Chapter 1

I’m lonely, scared, despondent to the point of considering suicide, unemployed and nearly broke. I suppose it’s mostly my own fault. No, there’s no supposing. I’ve made a few bad choices in the last year or so but the choice most responsible for my current state of affairs was marrying a guy I apparently didn’t know at all. I thought I did but before the honeymoon was half over I knew I’d made a huge mistake.

As strange as it may seem, his mother tried to warn me before we married. She took me aside one day and after a few minutes of hemming and hawing she warned me that her son can sometimes be impatient. I wasn’t sure what she was trying to tell me and the confusion must have been clear on my face. She blushed and it was obvious she either felt somehow responsible or she felt guilty for saying anything when she came right out and said, “He has a temper. He can be ... violent if you anger him ... or if someone else angers him and you happen to be nearby.”

I stared at her a bit incredulously. I haven’t known him long. Long enough to fall in love with him and think of him as my best friend. In all that time I’ve never seen him lose his temper. She saw my skepticism and added, “That isn’t all. He...”

Her blush deepened and after a pregnant pause she continued, “He has ... he has unusual sexual tastes. I’ve found books and magazines in his room that ... well, they were just disgusting. I like you. You seem like a nice girl. And you seem to be intelligent. Trust me, the smartest thing you could do is call this wedding off.”

I should have listened to her. Not long after we said I do I found out just how well Ryan’s mother knew her son. My brand new husband turned out to be an incredible pervert. We hadn’t been married two whole days before he started talking about bondage and S&M. He started pointing out people of both sexes and asking if I thought they were sexy. The shocked look on my face when he said those outrageous things seemed to amuse him. As though my reaction was totally uncalled for he merely shrugged and said he enjoys threesomes, a lot!

That was all scary enough but that was just the tip of the iceberg. His mother tried to warn me about his temper before the wedding but I had seen no sign of it so her vague warning went right over my head. Whatever may have restrained him before the wedding, the words “I do” apparently set him free.

The details are embarrassing, depressing and don’t really matter. I left him on the morning of the third day of our honeymoon. Two weeks after we were married we ended up talking to lawyers and a month later we were divorced. We had no property to split up. We were left with only those possessions with which we entered the marriage and a surprisingly large legal bill considering how very little work the attorneys actually did to end our marriage. My ex kept the apartment we rented because he has a job. I’m unemployed and can’t afford it. After paying my share of all our expenses I’ve got just about enough left of my meager savings to live for two months if I’m careful.

I couldn’t have come up with the first and last month’s rent and enough money to turn on the utilities so I couldn’t afford to rent an apartment. In one of the very few instances of good things happening to me lately I heard from a friend of a friend about a couple looking for a long term house sitter. They’re being transferred to his employer’s Dubai office for at least a year but they don’t want to sell or rent out their home. At the interview I easily convinced them that I’m a quiet, stay at home kind of girl because it’s true. I moved into the guest room that very afternoon. That gave them a chance to get to know me before they left at the end of the week.

The arrangement was great for them and even better for me. My meager savings will last a lot longer now that I don’t have to worry about rent and the homeowners are paying me five hundred dollars a month. All I need to pay is utilities and food while I search for a job. I only hope falling into this sweet deal is a sign of things to come because I have no one in the world I can turn to for help. I was orphaned at the age of three. Except for those first three years I spent my entire childhood in foster homes and orphanages.

The Bishops, the owners of the home I’m going to be house sitting, were more than generous when, during my interview, they were made aware of my early life and unfortunate marriage. I suppose they’re going to be making a small fortune working in Dubai for a year and can afford to be generous. After hearing my sad story, they made arrangements to have the utility bills paid from their checking account automatically, internet service included. I figure that with the utilities paid I can just about live on what they’re paying me to house sit if I eat a lot of soup and tuna fish sandwiches. I just have to pray that my ten-year-old Volvo doesn’t crap out on me.

I’m not the most computer literate female on the planet so, with Mr. bishop’s kind assistance, I set up a new email address with their provider and immediately resumed my job search. I don’t understand why I’m having such a hard time. I’m only nineteen but I have some work experience. I’ve worked as a cashier in a grocery store and I’ve worked as a waitress. I have very complimentary letters of reference from my previous employers. I have also completed almost two years of college carrying almost a full load taking evening classes at the local community college. Part of the problem is that, while I’m not being extremely picky, I am looking for something in a field which will provide me with more of a future than waitressing.

I was alone in the house for much of the remainder of the week before their departure. The Bishops were busy preparing for their move. I spent most of my time job hunting. I offered to drive them to the airport on Saturday but I think they didn’t dare ride in my old car. I can’t blame them for that. I wished them luck in their new home and waved goodbye as they rode away in the back of a cab. For the rest of the day I tried to figure out why I’m having such a hard time finding a decent job while at the same time going over my resume hoping to find a clue.

