The chord rang out, the cymbals crashed and the crescendo began. I lifted up my guitar, and gave the sign, bringing the neck down swiftly to end the song. The crowd went wild.
The Black Cat Roadhouse is not always packed like this in July, but we’d been playing weekends since the beginning of the summer and our reputation for being a good dance band was beginning to bring in some wild and boisterous crowds, especially on Saturday nights.
Andy leaned into the mike and told the crowd we’d be taking a short break and not to go anywhere. Given the crowd tonight the second set should be a real barn-burner. We made our way to the bar to obtain some well-deserved libations. A beer was going to taste pretty damn good right now. Andy sidled up to the bar next to me.
“So what does Stowe’s favorite carpenter have in store for this week?” he queried.
Northern Vermont was not the best spot on earth to make a living solely playing music, so everyone in the band had odd jobs to make ends meet. Andy worked for a graphics firm in Burlington; the other guys had various day gigs of one sort or another. I’d been able to cob together a nice little business as a high-end handyman. My finish carpentry skills were always in demand and I’d had no trouble piecing together a nice string of jobs over the summer. Not bad for a twenty year old musician, I thought.
“Well, I’m going up to see a new customer tomorrow — guy named Chambers — apparently a big-time Boston lawyer who has a place up here. Guess he’s got some kind of fancy pool house that needs some upgrading. Actually I think I’m meeting with his wife.”
Andy looked at me with bemusement.
“Well if it’s the guy that lives up off Week’s Hill, he’s loaded. He’s an older guy, but has a much younger wife. French-Canadian, I think. And she, my friend, is a stone cold fox. I’ve seen her walking around town with her kid. Looks like you’re in for a treat.”
“Hey, whatever it takes to make ends meet. This rock and roll life is killing me,” I laughed.
We clinked beer bottles and after sucking down our beverages headed back to the stage for the second set.
I’d scheduled our meeting for early afternoon and had no trouble finding my way up to the Chambers place. As Andy had predicted their spread was really nice and hidden off the road. The driveway wound around a pond and up a hill to an exposed view looking west. Mount Mansfield stole the show and dominated the view. The house was an old farmhouse that had obviously been well-cared for over the years and numerous tasteful additions further contributed to its charm.
I found my way up the stone steps to the front door and knocked. Not hearing a response I decided to head around back. A stone path weaved through a well manicured lawn and garden to the rear of the house. As I approached I could see a swimming pool with a pool house and pergola. There was someone swimming in the pool, cutting a very graceful stroke through the calm turquoise water. I approached slowly and called out, not wanting to scare anyone. The swimmer, a woman I could now see, arrived at the end of the pool and saw me looming above. She stood up dripping and wrung her hair as she looked at me.
“You must be Jeremy.” I immediately detected a French accent, but one that had been smothered by years living in the States. Still, it was evocative and very sexy.
“Yes, Ma’am. And you must be Mrs. Chambers,” I deduced.
“Samantha, please,” she said as she climbed the steps out of the pool. She held out her slender hand and gave me a steely handshake.
“Sorry I didn’t hear you arrive. Come on over and sit down so we can talk.”
Even dripping wet I could see that this was a very beautiful woman. She stood maybe 5′-4″ and had a very slender tight physique. She was wearing a very tasteful bikini which did little to hide her exquisite body. Her breasts, while not large, were very well proportioned to her body and I could detect her nipples protruding slightly through the wet fabric of her bikini top.
She looked to be in her early to mid thirties, but her body had obviously been very well cared for. Her skin was a golden bronze from spending time in the summer sun and her chestnut hair was long and full, though still wet. She had a tiny waist that flared out to womanly hips; evidence of a work-out regimen that must have included more than just swimming. Her long smooth legs were slender, but very well shaped.
But it was her ass that really caught my attention. As I followed her to the seating area off to the side of the pool, I watched her butt swing as she walked. Her ass was tiny, but very round, and her whole bottom twitched provocatively as she moved. The tiny bikini bottom really showcased her assets, but she had a body that would look good in anything. A small tattoo on her lower back was peeking out from the bottom of her suit. I wondered what those sweet little cheeks would feel like cupped in the palm of my hands.
