I'm Brian Bolter. I met Coraline Branson after I had been working for Peter Branson about three months. Coraline was Peter's wife. It took me only about five minutes to determine that Coraline is a cunt, i. e. a woman who is contemptible to the extreme. I had never used the "c" word before to refer to a woman, even in my own mind, but that was the only word that fit.
Coraline was haughty, demeaning, nasty, selfish, and fake, all rolled into one despicable package. I wondered what type of upbringing she had to make her that way, and I wondered how Peter --who seemed to be a nice guy the three months that I had worked for him -- could put up with her.
Well, actually, I wasn't totally clueless as to why Peter put up with Coraline. If there wasn't a scowl on her face it was very pretty, and even clad in fairly conservative clothing her body was probably what the average man thinks of when the name Aphrodite is mentioned. If Peter was regularly banging that piece of ass he probably didn't have enough brain cells that weren't awash in endorphins to think too much about what a cunt she was.
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As a twenty three year old recently graduated electrical engineer I was extremely pleased to have gotten a job with Branson Engineering LLC since it was one of the most prestigious engineering companies in the US. I was surprised that I got the job since although I am clever I was only in the middle of my class at Northwestern (the 19th rated undergraduate engineering school in the US), and the three other engineers hired by Branson the same time as me all were at or near the top of their class at MIT, Stanford, and Cal Tech (the first, second, and fourth rated engineering schools in the US). I did have several advantages, however, as far as engineering sales are concerned. Whether it is fair or not, people who are athletic, big, and good-looking get hired for engineering sales and I was a conference champion swimmer at Northwestern, am six foot three, 195 pounds, and did modelling part time while in school. I finagled a personal interview with Peter Branson and I believe that I nailed it, not at all disturbed by some of the probably less-than-appropriate questions that he asked me during the interview. Perhaps the strangest was if I had a steady girlfriend.
Anyway, while I was hired for engineering sales, and while I did go through in-house training for that, shortly after I met Coraline at a company function Peter moved me into a position as his assistant, a position he apparently had just created and thought that I would be well suited for. I think it was because I was more out-going and more comfortable in social situations than all of the other engineers working at Branson Engineering LLC. Anyway, what my job consisted of was attending initial client meetings with Peter, doing rough engineering proposals about Peter's ideas and interfacing with the hard core engineers to start them on implementing Peter's ideas, and even doing some "go-for" tasks for Peter.
I never resented the "go-for" tasks that Peter assigned to me because even they provided some valuable experience, got me out of the office, and endeared me to him and he was the one who determined all salaries (and I was well paid).
It was in June, about four months after I met Coraline, when Peter assigned me my first go-for task that related to her. As Peter put it "My wife Coraline is unhappy with the controls for the pool cover, automatic cleaners, and saline sensors for our salt water swimming pool. She can't get anyone from the manufacturer to do something to her satisfaction. You're an electrical whiz," I wasn't, but if he wanted to think that I wasn't going to argue, "go see what you can do. My home address and directions are on this card, and use one of the electrically equipped company vans."
So off to Peter's house -- actually it is a more a mansion than house -- I went, a little apprehensive about interfacing with Coraline, but it was a nice sunny day and I had a thick skin, so I just sucked it up.
"So you're the doofus Peter sent to help me out," Coraline barked after the maid led me to the pool area where bikini-clad Coraline was laying on a lounge chair. "Didn't you just start -- how the hell will you be able to help me?"
I was taken aback -- but not so much by her words but her appearance. "Don't get hard, don't get hard," I repeated over-and-over to myself staring at the best looking female form that I had ever seen in my life; fortunately I had sunglasses on. I only snapped out of my stupor when she snapped "Well?"
In a surprising smooth manner I lied "I had a similar project in college so I think that I can do what you need. Please explain the problems you are having, and what you are looking for."
In a condescending manner, Coraline walked around the half-Olympic size pool in her ornate back yard pointing out all of the things that she didn't like, and concentrating on the remote control which she held in her hand as we navigated the pool deck. I had a clipboard and camera with me and took notes and pictures as she talked. I found that the only way that I could concentrate was not to look at her body, but just to look where she pointed and at her forehead when I faced her, otherwise I was sure that I'd sprout a boner that would be impossible to cover up.
After I got all of the information that I needed I started to say my good-byes when she startled me. "Bolter -- that is your name, isn't it?"
"Yes ma'am," I replied.
Coraline took off her sunglasses stared at me and snapped "Call me 'ma'am' again and I'll strangle you; I'm only thirty four, for fuck's sake. It's Mrs. Branson to you."
"Got it, Mrs. Branson," I replied with a weak smile.
"OK, Bolter, I don't want to be dealing with a pervert or moron so I need to find out some things about you. Marie will bring us a quick lunch and some lemonade or ice tea; have a seat at the table with the umbrella on the pool deck while I get her to serve us," Coraline said as she sashayed away.
I made the mistake of looking at her ass as she strutted. I immediately felt activity at my crotch so I quickly turned away and walked over to the table -- which unfortunately was transparent.
In more of an interrogation than a conversation, Coraline and I talked for the next half hour. It was one of the least enjoyable conversations of my life for three reasons: 1) there were no pleasantries in the way that she asked her questions or talked; 2) the questions that she asked were too personal and uncomfortable; and 3) worst of all I had to intensely concentrate on not tenting my pants because even though she was a complete cunt my subconscious mind kept wondering "What would it be like to fuck that perfect crotch while sucking on her ponderous tits while she begged me to fill her up with sperm?"
Mercifully, after about a half hour Coraline dismissed me and then dove into the pool with the grace of an Olympian. I watched, hoping that her top would be dislodged, but no such luck. When I got to the van it was all that I could do not to masturbate right there in her driveway, but I snapped out of it and drove back to work.
When I got back Peter's secretary called me into his office. "Did you find out exactly what Coraline wants?" he asked.
"I think so, Peter," which is what he insisted that I call him except in meetings with clients. "I'm wondering, though, how much time that I should spend on the project considering my other work."
"Treat it as your number one priority," he surprisingly replied. "She'll be on my case until it gets done and she can be difficult when she has a burr in her saddle," he grinned.
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Over the next month I implemented all of the circuitry and software changes that would be necessary to do what Coraline wanted, using a bastardized cable TV remote. It required me going over to her house almost daily, which also necessitated me checking with her to make sure that she would be there and not at exercise, doing volunteer work, at the country club, or shopping. I didn't know if she didn't trust me or wanted to make my life miserable or what, in requiring that she be there when I worked. In any event, going over to her house was all of awful, painful, and invigorating. It was awful because of how she treated me, it was painful because she was always in a bikini and I had to try my best to keep from getting hard, and it was invigorating because glancing or staring (when she wasn't looking) at her perfect female form really got my juices flowing.