I know I’m only half way to a degree and my work experience leaves something to be desired. But I’m attractive, I dress well despite my limited wardrobe and I have an excellent vocabulary. I’m a bit shy and I know I have to overcome that. But it isn’t like I’m looking for a job as CEO of a Fortune 500 company. Looking at what I have to offer as a whole, though, I don’t understand why I haven’t received a single response to all the feelers I’ve put out there; all the resumes I’ve sent out to just about everyone but the President because there’s no way in hell I’d work for that moron Trump. As you can see, I’m despondent with good reason.

On Sunday morning I was startled by a knock on the door. It has been so quiet I’ve almost started to get the feeling I’m on a desert island. I answered the door. It was Meg, the woman next door. The Bishops introduced me to her a few days ago but we didn’t really talk. She smiled and said, “I figured you’d be sick and tired of all the quiet by now. I came over to see how you’re doing.”

Then she held up a pitcher and said, “I come bearing refreshments.”

I’m not much of a drinker and it’s only a little after ten in the morning but I don’t have any friends and I could use a little company. I smiled, stepped back and invited her inside. She breezed by me and went directly to the kitchen for a couple of glasses. She seems to know where everything is. She went to the cupboard and selected a couple of glasses. Then she turned to me and said, “It’s going to be a hot day but it isn’t bad out there now. Care to join me by the pool for a couple of Bloody Marys and some conversation?”

We sat under an umbrella out by the pool and by the time I was nearing the bottom of my second Bloody Mary I became aware that I was speaking to this woman a bit more freely than I normally speak to someone I just met. It wasn’t until later I realized she told me almost nothing about herself. I, on the other hand, told her far too much about my life as an orphan and the humiliating details of my incredibly brief marriage.

It was at about that same time Meg noticed the sun isn’t standing still. We are no longer lounging in the shade. She poured me another glass of Bloody Mary and suggested we move to a couple of lounge chairs closer to the pool. It didn’t register at the time that she has yet to take a drink of the Bloody Mary in her glass.

I didn’t give nearly enough thought to the fact that I’m drinking alcohol on an empty stomach and doing it in the sun is not a particularly good idea. I stood up and said, “I’ll be right back.”

She smiled as though I’d said something amusing and asked, “Where are you going?”

“To change into my suit.”

She stood up and said, “You don’t need that. No one can see us here.”

Before I could come to my senses she came closer and removed my t-shirt. I’m not certain I even know what was going through my alcohol dulled brain at that moment. I’ve never been naked outside before and it was kind of thrill, though I felt a little guilty for feeling that way. On the other hand, I’m not altogether certain no one can see us. I looked around for a few seconds and saw windows in several nearby houses with a view into the yard where she’s now bent down removing my shorts and panties.

She stood up when I was naked and escorted me to the nearest lounge chair. She adjusted the back of the chair and told me to lie down on my stomach. She went over to a storage cabinet near the patio doors and returned holding a tube of suntan lotion. She smiled and said, “An all over tan is sexy but an all over sunburn just sucks.”

I started to turn over and slather on some lotion but she nudged me closer to the edge of the oversized lounge chair, held me down, sat down beside me and said, “Relax. I’ll do it. I’ve been told I’m very good at this.”

I experienced a brief moment of lucidity when it occurred to me that I’m letting her order me around and I don’t know why. I’m also troubled by the fact that I’m the only one here who is naked, although I’d probably have been even more uncomfortable if she were naked, too.

I can’t figure out when and how I lost so much control over what’s happening to me and then I was distracted even further. I was more than a little uncomfortable when Meg squirted a line of lotion onto my back and began to massage it into my skin. I found myself unable to resist so I closed my eyes and tried to relax. She turned out to be true to her word. She’s very good at what she’s doing. I’ve never had a massage from a professional but I doubt if it could be any better than what she’s doing.

At first she just applied lotion to my back. But even the relatively impersonal massage in my “safe” zone very quickly began to turn into a sensual experience. I wondered for a moment if Meg is trying to seduce me. There isn’t a bisexual bone in my body but I can’t deny her sensual touch is starting to get to me.

Meg is a very attractive woman. She is probably in her mid to late thirties with short blond hair and a very slender, very sexy body. If I were into women I suspect she’d be my type. But I’m not and it began to make me nervous all over again when her fingertips moved lightly over the sides of my breasts or slid farther and farther down over the cheeks of my exposed butt.

