Mixing Business With Pleasure

by JW

Copyright© 2011 by JW

Erotica Sex Story: Gratuitous sharing

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Fa/Fa   Consensual   Lesbian   True Story   Oral Sex   Anal Sex   Masturbation   .


A year and a bit ago I decided that what I was getting back from posting erotic stories didn't justify the time spent so I quit doing it. I decided to share this recent event in my life just for fun expecting no recognition of the effort that went into writing it. I hope you enjoy it. Jackie

Mixing Business With Pleasure

I could have cried; as if I wasn't already feeling blue enough. My hairdresser and occasional lover of ten years informed me at our last appointment that she was moving in with her boyfriend. JC and I go back over a decade to around the time that her first marriage broke up. I helped her through that emotional turmoil with TLC but now it seemed that I would not only be looking for a new hairdresser, but a new fuck-buddy as well—bad for me, but great for JC. I could only wish her the best and be happy for her, but as the song says... "When a lovely flame dies, smoke gets in your eyes."

Here I was in the love-lost funk having just tried to refinish the antique wooden screen door on the front of my house. Standing on my front walk midway between the porch and the street, looking at the blotchy botched job, tears burned behind my eyes and threatened to fall.

"Hey Jackie whatcha up to?" the cheerful voice hauled me back to the present. I turned to see my neighbor, Mary, plastic grocery sack dangling from her hand returning from the convenience store.

"Oh I sanded and put a fresh coat of varnish on the door and look at the mess I made!"

"Yeah that really didn't work out very well," Mary agreed.

"I don't know what I'm going to do. I think it'll have to be replaced, but Jack is so busy with work these days he won't be able to get to it for weeks. In the meantime it's an eyesore and it's the first thing people see when they arrive." I lamented.

"There's a woman who does restorations and fine carpentry work just over on the tenth line. Harry and I have used her a couple of times. She's a graduate of one of the community college home renovation courses. Maybe you should give her a call," Mary offered helpfully.

"That sounds like a great idea! I shoulda gone with a professional to begin with. Do you have her number?"

"Uh ... somewhere," my neighbor face scrunched with chagrin. "I'll have a look and give you a call later," she promised as she continued toward her own home.

No point dwelling on the blunder, I started packing the varnishing materials away. By the time I had that cleaned up it was time to start dinner.

When Jack got home he took it all in stride as he always does. "If she's any good get her to give you a price on putting in that new backdoor you've been after me about since last summer," was all he said.

The next day I made an evening appointment with Vivian Campbell. Mary told me that she prefers to be called Vi.

The woman who rang my doorbell early that Monday evening was enigmatic in my view. She looked barely out of her teens. The absence of makeup and her curly, I could say frizzy, golden hair was tied back in a bushy ponytail seemed to accent her youthfulness. She was very slim and wore an olive colored work shirt open over a white 'T' shirt. The lower legs of her convertible greenish-grey pants were zipped off displaying muscular calves that disappeared into her low cut work boots. The knowledge and skills required to do her work, to say nothing of running her own business led me to expect a much older, perhaps I should say older looking, person.

"Hello Missus Welsh, I'm Vi Campbell we spoke on the phone."

"Of course come on in," I invited, "but you're already looking at the first job right here," I said gesturing toward my messed up screen door.

She told me that unless I was inseparably attached to the old door, it would be cheaper to just replace it. She took measurements very quickly, producing a big tape measure form somewhere under her over shirt. Her voice reflected poise and self confidence.

While she was taking measurements for the back door that I also wanted replaced I said, "So you're determined to beat the boys at their own game."

"There's no reason why it's their game!" she snapped with sparks in her eyes. Oops hit a nerve I thought.

"Sorry ... I just meant that it's unusual to find an attractive young woman doing this sort of work."

"No I'm sorry," she responded somewhat sheepishly. "It's just that men always dominate and push us aside as if we're not as capable as they are and it's just not true."

"How does your boyfriend feel about all of that," I ventured that she wasn't married.

