Enslaved Chapter 50
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Lightning!Chapter 2 free porn video
Twenty minutes later, she came out where he was working. "Will you put this on my back?" she requested handing him the sun lotion.
"Sure," he responded, then softly rubbed the lotion on her firm back and shoulders. Seeing her bikini and feeling his hands on her skin gave him an unexpectedly quick lust. He was instantly captured by her presence. Then he watched every twitch and step as she ran toward the gulf. She turned and waved. "See 'ya," and jumped in the foaming water.
Fathers guard their children. But, after watching her swim strongly for a few minutes he decided she could be trusted—back to the computer. In half an hour, she returned and went to the outside shower. By then, he was caught. Some women, no matter how beautiful or plain, provoke desire. She provoked. He wanted to watch and not be caught. Now, Greg, you can't touch Marcia's daughter. But, she really isn't her daughter--just a friend. Never mind. No touch.
She brought a Fresca and some peeled carrots to the table and said, "That was like great! The water's just right," she said with a cute smile. Without the business suit, she looked considerably younger. He first thought she must have been around 30, but with her cut-offs, T-shirt, and no makeup, he doubted she was much past 22.
Noticing that she hadn't offered to share, he teased, "Help yourself in the kitchen."
She looked down at him with large hazel eyes and said, "Thought you'd never ask!" Like most children, she missed the point.
Sheila, take charge of your vacation. "Uh, I noticed a racquet and tennis bag. Do you play?"
"Marcia and I play a lot. She's good," he answered.
"Don't tell me how good she is. Would you hit some with me sometime?"
"Oh, good. I'm tired of this. I'd be delighted. If you want to go now, I'll get my stuff," Greg replied.
"Give me ten minutes," she said pleasantly "and we're like out of here."
He waited at the bottom of the stairs with shoes and socks off. The buzzing of an electric shaver preceded her coming out of her room. Then, he asked, "May I have a panty liner? I'm getting a blister and I'm all out."
Blushing slightly, she stuttered, "Uh, yeah, uhm okay, sure, just a minute," obviously surprised by the request.
When she came back, she handed him two, but they didn't make eye contact. He said, "I'll pay you back."
Greg viewed her with base desire while putting on his shoes. She is stunning in that outfit. The designer couldn't have had her shape in mind. She should have been a model, but she is tall, buxom and has real muscles. I should tell her about sunscreen on her chest, but that's her business.
She bounced in a quickstep tempo toward the car. As they drove, she told him that she had high grades, had just finished final examinations at the university, and then had three job interviews in three days in three cities. She had finagled the best interviews by having her professors put her name at the top of the recruiters' lists. By the end of the last interview she was stressed and had barely caught the flight.
Before they reached the club parking lot, she related that she was interested in doing a marketing job for a few years and then deciding where she should go with her career. She had been a competitive swimmer since age six, and had started tennis lessons when she was seven. She thought she wanted to own her own business. She had offers from graduate schools of fellowships. Marcia had encouraged her to think toward independence.
I guess I really pulled the cork. Did she take a breath during that monologue?
As she went eagerly to the court, Sheila felt fuzzy warm and positive. I can talk to him. Am I having a good time? Yes, I am. But, I'll bet he doesn't hit very well. It's okay, he won't last long.
They warmed up, and then began some serious hitting. As she was dancing around on the baseline, he hit an easy waist high ball to her forehand. Her intended kill went straight into the net. Dammit! He probably thinks that's my best.
Then her power backhand went into the net. Shit! I don't believe this. This is not me.
"Why don't you just hold the ball in your hand and hit it over?" he teased.
"I'm just nervous."
"Of course. That's the point, Sheila. You don't know how good I really am. I'm going to keep you nervous."
Then she slammed one into the corner and the charade was over, but he'd still give her a game. She was easily 30 years younger and quicker. I have to be craftier. He was sworn to the sacred oath of tennis: Find quickly the opponent's weakest shots, then hit the ball there often, thus giving them many opportunities to overcome their weaknesses and improve. It builds character.
This guy's old. I will not let him beat me. I will not respect the elderly. Old gray hair can take care of himself and go play shuffleboard, but if he comes to the tennis court, he takes his chances. Now, hit the ball!
