Marcia smiled at me from the sofa as I brought the two cups of tea into the living room.
"Thank you hun," she said, "nothing quite like a mug of tea after a long day's work."
She slipped her black heels off and put her tan-stockinged feet up on the leather footstool as I sat in the chair opposite.
"Mmm, that's good Jay," she said sipping her tea, "so how's the job-hunting going?"
"Still no luck," I replied, putting my tea on the coffee table, "just doesn't seem to be anything out there, I'm sure I'll get lucky soon though."
I'd moved into Marcia's four-bed detached a month before, her husband had left six months ago and she needed a lodger to help with the mortgage, I was living in a bedsit at the time in a rough part of town and needed somewhere a bit more comfortable and out of the city. Marcia's isolated house in the country was the perfect peaceful retreat, the only problem being getting work out in the 'sticks'.
"I've been thinking," she said.
"The housing benefit you get more than covers a good part of the mortgage and your income support means that you have money to feed yourself and get the things you need. So why don't you just work for me?"
"How do you mean?" I said.
"Well I'm at work nine to five and to be honest I'd like to just be able to come home and put my feet up," her stockings hissed lightly as she crossed her ankles, the hem of her black, knee length, business-suit skirt riding up a little.
"It would be great if you could do the housework, ironing, a bit of diy as needed, even have a meal ready for me when I get in. What do you think?"
I thought about it a moment. I could cook for sure, was fastidiously tidy, could iron my own shirts and my construction back-ground meant I could handle a variety of jobs...it sounded like a good idea, at least in the short-term and would take the pressure off me to get work for a while...
"Are you sure?" I said, "I think that sounds like a plan, it would certainly make me feel better to be contributing more than just money and sitting around the place."
"That's great," she said smiling, "you'll be like my own little housewife."
I laughed.
"And if you do a good job I might even keep you," she narrowed her eyes, pouted her lips and winked at me.
It made me shiver slightly.
"I'll do anything you want me too," I chuckled slightly nervously and drank my tea straight down.
"Hmmm..." she replied, her voice a little more firm now, "anything?"
"Well within reason," I chuckled, I was feeling slightly anxious suddenly.
"Good," she declared, "that's settled then! Take these cups out to the dishwasher and pop the telly on for me hun."
I bowed dramatically and giggled, "Of course Ma'am."
"Ma'am?" she said, " Oh no I don't like Ma'am, makes me sound old, you shall call me Miss." And winked at me.
"Yes Miss," I replied and pressed the button on the remote control, still chuckling nervously.
Marcia was thirty, nine years younger than me and very fit, slim, probably a size ten.
She stood about five nine in her stockinged feet so was quite tall, her long, black, hair tumbled stylishly in loose ringlets, her make-up perfect and a mix of dark, kohled eyes and glossy red lips and nails, in stark contrast to her naturally pale skin.
When she wasn't working at the law firm where she was a partner, she was in the gym. She had excellent taste in everything from the fine wines in the cellar, plush furniture and beautiful home, to her sharp business suits and new Mercedes soft-top.
Quite what she thought of a working class bloke like me I didn't know, but she had welcomed me from the start when I answered the ad' in the local paper, making me feel really at home.
If a little housework was the price of living in the comfort I found myself in I considered it a small price to pay, in fact it would be a breeze...
While I was busy in the kitchen putting the dishes and cups in the washer I heard her go upstairs and a few moments later the sound of the shower running.
I sat back in my chair just as she came down, showered and smelling fresh having changed into a black silk kimono decorated with embroidered dragons and flowers and flat, black shoes with little bows on.
"That's better," she said stretching out and lying back on the leather sofa.
"Do me a huge favour would you Jay?"
"Sure," I said.
"Pop up to my bedroom, get the washing out of the laundry basket and put a wash on for me?"
"No problem," I smiled getting up from my seat, it seemed my new position was to start immediately.
"You'll need to do a delicates and a colour wash," she said.
"I've let it build up a bit. Do the delicates first and it can be drying while you put the other wash on."
