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This is a fictional story containing graphic descriptions of a sexual relationship between two consenting mature women. Any resemblance between my characters and people in real life is purely coincidental.
If material of this nature is illegal where you are viewing it, please surf away now.
If this kind of story is in any way offensive to you, may I respectfully suggest you hit the back button on your browser and select a different category. I have no wish to offend my readers.
Note: I try to write a story so the build-up is slow but gets hotter for those who are patient;)
To those who have chosen to stay and read this story, I hope you enjoy it…
If I buy a raffle ticket, my number always seems to be one higher or one lower than the winner. If I back a horse it plods around the course, nibbling at the grass on the way. When I went on a blind date as a teenager, I finished up with a spotty, bumbling nerd. If I book a plane ticket, you could guarantee my flight would be cancelled. Get the picture? Lady Luck just does not smile upon me. Little did I know, however, that one day she must have been off duty and a deputy took over, not knowing the routine, and I got a slice of luck which I could scarcely believe.
Let me backtrack a little. I lived and worked in London, temping secretarial work with an agency. It paid enough to keep the wolf from the door. I had a small but reasonably comfortable bed-sitter near the tube station. Then one day my landlord came on strong and demanded extra rent: payment to be given on my knees sucking his dick. Had he been presentable, I might just have considered it but he was a scruffy slob with green-suede teeth, unkempt, unwashed, unshaven and with a beer belly so big, I doubt if he had seen the pathetic little willy he fished out of his flies for years. When I just laughed and turned my back, he gave me 24 hours to get the fuck out of my room.
Have you ever tried to rent a room in London? Even a broom closet costs the earth! I got myself on the books of several letting agents but everything seemed way beyond my purse. A friend put me up for a few days but she made it plain that sleeping on her couch was a very temporary arrangement so I was, in effect, homeless.
After much cogitation I decided to leave the London rat-race behind and I had heard that, in the north of England, accommodation was very much cheaper and easier to find so, on Monday I loaded all my worldly goods into two large cases and struggled onto the Newcastle train, arriving there after twelve hours. Yes, the train broke down out in the middle of nowhere. Naturally the buffet car ran out of stock and the heating was off so I arrived at Newcastle Central station, cold, hungry, thirsty and exhausted.
I had had the forethought to use the internet to pre-book at a B&B for a couple of nights so I climbed into a taxi and got myself settled into the tiny garret after lugging my cases up four flights of stairs. I didn’t even open my suitcases, just stripped to my underwear and pulled the duvet over me.
The next morning dawned bright and cheerful so, in a much more positive state of mind, I had some breakfast and set off to start my life in the new city. First consideration was accommodation. I was very pleasantly surprised at the availability of flats at a price within the reach of a mere mortal like myself. I arranged appointments to view a couple of addresses then found my way to register with three employment agencies looking for secretarial work. I had not realised how unfriendly was the capital city until I experienced the open kindliness of the Geordies, once my ears became attuned to the sing-song accent I heard.
I kept my appointments to view the flats, but, for one reason or another, they weren’t really suitable. Nothing wrong, just they were not ‘me’, if you know what I mean, so I determined to go back and get some more from the letting agent. That evening I had a fairly decent meal in a pub, washed down with a couple of glasses of the house wine before making my way ‘home’ in a much better frame of mind than last night.
At breakfast the next morning, my mobile buzzed. “Ms Barrett? Jenny here from Jobsforyou. Something has just come in which may suit you and it’s rather urgent. Could you please pop round and we can talk about it?”
Of course I could, I told her, and said I’d be there within the hour. And this must have been the day Lady Luck turned the job over to her deputy.
Jenny was the girl to whom I had presented my CV and I had given her a brief run-down of my situation. She welcomed me with a lovely smile and had me sit by her desk. She fished a folder out from her drawer and opened it. “Well, Ms Barrett, Perhaps this appointment may suit you, as you’ve just arrived in the area. It’s a live-in post.”
