Copyright © 2009 Chastity Vicks
All rights reserved, Freya's Bower.
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The cool blue of the pool water dappled the walls and ceiling in syncopated ripples, the scent of chlorine mingling with that of the massage gel we use for clients who like a rubdown. Latex friendly and available in a range of fragrances. By the smell of it, Mrs. Abernathy had opted for organic jasmine today.
She lay face down on a padded massage table, naked except for a white towel folded over her lower back, covering her ass and thighs. Not in bad shape, I had to admit, though the average leisured housewife had both time and money to throw at problems like middle-age spread. Tanning sessions and spin class, or maybe twice annual Bahamian holidays and yoga…I wasn’t sure which type Mrs. Abernathy was, though I had no real desire to know. Her dyed red hair spilled over her crossed arms, her face turned away from me towards the water.
Marcus, gel bottle in hand, strutted by the pool’s edge, making a show of greasing up his hands. His slow movements gave her a good view of his butt and thighs, encased in the tight shorts. She loosed a throaty little chuckle; anticipation more than half the fun in this game. I sighed under my breath and settled down to wait on the pine bench.
“Mr. A’s away again this week, ma’am?”
Marcus’s voice—clear as a bell, a slight touch of an Irish accent on the vowels—echoed in the stillness of the room, setting up the scene for the bored and neglected spouse. I guessed they’d already got through the ‘pool boy, bring me a towel,’ dialogue. He stepped to the side of the table and lowered his hands to Mrs. Abernathy’s bare brown back.
“Mm…. Yes, he is. Such a very long time. He’s always so—oh, that’s nice, Gregory—so busy these days.”
A smirk of satisfaction touched my lips. Gregory. I didn’t know if there was a real Gregory—some unattainable lust object for whom Marcus filled in— or if Mrs. A. just had a hard-on for the name, but I liked the fact they were using it. It showed the rules were still intact. Not like the debacle I’d come down here to reprimand Marcus for—using a date with a client just for a rampant fuck. I’d suspected Judith, the girl concerned, of getting overly fond of him but never that he would…. My God. Was I jealous?