"I don't have one," she mumbled facing away from me and bending down as she continued to record the measurements of my backdoor. My gaydar went on alert and I was looking at Miz Campbell in a whole new light.

"Is this your last task for the day?" I enquired innocently while scoping out her ass as best I could through her baggy pants.

"Yeah, checking out and quoting new work is always the last thing," she confided looking at her notes and then back at the door frame.

"Do you have time for a cup of tea ... or something stronger if you'd prefer." Her expression when she looked up from the pad of paper she was holding was inquisitive even puzzled.

"I wouldn't say no to a beer if you have one," she accepted my invitation.

We were standing at the back door so I said, "Why don't you head out onto the deck and make yourself comfortable and I'll bring it right out."

Not being a beer drinker I was surprised to find four different kinds of beer in our bar fridge. I put a frosted mug from the freezer and a bottle of each on a tray along with a glass and wine cooler for myself. I set the tray on the shoe cabinet beside the backdoor so I could open it. Looking out the window onto the deck I froze.

My renovation contractor had removed her over shirt. She was sitting in one of the deck chairs with arms straight out from her shoulders, head way back—chin to the sky—and her back arched. The stretch etched her sensible bra into the fairly thin material of her white T shirt and provided a tantalizing view of the orbs it contained. The very small circles Vivian was making with her arms trying to limber up her back caused her breasts to move provocatively. Taking a deep breath I shouldered the door open simultaneously retrieving the tray.

"Feeling the strain?" I asked announcing my arrival.

"Yeah, I try to sneak a stretch in, here and there, whenever I can."

"I brought a variety so you can pick your own poison," I said setting the tray with the five bottles on the table in front of her.

"Wow, service and selection ... that's hard to beat," she responded brightly reaching for the Bud Light.

"I'll go you one better if you want. I'll give you a shoulder rub." I offered stepping quickly around behind her chair.

"Oh I couldn't possibly..."

I was expecting her protest and made sure that I was in position and had started to work my magic before she could even get the words out. My practiced fingers dug into the knotted muscles squeezing and twisting rhythmic fashion.

"Ughh," she sighed. "My god you're good at that!"

"So I've been told," I replied looking down onto the front of her shirt and admiring the way her boobs shaped nearly translucent T.

I continued to massage, varying the pressure and pace feeling pretty proud of myself for having gotten my hands on her (albeit non-sexually) less than half an hour after we'd met. A warm anticipatory sensation was developing in my low belly.

When the scapulae began to release I turned my thumbs and attention to the rhomboids and deltoids. The progress was rewarded with more appreciative groans and sighs. I noticed an extra protrusion atop the lush hills that gave the T shirt its attractive shape. The emergence of her nubbins was testament to the pleasure hormones and enzymes that her body was generating. The release of muscle tension and relief of pain was already being interpreted as pleasure. If not actively resisted the integration of a sexual component usually followed.

My sexual components were already fully integrated. The tingle of my own persistently erect nubbins chaffed by my bra posed a problem. My hands were otherwise occupied. My needs were at least partially appeased by pressing my mons against the back of the contractor's chair. I managed enough stimulation to send tendrils joy down my inner thighs which weakened my knees. A momentary sag went unnoticed by the seated woman I was massaging, as did the soft involuntary noise I made. Moving my hips to the same rhythm as my massaging hands I soon realized that the meager containment provided by my labial folds had been breached. My hairless outer lips were bathed in the flowing juices captured by the crotch gusset of my panties. That sometimes annoying voice of reason was murmuring in the background that when I eventually sat down I was going to have an embarrassing damp mark to explain.

I was groovin' looking down at Vi's boobs and stiffening nipples, imagining how they'd feel in my mouth, rubbing my pussy against the chair listening to my new friends appreciative sounds. I'm not exactly sure how long the message lasted but some internal clock told me it was long enough. With a final firm squeeze I said, "I think you're a little looser," as I moved around and sat in the facing deck chair. A tiny rush swept over as I felt the squishiness mashed up between my legs.

"That was wonderful ... thank you so much," she said with obvious sincerity.

