by Ashe, Karina
“Still, my dear. You look like something the cat dragged through the mud and brought home half dead. What happened to you?”
Lauren gasped as she looked down at herself. She hadn’t realized her curvy parts were protruding so noticeably through the dampened shirt. She pulled it out, and ran her hands over her hair.
“Yes, your hair is sticking out all over the place, where it isn’t frizzing up or plastered to your forehead.”
Lauren groaned, feeling her head for the offending split ends. “Why are you here, anyway? Isn’t today bridge day at the club?”
“Yes, but I told the girls I had to leave early. I thought you might need help around your new home.”
“You’re not exactly dressed for unpacking, Mother. Besides, I’m sure you’d ruin your manicure.”
“Then let me take you out to lunch. I’ll wait while you shower and get ready.”
“No, I have too much to do. While it’s been lovely to see you, I’ve got to get some things done. I go back to work tomorrow.”
Her mother pulled her sunglasses off the bridge of her nose and peered over the top. “Sounds to me like you’re trying to get rid of me. At least let me come in and use your restroom before I leave. Maybe you could offer me something to drink. That’s what people usually do when guests arrive.”
A guest is someone who is invited, Lauren thought. “Fine. Let’s go inside,” she said.
She turned the handle of the front door, but it was locked. Lauren sighed.
“I’ll have to go around back. I was on the patio when Derek arrived, and we walked around to the front to see what magic he could do with the yard.”
“Derek? So you’re on a first-name basis with the help? Where did you find him, anyway?”
“A flyer in our homeowners’ newsletter.”
“Really, Lauren. It’s much better to get your service people through recommendations of friends. Why don’t I ask our groundskeeper for the name of someone or, better yet, have him come over and take care of it himself?”
Lauren shook her head. “I’ve got it handled, thank you.”
Turning her eyes downward to avoid her mother’s icy stare, she came across an opportunity to change the subject.
“It’s muddy on the grass, Mother, and you’re wearing high-heeled sandals. Wait here a minute, and I’ll go around back and open this door from inside.”
Lauren brushed past her mother and hustled around back. Once she got to the front door, she looked over to see her reflection in the entry hall mirror. She was mortified. For once her mother was right. She did look like something the cat dragged in.
She tried to wipe the mud from her forehead, but now it was dried, so it stuck. Nothing short of a good shampoo and blow dry would help her hair at this point. And her shirt! It was all stretched out from being tugged away from her body, and there were huge wet spots around her boobs, belly, and butt. She stared at herself hopelessly. Tears began to spill down her cheeks, but she quickly wiped them away when she heard her mother banging on the other side of the door and pushing the doorbell.
“Sorry,” Lauren said as she opened the door. “Come in. I haven’t gone shopping yet, but I can make you some iced tea or coffee.”
Her mother’s eyes traveled over the room filled with boxes and stacks of books to be put away. “All right, dear. But I won’t stay long. I see what you mean about still having so much to do.”
“Let’s go into the kitchen where there’s someplace for us to sit down.”
Lauren guided her mother to a small table and quickly cleared a space on the tabletop. She poured two iced teas from a pitcher, wishing she could make hers the alcoholic Long Island Iced Tea variety. She pulled two paper napkins from the holder on countertop, grabbed the sugar bowl and two spoons, and quickly set it all up before sitting down opposite her mother.
Her mother was strangely silent as she watched Lauren dump two heaping teaspoons of sugar into her glass and stir it.
“Everything all right, Mother? Don’t you like the tea?”
Open mouth. Insert foot. Lauren wanted to bite her tongue. She had given her mother a huge opening, one she knew the older woman wouldn’t pass up.
“The tea is fine. It’s all this—” Her mother waved her arm in a sweeping motion. “It’s all so unnecessary, darling. I don’t understand why you choose to live in this … this cottage when you had a perfectly lovely home with your father and me.”
“Mom, I’m twenty-eight years old. It’s time for me be on my own.”
Lauren sighed and her voice softened. “We’ve been over this a hundred times already.”
“Yes, yes. But you could have bought something more like the home where you grew up. There are so many nice homes in our neighborhood for sale now. Why this house in this part of town?”
Lauren held her tongue, rather than snap out that it was the furthest distance she could get from her parents’ house and still make it to work in timely fashion. She took a deep breath.
“Would you like a cookie or scone, Mother?”
“No. Don’t change the subject, Lauren. You can afford any home you want, anywhere you want. Why did you choose to live here? Are you trying to break our hearts?”
“Oh, Mother. Don’t waste your dramatics on me. Daddy seems quite pleased with my decisions. I’m well aware of what I can afford. But, I’m also old enough to know what I want, and right now that’s to focus on building my career.
“This little cottage,” she mimicked her mother’s sarcastic reference, “suits me just fine, and I won’t be distracted with all the upkeep of a big house. And, as it’s turning out, even this little home is a huge time suck that I’m beginning to regret.”
She winced. Another tongue-biter that she knew her mother wouldn’t let slide by.
“So you do regret your decision to move out on your own.”
“Not at all. I probably should have taken more time off from work, though. But, I didn’t, and I have important appointments set up that can’t be changed, so I have to go back tomorrow.”
