To SweetSara with love and spanks.
I lie in bed feeling nicely spent after my morning romp with Sara, and watch her pad back from the shower to dry off in front of the full-length mirror. She runs the towel over her petite, young body and, as a tease just for me, bends forward slightly and moves it slowly between her legs, back and forth to dry those delicate, bare lips. She loves to put this show on for me and to dress for me as well. Today, it's a lacy bra and panties set and a smart, black trouser suit. It's her first day at her new job at the bank and the ensemble makes her look so mature and professional, every bit her 25 years.
She grabs her car keys and leans over the bed to kiss me on the way out, whispering in my ear, "Let's play when I get home." I laugh and tell her we'll wait and see β she might be feeling exhausted after her first day. She shrugs this possibility away. "Just be ready for me okay?" and with that, she picks up the posh new brief case I bought her and a canvas laundry bag. I wonder just what she's up to with that but she's gone before I can ask. I will have to wait all day to see now.
************
I've been so engrossed in my writing that only the doorbell prompts me to glance at my watch - 5.30pm already! I go downstairs and open the door, expecting a salesman or charity collector, but there's Sara on the step, wearing the shortest little dress I've ever seen her in, probably and deliberately a size too small. It hugs her curves and the tight, low-cut bodice pushes her small breasts up into a teasing cleavage that just about covers her well-toned ass. Her legs are bare and she's wearing a pair of light, summer mules. Now I know why she took the laundry bag with her to work this morning. Images flash before my eyes of her changing outfits in her car, an awkward and ungainly procedure for her perhaps but in my head incredibly erotic.
She stands in the porch with studied nonchalance, leaning against a supporting pillar, arms folded, ankles crossed. She's chewing and blowing bubble-gum and, every time a bubble bursts, its fragments spatter on her lips. She pulls them back in her mouth and chews them into a ball again, tossing it on her tongue from cheek to cheek.
"Hiya mister! Want your house cleaned? I'm good!"
I play it straight. "I might. How much do you charge?"
"Ten bucks an hour will do it."
"Oh? Well that sounds reasonable. So you do everything?"
"Sure mister! All the usual stuff!"
I look her up and down again. "You look very young to be working full-time?"
She suddenly stops her frantic chewing and rolls her eyes. "I'm 18, Mister!" she claims, handing me her national ID card.
I check it over, playing the part probably too carefully and realistically for her liking. She always accused me of being too pedantic sometimes, especially in situations where directness was crucial β like now.
She moves to grab back the ID card and the initiative. With a sultry, provocative look, she adds: "And there's extras, too!" She hitches up her dress to flash me and, of course, the whole neighbourhood.
Her brazenness makes me blush. Just a couple of years ago, she loved to flash me and have sex with me in public. We didn't care who saw it until, that is, we settled down and got respectable. So in a sense, our role-play is about recovering the fun and spontaneity of those carefree days.
After giving me a twirl, she lets her dress drop down and pops another bubble, glancing at her wristwatch. "Hurry up, Mister! I haven't got all day, you know!"
"Tell you what", I say, "let's see how well you do with the 'usual stuff ' before we talk extras?"
"Sure thing. But extras will cost ya!"
"Of course. So you can start right away?"
"Yeah, whatever," she mumbles, lifting the canvas bag and pushing in past me.
She looks around the hall and peers into the rooms off, like some builder estimating a quote for renovations. Throwing down the bag, she glances at the framed photos on the wall to her left, of her and me on holiday in Spain. She nods to them and pops a bubble. "That your wife, mister?"
"Yes, that's Sara."
She flashes me a coy smile. "She's cute! Does she do the usual stuff, too?"
"Reluctantly, yes," I say, meaning the housework but I know what she's implying.
She frowns at my insolence, looking me over, her glinting, grey-blue eyes lingering at my crotch. "But she gives you extras, right?"
I want to laugh but I play along, knowing how much she is enjoying this. "Of course she does!"