She reached the seating area, grabbed escort bayan a towel and began to dry herself. She waved her arm toward a chair and I sat down as directed. After patting herself dry, she put her wet hair up with a tie, exposing her long and very delicate neck. Then she sat down on a chaise across from me, swung her legs up and leaned back. Andy had been right in his assessment: she was a fox.
She gave me a little history about the property and some background on her marriage. She and Jason, her husband, had been married for seven years and they had a five year old daughter, Jolie, who was off with her nanny. While they lived in Boston most of the year, she and Jolie spent the summers here in Stowe, Jason joining them when he could. She began to ask questions about my work and described the project she and her husband had in mind.
“Jason is only here on the weekends, so you are going to have to deal with me during the week,” she stated with a steady stare.
“I think I can handle that,” I grinned.
There was a subtle level of visual flirting going on that was unmistakable. I couldn’t yet tell if I was misreading the signals, but she seemed to be checking me out at the same time I was taking in her curves.
I continued to admire her body and survey every little nuance as she spoke. I would never get tired of looking at a woman as beautiful as this. I politely listened to her and answered her questions as she asked them, trying to maintain eye contact. But as I got comfortable I couldn’t help but let my eyes wander south.
The bikini she was wearing was quite small and made of a material that hugged the curves of her body, especially in its wet condition. The top was simply a string running around her torso with two triangles of fabric that tied up behind her neck. Her nipples must always be hard, I thought to myself. But it was the bottom that I couldn’t tear my eyes from.
Her stomach was flat and taut. She had a small silver loop pierced through her belly button. Her smooth stomach extended south until it disappeared under the front of her tiny bikini bottom. Rising in a slow round bulge was her pussy mound, protruding up under the material of her suit and making its presence known. It continued down in a nice curved ridge until separating just slightly at her lips. The wet material clung lovingly to her contour and had tucked itself neatly into the crease of her pussy. As her lips came together her mound dove down tightly before meeting her upper thighs and forming a compact apex of skin and fabric.
Try as I might I could not stop looking at her mound. It was so beautiful. She had to be completely shaved to have such a sleek smooth look in such a revealing suit. I’d look her in the eyes as we spoke, but whenever she’d look away for a minute, I’d glance back down at her pussy, before redirecting my gaze back to her eyes, hoping she didn’t notice my visual transgressions. I just wanted to cup her in my palm and feel the soft roundness of her puffy lips through her bikini bottom. Suddenly she said something sharply that woke me out of my erotic stupor.
“Jeremy, what are you looking at?”
Her direct question caught me off guard and made me realize how transparent my thoughts were. I was embarrassed.
“Well, I, uh…I was, uh…I was just….”
She looked at me unflinchingly and stared me down.
“Jeremy,” she said in that cute French accent. “I’m used to people being honest around me, so if you can’t speak clearly and honestly, you may not be the right person to be working on our property,” she said with a steely gaze. “What were you looking at?” she asked again and I realized I should play it straight.
“Well, Samantha, I was looking at your body, if you want the truth.” She locked in my gaze and seemed to wait for me to continue. I decided to take a chance and go for broke.
“I mean, that’s a very revealing suit you’re wearing and I couldn’t help but admire your…” I hesitated and looked into her eyes. “…your pussy mound.”
I waited for a dismissal as I tried to read the reaction on her face.
“Thanks for being honest. I will expect that of you at all times.” She hesitated for a moment and then looked me straight in the eye. “And the answer is yes.”
I looked at her quizzically. She paused for just a moment before continuing.
“It is completely shaved,” she said directly. “And don’t tell me you weren’t wondering,” she said with a wry smile.
I was speechless. All I could do was plaster a shit-eating grin on my face and mumble some half-baked apology.
“Let’s go look at the project, shall we?”
She quickly got up and donned a short top, which still exposed her midriff and below. I followed her once again. Hopefully she didn’t have eyes in the back of her head, because she would have seen me leering again at her tight little ass as it twitched and swayed toward the pool house. The bottom of her suit had hiked up on her bottom a bit, so the escort pert round cheeks were exposed and jiggled tightly with each step. What a fine looking woman, I thought to myself.