It was the first time I had been in her bedroom, it was huge with an en-suite shower room off to the right. The wrought iron framed double bed was sumptuously bedded with a purple duvet set and four large pillows, the modern black furniture was set off by the lilac walls and reflected in the mirrored wardrobes that ran the length of the wall opposite the bottom of the bed, a couple of japanese ink drawings hung stylishly on the walls.
I went to the wicker basket underneath the flat-screen tv on the wall by the window and began sorting her clothes into three piles on the bed, whites, darks and delicates.
It was clear that she always wore matching underwear, expensive bra, knicker and suspender sets in black, purple and red and it would appear nylons to match, stockings only, no sign of tights. I picked up the armful of slips, nighties and undies and headed for the stairs.
It was then I realised that I hadn't been in either of the spare rooms, quietly I crossed the long landing and opened one of the doors.
This was obviously a storage / cum dressing room as there was no bed, boxes and suitcases lined the back wall under the draped windows. It too had the long, mirrored, built-in cupboards. On a large pine dresser was her extensive make-up collection.
I slipped open the four deep drawers in succession and found each one filled with expensive nylon and silk underwear, slips, petticoats and pyjama suits. On inspection the wardrobes were home to her designer clothes and expansive shoe collection.
Quietly I slipped out of the room and tried the door handle to the room next door, curiously it was locked...
"Are you ok Jay?" Marcia called up.
"Just coming," I answered taking to the stairs quickly.
As I entered the living room she was painting her toenails in her trademark red polish, a bottle of expensive red wine sat on the table, unopened, with two glasses and a corkscrew.
"You took your time," she chuckled lightly, "thought you'd got lost."
"Oh," I smiled, "was just sorting the washing out. Shall I open this?"
"Please hun," she said. I opened the wine and poured her a glass, putting it on a small table that I pulled out from the nest of three by the open fireplace.
"Not having one?" she queried.
"Well I didn't want to assume," I said, "and to be honest I don't handle alcohol very well, I get squiffy quite quickly and end up a giggling hopeless mess."
She finished painting her little toenail and put the varnish back into the make-up box on the floor next to her, her nails perfect and picked up her glass.
"You really are well-mannered you know, that's nice," she smiled, studying me.
"And I don't mind one bit sharing a couple of glasses with a giggling mess. Go on, I'll pour you one while you pop the washing down to the utility room."
"Ok, thanks," I said relaxing naturally in her friendly company.
As I crossed the room one of her stockings hanging from the bundle snagged on the corner of the coffee table and they weren't the cheap ones from the supermarket, all of her underwear was expensive designer...
"Oops, sorry," I cringed.
"Oh check it when you've washed them," she replied, "if they've run I'll just bin them."
With the wash on in the cellar utility room I came back up and sat in the chair, enjoying the fine red and chatting with Marcia.
She told me how her ex was a chauvinist pig of a man who expected her to not only do her job but feed, pamper and run around clearing up after him. She said she had vowed the day he left for yet another younger model that she wouldn't let another man humiliate her like that again.
The wine was going down well and we were into the second bottle when I heard the shrill pip of the tumbler finsihing its dryer program. I stood to get up and wobbled a bit, the wine going straight to my head.
Marcia giggled, "Be careful going down those stairs hun."
I chuckled, my head a little foggy, a warm relaxed feeling inside and brought the washing up. I was on my way to fold it and put it on her bed when she stopped me.
"Oooh," she smiled and drained her glass in one swallow sitting up, "did that stocking survive?"
I put the dry washing on the coffee table and sifted through the nylon and silk looking for the black stocking, now feeling very light-headed from the effects of the wine.
"You'll never find a stocking with a run in like that hun," Marcia said, her voice light and amused, "You'll need to take each one, put your hand in and roll it up your arm, then you'll see if it's damaged"
She smiled and poured us both another glass of wine.
Feeling a little unsteady on my feet I sat down and seperated the black stockings, three pairs, from the rest of the pile, rolling up the sleeve of my shirt.