I know I’m not thinking clearly thanks to those drinks with which she’s plying me. Even so, I think she must have sensed my reaction to her touch. But she didn’t stop her embarrassing and yet strangely stimulating sensual massage. In a soft, soothing, almost hypnotic voice she was somehow able to calm me and get me to relax as her hands massaged places where no woman has touched me since I was an infant and where damn few men have ever touched me.

A part of my alcohol dimmed brain told me to get up and put an end to this. Another part of my brain, the part which seems to be taking over, listened to Meg and relaxed. Her massage is becoming ever more sensual; her fingers exploring my sensitive flesh in erotic ways in which no one has ever touched me before. I knew it was wrong when her fingers calmly reached between my chest and the cushion as if she has every right to touch me there. Her well-oiled hands slid under my breasts and caressed my nipples, slowly coating them with lotion.

I was soon quietly panting from the intense pleasure she brought to my breasts. It seemed like a lot of time passed before she finally released my tingling breasts and her well-oiled, sensuous hands moved down, down to and slowly through the cleft between my butt cheeks, even grazing lightly over my anus! I can’t imagine what, if anything, was going through my head when I allowed her to spread my legs far enough apart to allow her hand the room it needed to slide down between my thighs until her fingers were moving lightly over my unusually sensitive mound.

She brought me right to the edge of an orgasm several times before adjusting her position and working her way down my legs. I almost cried out when her fingers left my needy pussy. Sad as it is to have to admit, even to myself, in what little there is of my stunted sexual history I have never once experienced an orgasm that wasn’t self-induced. For the very first time I felt the approach of an orgasm at the hands of another person. I had been so close! I didn’t cry out. I did moan in disappointment at the sudden cessation of her erotic touch.

Meg slowly worked her way down to my feet, keeping me simmering just below the boiling point before standing up and ordering me to turn over. A faint alarm went off somewhere in the back of my brain. First of all, I’m not in the habit of letting people order me around, especially people I just met and hardly know. And somewhere in the back of my addled mind, despite the pleasure Meg has brought me so far, I feel a tiny little twinge of concern that Meg’s hands will be much more free to explore where they shouldn’t if I’m lying on my back.

I ignored the mental conflicts I’m experiencing, wanting and needing something I know is so wrong. And I turned a deaf ear to my few remaining reservations. Once more I seem to be incapable of resisting any order she gives. I turned onto my back as ordered. Meg adjusted my lounge chair so that I was sitting up slightly. She reached down and handed me the Bloody Mary she poured for me before we moved to the lounge chair and with a disarming smile on her pretty face she said, “Here. Drink up. It’s getting warm.”

I took a couple of sips and started to rest the glass on a nearby table but she said, “No. Drink it down. They’re no good when they get warm.”

That quickly fading voice of reason in the back of my brain tried to tell me I’ve had enough to drink and gulping down another large glass of booze is stupid and totally out of character for me. But Meg smiled and said, “Go on, drink it down. You’re too tense. It will help you relax.”

So I did. I placed the empty glass on the table and then sat back and closed my eyes again while Meg’s soft hands returned to massaging my body. She started with my face and it felt surprisingly good. She worked her way down my neck to my shoulders and then said, “Doesn’t that feel great?” in her magically soothing voice.

I could only moan in response. I was still moaning when her well-oiled hands moved down slightly and began to tease my breasts. I’m aware that I’m rapidly losing my inhibitions and that realization continues to make me nervous. But for some reason I’m not even alarmed now. A woman is caressing my breasts and it feels wonderful!!

There’s still a small area of rapidly diminishing concern that this woman is ordering me around, making me do things I wouldn’t normally do. And I’m letting her! But damn! The things she’s doing to my sexually deprived body feel so damn good!

The long, slow, extremely erotic massage continued, finally ending up between my legs long after my inhibitions had been stripped away. Then, as if she could read my mind, she sat there with her hip resting against mine, smiling down at me and with her fingers she brought me to at least half a dozen mind blowing orgasms. I’m nineteen years old and for the very first time in my life I experienced orgasms at the hands of another person!! Still, I can’t help being just a little concerned that the hands in question belong to the woman who lives next door; a woman I just met!

I must have passed out. I woke up, I think it was only a few minutes later. Meg’s hands are now teasing my lust swollen breasts again and she’s grinning down at me. I’m vaguely disturbed by the impression I get that there is something sinister in that grin. I get the uncomfortable feeling we’ve been in some sort of strange contest and she knows she’s winning.

When our eyes met there was no trace of what I seemed to see in her grin when she said, “You must have really needed that.”

I have no idea why I’m not nearly out of my mind with embarrassment. Possibly it’s the alcohol or maybe her calm demeanor. I smiled and nodded. I almost whispered, “Yeah. I guess it’s been a while.”

