by Mason, Jude
Stifling a chuckle, Cynthia sat on the bed and dressed—white cotton panties, blue short-shorts, and a yellow T-shirt, all within full view of the harried man. Barefoot, she padded into the living room and across to the kitchen. A cup from the cupboard, quickly filled with brew, then she walked out into the sunshine through the dining room's sliding glass door. Stopping just outside, she watched him shovel. He didn't even slowed down, just kept on digging as sweat poured off him.
"You'll have this done in no time at that rate," she suggested, looking at the growing dent in the pile of dirt he was working on. "Yeah, soon," he muttered, but continued to dig. "I'll see you inside later," she said and headed back inside. Just
before she entered, she turned and asked, "Did you enjoy the show?" His head shot up and he gaped at her. Eyes wide, he looked most comical. When he tried to answer, nothing came out at first. His face turned that lovely shade of beet-red again. "I—I…" He closed his mouth, realizing he'd been caught, and she'd planned it all.
She had to struggle to keep from smiling until she faced the door. Inside, she got out her laptop and set it up on the dining room table. The business was doing extremely well. Coordinating the produce supplies, customer needs, and her staff was turning into a full time job. Add public relations to the mix, and she only seemed to make it into the kitchen on the weekends when it was her turn to do some of the bulk preparation. Sammy did his job well, and working part time was exactly what he'd wanted. Yes, things were going along famously.
For the next few hours, Cynthia worked on her spreadsheets, crunched numbers, and phoned at least twenty of her regular markets, confirming deliveries at prices agreed upon weeks ago. She turned her attention to the more exotic suppliers: wild boar, emu, and fallow deer, checking the numbers. The list seemed endless. By the time she looked up from her screen, it was past noon and she was famished.
She hit save. Sitting back, she stretched her arms over her head and groaned. Her back creaked. For an instant, she felt lightheaded, but it was just from sitting and working too long. She looked into the backyard, expecting to see Caleb.
He'd finished the backfilling. The yard was empty. She looked around, a little surprised that he'd gone without at least saying goodbye.
The rest of the day was unexciting: more work, dinner, with Ginger pawing at her arm as she ate. She watched a movie—an old Bette Davis tearjerker—then made an early night of it. Settled in bed, she pulled the cat in close and thought of Caleb stretched out across the bench.
Surprisingly, sleep came easily. She dreamed of his well-striped ass and how his muscles played along his spine as she caned him. He writhed and thrust his hips against the bench. She squirmed in her sleep, driving herself mad with frustration. Finally, her hands found her sex and within a wild heartbeat, a tiny explosion of pleasure let her rest.
On Sunday, she baked bread and sweet buns for the coming week. The afternoon and early evening found her gardening until tired muscles and hunger forced her in. She dined on pizza, delivered by a young man who never once looked at her face while he took her cash and handed over her medium size special. She'd teased him mercilessly, and loved every moment of it. Once she'd eaten her fill, she put the leftovers in the fridge for lunch, and headed for the bath. A long, hot bath later and she fell exhausted into bed.
Morning came with a buzz of the alarm, and her wild swing to shut it off. She hated the thing, would gladly have tossed it through the window if she could. Rolling over, she stretched and yawned. Her dream of Saturday night came back to her, and she smiled at its memory. He would look good with cane marks across his ass.
Bouncing out of bed, she slipped out of her PJ's. She was still naked when she heard a truck arrive, his truck. Her hands trembled with memories of him watching, but she rushed to dress. A flouncy orange skirt and patterned peasant blouse over white cotton panties and a strapless bra took just a few minutes to get into. She grabbed a pair of low-heeled white sandals and headed for the kitchen.
On her way through the living room, she looked out into the backyard and smiled. He was there, in his usual cut-offs and loose tank top, work socks, and boots. He was strapping on his belt, tools swinging against his legs, while she switched on the coffee pot. Would he come in? She wondered.
While the coffee brewed, she went and brushed her teeth, washed her face and ran a brush through her short, curly hair. The sun had given her a healthy tan, even though she'd applied and re-applied sun screen while she worked in the yard.
