Another Happy Customer

I park up and get out of the car.

Terrific place, I think, walking up the drive.

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.

Wish they were all like this.

"Mrs Garraway?"

"Jessica, please."

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.

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 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.

"Guess so."

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.

"Love to, Jessica."

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 mouth, 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."

"Sure, gorgeous."

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 mesmerizing 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 freshly painted 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 pert 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 smile 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, bitchy grin.

"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.

Mrs Garraway 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 rip 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 hanging out 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 bitches. 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 carnally and ostentatiously at the bulge in my crotch. I chuckle and tell her I know exactly what she means.

Jessica tells me 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 snow 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.

And he does do plenty of looking. Which suits Jessica just fine. She likes him looking.

Why? Because it amuses her to know that he desires her more than ever.

She realizes full well how it kills him that he can't have sex with his gorgeous wife when he needs it so bad and what's really funny, she says, is that she deliberately makes things worse for him. She indulges herself no end exploiting his predicament.

"It's very entertaining," she grins.

"I bet."

"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!"

"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 smugly 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.

"Baby, you are terrible!"

"Not to mention the lingerie."

She gives him absolutely nothing, Jessica tells me happily. All she does is flaunt it. 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.

I ask her how on earth he stands it.

Poor thing does snap sometimes, she giggles. Gets so desperate that he loses all dignity and ends up in tears, pleading with her for crumbs.

"C'mon hun, please, just a handjob maybe," she mimics gleefully.

But she just laughs at him.

She does other stuff too, Jessica tells me. She really fucks with him. There's a whole host of fiendish little ways by which she persecutes her unfortunate husband. She has quite the dominatrix thing going on. It's brutal. Home for Malcolm seems to consist of being teased or humiliated or totally ignored.

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 just about can. Torture indeed. The woman really is an evil cow!

But I can't help guffawing. It is pretty funny. 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!

I get a taster as she gets off the stool and snuggles herself into me, her lips moving towards mine. It's a long steamy kiss with tongues flicking and hands roaming. Hers go up and under my shirt, her nails clawing my back, and mine work in stereo, one of them fumbling and fondling around her breasts and the other one squeezing her buttocks.

I pull her hard into me and grind my boner against her soft belly. I do it harder and she starts panting and moaning. I feel how hungry she is to be filled with some good hard meat. I'm hungry too. I want to fuck her. I need to fuck her. I want her so much I'd do it for free if she asks me.

She feels fucking incredible through the thin material of her dress. She has nothing on underneath. The skimpy little number is all that's between me and paradise.

I move my hotly drooling mouth to her neck, nuzzling and gently biting, and I start to get inside her dress. I feel up between her legs. She's fucking dripping. So am I. In a matter of seconds she's gonna be on the kitchen floor and ... and she breaks away in a fit of laughter. Shit!

"Patience I said, didn't I?" she scolds, smoothing herself down.

I force a grin.

"You are a world class fucking cocktease, baby, you know that?"

"If you say so."

"I do."

She preens prettily and blows me a taunting little kiss.

"Still wanna fuck me though, don't you?" she mocks.

"Damn right I do."

"Thing is, about my husband."

"Malcolm, yeah. What about him?"

She's smiling enigmatically.

"He's in the house."

Ah. Didn't see that coming. Probably I should have. I'm a professional after all.

So is this one of those set-ups where she just wants to mess with me? Is this how she gets her kicks? How they both get their kicks?

I'm not at all fazed. It wouldn't be the first time I've been hired to play the stooge in that particular game. Far from it. It's quite popular.

I hope this isn't what's going on (I really do want to nail the delicious Mrs Garraway) but that's all right if it is. Go with the flow, that was the deal here. She's running the show not me.

"What, he's here now?" I inquire blandly.

Regardless of whether the husband actually is up in the bedroom the reply I'm expecting is that he is, yes, and it means that we have to be careful. That she wants me to stay a while longer but that all we're gonna be doing is more of this talking and fooling around. That way we can cover our tracks and make the innocents if we hear him coming down.

Maybe I really have come to fix the plumbing.

"Hi, hun, this is Mark. He's sorted that wretched tap! Isn't that great? He's just leaving."