It has, in fact, been forever. Neither of the only two people with whom I’ve been intimate before now, the high school boy who clumsily separated me from my virginity or my ex-husband from my disastrous three-day marriage, brought me anywhere near to an orgasm.

Meg stood up and said, “Come on, little girl. It’s getting hotter than hell out here. Let’s go in and take a shower.”

She helped me up and as it turns out I needed the help. Those Bloody Marys must have been far too strong and I haven’t eaten since my light supper last night. She wrapped her arm around me and guided me inside. The air-conditioned air in the house helped me to pull myself together a little. I tried to tell Meg I can walk but she ignored me and guided me up the stairs to the guest bath.

I thanked her but told her I’m okay; that I don’t need her help in the shower. She smiled and as though she’s talking to a child with a slight mental handicap she replied, “I don’t mind at all, little girl.”

I wish she’d stop calling me that. I feel like I’m being put down, but sweetly.

She took her arm from around my waist and said, “Help me out of these clothes.”

Somewhere in the back of my addled mind I know this isn’t right. But as ordered, I reached for her crop top and gently eased it up over her head. Her pert A cup breasts lifted and flattened out slightly when she raised her arms to allow me to remove her top. When she lowered her arms they fell back into place and for several long moments I found myself staring at another woman’s breasts in fascination, as though I’ve never seen breasts before.

She just stood there smiling at me, apparently amused by my attraction to her breasts. Her constant smile is starting to bother me. It seems to be saying, “I have a secret” with just a hint of “you aren’t going to like it.” But almost as soon as that thought crossed my mind it disappeared.

I placed her top on the counter. I’m still a little woozy but I carefully squatted down and grasped the elastic waistband of her loose shorts. I paused for a few seconds, wondering what has gotten into me that I can so calmly undress another woman. But my concern seemed to quickly evaporate and I eased her shorts down off her hips and down her firm, shapely legs. I held them while she stepped out of them but it was a long moment before I reached up and placed them on her crop top. I found myself staring at her tiny little string bikini panty and thinking how sexy she looks.

I should have been blushing furiously; especially when my eyes focused on the dark wet spot over her vagina. That sexy sight brought my thoughts drifting back to the fantastic orgasms she gave me on the lounge chair in the back yard. I’m vaguely aware she’s almost certainly going to want me to repay the favor but for some reason that thought no longer bothers me in the least. It should. Until this very moment it would have. The idea of doing anything of a sexual nature with another woman is totally alien to me.

I placed my hands on the outsides of her thighs and slid them up until I could grasp the elastic strings which are all there is to the waistband of her underwear. I paused for a few seconds, suddenly very aware that I’m about to uncover another woman’s vagina and that it will only be about eighteen inches from the tip of my nose! Undeterred, I slowly eased her panties down. My eyes locked on her sex as I uncovered it. More than a few seconds passed before I continued moving her panties down her smooth, sexy legs but my eyes never left the tight slit I just uncovered.

I stared in fascination at her totally bald pussy. It’s glistening with the moisture oozing out of her. I have only the slightest hint of external labia. I have to look close to even see them. But hers are even smaller than mine; almost nonexistent! She looks virginal! That thought leads my dazed mind back to wondering if perhaps she really is a lesbian. I have nothing against lesbians but despite the terrible experiences I’ve had with men I don’t wish to join their ranks. And despite the pleasure I’ve experienced at Meg’s hands this morning, I know that I’m not bisexual either. So why do I seem so fascinated by Meg’s breasts and her vagina?!

Meg reached down, caressed my hair for a second and then stepped out of her panties. I glanced up at her and when our eyes met she said, “I love looking down at you like this. You look so sweet and so submissive. You’re turning me on. You’ve never been with a woman, have you, little girl?”

I shook my head. I’m only dimly aware that any inhibitions I’ve had about sex with another woman up until now seem to have melted away. I think being called a submissive went right over my head but I’m surprised by how much I want to spend some time making her feel the way she made me feel a few minutes ago. To be honest though, I don’t think I have more than a vague idea how I’m going to go about doing that for her.

I’m not worried about any of that now. I somehow know Meg will guide me through this. Somewhere, buried deep in my fuzzy brain, I know I should be concerned with the control I’m giving over to a woman I’ve just met and know nothing about. But those quiet reservations are quickly tamped down.

Meg helped me to my feet and I stood there more than a little unsteadily while she turned the water on in the oversized walk-in shower. She reached into a small linen closet behind the door and pulled out a bath sheet. By then the water was steaming and she adjusted the temperature. She guided me into the shower and washed my entire body from head to toe. It was extremely pleasant, much like what she did when she had me on the lounge chair out back. She has an amazingly erotic touch.