I park up and get out of the car. Nice place, I think, walking up the drive. Wish they were all like this.
The door opens before I can ring the bell. "Hi. You must be Mark." The voice, low and throaty, has the same effect as it did when she called. It makes me think of tussled sheets.
Now the visuals don't always match the audio in my (considerable) experience but in this case they do. Smiling at me in the entrance is a real honey. She's a sassy-looking blonde with a pretty face, a flawless complexion and a toned figure.
I check her out, enjoying what I see. Her crimson dress is mid-thigh and clings and she's wearing a pair of heeled, open-toe sandals. It's an outfit for the woman who has a drop-dead body and wants you to know it. This Jessica Garraway is definitely my type. Fully aware that she's a looker and revels in it. A woman who likes male attention. I'm happy to oblige. My eyes are all over her, lingering on the tanned, shapely legs and the lush cleavage. She's fucking gorgeous. Smells great too. A whiff of expensive musky scent is coming my way.
Yeah, I really wish they were all like this.
Her smile widens as she clocks me ogling. "Come on in!" she says, amused.
She seems assured and confident. Completely at ease. It's like she's done this before, although when arrangements were made she'd been at pains to say that she hadn't.
I enter the house and follow her into the enormous lounge. She calls something over her shoulder but I don't catch it because my attention is lazered on her ass shifting around inside her incendiary dress. From the way the hips are swinging as she walks ahead I reckon it's safe to say that the woman knows exactly where I'm looking.
We traipse across an ocean of thick white carpet and through to the spacious, high-tech kitchen.
"God, this thing's been driving me nuts!" she announces, pointing at the sink.
I go take a look. Dripping tap. Okay, well I suppose I am a sort of a plumber. Kind of.
"Think you can fix it?"
I tell her I'm sure that I can. I give the tap a firm twist and it stops dribbling. "Problem solved," I grin.
"My hero," she pouts. I shrug and say it was really nothing. "Just needed a little muscle, huh?" she says, all flirty.
Nice way to break the ice that was. A nice way to get us rolling. I wonder if she rehearsed it.
"So, Mark, you wanna stick around for a while?"
She's looking at me like I'm a piece of prime steak and she's feeling peckish, and I'm looking at her the same way. My cock is pulsing in anticipation. This is shaping up to be one of the more memorable jobs.
Just go with the flow, I remind myself. No more call-outs booked for today and plus she's a hottie. What's not to like? I'll stay as long as she wants me to. "You're the customer," I grin, and I give her a wink to reinforce the message.
"I am, aren't I?" Suggestive little smirk as she says this.
"Which means you call the shots."
"Is that how it works?"
Being very sexy with me now. She's licking her lips, biting her top lip, all that.
"That's how it works."
"Good," Jessica laughs. "I like being in control."
"Mmm, I can tell."
"So how about a beer? Thirsty work fixing that tap."
She enjoys me calling her that. She beams and pouts, flicks her hair, and then she turns and goes over to the monster fridge and I'm treated to the walk again. Jesus that ass! This is without doubt one horny bitch. Let's hope she's as great a fuck as she is at being a pricktease.
The beers are racked on the bottom shelf and in order to grab one Jessica has to either crouch down or else she has to bend over. She decides to bend over and, oh christ, the cheeky little dress rides up the back of her smooth, golden thighs and keeps on rising until it damn near reaches her deliciously protruding butt. She makes a massive production out of it, bending over slowly and then holding the position for way longer than is strictly speaking necessary. Fine by me and I do what it's obvious she wants me to do, I feast on the glorious vista, eyes drooling and dick as hard as a fucking curtain rail. I'm tingling with lust.
Like I say, she's in no hurry and by the time she stands up and spins around I'm just about fucking bubbling over. Jessica knows I am too. Yeah she fucking knows all right and she's getting off on it. She's having a ball working me up.
She sashays over to me, insinuating smile, holding the beer. She cracks the can and hands it to me and I drink it stood leaning against the island counter in the centre of the room.
She comes in close and her hand starts exploring. She finds her target and softly squeezes it through my tight jeans. "Mmmm, so big and hard. Is that because of me?" she purrs.
"You know it is, baby," I grunt, my voice thick with desire.
The sensation of her fingers massaging my trapped erection is sending me into overdrive. I'm on fire. Her kitchen tap might have stopped leaking but my cock is more than making up for it. I'm ready to take her right there and then.
Jessica giggles and pulls away before I can put the beer down and grab her.
Says she wants to have a little chat first.
Fair enough, I can control myself. If that's what she wants, I can do it. All part of the service.
She pulls up a high stool and slides herself onto it, legs 'carelessly' crossed and the hem of her dress almost back to where it was when she was fishing around in the fridge, and we chew the fat about nothing in particular, just digging each other and flirting. There's no let-up with the teasing. She keeps me nicely on the boil. Those silky thighs are flaunted under my nose, a sandal dangles dangerously on the very end of her toes, and the whole time we're talking she's leaning in towards me so I'm getting close-up tantalized by the upper slopes of her magnificent breasts. No bra for Jessica today and there's a hint of nipple here and there as she shifts around. At times there's more than a hint.