At this point I must have looked somewhat dubious so Jenny quickly pushed on: “You would be working as a secretary/PA for J. D. Barnes. Yes, the novelist,” she confirmed, at my look of intrigue. “Basically she casino siteleri wants somebody there all the time to take her words down when she gets ‘inspiration’, even if that is in the middle of the night. She confided in me that she often does her best work at that time. The downside is that she would like you also to undertake light household duties. She needs somebody to start immediately and I understand you would be available? The starting salary would be £30,000 p/a, paid monthly. Food and accommodation all found. The rest she will tell you if you’re interested. Have a think about it; I’ll get us a cup of coffee.”
My immediate thought was that I wouldn’t need to find a flat if I was offered the position and took it. The money was more than good, it was fantastic, especially if I didn’t have to find rent and food. J. D. Barnes always had a couple of books on the best-sellers list and I did like her style of writing: one never knew quite what to expect from her novels. Lately her output had bordered on the erotic fiction genre. I was certainly interested in the post. My main worry was those ‘light household duties’: I did not want to be a convenient skivvy, however well paid, but I determined to ask my potential new employer exactly what would be expected of me.
I was deep in thought when Jenny placed a cup of coffee in front of me and touched my arm to let me know it was there. I smiled my thanks at her so she proceeded to give me the rest of the meagre details she had available. I ran it all through my mind and made my decision. “Yes, I think I’d like to see her. Could you arrange an interview, please?”
Jenny picked up her phone, checked the number and tapped it out. “Ms Barnes? Jenny here, from Jobsforyou.Yes, I have a young lady, a Ms Sandy Barratt, who may be interested in the post. Thank you Ms Barnes, we do try to match our clients quickly. You’re very welcome.” She listened on the phone for a minute then covered the mouthpiece and asked if I could go there right away. I told her yes and she confirmed to Ms Barnes that I would be with her as soon as possible. Jenny consulted her watch and said I would be at South Gosforth Metro station by about 11:00.
“OK,” she said to me after putting the phone down. “Go out of the office, turn left then right at the traffic lights. Ahead, you will see the metro station. Get the train to South Gosforth – it’s only twenty minutes and there’s a train every few minutes. You will be met at the station when you get there.” She gave me a lovely smile, stood and shook my hand. “Good luck, Ms Barrett. I think the post may be ideal for you.”
I followed Jenny’s directions and found the station easily. The train I needed was pulling into the platform as I got there and the journey was, as Jenny had said, just twenty minutes. Going out of town this time of day meant I had few fellow travellers and there were only three other people getting off at this stop. Lady Luck’s deputy was still on duty. I stood on the platform as the other passengers moved away, then I saw Ms Barnes waiting for me. I recognised her from the pictures on the back of her books and stepped forward with a few butterflies in my tummy.
She was maybe 3″ taller than my 5′ 6″, with a stocky figure. I knew, from the brief biographical details on her books, that she was in her mid forties, maybe ten years older than me but she could easily pass for ten years younger than her biological age. Her light fawn tweed skirt dropped to her knees and the heavy cotton shirt, tucked into her waist, covered a fairly substantial bosom. She was wearing ‘sensible’ shoes with a low heel. Her face seemed more youthful than in her photographs and a wide smile of welcome creased her face. She strode to me, hand outheld to mine. Her grip was firm and confident as she greeted me with the words, “Ms Barrett? I’m Jackie Barnes.”
“Pleased to meet you Ms Barnes.”
“Shall we go?” She waved her hand in the general direction of the exit so I followed her to the car park where she opened a late model BMW open-top sports car and got behind the wheel. I sat in the passenger seat as she drove carefully away. It was only a ten minute drive to her house: a large Victorian building up a gravelled drive through a gorgeous array of late spring flowers at the roadside with a lovely manicured lawn beyond the blooms. A flick of a remote control opened a large garage ready for her to drive straight in. She ushered me into her house and through to what was obviously her study.
There were two large leather armchairs in the bay window; she took one and invited me to be seated in the other. I handed my CV to her and she read it carefully, nodding here and there as she did so.
She looked me over as I sat there patiently waiting for her to finish. I was dressed in a conventional dark navy business suit, white shirt and loose silk flowered tie at my neck. I wore tights and on my feet were navy shoes with a three inch stiletto heel.
Ms Barnes nodded, as if in approval of my attire, then said, “May I call you Sandy?” I nodded. “I’m slot oyna Jackie. You and I are going to spend a lot of time together if you take the post, so we don’t need the formalities.
