I'll spare you the sob story of how I got here, but suffice it to say that this wasn't the high point in my life. My family used to live in a neighborhood like this. Fenced community, had to have your name on the list with the porter, perfectly manicured lawns that the owners have never once cared for nor used. I get the type. And frankly, I used to be this type. And now? Now I'm the one man wait staff for someone's fucking dinner party. The temp agency told me that Mrs... what was it? Glassgow I think. Mrs. Glassgow's normal waiter tested positive for covid last week and they needed someone. It told me a lot that the chef wouldn't walk food 100 feet from the kitchen to the dinning hall.
Anyways here I was at this house,.... no mansion. I couldn't find a doorbell, so I knocked, but no one seemed to be home. I glanced at my watch. Yeah I'm a little early, but the temp agency told me that this client was..... particular. And told me to be prompt. I poked my head around the side of the house and found a side door that connected near the garage. I let myself in and started searching for the kitchen. What I found..... was Mrs Glassgow. She was in the kitchen, looking over the spread of food prepared by the now gone chef. She scrupulously dipped a finger into each dish to check, or nibbled each little hors d'ouvre. I caught myself at the doorway, and didn't fully enter. I was shocked. Mrs. Glassgow wasn't quite what I expected. I assumed old money also meant old and worn women, but Mrs. Glassgow was young, and radiant, and.... sexy as fuck! She had on a dinner gown, long and crimson, with a deep V at her neck and long slits up the sides of her legs. Her perfectly manicured hair, makeup, and nails probably cost my last years income. She also seemed to be no stranger to the surgeon's knife. She had two perfectly formed tits that barely hid under her perfectly contoured neckline.
Before I could brace myself to round the corner and face her scorn, she did the craziest thing. After her thorough inspection of the food, she checked the clock on the wall and leaned against the counter to scroll through her phone. After just seconds, she seemed to find something that she liked. And I mean..... she must have really liked it. Her hand traced up one of the slits in her dress until she pulled it to the side revealing a matching crimson high waisted thong. Her manicured hand started to touch herself over the top of her fabric.
"Just the type." I thought. Spoiled rich, bitchy, and amazingly unfulfilled. But now I seemed to be stuck, I couldn't round the corner, nor could I leave as the door behind me would alert her to my presence. And just as I was trying to plot my escape back to the front door, my hip bumped into some piece of decor, knocking it to the ground. I froze, and so did Mrs. Glassgow. She huffed through the kitchen and rounded the corner to find me picking up and replacing the hallway decorations.
"How long have you been there?" She asked. Infuriated, but slightly guilty.
"Hi, sorry, I tried knocking at the door, but there was no answer, I found my way in through the garage." I stammered. She was even more beautiful up close, and very very angry.
"You didn't answer my question. I assume you're the waiter. Why are you early?" She snapped.