After she warmed up, her strokes were flawless. Greg tested her commitment with some balls in the corners near the baseline that she returned with ease on both the forehand and backhand. He then hit some really good drop shots that she reached as well. Although she was glorious to watch, it appeared that he was going to be in for a long afternoon.
Actually, the afternoon wasn't long at all. He won three service games, but she won the other six to take a rather easy 6-3 set.
Sheila noticed that he was not getting his racquet back high enough on his backhand on the deep balls. She also saw through his wet shirt the muscular triangle of his shoulders and trim ass. Shall I tell him, or just hit there and let him figure it out?
Her conscience prevailed and at the net, she said, "I don't think you're pulling your backhand far enough over your shoulder," with a warm smile.
"Thanks, I used to hit those better," he replied, then looked into her eyes and said, "Actually, when I watch your legs and feet move, I have trouble keeping my eye on the ball."
"You'd say anything to distract me, but it won't work. Your service." Sheila, it was real. A genuine compliment. He thinks you're good.
After the net encounter, he had four quick service aces. Yeah, Sheila, you aren't going to listen to the blarney. Stop watching your feet.
She lost the second game, and then she recovered and won comfortably at 6-4. His backhands were noticeably better.
As the match went on, they exchanged the normal tennis banter. When they walked close to change sides, she was constantly aware of his eyes on her. That's the good news and the bad news Sheila! You want him to watch—he's the only one here- but it bothers your concentration. Make up your mind.
As they sat on the small bench to have water, the vigorous exercise and tennis etiquette had relaxed them both and they talked easily. Each time she returned to the back of her court, he watched with awe the twitch in her hips and her long legs.
On the small bench, she felt and smelled his presence. I like this and don't want to quit. "Had enough, or shall we play another?" she queried.
"Thanks for the backhand tip, I wasn't getting back, but I've had enough for today. How about a rematch tomorrow--that is, if you're able?"
Plan, Sheila, plan. Have you even thought about tomorrow?
When he held the car door, she slipped under his arm and again reacted to his sweat smell. I like this smell. The ads say people aren't supposed to smell--and we're not supposed to like people who do.
As they moved out of the parking lot, he opened, "You said you had interviews. How'd the grilling come out?"
She confessed in disgust. "I blew the first one, did okay on the second," and in a competitive voice, "did quite well on the third," she blurted excitedly. Then continued, "I really liked the third place. So, when we finished, the guy goes, 'What's your reaction to Advanced Avatar, Inc.'?"
"I go, 'I like it here and I want to work on the Spooks program.' My father always told me to ask for the order."
"He goes, 'I wanted you to say that. We want you here. When can you come to work?'"
"I go, 'Three weeks after graduation. I'm playing.'"
"He goes, 'Okay, but take these reports with you, ' and handed me two thick folders."
She is bubbling and she hasn't told the good news to anyone, not even Marcia.
She continued, "I go, 'Reports?' I don't even have a job yet.'"
He goes, 'I'll tell personnel to send you a letter tomorrow with your salary.'"
She is now animated, gleeful, energetic. One simple question and it all came out and he was the first to hear it.
As they drove home, he inquired, "When you talked to the man at Advanced Avatar, what did he say about salary?"
"He said that my salary would be included in the letter he was sending me. I don't know what he said. Oh, God. Is the Mermaid address 21209 Scenic Lane, St. George Island, Florida?"
"Yes, that's it. You want the job?" he asked.
"I really do. Like, it really fits my plan."
"Want to hear a strategy?"
"If it doesn't cost anything," she chuckled with raised eyebrows.
"Only your eternal gratitude if it works. Call him. Tell him you're in a decision squeeze. You have to make up your mind. You want his job, but money is an issue, and then be quiet. Let him talk next. Just wait. He will then wonder about his competition. He will ask your best offer. Add $5000 to your base request, then say, 'I need something in the x range.'"
"God, that's more than the MBAs," Sheila reacted.
"If he's sending an offer by Federal Express, he wants you. He has a real job to fill and doesn't want to low-ball you. Give him an opportunity to pay what you're worth. Hang in there. He will, by the way, respect you in the morning," Greg snickered.
"Oh, ugh. I just can't talk about money," she replied.
"We don't talk about sex, money, or family problems in our culture, and that's why we don't learn how. Either we grow up talking about these issues easily, or it requires brute force to learn. Remember, people go into business to make money, not to make cars or dishwashers; there is no other reason. Everyone has to make money. You make money; they make money; the stockholders make money. It's the American way," he urged.
