Chapter 1

 

 

Lounging on a recliner, Luanne Stanislavski looked around the patio and the decking area of the big house and at the swimming pool, reckoning she was doing okay for herself. She was in paradise, literally only a few kilometres away from Surfers Paradise.

She had started life as the progeny of a Polish-Australian, junkie-whore, Jewish mother and a God-knows-who father, who presumably had done the deed in the back seat of his car, or up against some convenient wall. Although she had had it in her to be an above-average student throughout her high school years, she had from a young age preferred to bunk-off lessons, particularly sports, and hang out with boys, having sex in empty classrooms or hidden away behind the bicycle sheds.

The house itself was two storeys. Basically its shape was that of three sides of a square, the swimming pool being the middle stroke that made it look very akin to an E on the floor plan. As the garden walls were three metres high, and the only neighbour's property was at the other side of the house to where she currently was, the outside entertainment area was very private so anything could happen and it was unlikely to be overheard.

Of course, her good fortune was only on loan, the house not being hers, it belonging to Nick Masterson, the man whose property she also was, she actually his personal sex slut slave.

"Ding! Dong! Ding! Dong! Ding! Dong! Ding! Dong! Ding! Dong!"

"Fuck," Luanne said out loud, hearing the front door chimes. Languorously stretching, she got up off the sun-lounger, slipping her small feet into her leather mules, the cross strap of each decorated with three large glinting rhinestones. Picking up her wrap, she slipped it on, loosely knotting the tie in a bow as she walked over to the gate in the glass safety barrier that gave access to the swimming pool area. Closing it behind her, she went and opened the door into the study, pulling that to in turn, before proceeding to walk though the room and into the hallway.

Using her fingers to fork her long, lustrous, permanent-waved, raven-black hair away from her face, she turned the mortise lock at the same time as she depressed the handle, pulling open the front door.

Her hazel-coloured eyes, shaded by her Dolce & Gabbana wraparound sunglasses, swiftly appraised the caller. He was a guy in a pair of blue cotton shorts and matching short-sleeved shirt, the logo on his breast pocket declaring that he was from Capaldi Pool Services.

"Mr Masterson?" he said, clearly functioning on automatic.

"You need glasses if you think I'm a man," Luanne impishly responded, pushing her shoulders back so that her enhanced breasts thrust out more impressively. "Suppose you're here about the pool. Better follow me."

"Y-yes," he stuttered, clearly taken aback.

Little wonder, Luanne thought, seeing as her wrap was made from the thinnest of white cotton cloth and she knew full well that it left little to the imagination. It was so short that it barely covered her heavily-trimmed pubic hair, it shaped into a neat V that pointed to her pouting pussy. Crooking the index finger of her right hand, she waggled it several times, presuming he would get the message to step inside.

Deciding to take him the longer way, she turned about, spinning on her heels, and started to walk up the hallway, her wooden heels tapping on the polished stone of the floor. "Shut the door behind you and follow me," she called back over her left shoulder.

Deliberately swaying her hips, she strode, knowing full well that the lower part of her posterior was visible. The left-hand wall of the hallway was basically large panes of glass separated every two metres by the uprights of the red cedar window frames. Through them, he could view the reason for his summons, the ten-metre swimming pool. Sliding open the door that separated the hall from the living area, she simply kept walking, passing the TV lounge that was on her right, through the open-plan dining/kitchen areas, they separated by a large kitchen island, latter over to her right, and on into the sitting room. Opening one of the concertina French windows, she stepped out onto the veranda, pausing momentarily for him to join her, he carrying two plastic work boxes, one in each hand.

Imperiously wafting her left hand in various directions, she puckishly said, "That big hole with all the water in it is the swimming pool, the entrance in the barrier is over on the other side. Behind you, on the left, through that wooden garden gate, you'll find the pump and treatment plant in a sort of little shed thingy. It's making a funny glugging sound. If you need anything, give me a shout. I'll be over there under the sunshade." She started walking away.

"Okay, Miss Masterson," he replied.

Stopping, partially turning, she pulled her shades down her nose, trying to give him a look of disdain over the top of them. "Oh, I'm not a Masterson. I'm no relation. Not unless you mean sexual relationships," she mischievously advised, delighting in seeing his obvious discomfort at her brazenness. "Don't forget to close that door behind you either."

"Oh, sorry, Miss," he said, clearly slightly flustered.

Turning away, she sashayed on her way, amused, always delighting in flaunting herself, and making men act like they were whimpering fools in her presence. It always amazed her how most full-grown men, let alone boys, simply became simpering idiots in the presence of a confident, sexually-desirable, woman. Of course, Nick Masterson was one of the exceptions, but then he was nearly forty years older than she. She was twenty years old and he was fifty-eight. He was rich and she was good looking. Neither of them loved each other, he merely wanting a pretty thing to fuck and she was a mercenary bitch who was only interested in a man with money that spent liberally on her. She was not naive, knowing full well that the relationship would not last, it a matter of her having a good time and screwing as much money out of him while the situation lasted. She knew the score, and he did too, they two of a kind, she reckoned, although she wondered if he was the same as her, he a little taciturn about his feelings.

Flicking her mules from off her feet, she pulled the knot of the tie, slipping off her wrap, tossing it onto the back of the recliner. Sitting down, she picked up the bottle of suntan oil and proceeded to squirt generous amounts onto her DD-cup breasts, stomach, arms and legs. She wasn't the slightest bit embarrassed at being totally naked in front of a stranger, it a sort of turn-on, flaunting her body before men.

