All Sexual Activity Is Between Characters Who Are 18+ Years Old
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Mary McGuinness Trotter kissed Eli Farragut as he slept, then whispered, "Happy Birthday, mon cheri... mon cher vieil homme." Rolling nude from his massive canopied bed, she retrieved her new nylons and Chantilly lace garter belt, which hung haphazardly from the shade of a nearby table lamp. She smiled, remembering how Eli had insisted on stripping them from her, using only his mouth.
Mary had thought it great fun at the time, but now she frowned as she picked them up. She sighed and surveyed the runs where his eager teeth had snagged them. Pulling on the sheer suspenders, but leaving the garters uselessly hanging, she tossed the destroyed hose lightly onto Farragut's pillow. "They were meant as a present for you, anyway, mon vieux," she said to the slumbering old gentleman. "I'm glad you enjoyed playing with them."
Picking up and stepping into her discarded black linen maid's uniform dress, she zipped and buttoned herself. Mary carried her sheer black bustier and starched white muslin ruffled apron with her downstairs. In the library she grabbed her cloche cap from where it had fallen earlier on the heavy velvet couch. An extended search, however, failed to locate her French sateen panties, which Eli had purloined and wadded into his silk robe's pocket.
Feeling deeply satisfied, if a little bit ragged, after an unusually strenuous morning, Mary left the septuagenarian's Victorian house via the kitchen door as the hall clock began chiming noon. She had crossed the yard to the Trotter cottage by the time the Sandiford struck its twelfth baritone bong. From her porch, she started down the hall to the bathroom, looking forward to a much needed and refreshing shower.
Mary's plan was interrupted by the telephone ringing in the parlor. She briefly considered ignoring it, but then thought, "What if it's a school about Ted, or Arthur?" Worried to hear negative news about her husband or nine-year-old son, she answered, guardedly, "Uptown fourteen-oh-six. Hello?"
"Hi, Mare, it's Papa," Jock McGuinness greeted her, as if his own daughter might not recognize his voice. "I've called you, off-and-on, all morning," he complained. "Where have you been?"
"Oh, Papa," Mary answered lightly. Nothing in her tone revealed she was standing, half-dressed, with Eli's cum drying on her thighs. "Don't be a SCOLD... you KNOW I do things for Old Mr. Farragut every Monday, Wednesday and Friday morning... why didn't you try me THERE?"
Jock slapped his forehead. "I forgot. Well, anyway, I'm in a pickle. Can you HELP me? Arlene Hart, my accounting clerk, called off sick today and payroll reports need to be completed for the home office... I know you know the system... Will you come and do them?"
Mary pouted into the receiver and thought, "There goes MY afternoon!" Aloud, she assured Jock, "I only just this minute walked in the house, BUT, I can be at the warehouse by one, or one-thirty at the latest. Will THAT be OK?"
"Thanks, Mare," Jock replied gratefully. "See you THEN, then."
Mary cradled the phone and hurried to tuck her lingerie away and hang her uniform and apron in her wardrobe. Scurrying naked to the bathroom, she hustled through a Spartan sponge bath of her critical parts, then rushed back to the master bedroom. Pulling on a pair of tap pants and a light bra, she pushed her head through the square neck of a dirndl-styled summer frock and smoothed it over her voluptuous curves.
After slipping her bare feet into a pair of low-heeled shoes, Mary grabbed her purse then strode from the house. Passing through the fence gate to the alley between Holmes and Garvey Streets, she heard a familiar clanging bell. As she reached Central Avenue, fifty feet away, she saw a stopped streetcar with a 'LOWRY/INDUSTRIAL' marker and jumped onto its stair just as it was pulling away.
The conductor, facing front, seemed not to notice the beautiful young blonde woman who slid swiftly onto the back bench. At least, he never asked Mary for her fare and she was too busy applying new lipstick and rouge to volunteer payment. Twenty minutes later, she debarked in the Industrial District and headed for Acme Distributors' warehouse.
At 500 Water Avenue, Mary walked up the outside wooden staircase to the Acme general manager's office. Beneath her, a burly stevedore, on his smoke break, looked up at the sound of her heels on the steps. Grinning as he watched the boss's daughter's skirt swirl around her bare legs, he idly scratched his balls in his overalls and fantasized about what was under her briefly, but clearly, displayed underwear. When he heard the office door open and close, he took a final drag, flipped away his butt and walked back to the river dock.
Although it had been five years since Jock was promoted from foreman to manager, he had not lost his sense of camaraderie with the warehousemen. He wore his necktie loose, hung his suit jacket up as soon as he could and kept his long white shirtsleeves tightly rolled around his bulging biceps. Even at fifty years old, none of his beefy two hundred twenty pounds had gone soft and he frequently bucked crates with the boys to show them he still could. The laborers liked him and the front-office did, too.
He looked up and grinned when his eldest daughter walked through his office door. Glancing at the wall clock, he observed, "Twelve-fifty... Thanks again, Mare."
Stepping around his desk, Mary kissed Jock warmly. Feeling his tongue tip test her lips, she pulled back. "Now, PAPA," she chided gently, "was this just and EXCUSE for a MATINEE? Or, is there real WORK for me to do?" Her hazel eyes sparkled as she leaned back in and kissed him harder. This time she opened her mouth and welcomed his probe with a tugging suck.
