Ties. I never liked wearing them. This was the reason, I told myself, that this newly minted twenty two year old commerce graduate was not applying for any of the jobs everyone thought he should be applying for. In actual fact, I liked my lifestyle at the moment. Free from the demands of university, I had turned to the working lifestyle that I had used to support myself while studying for my degree. I had done an informal apprenticeship with a family friend who had taught me how to lay tiles, and more specifically, slate flooring and now, by working three or four days a week as a self-employed tiler, I could maintain a relaxed and enjoyable, if not lavish, style of living. I was an avid surfer and was in the water at least three days a week or more depending on the surf. Being my own boss afforded me the flexibility to suit myself.
The current job I was working on was a patio of about 25 square yards. It was a bigger job than I normally took on but I was thinking about some bills I had coming up. The client was a Ms. Satterthwaite who was a prominent local realtor. I had seen her image on a number of advertising hoardings around the city. She was not married and as far as I knew, had never been. She lived in an upmarket condominium in a fashionable part of the city
From the beginning I was dubious about Ms. Satterthwaite. She was aloof, cold and very demanding. I just kept my head down and got on with the patio and hoped that she would be out for most of the time I was working. No such luck. I don't think she trusted me to be left alone around her home so she was always popping in and out. At times I almost felt stalked. I had allowed four days to complete the job and after day three on the Friday, things were progressing satisfactorily. I should comfortably complete the job in one more day.
This weekend there was a music festival up the coast at a popular beach so some friends and I had decided to make the trip. On the Sunday a friend and I decided to stay on. The weather was good and the forecast was for good surf. I was expected at Ms. Satterthwaite's on the Monday but I felt no particular loyalty to her. I left her a voice mail saying that something has come up and I would be back on Wednesday to finish up. She tried ringing me several times but I knew her number and didn't reply.
It was actually the Thursday that saw me back at her place. I was a little thankful that she was out to be honest. I went to work and finished off the job relatively quickly. I had just finished tidying up and was loading my tools back into my truck when she arrived. Now I could understand that she might be a little pissed that I had gone AWOL but I had now finished the job.
I'll take this time to more fully describe Ms. Satterthwaite. Age wise, I would say she was early to mid-forties. She was certainly well preserved. Height was about five foot six and quite slim although, if I had to be picky, I would say there was probably a little too much sand in the bottom of the hour glass. She was just a little on the beamy side around the hips. There was an agreeable bosom that I would describe as generous without being substantial. I did have occasion to admire her legs. I think the phrase "well-turned" describes them nicely. Her seemingly flawless skin was heading towards olive in tone. Maybe I could describe the hue as Kardashian. She had facial features that were quite regal if a little austere. That pointed little nose was always held a little too close to the ceiling for me but that describes her attitude more than her appearance. Handsome rather than beautiful would be my judgement. She had salt and pepper hair cut rather short which suited her well. Today she was wearing a short sleeved, silky blouse and a tweed, knee length skirt that drew my eyes down to her smooth, shapely lower legs.
In all, she was a very fetching woman who would have been used to her fair share of male attention. Unfortunately, this probably only exacerbated her superior and haughty attitude. From my perspective it was all a very academic assessment. She looked down on me as if I was some form of inferior life that had to be tolerated only because she needed my menial skills. Criticism and complaint were the only channels of communication she used with me. While attracted to her, I knew the chances of her lowering her panties for me ranked up there with the likelihood of me beating Usain Bolt at the next Olympics.
Anyway, now that she had returned home, I was expecting her to be a bit caustic. Given that I had disappeared for three days and not returned her calls I could accept that. Still, I had completed the job to a very good standard, at a good price and had even cleaned up afterwards. How angry could she be?
When I saw the look on her face I realized she could be plenty angry. The word livid springs to mind. She marched towards me and started to rebuke and reprimand me. Apparently I was the most irresponsible, incompetent, insolent peasant that the world had ever seen. All during this tirade she was slowly but steadily advancing towards me. I was back pedaling until I bumped into the wall of her garage. Her finger went from wagging at me to pointing. She thrust a bony finger into my chest and continued to tell me what an irresponsible lowlife I was. She then started jabbing the finger.
Breaking point had been reached. I could no longer quietly absorb her harangue.
"You are such a bitch," I growled. Her eyes widened and then narrowed with a steely look of determination. As if in slow motion her right hand came back and I was startled to realize she was going to strike me. Her palm was open so it looked like it was an in-coming slap. It was easy to raise my hand and catch her wrist as her arm swung toward me. Now it her turn to be startled but it did not make her any less determined. Her other hand drew back for another shot and it was even easier to catch this attempted blow. I now had her by the wrists, both arms out stretched. This had involuntarily brought our bodies together. She was struggling against my grip but I was reluctant to let her go. She had rather fearsome looking finger nails and I had a hunch they would be heading toward my face if I released her.
I couldn't help it but her squirming against me was washing her respectably sized bosom across my chest and her stomach was applying pressure in a sensitive area. My body betrayed me and I almost instantly developed a solid erection. I think she suddenly became aware of my arousal and slowed her gyrations. She had gone from struggling to be released to trying to use her belly to investigate what had materialized in my shorts. She looked at me with a puzzled expression on her face. I slowly lowered her arms and held them behind her back while still holding her wrists. I pulled her towards me with a thrust like motion that ground my cock into her lower stomach. She gulped. I lowered my head towards her. She flinched but could not really move away. I brushed my lips against her neck and inhaled the fragrance of what I assumed was an expensive perfume.
Part of me was turned on and part of me was angry. I moved my mouth to her ear and whispered..."What you need is... a good... hard... deep... fuck." I moved to look her in the eye to see what sort of reaction I had garnered. There was a gasp and I felt her stiffen in my arms. Her eyes then rolled back in her head and she slumped in my arms. If I had not supported her she would have fallen to the ground.
What do I do now? The bitch was fainted on me. Lowering her to the pavement seemed wrong so I put one hand under her knees and lifted her. She was lighter than I expected but I think I also still had a bit of adrenaline running. She was limp in my arms. I carried her inside and looked for a couch but the only one I could see was covered in bags and parcels she had brought in when she arrived home. I walked to the corridor that led off the lounge in search of a bed. I nudged open a likely looking door and saw what could only be her bedroom. All pink and pastels. Limoges dolls, lace and frills. There were floral patterns everywhere and the room smelled of that dusty compost called potpourri. This room was about as masculine as Dolly Parton.
I placed her lengthwise on the bed. Picking up a wrist I checked for a pulse. What if it was more than simply passing out? I found a pulse but also a forearm with a very attractive expanse of skin. I fleeting entertained the opportunity to explore some other parts of her insensible body but even this bitch probably deserved more respect than that.
She stirred and started muttering. It sounded like, "od, ad ep." Her eyes were flickering and it clear that she was not fully cognizant of her surroundings. She continued to gabble, "od, ad ep... od, ad ep." Her eyes steadied now and seemed to gain focus. She looked at me and at first seemed alarmed but then she let out a big sigh and again muttered something like "ood, ard eep." Her voice had a hint of resignation to it. Like she was somehow giving up.
As I watched she swiveled so that she was facing me with her lower legs dangling over the edge of the bed. I was startled to see that her hands had disappeared under her skirt and she appeared to be wriggling out of her underwear. A very brief pair of red knickers appeared and she tossed them to the floor. To amplify my surprise she then flipped up her skirt to present her genital region. She had jet black pubic hair which was precisely trimmed into a perfect triangle. It looked more like a pelt that a bush.
I was baffled. What was I meant to do here?