Lying back, she pushed her sunglasses back up her nose to cover her eyes, letting the heat of the 35° day warm her skin. She was not in the direct sunlight, it too fearsome in the cloudless, Australian sky, she in the shade given by the red and white canvas awning. When all was said and done, she already had a nice all-over brown-mahogany tan so getting burnt would stop her from being able to perform her duties, albeit temporarily, and that would never do. After all, Nick only wanted her for her body.

For something like ten minutes her eyes kept tracking the pool-man, she doing her best not to be seen to be moving her head. He was certainly quite tasty-looking, probably in his early thirties, a pretty fit Italian-looking guy.

"Ah, this is the problem!" he triumphantly proclaimed, his thumb and first finger of his right hand carefully holding something up.

"What is it?" Luanne asked, already guessing what it was.

Walking towards her, stretching out his arm before him, waving it from side to side, he said, "Looks very much like a used condom to me."

"Oh yeah, that. I can guess where that came from," she replied, smirking. "One of the guys at last night's party must have lost it in the pool."

The thing about her and Nick's relationship was that it was not exclusive. Last night, three other couples had joined them for a barbecue and a good fucking time.

Swinging her legs off the recliner, she stood up, reaching out her right hand, using her thumb and index finger to pinch hold of the offending item, taking it from him. "I'll get rid of it for you," she said. "You can get on with finishing whatever you're doing."

Prancing across the sun-baked pavers, trying to avoid burning the soles of her feet, she headed into the garden gazebo. The open-fronted gazebo was rather a posh affair. It was six metres square, a brick and block construction under a clay tiled roof, the ceiling lined with red cedar. There were four electric fans to stir the air when needed. Along the left-hand wall were a range of cupboards, a gas barbecue and a couple of drink-refrigerators.

Popping the offending condom into the rubbish bin, she yelled, "Do you want a cold beer or something!"

"A lite beer would be great!" he called back.

Pulling two bottles from one of the fridges, she carried one in each hand, rejoining him out on the patio. "Here, screw the tops off these, and give me one," she said, putting as much innuendo into her delivery as possible.

"Sure, Miss," he said, smirking, clearly letting his imagination run riot. Taking hold of a bottle, he screwed the crown top off. Handing the bottle back to her, he relieved her of custody of the other.

"Thanks," she said, taking her bottle, walking back towards her recliner. Impishly, she went on, "You can keep both tops as a souvenir, if you like."

"A souvenir of what?" he queried, clearly now a little less intimidated

Stopping in her tracks, she turned about to face him. Deliberately trying to be sexy, she put the bottle to her lips and sucked out some of the contents whilst making a show of pushing the neck of the bottle in and out of her mouth as if it was a man's penis. Pausing, she responded, "Well, screwing. But that does depend on you."

Having taken a few sips from his beer, he pulled his bottle from his lips, saying, "What do you mean, it depends on me?"

"Clearly, you like what you see." She spread her legs apart so he could clearly see the little cropped-hair V that pointed to her gates of paradise. Putting the cold bottle down against her labia, she gently rubbed it up and down the parted lips, giving her clitoris a little chilly thrill. "But, of course, it's a matter of whether I like what you've got."

Crooking her left index finger, she beckoned him to her. When he was half a metre away, she pressed her bottle into his empty hand, saying, "Let's see shall we?"

Reaching down, she grasped the top of his shorts with one hand, using the other to pull down his zip. Sadly, he was wearing underwear, she preferring a guy who was always naked under the outer clothes, so that he was ready whenever she wanted to amuse herself. Slipping her hand under the elastic of the covering, she pulled it down to expose his meat, squeezing it gently to encourage it into growth.

"Hmm, hmm, not bad. Not as big as Nick, obviously, but he is extra large. But, I think you've got a big enough length to give a sweet little innocent girl like me a good hard fuck. If you're interested, that is?" She knew he was, he going stiffer by the moment, his eyes seeming to be glazing over with lust, and his mouth partially open, on the verge of slavering like a randy dog.

"Well, Miss, I'm supposed to be going to another job but I'm certain I can spare some time, if you're serious," he responded.

"I never jest about fucking," she happily advised.

Taking the two bottles from him, she turned and walked to the recliner, putting them down on the little table beside it. "Get your clothes off and join me."

Placing a leg either side of the sunbed, she sat down. Picking up her little handbag, she popped the catch and pulled out two different sachets. "Which do you prefer, ribbed or ultra-light. He was already naked, currently pulling off his work boots.

"Ribbed, I think," he said, grinning like a ravenous wolf, moving to stand beside where she was sitting.

Tearing open the one sachet, she placed the contents carefully into her open mouth. Leaning forward, positioning it onto the end of his now-stiff penis, she expertly rolled it down his length as she forced her mouth onto it, until her lips pressed against his curly black pubic hairs.

Leaning back, she held her arms invitingly open. "Come on then, give me a good hard fuck. And, you never know, I might arrange for you to be called back to look at the pool regularly."

Seeming to puff with a measure of ego, he knelt on the padded red and white striped cushion between her waiting thighs.

Hooking both index fingers into her labia, she pulled them back, exposing the pink delight inside. "Go on, fuck me!" she instructed.

"Sure thing, Miss," he said, a measure of triumph in his tone.

With that, he pushed his rubber-clad appendage into her expectant opening. Easing his seven-inches in as far as it would go he set about his work with great gusto. "Ooow yeah! God, you're so wet!" he crowed.

"A-aah, yes, big boy, that's it! Get it right in! Fuck me hard! Screw the arse off me!" Luanne demanded, her libido having been on the rise since the first moment that she had opened the front door to him. Now, she was determined to drain his balls of every drop of his sticky-white cum.