The coffee pot made its usual grumbling sounds of finishing, and she hurried out for her first cup. On her way, she noticed Caleb had already begun working. He had several two-by-fours balanced across his shoulder and carried them into the shade under one of the oaks and piled them. He didn't stop to see if she was there, just went back around the house to his truck.
Cynthia chuckled. He would not willingly come in. Not yet, at least. She turned off the coffee maker and filled her travel mug. She grabbed an apple, her bag, and her purse, and headed out the door. * * * * The week seemed endless. Each day she rose and had her coffee, and watched Caleb get to work. The deck went on, the floor joists looked like a giant abacus stretched across the cement foundation, and then he built the walls with their big gaping window. Those began on the floor, the studs, measured and nailed, and then he raised and positioned them, then finally, he nailed them down. The outer walls came next, plywood in four-by-eight sheets, which he measured and cut to leave the window openings. The rafters arrived and he carried them to the backyard. Piece by piece, he stacked them in some kind of order. When they were all in place, he set up a ladder and began the slow process of getting them onto the top of the structure.
The rafters took a day for him to position just right, then nail into place. To her, it was like an enormous jigsaw puzzle that he fitted together, cursing and swearing, until the final piece was secure. Sheeting in took next to no time, but still it was Wednesday afternoon before he started that. The windows arrived later that afternoon, and he had them carried inside the new room.
He came in only once to have coffee with her, and that was late on Thursday afternoon. She'd changed into her usual shorts, but had on a strapless tube top instead of her usual tank. She'd been working since she got home and was lost in the plans of an upcoming wedding her company would be catering. A soft tap on the wall beside the open sliding glass door made her jump. She spun around and there he was, shirtless, covered in sweat, and smiling sheepishly. "Yes?" she asked, smiling back at him. She hit save on her laptop
and turned to face him. "Is coffee on? I need to talk to you." She pushed her chair back and rose. "Sure is, you want to come in or should I come out there?" She got another cup and filled it, then added more coffee to her own.
"Come out, I'll show you what I've done today and we can talk out in the fresh air." He said that last with a smirk. The door and half the wall was gone, fresh air flowed aplenty. "Right, fresh air," she muttered, handing him his cup. Turning, he walked out the door and across the new floor until he
got to the outer wall. He took a large step and landed on dirt. Cynthia followed, bare feet smacking on the plywood floors. When she got to the doorway, she saw that he'd turned and held his hand out for her. She took it, and stepped down onto the dirt. She didn't release his hand, but held onto it as she walked around the structure.
"You're supposed to have the roof on and the windows in by Friday, right?"
"Yeah, that's right." He was nervous. She could tell that by the way his voice quavered. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about." She cocked her head, eying him. "Is there a problem?" "Well, yeah." He looked away, then took a deep breath, and added, "I can get the roof on, and most of the windows in, but I know I won't be able to get them all done." "And you're telling me this, why?" He gulped, obviously not wanting to say anything more. Finally, he blurted,"Are you going to spank me again, like you did last Saturday, if I don't keep to the schedule?"
"It may not be exactly lik
e last Saturday," she admitted, looking him in the eye. "But, you'll be punished if you don't keep to your schedule. That was the agreement, remember?" "Yes, and I'm not trying to wriggle out of it. I—uh—" "You what?" She let go of his hand and took a sip of coffee. "On Saturday morning…I have…I have an appointment I can't
break, with my dad and his father." "I see, a meeting of the clan about the business, I assume." She looked away, released his hand, and walked around the side of the construction. It all looked very good and she was impressed. "Yes, we have a meeting once a month," he said, and nervously took
a drink of his coffee. "I can't keep you from that. Business is business, and that's got to come first." She looked back at him, and scowled, "But, you should have said something before you signed the contract."
He gulped, and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, "Yes, I know. I'm sorry."
"Sorry won't do. Whatever punishment I decide on, will be doubled. Does that sound about right to you?"