Yeah, or something like that.

And the husband, does he know what's going on? Dunno. Probably he does.

Bottom line is that he's either in the house or he isn't (and he'll either appear or he won't) but whatever which way it goes the idea is that the hot little wife gets to have a great time playing the steamy temptress, teasing my rocks off down here in the kitchen.

Then after I'm gone she goes and sets about her pussy, wanks herself silly thinking about it, or else she tells 'Malcolm' (if he is up there, or perhaps when he comes home from work) about how she's been a massive cocktease with this poor horny young guy and the two of them have a big old laugh together and then fuck like rabbits because that was always the point of this thing here, Jess and Malc are happily married and just need a little added spice now and then, and all that bull she's told me about how she despises him and how she loves to make him suffer was just that. Bull.

Fine. Like I say, it's a common enough theme and I've come across all of the above variations and more. I wouldn't even put it in the 'kinky' category.

Jessica has a sly grin on her face now.

"That's right," she says. "He is."

See?

"He's upstairs," she adds.

Ah well, it's still a good job. Just a pity I don't get to bang her.

"Damn it," I say, with a rueful smile.

"In the bedroom," she says, toying with me.

"So, should I leave?"

"Definitely not!"

"Okay."

"Because I'd like you to meet him."

WTF!?

"Meet your husband?"

"I think we should all get acquainted, don't you?"

So it's like that! Well she did say on the phone that there might be some 'extras' involved.

Hang on though, warning lights flashing. Hasn't she told me that Malcolm never gets to drill her? That he doesn't even get a sniff? Okay, maybe bullshit, but what if it's not?

Because if he's not fucking her who precisely is he gonna be fucking when we all get together? Or alternatively who's gonna be fucking him?

Better clarify.

I tell Jessica that's a swell idea but that I do need to check on one thing. She's not under the impression that I swing both ways, is she? I say if that's the scenario then I'm sorry but she's picked the wrong man.

No biggie because we have plenty of guys on the books who will oblige. I'm happy to arrange it.

"I'm very satisfied with you," she assures me. "And no, that is not what I have in mind."

"But I thought you didn't let your husband anywhere near your pussy?"

"I don't."

"Right."

"And he won't be."

"So what do you have in mind, babe?"

With a wicked smile, she tells me.

It's unusual and a bit hardcore (and it's a first for me) but I'm up for it.

It sounds like two thirds of this threesome are in for a whale of a time.

Jesus, poor little hubby!

"Horny, huh?" Jessica cackles maliciously.

"Fuck, yeah."

"Good. So let's do it. Hey and enjoy yourself, sugar, okay? Just be a really mean son-of-a-bitch and don't worry about the wimp. He deserves everything that's coming to him."

I'm a nice guy (usually) so what she's asking for is going to take some acting skills, but I reckon I can pull it off. In fact I know I can. I always give value for money. Pride myself on it.

I just need to tap into my inner sadist. We all have one, let's face it.

"Malc knows the plan, does he?"

I need to know this. It makes a difference.

"Yep. I've told him pretty much what's gonna happen."

"And he's cool with it?"

"He isn't, no," she sniggers. "But he doesn't get a say in things these days. I have him well trained."

"Obviously."

"Makes it more fun for us, Mark, doesn't it? Knowing that he's hating every minute."

"Yeah, gorgeous, for sure. It has to be technically consensual though. Agency terms. I might get into trouble otherwise."

She titters at that.

"Oh don't you fret, sugar, it's consensual all right. I've told him what I want and he always goes along with what I want. That's how we roll around here."

It's a fine line but I decide that this is just the right side of it.

Would I feel different if she didn't look like the lay of the century? No comment.

"You are diabolical!" I laugh.

"Aren't I just. And you know what I think?"

She's laughing too and there's a knowing glint in her eye.

"What?"

"I think that you're as into this as I am. Slapping my wimp husband around, humiliating him in front of me, forcing him to grovel and kiss your ass, making him beg you to ravish his hot wife, then tying him to the foot of the bed so he gets a fabulous view of you screwing my brains out, has to watch the handsome virile young stud enjoying his beautiful wife, the wife he never gets to have, I think you just love the idea. Am I right?"