She looked pointedly at her mother. “I’ll make it all work. This—” she waved her arm around the room, “doesn’t bother me at all, and it shouldn’t bother you.”
An awkward silence hung in the air for several moments.
Her mother tapped the spoon lightly against the glass. “Did you say you had scones?”
Lauren nodded. “Yes. Blueberry. Your favorite—and mine,” she admitted.
Her mother smiled. “At last. Something in common.”
Lauren turned in her chair and grabbed a paper bag from the counter behind her. “See the benefits of a small kitchen? I rarely have to take more than a step or two to reach anything I want.”
“Well, that may be so, but in my big kitchen, you get to walk off the calories you consume,” her mother shot back.
They both laughed. Nothing more than light conversation was shared while they finished the iced tea and scones—although it was a one-sided conversation.
Lauren listened while her mother gossiped, but she didn’t mind. Her mother’s chatter gave her time to think about things that mattered to her. All she had to do was nod periodically. As her mother consumed the last of her iced tea, Lauren stood up.
“Can I get you more tea?”
“No, darling. I must go. I have a late tee time at the club and have to go home and change into my golf clothes first.”
Lauren was relieved, and she walked her mother to the door. Before stepping out, the elder woman turned. “Are there any eligible bachelors at your office?”
“What? Really, Mother!” Lauren shook her head. So, that was what all the girly chitchat was about. Disarm her with small talk, and then go in for the kill.
“Certainly you won’t meet anyone around here, Lauren. At least you’re around professional men when you go to work.”
“I don’t have time for this, and neither do you. Enjoy your round of golf. See you.”
Lauren rushed her mother throu
gh the entry and closed the door. Turning to return to the kitchen, she caught sight of her reflection once more and sighed audibly.
“Sure, tons of eligible bachelors, Mother. And, they’re all banging down my door, so you’d better get out of the way,” she said softly.
The wet suit was starting to chafe between her legs and around her breasts. She reached under her shirt to tug the offending fabric away from the irritated areas, but to avail. She ran her hands over the dirt on her forehead and tried to coax the frizzy ends of her hair back into her ponytail, but that wasn’t happening either.
Lauren threw her hands up in the air. She needed to regroup and pull herself together if she was going to get anything accomplished on this, her last day off from work. A nice, hot shower would relax her, and she could start over as though it were a new day.
The shower was the reason she chose the house. The previous owner had bought the place with the intentions of renovating and flipping, but a work opportunity came along that required he move across the country, so he never completed the project. The one improvement he made was modernizing the ancient bathroom fixtures in the master bath.
Once she saw the walk-in shower with jets that lined three walls of the Italian-tiled stall, she was sold. The real estate agent who was showing the house apologized that there wasn’t a tub and suggested that she update the second bath with Jacuzzi tub if she wished. But Lauren wasn’t a lover of soaking in a tub. It seemed inefficient to her. A shower, on the other hand, was a pleasurable and effective way to get clean.
She turned the water on and closed the sleek glass shower door to let the stall steam up, then pulled the shirt over her head and peeled off the damp bathing suit. She leaned into the mirror over the vanity to inspect the reddened areas around her breasts left by the wet fabric. Rubbing them gently to soothe the skin felt good, and Lauren started to relax.
It felt wonderful to release her breasts. She hated restraining them in bras or the tight tops of bathing suits, but as much as she preferred the freedom, convention wouldn’t permit her to indulge herself by letting the big girls loose. Inside the privacy of her home, Lauren never wore a bra and preferred to go without clothes at all. The most she ever wore around the house was an oversized tee shirt.
Watching her reflection, she saw her pink nipples darken and become pert as she massaged the muscles that held her breasts upright. Despite their size, those babies stood up, almost defying gravity. A tingling sensation spread from her breasts to her belly, and she let her hands follow the flow of heat down over the bump of her rounded stomach to her abdomen.
She absently smoothed the skin taught, pushing her hands out over her full hips. She turned to view her rear. She squeezed her buttocks with a sigh.
Eligible bachelors, wealthy or not, surely only ask her out for her money. No one would date a plump, plain jane like herself if it weren’t for the dollar signs associated with her name. But she was done with the humiliation of that scene. She had told her mother not to arrange any more blind dates or fix ups, so now her mother was hoping against hope that someone at her office would miraculously be attracted to her.
“Well, Mother,” Lauren muttered, “don’t hold your breath. I’m at work to advance my career, not find a husband, and my co-workers seem quite happy with that. Believe me, no one there has looked at me twice unless they needed something from me.”
The room was filling with steam and Lauren stepped into the stall to let the pulsating jets relax the tension from the unpleasant thoughts her mother brought out. At work, Lauren was confident of her talents and abilities. Her lack of social life wasn’t an issue. When alone, Lauren could divert herself with activities, but spending five minutes with her mother turned her back into the tense, chubby girl who couldn’t do anything right except get good grades at school.
The heat of the hot water pummeling her skin felt good. Lauren leaned her head back and let the water massage her scalp before applying a generous spurt of shampoo and working her long hair into a mass of suds.