It's difficult to decide where to look, the luscious legs or the fabulous tits, and I solve the problem by doing both. Before too long I get frisky and start stroking her thigh and she doesn't stop me. I go a bit further, try snaking up inside her dress, at which point Jessica knocks my hand away and calls me a 'naughty boy', tells me to be patient. Her face is a little flushed, I notice.
I grin and tell her fine, no rush, we have all afternoon.
I've finished the beer and she offers me another. I say no thanks, alcohol impairs performance. Jessica likes that. So unlike her husband, she says.
"Drinks too much, does he?"
I figured she was married when I noticed the ring earlier but I've left it to her to bring the topic up. That's the best way, I find, with the married ones. Some of them want to bang on about their marital frustrations and some of them don't. Makes no odds to me.
Jessica, she does want to talk about it. She starts complaining big-time about this husband of hers. Malcolm, he's called, and a sneer spreads across her cute little features when she mentions the name. Malcolm is a 'waste of fucking space'. Apart from the money, that is. That's the only thing he's good for. He earns serious dough and he gives it all to her. Can you believe that, she smirks. What a schmuck! She really can't think why she married him. Okay, maybe she can, she grins, indicating the opulent surroundings.
She continues in this vein, warming to her theme, telling me all about hubby's many and varied inadequacies. He's twenty years older than her and she's bored shitless with him. That's the long and short of it.
Jessica is enjoying herself here. She's getting quite a buzz from regaling me with what a useless wimp her husband is, from having me there nodding and sympathizing and at the same time lusting on her like crazy, drooling at what I can see (which is quite a lot) of her superb body, and telling her over and over what an incredibly desirable woman she is, telling her how much I want to take her to bed and make love to her. Yeah she's lapping it up. I am too because the compliments and ego-stroke are flowing both ways. She says how great it feels to be with a 'young hunk' like me. How I'm everything her husband isn't.
It's not as if he can even perform to her satisfaction in the bedroom department, she tells me. Well I'd guessed that much already. She needs a bigger tool than he's got, she says. And a guy who can last longer than thirty seconds. "You know what I mean, sugar?" She's gazing ostentatiously at the bulge in my crutch. I grin and tell her I know exactly what she means.
Jessica tells me that she's gotten so pissed off with how crap Malcolm is in the sack that she's cut him off entirely. It's been a while now, apparently. "I don't know how he can keep his hands off you," I tell her, blatantly leering. "You're enough to raise the dead."
She laughs and says that he just has to.
"But he does get randy sometimes, baby, right?"
"What do you think?"
"Living with a smoking hot babe like you? I think he's gonna be horny as hell. Bound to be."
She loves hearing that and she tells me it's true. He does get horny. Especially since he's been deprived. Being completely sex-starved he spends most of his time feeling that way. But, you know, tough. It's look but don't touch as far as her husband is concerned, she grins. And he does do plenty of looking. Which suits Jessica just fine. She likes him looking. It's funny, she says, because she knows how it kills him that he can't fuck her even though he wants her more than ever. "Oh my god, Mark, you should see the agonized expression on his face when I walk around the place wearing not very much. It's hilarious!"
"I bet. It must drive him nuts, poor bastard."
"It does. It's a scream. I torment the hell out of him. It's so fucking easy to do. All I have to do is, like, wear a short skirt or something and he turns into a drooling idiot!"
"You don't say," I gurn, glancing pointedly down at her legs.
She gets the drift and smiles knowingly and starts idly scratching an imaginary itch on her thigh just under her dress. "And I do have a ton of short skirts," she chuckles. "Not to mention the lingerie."
"You are terrible!"
She gives him absolutely nothing, Jessica tells me gleefully. About the only physical contact the poor guy gets with his lovely wife is when she has him give her a foot massage. That's the highlight of his existence, she snickers, when that happens. That's his sex life.
Jessica carries on entertaining me with some of the fiendish little ways she persecutes her unfortunate husband. She has quite a dominatrix thing going on. It's brutal. Home for Malcolm seems to consist of being teased or humiliated or totally ignored. The woman really is a cruel bitch!
That's if it's true, of course. Might not be. It could be just fantasy. Stuff she likes to conjure up to get her in the mood. Certainly it's turning her on telling me all this.
They still share a bed, she says, but only because she likes the thought of the hapless husband stewing there next to her, all tense and frustrated. "I sleep naked," she giggles. "Every night. And he can't lay a finger on me. Can you imagine?"
I can't help chuckling. Torture indeed! Poor old Malcolm.
"But what about you, baby? Don't you get antsy too? Woman like you needs looking after, right?"
"I sure do."
I flash my best wolfish grin. This is a really good one. If she hasn't gotten laid for weeks (months?) she's gonna be fucking ravenous for cock. Her sloppy cunt is gonna devour me. I can hardly fucking wait!