes were now a friendly Midwest shade of cornflower blue.

I eased out of the room then tried not to run down and up the stairs.

When I returned I poured two more glasses. “Some of the furniture such as the bed is quite large and the owner may want to include it--if you like it.” I nodded again. I was trying to act cool, but I could feel a heat flash and knew I was close to hyperventilating. (I hate it when sales people beat me.)

“We can always make then an offer.” She set down her glass and slipped off her panties. I had expected the bra. I love surprises. Her little black triangle winked at me. “Notice the room has two ceiling fans. One could get overheated in here.” She twirled the panties on her finger then let them drop to the floor. They lay in a small heap--such a contrast to her delicate treatment of the rest of her clothing. Desperate for something to do, I turned and hit the fan switches. I immediately felt a cooling breeze. I faced about and she had her back to me. “Would you help? The catches are so new.” With shaking fingers I unsnapped the two clasps and let it fall. She turned and stood before me. The bra was loose but still in place, held up by her breasts, although it now rode much lower. The top of her left nipple was exposed. The azure eyes went right through me. She began to pace the room, counting the steps. “Yes, just the dimensions you wanted.” She came to the bed, slipped on top and struck a pose reminiscent of a Hollywood glamour shot from the 50’s. The bra now hung precariously. The left breast completely exposed its copper colored nipple pointing at me. Mysteriously the right jewel was still covered. “Join me? We really have to settle the final details.” Her eyes were now a hard brilliant shade of indigo.

Like a juvenile, I stumbled out of my clothes, managing to trip only once. Regaining some semblance of male dominance, I dropped each item of clothing on the floor. Men just can’t strip like women. I came to that awkward moment every man faces when I ungracefully had to reach into my shorts to free an already hard cock. Her expression never changed as the naked idiot climbed into bed.

I found out many things that late, lazy afternoon. Her expression revealed nothing. I assumed her lipstick was permanently fused to her lips, as it never looked out of place during our travels. Yet when she raised her head from my cock it was mostly missing—still she didn’t smile just looked into my eyes—damn, now they were dark, almost all purple. I fucked her as slowly as I could. Other than an increase in her breathing rate she showed no emotion. Yet, her body moved in ways that only women who love sex understand. Nearing completion at one point, I slowed and withdrew. She said nothing but waited patiently. She watched me. Perhaps they weren’t blue, maybe a little shade of green? When I reentered her, she lay softly compliant. She lightly kissed my ear as I allowed my cock to soak in her warm pussy.

“Better?” she breathed.

“Yes.” “Roll over and let me do the work. You just relax.”

Astride me, she continued her rhythm. I watched her face. Kathleen knew how to fuck a man. But was she enjoying it?

I lost track of time. I felt her movements increase. Would she orgasm? I looked for signs. Why was this important to me? I knew the answer. She understood male egos.

Then I had my clue—I think. A slight sheen of perspiration formed on her upper lip. Her icy blue orbs stared into mine. We stared and fucked. Neither of us giving in. Her vagina began a series of contractions. But her eyes remained locked on mine. She was working hard, that could explain the lips. Contracting pussy, any woman can do that…the eyes, oh my god the eyes. It was hot. A rivulet of sweat formed and ran between her breasts. Yet her eyes remained cool.. Yes, I wanted the house—I knew it, she knew it. Her eyes changed to a hypnotic shade of cobalt. I felt myself falling into them. Surrendering I pumped deeply into her. Her mouth opened. An eyebrow raised. She smiled. Was it pleasure or a bemused expression of her triumph? She had beaten me. Minutes later I opened my eyes. We lay exhausted. In spite of her hair being mussed and her lipstick transferred to my cock, she lay unperturbed. I poured more wine and relaxed.

“My, my it’s getting late. I have to meet my husband in an hour.” She stood and quickly dressed. “Looks like we’ve taken care of all the details. Why don’t we meet downstairs and get the irritating paperwork out of the way. That way we can both enjoy our weekends without the stress of additional problems on Monday—when your wife arrives.”

The perfect close.

I signed.

As we pulled out of the driveway, I noticed the sign had been changed to “Sold.” She stopped the car and switched signs to read “Contract Pending.” I looked at her quizzically.

She smiled, “ Technically I can’t put the sold sign up until the banks get their say. When I went out to get the wine, I had to ensure our privacy while we---uh…negotiated.”