The pool house sat to the side of the pool with a pergola on one side. It housed changing rooms, a small kitchen and a large interior gathering space with comfortable furniture and French doors looking out onto the pool deck. The centerpiece was an antique wooden bar with beautiful carvings and a brass foot rail.
The project entailed trimming out the room to match the bar. Samantha wanted wainscoting and fairly ornate crown moldings running the entire perimeter of the room. In addition there was work to be done on the back bar bringing it up to the level of detail of the antique bar itself. Samantha had a sketch she’d had a designer prepare for the back bar and we talked through the project specs. It looked to be at least three weeks work from what I could tell. Every so often Samantha would turn away from me and I could admire her ass and her legs. She knew I was watching, but she didn’t accost me again. In fact, I got the feeling she liked me looking at her.
I realized three things about Samantha as we talked. First, she was very comfortable with her body, as well she should be. Most women, at any age, would kill for a body like hers and she knew it. Second, she struck me as a very sexual person, perhaps a bit frustrated at this point in her life, but exuding an intense sexual undertone. And third, I was very, very attracted to her.
I left a short time later and told Samantha I would return the next day, ready to take on her project. This was going to be very interesting.
I returned Monday morning with my tools and materials and dug into the pool house project. Samantha stopped by once during the day to check in, but we only talked briefly. Tuesday followed suit and I was beginning to think that perhaps I’d misread the situation.
On Wednesday Samantha stopped in to check on progress with a small entourage: her five year-old daughter, Jolie, and her nanny, Celine. Jolie was a very cute little girl and certainly got her good looks from her mother. She ran around the bar area as Samantha surveyed my work to date. Celine was a French college student from Paris working in Stowe for the summer. She was blond, very slender, but stacked, and exuded a sexual personae far beyond her years. She didn’t pay much attention to me, but I was enthralled by her presence. As Celine played with Jolie I felt Samantha lean down next to my ear.
“You should really wear sunglasses when you’re around women. You are so transparent.”
I twirled to face Samantha who was grinning from ear to ear. Her scent wafted into my nostrils.
“I’m sorry. I guess I just love…French women.” I smiled back.
She gave me a knowing glance and left shortly thereafter with Jolie and Celine in tow.
I buckled down the rest of the day, made great progress on Thursday, and by Friday I was looking forward to our gig that night. I’d told Samantha that I’d have to leave early on Friday afternoon to get ready for the show.
It was around mid afternoon when I heard the door open and Samantha walked in. I did a double-take. She was wearing a short yellow flowered dress that hugged her figure and looked great against her tanned skin. The dress was strapless and stretched tightly across her breasts. Her long tan legs were bracketed by the short tight hem of the dress and a pair of strappy high heeled sandals. Her long chestnut brown hair hung in waves down over her shoulders and down her back. She had a glass of cold white wine in one hand and a beer in the other.
“I brought you a beer, Jeremy,” she said with a broad smile.
I detected the subtle scent of an expensive perfume as I accepted the bottle and smiled back.
“What? You didn’t think I’d like a glass of chilled French Burgundy too?”
Her face showed surprise.
“I’m sorry. I guess I just assumed…” she stammered.
“I’m kidding. I’d love a beer. Thanks for being so thoughtful.”
She sat down on the edge of a large solid wood coffee table close by and crossed her legs. She was showing a lot of leg and her hair and make-up made her look like she wasn’t heading out to do a little gardening or take a swim. In fact, I wondered if she’d gotten dolled up for my benefit. I was pleased with the attention and we finally began to talk about things other than her project.
She asked about the band and the club and showed, or at least feigned, real interest in what I was doing. And I was certainly flattered to see that she was checking me out.
I’m six feet and very slim. A summer of swinging a hammer in the sun had left me tanned and toned. My hair is a dirty blond and hangs loose and wavy over my face and shoulders. My best asset, according to more than a few women in my life, is a tight muscular ass. My cock, while not the longest, biggest or thickest, is above average in all those categories.
Friday bayan escort had been a hot day so I’d shed my tee shirt mid morning and had worked shirtless all day. My chest isn’t ripped, but it’s wiry and slender and Samantha sure seemed to think it worthy of scanning. I had on work boots and a pair of tight faded jeans that had conformed to my shape over the years. My cock had settled comfortably into the left side of the crotch of my jeans, creating a considerable bulge. I leaned against the bar as we talked and could feel Samantha checking me out as she drank her wine.