The tone of his remarks was confident and what he said made sense. After all, the Advanced Avatar guy really did seem to want her. Sex, money, and family problems. Sounds like you, Sheila.
"He wants you and doesn't want to be stuck with person B. He tipped his hand when he asked you how soon you could start. So, now you have a choice--"
Another fucking choice.
"It's either take care of yourself, or let him decide how much you're worth."
She pondered how confidently he laid out the issues--he wasn't guessing--then felt butterflies inside when she thought of calling and starting that conversation. I will not be timid. I will call him and discuss salary. I will get a better offer. When? Monday. I will do it Monday.
"When did Marcia get to be your step-mother?"
"After I left for college, my mother left us for a man she worked with. She was a biotechnology researcher and her lover worked with her for several years. They went to new jobs in Phoenix. I didn't even know that she had a lover.
"My father was a manufacturing engineer in electronics. He met Marcia when she came to fix a big glitch in a software process controller in his plant. It was a strange situation. I was home for vacation and we had a record snowfall. The Denver airport was closed and Dad brought Marcia home—she had no place else to stay. I think on the second night, she moved out of the guest room and in with him, and she has been around ever since. I liked her from the start. We talked, swam, played tennis, rode bikes, cooked, and shopped together. I could always relate to her, which is a lot more than I could say for my mother."
"What did you do extracurricular in school?" He smiled, "Well, I mean other than that."
She slapped his arm. "Don't get smart. I worked on a program for the homeless. Volunteered to solicit money. I guess they thought marketing people should do well at that."
How'd it go?"
"We did well. I segmented people into different solicitation groups and tried them out on the phones. We picked the good ones to do calls. I guess we made much more money than the previous year." She laughed. "I turned out thirty nice looking students all dressed up for the annual fundraising cocktail party. I had them in maid's uniforms serving drinks. I heard that several of the students hooked up with the donors after the party. Made me feel like a madam."
He laughed. "No doubt that sex sells and people sell sex. I think your's is a worthy cause for anyone. I hope you found it fulfilling."
She looked over at him with an air of appreciation. "We found it most rewarding. We saw how much our money improved their lives. The good food alone made me feel good."
"Would you do it again?"
"Of course, but now, I have to support myself. No more student loans, even if my father will pay them off." She ran her palms down her legs and sat up straight. "I have to make it on my own."
"I admire you for that and for supporting your cause."
She reflected for a minute. Everything he said to her since their morning tiff was positive. Why do I care what he admires? She recovered, "Thank you. I was proud of our work." Then, she asked, "Did you think that all students did these days was to have sex?"
"I'm glad you informed me otherwise. I don't know many students. I know that I had far fewer sexual opportunities than I wanted when I was in school."
Back at the Mermaid, he held her car door. Although surprised, she remembered to thank him. There's his smell again. Why haven't I liked man smell before today?
As they took their stuff in from the car, he said, "To be first at the Surf-n-Sand, we need to leave here at 5:45. Is that enough time for you? I'm going sit in the tub, then shower, then come for your bags."
Her mind raced with the new reality. Shit. I forgot I was moving out. OK, he said I had choices, so I guess I'll go see what they are. She shed her wet tennis clothes. Do I want some mildewed beach motel more than this? Unless he has a knife, he couldn't rape me. I can lock my door. Sheila, he won't break down the door—for God's sake girl, get real. The fleeting thought that Greg would break down the door and ravish her, even in fantasy, made her shiver. Dammit, you'd rather stay here than at the "house of mold" motel. Just say so. Get your naked ass in the tub before it is too late.
Finding herself nude, she stopped abruptly. Clothing optional. Shit! I just can't go out there naked. Before she could think more about it, she felt her cold wet Bikini struggle over her hips and the clammy wet top chill her nipples. She shivered at the thought of his seeing her naked. You have no guts, Sheila.
When she came to the hot tub, he said loudly, "Hey, you could be my guest for dinner before you move into your new home. We can eat at the Tropic Turtle, and then see if the band made it over the causeway. They have quite good food for a place so far away from civilization. It might be fun unless you want to do something else." Then he watched her lithe body slink into the tub.
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