Paint Job

Paint Job
Literary Erotica
by Lord Malinov

I was fired for reasons not entirely my fault. Be that as it was, I found myself without income and a fairly aggressive debt schedule. I had to find a job quickly. I started calling up the people I knew.

Nothing was helping until I found the number of a friend I hadn’t seen in several years. He was unconventional, to say the least, but rather successful at it. I couldn’t be sure he’d remember me but I didn’t have anything left to lose.

I called him and he remembered me. I told him my troubles and he offered to help. The job he had in mind wouldn’t start for a few weeks, which was a problem for me, or more particularly, for my creditors. I told him so. He asked me if I could paint houses. I told him I could. He asked me to paint his house.

I arrived bright and early at his house, a plush joint in a gorgeous neighborhood. I was suddenly intimidated, not so much by the success but by the sheer square footage of the houses. I could paint but some jobs are too big for one man, alone. I hoped for the best and rang the bell.

His wife answered the door. A few years younger than me, she looked beautiful. She was kind. They only wanted three small bedrooms painted. She knew it wouldn’t take me three weeks to paint the rooms but she promised to find some other work for me, to keep my bills paid. Her husband had filled her in fully on my situation.

Maybe he knew I was dying of horny. I have a feeling he was the kind of guy who would notice.

She was wearing a low cut blouse and some high cut shorts. My bulge tested my jeans. I knew I was going to have a hard time concentrating on my work. She came in with a clipboard and started to speak formally, like a supervisor at a morning pow-wow.

“I’ll assign your tasks for the day. Get the job done. No funny business. When I’m happy with what you’ve done, we’ll quit for the day. I’ll pour you a drink and we’ll get to know each other. But you keep working until I’m completely satisfied.”

I told her I understood, ma’am, taking my cue to react like a guy on the job. She smiled and became the warm woman she had been at the door. She put a hand on my arm.

“Sometimes, things are going to get hard. You have to play by the rules.”

I smiled and agreed and then, all at once, in a half-second or less, she tugged at her shirt and deliberately flashed her left nipple. Smiling wide, she left me to my task. I went to fetch the tools and paint from the garage. The time flew by.

She brought me lunch and sat with me as I ate, talking. She’d changed into a sundress that was more provocative than the shorts, if only because it seemed more innocent but was rife with teasing peeks. She was smarter than I expected, for whatever stupid prejudicial reason I didn’t expect her to be intelligent. She seemed to readily understand things that no one has ever understood about me. I began to be envious of my friend, coveting his wife’s ass and all that.

I did an especially good job, painting the room. It wasn’t very large and so I made doubly sure everything was done right. I could have finished about noon but it was nearly four when I told her it was finished.

“Not til I’m satisfied,” she said.

She inspected the room thoroughly and seemed surprise to find it done so well.

“You’ve done well. I’m quite impressed. There aren’t many people who can perform at that level.”

I assured her that I was one of those people, who can perform, at that level.

“Let’s have that drink,” she said and led me to her bar. I don’t know what she fixed me. I had worked up a thirst.

We talked and drank and talked and drank. She is a very pleasant person to talk to. My friend understood my situation and had explained it to her well. She told me that she and my friend were swingers and enjoyed sex recreationally. It all had to be done for fun and condoms were mandatory. Who was I to disagree?

Soon I’m kissing this attractive woman, her nipple against one palm, her ass squeezed by my other. The first time was a swirl of lust, her sucking my dick, spreading her legs wide, slipping in from behind, lying together, everything I needed in every way I could imagine.

I went home and got some sleep. I was back at work bright and early.


About David Cain

David Cain, literary author, bon vivant, rogue romantic poet - author of Witch, Song of Songs, Journals of Lord Malinov, Erotic Romances and others ...
This entry was posted in books, erotica, fiction, literature, literotica, personal, short stories, swinging, writing and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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