As I spoke about the band, she looked me straight in the eye. But as I rambled on her eyes drifted down to my bare chest and, eventually, settled on the bulge in my jeans. She made no attempt to hide where she was looking. She slowly raised her eyes back to my chest and then back to my eyes. She sipped her wine, looked at me over the rim of the glass and I could see her eyes smile.
I noticed how her crossed foot was shaking as we talked. I got the impression, and this could have been wishful thinking, that she had a nervous sexual energy that was just bubbling under the surface. She looked down at my crotch again and stared, the wine perhaps loosening whatever inhibitions she might have had. I could feel my cock begin to thicken with the attention and knew I didn’t have much room in these jeans for an erection to expand.
“Samantha. What are you looking at?” I hesitated. “I expect complete honesty.”
She smiled again and gave me a bemused look.
“I’m checking out your package, Jeremy,” she stated with a big grin.
“Care to be more specific?”
She smiled again wryly and took a deep swig of wine.
“I’m looking at your cock, Jeremy, and wondering how big it really is?”
“Thanks for being honest,” I answered. “And the answer is yes.”
“I said the answer is yes,”
Samantha raised her eyebrows and looked down at the bulge in my pants again.
“Really,” she said with delight. “I’m not sure I believe you, Jeremy.”
“Actually I’ve shaved for years, since I started shaving altogether. I love the feel of it and, quite honestly, most chicks seem to dig it. I leave a little on top so it’s not too embarrassing in the locker room, but the rest…smooth as silk. I shaved this morning as a matter of fact.”
Talking this way with a beautiful woman showing a mile of leg and staring at my crotch made me thicken further. Samantha stared with lust at my cock.
“I’m still not sure I believe you, Jeremy. You may have to prove yourself.”
I put my beer down on the bar and walked over slowly, a bit hobbled by the tumescence in my jeans. I stood in front of her and gently touched her lustrous hair. She was so freaking beautiful. She reached up and touched my cock through my jeans with a feather touch. She cupped my thickening cock and I could hear a barely audible groan.
“Oh my. What have we here?” she giggled.
She began to lightly rub it back and forth, then reached for the snap of my jeans. She unclasped it with one flick of her fingers and carefully lowered the zipper. I wasn’t wearing underwear, so my cock popped out stiffly. She pushed my jeans down over my taut thighs and I stood there in all my glory, pants around my knees. My cock was hard and huge and bobbed directly at her face level.
“Mon Dieu. Oh Jeremy. Nice cock, honey. So smooth,” she said licking her lips. “But so hard.”
She slid both hands around my erection with a light and feathery touch, lightly grazing my balls and trailing her fingertips up and down the length of my member. I really do take care to keep my penis well-groomed for just such moments. I could see that Samantha loved the soft hairless skin covering the rock hard shaft below. And my bare balls felt particularly sensitive to her gentle kneading and massaging. She had an amazingly soft touch.
She leaned forward with her big pouty lips, looked up into my eyes and gave the tip of my penis a little lick, then puckered her beautiful lips and gave it a very light kiss. She was teasing me unmercifully and I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to stand this slow game of seduction she was playing. My cock throbbed with each lick and kiss. It was clear that Samantha loved cock and seemed to particularly appreciate mine. And while I knew she was settling in to give me a nice long slow wet blowjob, I felt the need to come back to that later.
“Samantha, I need to take my boots and pants off. It’s a bit uncomfortable with my jeans wrapped around my knees and I don’t think I’m going to be able to fuck you properly if I don’t take a very short break here,” I said brazenly.
The gloves were off — and so were the pants — so I didn’t shy away from being honest. That’s what she wanted, or so she’d said, so I took a chance at being very direct.
“Mmmmm. I love it when you talk that way,” she whispered. “Are you really going to fuck me?”
“That’s the plan, Sam.”
She took her mouth off my cock, but maintained a hand hold.
“You called me Sam,” she said with a smile.
“Well I figure as long as I’m standing here with my dick dangling in front of your face, we can probably dispense with the formalities.”