“What I need is somebody to be available at any time day or night, to take shorthand notes of whatever comes into my mind when I am writing. Or you can use a recorder. I can’t get on with computers or word processors and the likes, I ‘write’ on my feet, so it will be your task to type up your notes and give me a written copy so I can change and edit where needed. I really need to see reaction as I’m thinking, it helps me a lot, and don’t be afraid to offer suggestions. That will always be your main task. Do you come awake quickly should I need you at three A.M.?”
I’m one of those fortunates who wake up quickly so I assured her it would be no problem. She asked me a list of questions about my qualifications and so on. I would need a valid passport as I would be expected to be with her if she went abroad: I assured her that mine was current then I asked, “What would be my other duties, Jackie? Jenny at the agency mentioned light housework.”
“Yes, that’s right, but they are really light duties. Just make our beds at the weekends and deliver soiled clothes to the laundry room. Mr and Mrs Johnson, they live in the old gatehouse, will do the heavy work in the house: cleaning, cooking, laundry and around the garden. They get the weekends off but Mrs Johnson always prepares food for us so I will need you to warm whatever she leaves in the fridge for us, if necessary, and wash the pots over the weekend. You will be entitled to one and a half days each week, to be arranged at our mutual convenience but I must warn you that, if the muses take me I may have to ask you to postpone your days off.
One of your duties will be to keep a track of my appointments diary and remind me each day of any meetings or commitments I have. That is about it really. Do you think you could manage that?”
“Yes, Jackie, I don’t see any problems: I’m very interested and would like to take the position.”
“Good,” she said, “Come, I’ll show you your own room.”
I followed her up the grand staircase and she led me off to the left and opened a door, ushering me in before her. The room had a high ceiling and a large bay window provided lots of light. I looked out of the window onto the large expanse of lawn. The room itself was tastefully furnished with a large double bed, plenty of drawer space and a walk in closet for my hanging clothes. In one corner was a work station with a PC and a leather-topped desk. There was also a TV and sound system installed: I also noticed an intercom system on the bedside table which I assumed would be to summon me when my employer needed my services. Jackie opened a door off to the side and showed me the bathroom with shower, bath, toilet and bidet: sheer luxury. I was very impressed by what would be my accommodation.
When I had seen enough, Jackie gave me a quick tour of the rest of the house. In the kitchen I met Mrs Johnson, the cook/housekeeper. She was a plump, motherly type, maybe in her fifties, with frizzy blonde hair, rosy cheeks and a happy smile. “Would you bring us some coffee to the study please, Mrs Johnson?” asked Jackie. She and I returned to the study and, before too long, Mrs Johnson came in with a tray laden with coffee pots and a plate of biscuits. Jackie passed me a cup and invited me to help myself to cream.
“Well, Sandy,” she said when we both had coffee in front of us, “I think you and I are going to get along famously. I would like to take you on initially for a one month trial period. If it works out as I think it will, the post will then be yours permanently. Would you like to work with me?”
“Very much, Jackie,” I replied without hesitation.
“Good. When can you move in and start?”
“As soon as you like,” I shrugged. “Today if you wish: I have no commitments. I would just need to collect my things from the B&B.”
“Excellent!” Jackie pulled out her mobile and I heard her speaking to the agency, telling Jenny that I would be starting right away and to draw up the contract. When she put the phone away she said to me, “Finish your coffee: I’ll get Mr Johnson to drive you to your B&B and pick up your things, then we’re all set.” She left me sitting there sipping my coffee and nibbling at a biscuit and a few minutes later she returned with a man who was introduced as Mr Johnson.
“Whenever you’re ready Ms Barrett,” the man said with a friendly smile. I finished my coffee, stood up and followed him to the garage. He drove us back to the city and came with me to my room to help me with my baggage. I settled my bill and he drove us back to my new home, again helping me carry my luggage to my room.
I spent an hour unpacking my cases and putting everything away then the intercom crackled into life and Jackie asked me to join her in the back garden. I took off my jacket as it was pleasantly warm outside but then I had to ask Mrs Johnson how to get there. The outside door from her canlı casino siteleri kitchen would lead me to the side of the house, she told me, but there was a patio door through the lounge and Ms Barnes was probably out there.