"Doubled?" he exclaimed, and gaped at her. "But—uh…." He closed his mouth, blinked and took a deep breath, and then said, "Yes, it sounds reasonable.I should have said something."
"Fine. Are you done for the day? It's five, so it's past quitting time." She walked to where she'd grouped the lawn chairs under the trees, and sat down. The breeze fanned across her legs and made her shiver. Her nipples tightened and ached. She placed her cup on the table between the chairs, and stretched her hands overhead, easing the stiffness of sitting for hours at a keyboard. She pushed her chest out, arched her back, and felt it creak as tension drained away.
"Yeah, I'm done for the day." He raised his cup and took a large swallow of coffee, and then said, "I'd better get going, you'll be wanting to get your dinner." He put his cup down, reached for the ever-present tool belt around his waist, and pulled on the loose end. The belt tightened, and then sagged. He caught it up and stood looking at the construction.
"I haven't even thought of dinner yet," she said. Feeling more than a little horny from the days of watching him work and trying not to react to his animal magnetism, she eased her knees apart. "Sit—at least finish your coffee."
He shuffled forward. He smiled and dropped his tool belt as he eased himself into the chair opposite her.
Perfect, she thought, fanning her knees opened and closed, just a little. Goose bumps raced up her inner thighs. She wondered if he noticed.
He reached down, picked up his cup, and held it on his lap, shielding his crotch. "You know I'm nervous," he admitted. "Last Saturday. Well—I've never had anything like that happen before." He said it all in a rush; as if afraid he'd chicken out if he didn't.
"I figured as much." She leaned forward and picked up her cup, giving him a peek at her cleavage. "You also seemed to enjoy what happened.Am I right?"
She knew she was. She judged that he did too by the way he fidgeted with a stray thread at the hem of his cut-off's. He must have realized what he was doing and stopped then glanced up. "Yes, you're right." His voice was hoarse. He sat back and stared into space, as if remembering exactly what had happened. "I would never have dreamed I'd like it. More than like it."
"You're a hard worker, Caleb. To be honest, I didn't expect to go there with you." She smiled at his sudden look of surprise, and went on, "We haven't had time to really get to know each other, but I'd like to."
"You're not like anyone I've ever met." His voice had steadied. He sat up straight and squared his shoulders. Obviously, he was used to being in control. It showed in his work, in his demeanor around her when they discussed business. But, when they got to a more personal level, he was unsure, and that wasn't the norm. "I've never felt so—Christ! I'm not sure what I feel." He chuckled, and that seemed to ease the tension between them.
"Caleb, I do understand." She reached forward, her fingertips barely reached him, and she stroked his arm. Tiny sparks of electricity jumped from him to her, and back.Her fingers trembled. Her breath caught in her throat. Shuddering, she gripped his arm to stop the incessant jarring sensation. "At first, I just wanted to make sure I didn't get burned again. You saw the fireplace inside?" "Yeah, nice job," he replied. "Well, it wasn't at first. The guy we hired came and did the preliminary stuff, took the money and left us with a hole in the roof, some framing and a pile of bricks." Cynthia's temperature rose as she relived the anger she'd felt. She stroked Caleb's arm a final time, and the tension left her. "The guy skipped town. We found out later that he'd done the same thing to about a dozen others in town." "It's contractors like him that give the business a bad name." "Yeah, I know. But, I just didn't want to take the chance." She sat back in her chair. A little shaken by the way her body reacted to his, she took a swallow of coffee before continuing. "That's why the punishment is in the contract."
He didn't say anything for a few moments. Then he asked, "Did you and your husband do that kind of thing? The spankings I mean?"
"Yes, Tom was a submissive. He loved nothing better than to spend an evening serving me." She smiled at the memories and wondered how Caleb would look naked at her feet. "If he didn't perform as well as I thought he could, or even if he did, sometimes he'd be punished. That was always up to me. We'd talked a great deal about what we both wanted and we'd agreed on almost everything." "You mean he was your slave?" he asked incredulously. "No, not a slave." She chuckled at his naiveté. "Tom was my husband; we just enjoyed a little D/s from time to time. Well, maybe more than a little." "D/s? Why do I get the feeling I'm in way over my head here?" Cynthia laughed. At first, it was just a chuckle, but in a matter of
seconds, it broke into an uproarious, belly laugh. "It was funny, but I didn't think it was that funny," he said, but he
too was chuckling. "It—it, wasn't." She assured him, but her laughter went on. "It's just…well, I haven't had much to laugh about for a long time. Thank you."