Vi ignored the chilled mug and brought the bottle of Bud to her lips. As she enveloped the upper neck I couldn't help imagining the way their soft fullness would feel on my mouth. I started pouring my cooler into the glass.

"You could probably train a boyfriend to do that with a bit of persuasion," I said suggestively before taking a sip.

"Not really interested," she replied taking a long swallow; another blip on the gaydar.

"Doesn't it get a bit lonely being all on your own?"

"I keep busy ... and I love to read."

"Yeah but what do you do for fun?" I continued in spite of the fact that she looked slightly uncomfortable.

"Well ... I..."

"I'll give you a call sometime when we're going out," I suggested.

"A stag woman mingling with married couples might not work out so well," she protested.

"Oh I didn't mean with the men! Just with the girls silly," this notion changed her demeanor.

"I was sure Mary said that you were married," Vi perked up as she responded.

"I'm married, I'm not dead," I announced borrowing a male excuse for a roaming eye. I sat back demurely crossing my bare legs before adding; "I get together with the girls at least once a month. Usually it's just two or three of us ... sometimes more."

Vi had moved out onto the edge of her chair, "That sounds like it could be fun!"

"Oh we have fun alright," I replied with what I hoped came across as a lascivious chuckle while straightening my black silk skirt. My contractor friend was leaning forward now, elbows on her knees. Our gaze locked.

"What kind of things do you do?" she asked expectantly.

"You know ... girl things," I answered searching her eyes. "Do you like to do girl things?" I could feel her eyes searching back.

"I do," she rejoined allegorically.

"Given how you make your living, people might get the impression that you have an abundance of testosterone." It wasn't exactly calling her a butch.

"Maybe they aren't wrong," she replied straightening up and taking a man-sized swig from the tall brown bottle.

"And that's just what a girls' night out needs is some girl testosterone," I respond raising my glass in salute before taking a large swallow.

Vivian had set her beer down and was leaning forward again searching my eyes and face. As I lowered my glass I hoped my smirk would help her correctly read between the lines. A glimmer of realization lit her face a moment before her finger tips grazed the plump calf muscle of my upper crossed leg.

As if she were emitting a high voltage charge, the nerves between the point of contact and the epicenter of my womanhood lit up causing a head spinning throb in my soggy crotch. Reflexively I tried to cover the sensual groan with a weak cough—it was a poor and ineffective ruse.

"So you don't mind having some less girly girls around?" she queried brushing her hand back and forth striking sparks between her fingertips and my calf.

"Not at all!" I managed to say as the brushing was turning into a caress. This time when our eyes met understanding was complete.

I was impressed with Vi's coordination as she slithered off the deck chair and positioned herself between my legs. Her hands slid up the tops of my thighs pushing my skirt ahead of them. Our eyes were still riveted on each other. There were no questions left to the imagination now that she was kneeling between my knees; my skirt pushed high enough to expose the saturated crotch of my panties. She brushed my swollen mons.

"Oh my ... that's pretty wet what have you been thinking about?" Vi mused as she continued to lightly brush over the sodden gusset of my panties.

"I've been thinking about getting it on with you," I answered lifting my ass and stripping my underpants down until they snagged at my knees. The kneeling younger woman wasted no time in completing the job. My sling back sandals wound up under the rattan coffee table in the process.

Our eyes met once again as Vivian slid her hands up my thighs sending shivers down my spine. The thought that invaded my hyper-aroused brain was that they should put a picture of her face beside the word lust in the dictionary. She cast her gaze between my spread legs. I could easily imagine the sight she was seeing; my hairless vulva glowing bright pink and swollen possibly glistening with residual wetness.

"Sweet! ... you're bald," she appreciated before sliding her forearms under my thighs and pulling my hips forward until my ass was nearly off the chair. Coiling her arms around she applied her fingers to my pussy from the top. She pulled the folds open and in the process applied pressure to my turgid girl cock. I was happy that there was no need to suppress the bone-marrow deep groan that rose from my core.

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