Jackie was sitting in a lounger on the patio and rose as I approached. Side by side we walked along the gravel paths around the lovely flower beds as she told me about the status of her current work.
“My latest novel,” she said, “is almost finished. I’m going through the final proofs and I’ll need you to edit the files which Jessica, your predecessor, stored on your computer. Then we can send it off for publication.
“I have one or two ideas for my next book – I like to keep working because I just enjoy it so much and it keeps me in the lifestyle I enjoy – so, it’s back to the grind.” She shrugged and flashed a smile at me.
“What are your ideas for the next one, Jackie,” I asked, genuinely interested.
We walked on in silence for a couple of minutes as she composed her thoughts. “I think I want to go back to a romance but I also want to get away from the stock ‘boy meets girl in a library’ sort of thing. Been there, done that! I’d like to do something much more adventurous, something more exotic. Different, if you follow my drift. It’s going to be a tempestuous affair before they end up ‘happy ever after’.”
“Something exotic? Do you mean the relationship or the setting?” I asked.
“Perhaps a bit of both,” she ruminated.
“Maybe some wild part of South America – not the Amazon jungle, maybe half way up the Andes? Argentina perhaps.” I suggested. “You could have main characters from two different cultures. Clash of cultural lifestyles… “
“Hmm, possibilities there. Anything else?”
“Similar cultural difference set in the east somewhere, maybe Indonesia. Could be after an earthquake or other tragedy.”
“Good, I quite like that. Keep those ideas coming.”
This time it was I who stayed silent for a few minutes then, a little timidly, I suggested: “Have you ever considered two women as lovers rather than man and woman? Lesbians!”
That stopped her in her tracks and I could almost hear her brain working. Just then it started to rain, quickly building up to one of those really sharp showers but Jackie didn’t seem to notice, she started walking again, oblivious of the rain soaking us.
She stopped again and turned to look at me closely. “Tell me to mind my own bloody business if you want, Sandy. Are you ‘that way inclined’?”
I looked her straight in the eyes and detected no dislike or rejection in them. “Yes, Jackie, I am ‘that way inclined’, as you put it. I’ve had a couple of boyfriends but I prefer women. Does that make a difference? To my position with you, I mean?”
“Absolutely none whatsoever, my dear. I appreciate your candour. Would you like to expand on your idea for a story?”
By now we were both soaked to the skin and both our shirts were almost transparent and clinging to our bodies, with our underwear showing through clearly. Uncaring, she walked on with me keeping abreast of her, but now directing our steps back towards the house as I put forward various possible scenarios. We got back inside and she told me to go and dry off then return to the study. I quickly made my way to my room, stripped, towelled myself down, brushed my hair and dressed myself more comfortably.
Jackie, too, had dressed more casually and there was a cup of steaming coffee waiting to warm me through. I sipped at it gratefully.
“Now,” said Jackie when I was settled back in my chair, “tell me more about these two women who are going to meet in adversity.”
“Perhaps the older one, the rescuer, eventually seduces the younger. Or vice versa. I haven’t thought about it much beyond that.”
“No problem with that, Sandy. I’m the writer, that’s my job. Such a situation could gel nicely with my own proto-plot. I think I like your idea. I have been giving much thought to the idea of my next book being much more erotic. The market is changing, explicit sex is no longer taboo and there seems to be a hunger for that kind of material. We women are becoming much more adventurous in our reading habits and I don’t want to be left behind, I want to be at the forefront, even break new barriers.
“Your idea of a lesbian romance intrigues me but there is a small problem: male and female I know about. I’ve had affairs, sometimes tempestuous,” here she smiled then continued, “I’ve been married as you probably know, but I’ve never had any experience of girl with girl. If I write this one, I’m going to have to rely upon your experiences to guide me. I need to understand not only the emotional differences, but the physical aspects of such a relationship. How would you feel about describing that side of things?”
She was looking at me inquisitively and I returned her stare. An idea was starting to form in my mind: the woman before me was not unattractive and I have always liked women with a fuller figure. I said nothing for a couple of minutes, wondering if my idea would bring a quick termination of my brand new contract. Taking a deep breath and, with some trepidation, I put the question: “Would you consider getting some first hand experience? Perhaps with me.”
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