"Now, I'm really worried. First you spank me, then you make me feel as if I was some teenage boy who doesn't know his ass from a hole in the ground, and now you're thanking me for making you laugh at my inexperience."
"Baby, I'm not laughing at you, believe me. I'm laughing at us, both of us. Inexperience is a good thing. I'll get to show you all the fun things. That's if this, we, go anywhere." She shifted in her chair; the pleasure of his company had her excitement growing by the moment.
"I hope it does," he blurted. "I'm sorry. It's been a while since I was this attracted to a woman." "And the spanking?" she asked. "How does that make you feel?" He looked at her, his face unreadable. "At first, I was really uncomfortable. I've never been in a situation like that before. But, it was a matter of honor. I'd signed the contract knowing what might happen." She let him think for a minute then asked, "Yes, and…" "And when you were cuffing me to that bench thing, I got turned on—really turned on." He drained his coffee cup and put it back on the table. Leaning back, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
Cynthia sensed he was about to tell her something important, perhaps something he'd only just realized. She sat quietly; patience was something she'd learned paid off tenfold.
"When you teased me, I thought I'd never be able to keep from coming. I've never had a woman do that before. I've always been in control. I'd never dreamed that a woman could do those things." He stopped, but only long enough to peek at her, then take another deep breath. "I've had fantasies about a woman taking control. I always just thought it was my perverted mind. I guess I'm pretty unsophisticated."
"Maybe it's just that you've never found a woman who could take control."
"That might be, too. To be really honest, I haven't dated as much as you might think. I've worked pretty steady ever since I got out of school, even before I was finished school. There hasn't been a lot time for women."
"Doesn't have to be a lot of women, just the right one," she said softly.
He blinked, looked at her closely. "You're right, of course. Maybe I just needed a little patience."
"I'm looking forward to Saturday." H
er words had a magical effect. His face turned crimson, he seemed to blush at just about everything. "Yes ma'am," he murmured, "so am I." "I guess it's time for you to go. Job's done for the day, and I've got
to clean up." Caleb got to his feet, his hands covering his front. When he moved, she saw the bulge, but didn't say anything. He picked up his tool belt, and headed to his truck. At the corner of the building, he turned and shouted back, "See you in the morning."
"Good night, Caleb." She shielded her eyes from the sun, and raised her free hand. "See you tomorrow."
Chapter Seven
Friday, and Sammy had arranged for her to meet with a new client just before noon. A group of lawyers wanted to have lunches catered daily to their building's courtyard. At eleven, Sammy showed Mr. Dobson into the conference room. Mr. Dobson was an older, silverhaired man with a paunch, and was accompanied by a much younger woman. Ms. Sims was his aide, and had a knack with numbers, something he couldn't seem to bother himself with.
"Would you like me to have Sammy bring coffee in?" Cynthia asked as she seated the couple.
"Yes, black for me and sweet for Jean here," boomed the hefty man. His voice was deep and loud enough to rattle the windows. He filled his chair to overflowing, and with his arms crossed over his chest, he seemed a most formidable man. "Sammy," she called, just loud enough to carry into the outer office. He poked his nose in and said, "Yes, ma'am?" "Coffee all around would you—black for Mr. Dobson, sweet for
Ms. Simms." "I'll be right back." He vanished but only for a few moments, returning not only with coffee for three, but he also brought in a small platter of savories. After offering coffee to their clients, he placed the platter on the conference room table and quietly left the room.
"If I may ask, what prompted you to come to us for this service, Mr. Dobson?" She always liked to find out if a previous client had referred them, or if her advertising had brought in more work.