She closed her eyes and began thinking about Derek. She remembered his muscular build and the way he looked in the brief glimpse she got of his muscles and tight abs when he changed his shirt outside his truck. Truth was, she much preferred the manliness of his worker’s body to the pale, thin MBA wimps she worked with. They were so boring. She guessed that they relied on their Ivy League degrees and investment banker incomes to get women. They probably all had small penises and ejaculated early without satisfying their partners.
She had noticed Derek’s large hands when he used them to gesture around the yard while he was talking to her. They were clearly the hands of a man who performed physical labor, but they were clean and strong. She imagined him squeezing her breasts. His hands were probably large enough to encircle even her D-cup girth easily.
She ran the loofah over her breasts and thought about how his roughened fingertips might feel on her nipples, scratchy and tough against the smoothness of her skin. She felt her breasts swell and her breathing become labored as an intense need started to burn between her legs.
She lathered her hands and reached down to wash her delicate area. A wave of tension shot through her belly as her hand passed over the sensitive spot under the small tuft of curly hair that covered the top of her femininity. She slid two fingers inside herself and stroked the pleasure point with which she had become so intimately acquainted. Lauren leaned against the cool tiles and spread her legs as she pumped away. Normally she brought herself to orgasm in a matter of moments, but today not even three fingers were doing the job. She grabbed the handle of the removable shower head and pointed the pounding jets directly at her clitoris. She was close, but not there yet.
Lauren imagined Derek’s thick cock. It had to be huge if the old wives’ saying was true. His hands were massive, so he had to be well endowed. If he were in the shower with her—and there was plenty of room for two large people—he could ram that big boy into her again and again until she screamed. She longed to have him bang her hard and fill her with his creamy cum.
She was brought back to reality when she realized she was screaming with her release. She dropped the handheld device and sank to the floor, hands still inside herself. It took several moments for her to breathe normally again. She stood up and rinsed her hair in a daze.
What was that about? She never had a fantasy like that before. She wasn’t given to daydreaming. Yet that was the most explosive orgasm of her life, and it was brought on by envisioning sex with a man who was practically a stranger.
At the end of the workday, Derek returned to the trailer he used for his office. It suited his needs perfectly. It was mobile, so he could move it and operate from any job site, and it was not glamorous at all, so no one knew how well he was doing. He was just another lawn guy trying to make a living.
Derek scooped up the mail from the floor where it had fallen after being shoved through the mail slot he crafted in the door. He turned on the wall air conditioning unit, pulled a beer from the small refrigerator, and sat at the beat-up desk he had squeezed in when he bought the old Airstream from its previous owner. One day he was going to fix this baby up, but for now the “seen better days” appearance was exactly what he wanted.
Derek slit open all the envelopes and sorted his mail quickly. He flipped on the computer monitor and scanned emails. Nothing interesting. He took a long slug of beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he leaned back in the creaky padded desk chair. He put his feet up on the desk and closed his eyes. It was no use trying to divert his attention with business. He’d had only one thing on his mind since that lunchtime appointment with Lauren Daniels. Two things, he corrected himself. Those big baby blue eyes and the vision of her from behind as she bent over the patio tiles.
Little head came to attention as he took another sip of beer. This time he relished the taste in his mouth as he relived the vision of her protruding round buttocks and wide, fleshy hips. In his mind’s eye he moved clos
er, pulled down her bathing suit bottom around her knees, grabbed hold of those love handles, and pushed his primed cock into her hot little hole. He’d have that suit top untied in a flash and massage those lovely melons from the pinky tips to the wide base while he fucked her silly.
Little head was now poking up uncomfortably against the confinement of his briefs. He undid his zipper and pulled himself free, stroking his shaft brusquely with each shove he envisioned plowing into Lauren. His hand moved ever more rapidly and when he felt that familiar contraction in his balls that let him know he was about to pop off, he quickly grabbed the wastebasket from under the desk and shot his load. He took a sheet of paper towel from the roll in his bottom desk drawer, wiped himself off, and threw the wadded mess into the small trash can.
Man, I haven’t done that since eight grade. What the fuck?
Once Derek had turned fourteen and sprang up to six feet tall, he figured out he could pass himself off as older to the high school girls, who were more than willing to do that and more for him. He had plenty of opportunity to get sucked, fucked, and jacked off before he even got his first car. By the time he turned sixteen, he had grown to six feet four inches and filled out in all the right places, with the help of his daily workouts in the school’s weight room. Then he got that Mustang convertible and turned it into the fastest hotrod in the county, and the girls stood in line for a chance to get into his backseat.
Even as an adult, Derek didn’t expend much energy on getting laid. When he felt the need, all he had to do was show up around eleven o’clock at one the local hotspots, party for an hour or two, and he was back home with a beautiful babe. But as he got older—he was pushing thirty—that scene got old, too. Getting up at sunrise is no fun after a night of drinking and fucking, so he hadn’t indulged much recently. Derek concluded his recent inactive sex life was the reason for what he had just done.
He decided to call it a day and head home. He took the liner out of the waste can and tied the top. He was about the turn off the wall banger when his cell phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket. Carly again. This has to stop. Now.